Cycling in Spain in February and March is like going to the state fair in the fall. Everything that you see and hear is extreme, both visually and in terms of experience. The pumpkins are huge. The hogs are massive. Even the turkey legs are unreal in size. So it is in Spain when the pros and cycling elites are riding the same roads that you are, and you pass them every day.  Sometimes, you get to talk to them, and you don’t even know you did it.

That is what happened this year to everyone in my group on my annual Spain cycling tour.  Both on the website and in the pre-trip Zoom meetings, I tell everyone to expect some spontaneous cool events and cycling celebrity sightings every day. The views at the tops of the Cols are epic, and the lunches at roadside cycling cafes have a unique charm.  But none of that is as memorable as meeting a guy who wore the Yellow Jersey in the Tour de France.

On the fourth day of riding in the mountains and along the coastal highways, all of us were hitting the high point on a climb up the Val d’ebo, a categorized climb in southeast Spain.  The weather was perfect, and the skies were blue.  At the top of the Col, there was an unforgettable panorama.  The Mediterranean was visible in multiple directions, and the waters were deep blue, nothing at all like the waters off the East Coast of the United States.  Since we were up high on a mountain pass, there was a sense that we would never get a chance on this trip or perhaps even in life to replicate what it was that we were experiencing.

We had only been on the pass for a minute when another cyclist came walking towards us, holding a cell phone.  I recognized him, but I chose to keep my mouth shut.  One of the women in our group asked him if he would take our picture for us.  Soon, another person handed him their phone, and he took another few pictures.  He handed us our phones back, and the group started up a casual conversation.  Although these quotes aren’t “exactly” what he said, they are close.  His response is in bold.

“So, where are you from?”   Belgium.

“You were really fast.  You must ride a bike a lot.”  I do.  Boy, did I laugh.

“My favorite soccer player from Belgium is Keven De Breuner.”  He is my favorite player, too!

I finally decided to chime in.

“Mattieu Van de Poel has been riding around here lately.  Have you ridden with him?”  Mattieu is the current world champion.   Sometimes. 

Wow. I knew he was telling the truth.  I pressed my story to make a point that I knew who he was.

“I would love to ride with him.  I could ride with him for darn close to two seconds,” I said.  Laughter ensued, but not really.  I was the only one laughing.

“You seem really good,” someone else said.  He smiled but didn’t speak—humility in action.

“You ride a BMC bike.  So do I!”  He smiled.  “I am filming a commercial today for them. That is why I am riding up here,” he said.

We took some more photos, and I thanked him for talking to us.  Once he went down the hill back to the van that awaited to take him to his next photo shoot, I told the woman who originally spoke to him to go down the hill, introduce herself, and get his name.

“Just look him up on Instagram,” I said.  A minute later, she came back, and her hands were shaking.

“Oh my God.  He won the Olympic Gold Medal.  And he wore the Yellow Jersey in the Tour de France on two different occasions!”

Greg Van Avermaet was once the best in the world. No one in the group knew him. He was just the photography guy, willing to help with some cycling from the States make some memories.

At dinner that evening, everyone mentioned in their own way how cool it was to meet such a famous person who had no interest in drawing attention to himself.  He was “just Greg,”

Sure, we had some beautiful scenery and wonderful food together, but I think “humble Greg” will be the greatest takeaway from our trip.

 

Greg is wearing the Gold Helmet.  It is a symbol of winning the Olympic Gold Medal.