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That thought stayed with me as I rolled out of Montgeron in the early hours of a June morning, my wheels tracing the ghostly path of the very first Tour de France. Not a modern version, or a reimagined sportif. The original route. Six stages. 2,428 kilometres, a continual loop. Two gears. No support. Just the road, the heat, and a question that had lingered in my mind for over a year: What did it feel like to be one of them?
The idea came about in conversation, standing trackside at the Roubaix Velodrome during a project early in 2024, looking at the evolution of Paris-Roubaix, and the Specialized model named in its honour. A casual chat about storytelling turned into a spark: what if I didn’t just ride far, but ride back in time?
As a young cyclist, the Tour de France was everything. But as my career evolved, I realised that the race itself – the peloton, the tactics, the circus – didn’t really appeal. I was never drawn to the fight for seconds on a climb. I wanted the solitude. The silence. The experience.
So I chose a different path. And this time, that path led directly to 1903.
Morning Light and Memory
To follow the original route was to surrender to chaos. Most of it follows major roads; the arteries of modern France, now crowded with trucks and commuters. I started each stage before sunrise. Those early hours were sacred. A moment of stillness before the noise began. The air cooler. The mind clearer. In that silence, I could better imagine the riders who came before me.
The men of 1903, pushing through the dark with steel bikes and wool jerseys. No GPS, no gels – just instinct, and an impossible belief in what lay ahead.
We often talk about progress in cycling. Lighter, faster, smarter. While the equipment and mindset of the modern rider is alien in comparison, those early riders weren’t slow. They were just different. They were explorers, whose stage wins were survival stories not dictated by intervals or marginal gains.
A Ride Defined by Limits
The beauty of two gears is that it strips the ride down to its bones. You don’t ponder what gear you need to be in, you just ask yourself how hard you can push through the pedals, and whether the cadence is manageable.
On the climbs, the 35 x 16t setup was just manageable. On the flats or slight descents, I spun out the 48t chainring constantly – legs whirring at 120 rpm, unable to make use of the tailwind. It was maddening. But it forced me to slow down: not in speed, but in thought. To stop strategising and simply ride.
Not every challenge needs to be efficient. Some are meant to be felt.
I may not have had rivals on the road, but the heat was enough of an antagonist. Several days soared past 45°C. I stopped frequently, filling bottles and hydration bladders with ice, jamming handfuls of it into my jersey. Even then, the relief was fleeting. Again, my mind returned to 1903: How did they survive this? No air-conditioned cafés. No fuel stations. Just a desire to push on.
The Romance of Suffering
This wasn’t a race, but it was hard. Hard in a quiet way that disrupts your thoughts as much as your legs. Each day blurred into the next: long roads, fading light, a kind of beautiful repetition. I found rhythm in the chaos. Wake, eat, ride, eat, sleep, repeat.
The original Tour wasn’t built to be watched. It was built to be endured. In retracing its lines, I didn’t feel like I was trying to reenact something. I felt like I was honouring it. I’m not the first to have done this, and that was never the intention. I just wanted to feel what they had felt.
By the time I reached Paris, after 462 kilometres and nearly 3,000 metres of climbing on the final day, I didn’t feel triumphant. I felt full. Full of respect, of fatigue and of understanding.
My Setup
For this journey, I rode a Specialized Roubaix SL8, finished with a custom OUTRIDE paint job. The bike rolled on a Roval CLX II Team wheelset with fast yet bulletproof 35 mm Specialized Mondo tires. Contact points were dialled with a Specialized Romin saddle, zero-offset seatpost, and 40 cm shallow drop carbon bars.
Lighting came from Magicshine up front, with a Garmin Varia at the rear. Navigation was also handled by Garmin, with their Edge 1040 Solar computer. For hydration, I used two Camelbak Podium bottles. Luggage was managed with a full Tailfin setup: rear rack, frame bag, and top tube bag.
The drivetrain was a mix: a SRAM Red 48/35 crankset, with 165 mm arms, paired with a Shimano 105 16 t cog and a Wolftooth single-speed kit. A Paul Components chain tensioner kept everything tight. The chain – waxed and silent – came courtesy of Cyclowax.
The Past, Reimagined
These days, we obsess over data. Marginal gains, personal bests, perfect numbers. But there’s another kind of riding. One that doesn’t rely on metrics. One that asks instead for perspective, curiosity, and a little imagination. This project wasn’t about breaking a record. It was about the ride, in its purest form. No clock, no competition. Just the simple, stubborn act of showing up and turning the pedals – just like they did 122 years ago. I’d love to see the 1903 Tour brought back, not as a race, but as an experience. A pilgrimage. Because to truly appreciate where cycling is now, sometimes you have to ride back to where it began.
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Words: Jack Thompson Photos: Arnau Lumeras
