The ghost of 1976 and the boy king

They threw a party for Lucien Van Impe the other day. In his hometown of Mere, they celebrated the 50th anniversary of his victory at the 1976 Tour de France. Fifty years. You have to say it out loud to feel the weight of it: half a century since a Belgian stood on the top step in Paris.

Van Impe said the fans dream of a new winner, just as he does. It’s a tidy quote for the papers. But this isn’t just a nostalgic get-together for a beloved old champion. It’s a national séance. It’s Belgium lighting a candle and whispering a desperate prayer into the void, a prayer that has a name: Remco Evenepoel.

And where was Evenepoel while the party was in full swing? He was hundreds of kilometres away, fighting for his life in the cold and rain, battling for his position in the general classification at the Tour de France 2026.

It was a gutsy, admirable ride. But it wasn’t winning. And for Belgium, that’s the problem.

The last man standing

Fifty years is an eternity in cycling. When Van Impe won, bikes were steel and helmets were leather, if worn at all. Since then, Belgians have won almost everything else, multiple times over: Monuments, World Championships, green jerseys.

But the big one, the Tour, has remained stubbornly out of reach. The pressure this creates is immense, a low hum beneath the surface of the entire Belgian cycling scene.

Every promising young rider who can climb and time trial gets anointed. They are the next Merckx, the next Van Impe; the one who will end the drought. Most break under the weight of it long before they reach the Tour.

Which brings us back to Evenepoel. He’s different. He has the generational talent to make the dream feel real.

But the Tour de France is a different beast, and this year, it’s been biting back. His performance is a monumental achievement for a rider from any other nation. For the great Belgian hope, it feels like a consolation prize.

It's the yellow jersey, stupid

Conventional wisdom pushes back. It says Belgium is a cycling superpower, and it is. It points to the Classics legends, the sprint kings, the sheer depth of talent. And it’s right.

But it also misses the point entirely. This isn't about being a cycling superpower. This is about the race.

The Tour is the sun around which the entire cycling planet orbits. Winning a Monument makes you a national hero. Winning the Tour de France makes you immortal. It’s the one prize that transcends the sport.

Van Impe’s continued relevance is the proof. He was a magnificent climber, but it’s that one yellow jersey from the 1976 Tour de France that they’re celebrating 50 years later.

It’s the one that defines his career and, in its absence, has come to define the yearning of his nation.

So as Remco Evenepoel fights on, he’s not just racing against the other GC contenders. He’s racing against the ghost of Lucien Van Impe. He’s carrying the expectations of millions, a burden that gets heavier with every passing year.

His dogged fight for position is, in its own way, heroic. But you get the feeling that back in Mere, they’ve already seen heroes. What they really want, after all this time, is a king.