Cycling

The Best Stages in Tour de France History

Kevin Curry

01 Aug 2025 — 20 min read

Introduction: The Alchemy of a Legendary Stage

The Tour de France is more than a bicycle race; it is a three-week, 3,500-kilometer odyssey that tests the absolute limits of human endurance and willpower.Within this grand narrative, individual stages occasionally transcend the realm of mere sport to become something more: a forge where myth is hammered into shape. A legendary Tour de France stage is not simply defined by its difficulty or the speed of its winner. It is a complex alchemy, a crucible where immense physical suffering, brilliant tactical maneuvering, raw human drama, and profound historical consequence are fused into an immortal tale. These are the days that define careers, settle rivalries, and are retold by generations of fans who line the roadsides, becoming part of the spectacle themselves.

The settings for these epics are often as iconic as the riders themselves. The barren, windswept moonscape of Mont Ventoux, the 21 hairpin bends of Alpe d'Huez, and the rugged Pyrenean passes like the Col du Tourmalet are not just geographical features; they are natural amphitheaters, sacred grounds where cycling's greatest dramas unfold.It is on these slopes, surrounded by a corridor of screaming fans, that the entire narrative of the race can be condensed into a few explosive hours, often deciding the victor in the most dramatic fashion imaginable.

The mythology of the Tour is built upon a fascinating dichotomy. Some of its most revered moments are the product of meticulously planned confrontations—the so-called "races of truth" like a final-day time trial, where two rivals are locked in a pure, distilled contest against the clock.Yet, equally potent are the stages defined by sheer, unscripted chaos: a horrific crash on melting tarmac, a desperate and seemingly doomed long-range attack, or the sudden, shocking collapse of an invincible champion.The most enduring legends often arise when these two forces collide, when meticulous plans are shattered by instinct, and when the predictable arc of the race is irrevocably altered by a single moment of brilliance, desperation, or disaster. This report will delve into these monumental stages, exploring the context, the battles, and the legacies that have cemented their place in the rich, dramatic history of the Tour de France.

Chapter 1: The Eight-Second Miracle – 1989, Stage 21: Versailles to Paris ITT

The Context – A Tour on a Knife's Edge

The 1989 Tour de France culminated in what remains the most dramatic final day in the race's history, a showdown born from two extraordinary comeback stories. On one side was the American Greg LeMond, a rider who had already won the Tour in 1986 but was now returning from the abyss. A near-fatal hunting accident in 1987 had left him with shotgun pellets in his heart lining and liver, and the subsequent two years were a grueling journey of "sorrow, pain and misery" just to return to the sport, let alone compete at its highest level.His presence at the start line was a victory in itself; his performance throughout the race was a revelation.

On the other side was Laurent Fignon, "Le Professeur," the bespectacled Parisian who had won the Tour in 1983 and 1984. After years of battling injuries, he was back to his imperious best, seemingly destined to reclaim his crown on home soil.The race became a captivating duel between these two resurgent champions. It was a seesaw battle of the highest order, with the coveted maillot jaune changing hands between them four times over the three weeks, setting the stage for an ultimate decider.

The race organizers had scheduled a 24.5 km individual time trial (ITT) from the Palace of Versailles to the Champs-Élysées in Paris for the final stage. It was a format that guaranteed suspense, and it would be the last time the Tour would ever conclude with such a "race of truth".Fignon began the day with what appeared to be a secure 50-second lead over LeMond.For LeMond to win, he would have to gain more than two seconds per kilometer on one of the world's best time trialists—a feat considered improbable, if not impossible.

The Battle – Technology and Willpower on the Champs-Élysées

The final confrontation was a study in contrasts, a clash of the traditional against the revolutionary, played out on the streets of Paris. LeMond, looking "like a Martian from outer space," arrived at the start ramp with a suite of radical aerodynamic equipment.His teardrop-shaped aero helmet and, most significantly, a set of clip-on triathlon-style aerobars mounted to his handlebars were a jarring sight in the peloton of 1989.This technology, a calculated gamble based on off-season wind tunnel testing, was controversial and largely unproven in the conservative world of professional road cycling.

Fignon, in stark contrast, embodied the classic cycling aesthetic. He rode with no helmet, his signature blonde ponytail whipping in the wind, creating aerodynamic drag that LeMond's setup was designed to eliminate.His time trial bike was more conventional, and his director, Cyrille Guimard, would later express deep regret for not lodging a formal protest against LeMond's unorthodox bars, which some argued were against the spirit, if not the letter, of the rules.

The psychological approaches were just as divergent. LeMond, having stared down death, possessed a unique mental freedom. He had nothing to lose and instructed his team car not to give him any time checks during his ride; he would go all out and the result would be what it would be.Fignon, meanwhile, was burdened by the immense pressure of leading the Tour in his home country. He was also reportedly suffering from painful saddle sores and arrived late to the start, further disrupting his focus.He started his effort at a more conservative pace, convinced his 50-second cushion was more than enough.

LeMond flew around the course. His average speed was a blistering 54.545 km/h, the fastest time trial ever ridden in the Tour at that point.In a stunning visual confirmation of his pace, he caught and passed Spain's Pedro Delgado near the finish line—a rider who had started a full two minutes before him.As LeMond waited, the clock ticked agonizingly. Fignon, finally realizing the mortal danger to his lead, pushed desperately through the final kilometers, his face a mask of pain. He crossed the line, collapsed, and the world waited for the official time.

The Legacy – Eight Seconds that Echo Through Eternity

The official result sent a shockwave through the sporting world. LeMond had beaten Fignon by 58 seconds on the stage. He had won the 1989 Tour de France by just eight seconds—the smallest margin of victory in the race's long and storied history.The scene at the finish was one of pure, unscripted emotion: LeMond's stunned disbelief, his wife Kathy's joyous screams, and Fignon's utter collapse on the Parisian pavement, the picture of devastation.

The impact of this stage extended far beyond the result. LeMond's victory was a technological inflection point for cycling. It single-handedly validated and popularized the use of aero bars and aerodynamic helmets, fundamentally changing the discipline of time trialing and ushering in the modern era of "marginal gains," where every piece of equipment is scrutinized for its aerodynamic advantage.

Ultimately, the eight-second victory was more than just a triumph of technology; it was a triumph of psychology. LeMond's near-death experience had given him a "nothing to lose" perspective, a psychological liberation that allowed him to embrace unconventional, even "ugly," innovation.Fignon, as the race leader, the French hero, and "Le Professeur," was psychologically constrained by tradition and the crushing weight of expectation. His physical ailments and late start were symptoms of a mind under immense duress. This stage, therefore, serves as a timeless case study in sports psychology, a powerful demonstration of how a rider's internal perspective can directly influence their willingness to innovate and, in the end, determine the final outcome on the grandest stage.

Chapter 2: The Treachery on Alpe d'Huez – 1986, Stage 18: Briançon to Alpe d'Huez

The Context – The Pact and The Badger's Promise

The 1986 Tour de France was supposed to be a coronation. The French La Vie Claire team was the undisputed powerhouse of the era, having placed Bernard Hinault and Greg LeMond first and second overall in the 1985 edition.The team housed two of the sport's titans: Hinault, the five-time Tour champion known as "Le Blaireau" (The Badger) for his aggressive, uncompromising style, and LeMond, the prodigiously talented American who had served as his loyal lieutenant.

The narrative for the 1986 race was seemingly pre-written. Hinault, in what he had announced would be his final Tour, had publicly promised to repay LeMond for his crucial support the previous year. He would ride in service of the American, helping him secure his first yellow jersey.This public pact became the central pillar upon which one of the Tour's greatest and most bitter dramas would be built.

From the moment the race hit the mountains, Hinault's promise appeared to be a lie. Despite LeMond being the team's designated leader, Hinault launched a series of relentless attacks. On stage 12 into the Pyrenees, he broke away with a teammate, stunning an isolated LeMond, who was forced by team orders not to chase. Hinault took the yellow jersey and built a lead of over five minutes.To this day, Hinault maintains he was simply making the race hard to eliminate LeMond's rivals.LeMond, however, saw it as a clear and unambiguous betrayal. A furious LeMond fought back tenaciously, turning his anger into power and eventually wrestling the yellow jersey from Hinault on Stage 17, just one day before the queen stage to Alpe d'Huez. The team was split, the rivalry was personal, and the stage was set for an explosive Alpine civil war.

The Battle – A Civil War on Cycling's Holiest Slopes

The route for Stage 18 was a monster: a 162.5 km journey from Briançon that packed in three of the Alps' most revered climbs. The peloton would face the immense Col du Galibier, the grueling Col de la Croix de Fer, and the final, legendary ascent to the ski station of Alpe d'Huez, with its 21 iconic, numbered hairpin bends.

Hinault, now trailing his teammate, wasted no time. In a move of audacious aggression, he attacked on the descent of the very first climb, the Col du Galibier, a full 90 km from the finish line.LeMond, now fully aware of Hinault's intentions and no longer willing to be caught by surprise, was immediately attentive and covered the move. The two La Vie Claire teammates, the race leader and the man who coveted his jersey, rode away from the rest of the field. Their primary rival, Urs Zimmerman of Switzerland, was left isolated and helpless as the two teammates extended their lead.

What followed was a long, uneasy alliance. The two men in the blue, yellow, and red geometric jerseys of La Vie Claire worked together, taking turns at the front, their shared pace building an insurmountable lead over the rest of the race. The television commentary captured the sheer disbelief of the situation, noting how these "unbelievable riders, teammates as well, are now taking on the Tour de France once again".They crested the Croix de Fer together and descended towards the final battleground.

As they reached the foot of Alpe d'Huez, the atmosphere among the massive crowds was "electrifying".The French fans roared for their hero, Hinault, while a chorus of international support cheered for the wronged American, LeMond.But the decisive attack never came. Neither man could drop the other. They ascended the 21 hairpins together, a powerful public image of team unity that masked a deep and bitter private rift.

The Legacy – A Staged Finish and a Stolen Crown

The finish of the 1986 stage to Alpe d'Huez has become one of the most iconic and debated images in cycling history. Hinault and LeMond approached the line together, smiling for the cameras. They linked arms and crossed the finish line hand-in-hand, a seemingly perfect display of camaraderie and team dominance.Hinault was allowed to cross the line just ahead of LeMond to take the prestigious stage victory.

It was a pyrrhic victory for the Frenchman. While Hinault won the battle for the stage, LeMond won the war. He solidified his grip on the yellow jersey and would ride into Paris to claim his first Tour de France title. Hinault finished second overall, taking the King of the Mountains jersey as a consolation prize in his final Tour.

The arm-in-arm finish was not a truce; it was a masterful piece of psychological theatre. Hinault, having thrown everything at LeMond for a week and failed to break him, needed to control the narrative of his own defeat. By orchestrating a staged, "triumphant" one-two finish, he could reframe the day's events. It was no longer about his personal failure to usurp his designated leader; it was a glorious demonstration of his team's absolute power. It was a final, passive-aggressive masterstroke to share the spotlight of a victory that LeMond had been forced to win by withstanding sabotage from his own teammate.LeMond, for his part, had little choice but to play along to secure the overall victory and prevent a complete implosion of the team. This stage stands as the ultimate example of intra-team rivalry, a lesson that the most vicious battles in cycling are often fought between men wearing the same jersey, and that the images presented to the world can mask a much darker and more complicated truth.

Chapter 3: The Ghost in the Mist – 1987, Stage 21: Le Bourg-d'Oisans to La Plagne

The Context – The Irishman vs. The Spaniard

The 1987 Tour de France was defined by a power vacuum. The reigning champion, Greg LeMond, was absent, recovering from his life-threatening shooting accident. This opened the door for one of the most unpredictable and thrilling races in modern history, an anarchic affair that saw a record eight different riders wear the yellow jersey during the three weeks.

As the race entered its brutal final week in the Alps, the chaos had distilled into a fierce, two-man duel. It was a classic clash of styles: the canny, all-around strength of Ireland's Stephen Roche (Carrera) against the explosive, pure climbing talent of Spain's Pedro "Perico" Delgado (PDM).

The stakes for Stage 21, the race's queen stage, could not have been higher. Delgado, the superior climber, held the yellow jersey, but his lead over Roche was a perilously slim 25 seconds.With a decisive individual time trial looming on the penultimate day—a discipline where Roche was the clear specialist—Delgado knew this was his last chance. He had to use the final mountain stage to gain a significant buffer, with his team believing he needed at least two minutes to have any hope of holding off Roche against the clock.The stage was set for an all-or-nothing assault from the Spaniard and a desperate defense from the Irishman.

The Battle – A Calculated Collapse

The parcours for Stage 21 was monstrous, a 185 km trek from Le Bourg-d'Oisans that featured three colossal Haute Catégorie climbs: the Col du Galibier, the Col de la Madeleine, and the final, 21 km long summit finish to the ski resort of La Plagne.

On the slopes of the final climb, the race played out exactly as predicted. Delgado, dancing on the pedals in his element, launched a blistering attack. Roche could not respond. The Spaniard rode away, and the gap between the two rivals began to grow steadily. It stretched to 30 seconds, then a minute, then over a minute and a half.To the television commentators, to the fans, and to Delgado himself, it appeared that Roche had finally cracked. The Tour was being won.

But what looked like a collapse was, in fact, a stroke of tactical genius. Roche, a shrewd and calculating rider, knew he could not match Delgado's explosive acceleration on the steep gradients.Instead of burning himself out in a futile attempt to follow, he made a courageous and incredibly risky decision: he let him go. Roche's gamble was that Delgado, believing the race was won, would ease his pace slightly to conserve energy. Roche planned to ride at his own, steadier tempo, keep the gap manageable, and then unleash an absolutely desperate, all-out effort in the less steep final kilometers to claw back as much time as possible.

As a thick mist descended upon the upper slopes of La Plagne, obscuring the riders from view, Roche began his improbable chase. He became a ghostly figure, emerging from the fog, fighting for every second. The television commentary from Phil Liggett became legendary, his voice rising with astonishment as he strained to identify the lone rider emerging from the gloom: "Who is that appearing? That looks like Roche. It is Stephen Roche! He has done it!".

The Legacy – Victory Through Exhaustion

In one of the most stunning comebacks in Tour history, Roche's high-risk strategy paid off. He crossed the finish line having limited his losses to Delgado to a mere four seconds on the stage.Laurent Fignon won the stage, but all eyes were on the war for yellow. Roche's ride was a monumental effort that, for all intents and purposes, won him the Tour de France.

The immense physical cost of this effort became immediately and frighteningly apparent. Moments after crossing the line, Roche collapsed, his body completely spent. He lost consciousness and had to be stretchered to a waiting ambulance, where medics placed an oxygen mask over his face to help him repay the severe "oxygen debt" he had incurred.The image of the pale, exhausted Irishman lying on a gurney, a symbol of total human effort, became one of the most iconic in the sport's history.

Chapter 4: The Coup d'État – 2020, Stage 20: Lure to La Planche des Belles Filles ITT

The Context – The Slovenian Civil War

The 2020 Tour de France was a masterclass in modern, controlled cycling, executed to near perfection by the Dutch super-team, Jumbo-Visma. Their leader, Primož Roglič, had seized the yellow jersey on Stage 9 and, backed by the formidable strength of teammates like Wout van Aert and Tom Dumoulin, had methodically defended it through the Pyrenees and the Alps. Their strategy was one of containment and suffocation, building an "iron grip" on the race that made Roglič appear all but unbeatable.

His primary challenger was a fellow Slovenian, but one who seemed a world away in terms of support. Tadej Pogačar, a precocious 21-year-old riding for UAE Team Emirates, was competing in his very first Tour de France.While his explosive talent was obvious, he was often isolated in the high mountains, forced to fend for himself against the might of the Jumbo-Visma train. He was seen as a champion of the future, but not of the present.

The penultimate stage, the final day of racing for the general classification, was a brutal 36.2 km individual time trial. The course was split between a flat opening section and a steep, lung-burning 5.9 km finishing climb to the ski station of La Planche des Belles Filles.Roglič began the day with a 57-second advantage over his younger compatriot. In the modern era of calculated, controlled racing, this was considered a safe, almost insurmountable, margin.The cycling world expected a confirmation, not a coronation.

The Battle – The Race of Truth, The Moment of Implosion

What transpired was one of the most shocking and dramatic upsets in the sport's history. The stage became a tale of two completely different rides, a visual and physical representation of rising confidence and crumbling pressure. Pogačar, starting before Roglič, looked magnificent. He was a picture of fluidity and power, gliding over the course with an intensity that signaled something special was happening.Roglič, in contrast, looked labored from the start. His body was tense, his pedaling less smooth, and his helmet was famously askew—a small but telling sign of the immense pressure weighing on his shoulders.

Both riders had planned a crucial bike change at the base of the final climb, swapping their heavier, aerodynamic time trial machines for lighter road bikes for the ascent.This tactical maneuver, where every second lost in the changeover was critical, only heightened the drama.

The story of the stage was told through the on-screen time checks. Roglič's 57-second advantage began to evaporate with alarming speed. The graphics, which show a rider's virtual time gap to their rival, turned from a comfortable green to a worrying yellow, and then, shockingly, to a blood-red. In a "moment in history," Pogačar became the virtual yellow jersey on the road.Roglič was not just losing the Tour; he was being comprehensively dismantled.

Pogačar stormed across the finish line, having given the climb "the absolute fury of a man who wanted the yellow jersey".He had not only erased the 57-second deficit but had won the stage outright, putting a colossal 1 minute and 56 seconds into Roglič, who could only manage fifth place on the day.

The Legacy – A Generational Shift in a Single Hour

The aftermath was a scene of raw, contrasting emotions. Pogačar was in a state of stunned disbelief, muttering, "I think I'm dreaming".Just meters away, Roglič sat slumped on the tarmac, a heartbreaking image of a man utterly "devastated" as the enormity of his collapse sank in.In a moment of profound sportsmanship that defined the character of the defeated champion, Roglič walked over to his younger compatriot to offer a heartfelt, classy congratulations.

The stage was immediately hailed as the modern-day equivalent of the 1989 LeMond/Fignon drama, the new benchmark for a final-day coup d'état.But its significance ran deeper. The 2020 Tour had been the epitome of the modern team-based strategy, where a powerful "fortress" like Jumbo-Visma could control the race from start to finish. Pogačar's ride was not just an individual triumph; it was the complete and utter demolition of that collective strategy in the space of a single hour. It was a powerful statement that, in the face of transcendent, once-in-a-generation individual brilliance, even the most powerful and well-drilled team could be shattered.

This stage did more than decide the 2020 Tour de France. It questioned the absolute supremacy of the "team train" model of racing and reasserted the raw power of the singular, explosive champion, in the mold of the great legends of the past. With the most dramatic flair imaginable, it violently ushered in the "Pogačar Era."

Chapter 5: A Triptych of Chaos

Beyond the epic, multi-act dramas that decided the yellow jersey, the Tour's history is punctuated by moments of pure, unadulterated chaos. These stages are legendary not for their week-long narrative arc, but for a single, unforgettable incident that encapsulates the brutal, unpredictable, and sometimes darkly ironic nature of the race.

The Detour – 2003, Stage 9: Bourg-d'Oisans to Gap

The 2003 Tour was marked by a searing heatwave, so intense that the tarmac on the roads was beginning to melt under the sun.The race was balanced on a knife's edge between the defending champion, Lance Armstrong, and his most dangerous rival, the Spanish climber Joseba Beloki. On the fast, technical descent of the Côte de la Rochette just outside the finish in Gap, that balance was shattered. As Beloki navigated a sharp hairpin, his rear tire blew out on the sticky, gooey road surface. He was sent into a violent, high-side crash, his scream of agony audible to those nearby.The fall was horrific, leaving him with a broken femur, elbow, and wrist—a career-altering injury that he would never fully recover from.

Armstrong, who was directly on Beloki's wheel, was faced with certain disaster. In a remarkable display of instinct, bike handling, and sheer luck, he swerved at the last second. He left the road entirely, bounced through a freshly cut hayfield in a display of impromptu cyclocross skill, bunny-hopped his bike over a drainage ditch, and calmly rejoined the peloton as if he had merely taken a planned shortcut.The moment became legendary, an instant that seemed to confirm the myth of Armstrong's untouchable status; he was so dominant he could literally ride through a field and emerge unscathed. In the years that followed, with the eventual disqualification of all seven of his Tour victories for doping, this "miraculous" escape has been recast, now standing as a powerful and deeply ironic symbol of an era built on illusion.

The Gambit – 2011, Stage 19: Modane to Alpe d'Huez

The 2011 Tour was a nail-biting affair, and its final mountain stage was a perfect encapsulation of its drama. Thomas Voeckler was in the midst of a heroic but ultimately fading defense of the yellow jersey. The previous day, Andy Schleck had launched a spectacular long-range attack to take the race lead, but his advantage over the superior time trialist, Cadel Evans, was slim. Also in the mix was Alberto Contador. The defending champion was out of contention for the overall victory, paying the price for a grueling Giro d'Italia win earlier in the season, but he was not going to leave the Tour without a fight.

With nothing left to lose and his pride on the line, Contador launched a stunning attack on the slopes of the Col du Télégraphe, a full 92 km from the finish. His aggression sent "panic mode" through the group of contenders.While Andy Schleck was forced to mark the dangerous move, it was Cadel Evans who shouldered the burden of the chase. For much of the day, the Australian was forced to ride on the front, a dogged, powerful effort to limit the breakaway's advantage and keep his own Tour ambitions alive. It was a defensive masterclass, a performance that in hindsight won him the Tour.Although the early move was eventually neutralized, Contador attacked again on the final climb to Alpe d'Huez. He was ultimately passed by the fresher French rider Pierre Rolland, who took a famous national victory, but Contador's aggression defined the day.The stage is remembered not for its winner, but as a perfect duet of doomed, beautiful aggression from a fallen champion and the calculated, tour-winning defense of the man who would take his crown.

The Abdication – 1996, Stage 17: Argelès-Gazost to Hautacam

For five consecutive years, from 1991 to 1995, Miguel Indurain had ruled the Tour de France with an iron fist. "Big Mig" was a titan, an unflappable, metronomic force of nature who crushed his rivals in the time trials and was simply impossible to drop in the high mountains. He was considered invincible, a machine programmed for victory. The 1996 Tour was meant to be his record-breaking sixth win.

On the final climb of Stage 17 to the Pyrenean ski station of Hautacam, that entire legacy came to a sudden, brutal end. The Danish rider Bjarne Riis, who would later admit to extensive doping during his career, launched a series of savage attacks on the climb. At first, Indurain responded as he always did. But then, Riis went again. And for the first time in half a decade, the cycling world witnessed the impossible: Miguel Indurain cracked.The television cameras zoomed in on his face, and the impassive mask was gone, replaced by a grimace of human suffering. He was definitively dropped by the lead group, his head bowed as he lost minutes and any hope of a sixth yellow jersey. It was not a long, drawn-out battle; it was a swift and merciless abdication. In the space of one climb, a dynasty ended. The stage is legendary for its sheer shock value—the day the invincible man was finally, and irrevocably, proven mortal.

Further Viewing: More Classic Stages

1964, Stage 20 to Puy de Dôme: The iconic, shoulder-to-shoulder duel where Jacques Anquetil and Raymond Poulidor battled up the slopes of a dormant volcano.
1971, Stage 11 to Orcières-Merlette: Witness the incredible long-range solo attack of Luis Ocaña, who decimated the field and gained nearly nine minutes on the great Eddy Merckx.
1975, Stage 15 to Pra Loup: The day the "Cannibal" was humanized. Watch Bernard Thévenet attack and finally break Eddy Merckx, who lost the yellow jersey he would never wear again.
1996, Stage 7 to Les Arcs: The end of an era. This is the stage where the seemingly invincible Miguel Indurain, aiming for a record sixth victory, was finally dropped in the mountains.
2009, Stage 17 to Le Grand-Bornand: A thrilling, chaotic day of racing in the Alps where the Schleck brothers threw everything they had at Alberto Contador in a desperate bid to crack him.
2022, Stage 11 to Col du Granon: A masterclass in team tactics. Team Jumbo-Visma launched a relentless series of attacks that finally broke the indomitable Tadej Pogačar, allowing Jonas Vingegaard to seize the yellow jersey in a stunning coup.

Conclusion: The Enduring Legend of the Tour

The stages chronicled in this report are more than just entries in a record book; they are the emotional and historical pillars that support the entire edifice of the Tour de France. They are the moments when a three-week athletic contest elevates into something akin to epic poetry. Whether born from the pure, planned confrontation of a final-day time trial like in 1989 and 2020, an internal war between teammates as in 1986, a desperate battle against one's own physical limits in the mists of 1987, or the unscripted chaos of a crash or a doomed attack, these days share a common thread: they reveal the profound human core of the sport.

The enduring power of these stories lies in their narrative richness. They are not merely tales of sporting achievement but complex dramas of redemption, betrayal, genius, and desperation. They speak to fundamental human themes of fallibility and resilience, which is why they continue to captivate audiences long after the results have faded from memory. They are the reason that millions of fans continue to flock to the roadsides of the Pyrenees and the Alps, not just to see a race, but to bear witness to the potential for history to be made.

These legendary stages form the mythology of the Tour, a living history book passed down through generations. And the true beauty of the race is the knowledge that the next monumental chapter is always waiting to be written. On any given day, over any given mountain, a new legend can be forged, a new story created that will be told and retold for a century to come. The Tour de France is a continuous narrative, and its greatest stages are the indelible ink with which its most powerful stories are written.