Stage 6 – Bayeux to Vire Normandie: A Perfect Day in the Saddle

We kicked off Stage 6 of the Tour de France in the charming town of Bayeux, nestled in the heart of Normandy. Known for its medieval tapestry and cobbled streets, Bayeux offered a peaceful and picturesque start to what would become one of the most memorable days I’ve ever had on the Tour.

The Town of Bayeux

The day began with a fantastic breakfast at our hotel, always a good omen. Even better, our departure was right from the hotel itself. That’s a rare treat on a 21-day tour where, more often than not, we’re up early and on a bus for hours before even touching the pedals. Some of those transfers can stretch over three hours, which is not exactly the dream start to a long day of riding. But today? Today was as close to perfection as it gets.

The weather was sublime. Sunshine bathed the countryside, the temperature hovered in that sweet spot between cool and warm, and a gentle breeze occasionally pushed at my back. I’ve ridden over forty Tour de France stages in past years, and I can confidently say this was the best day I’ve ever had in the saddle.

The route from Bayeux to Vire Normandie was a hilly one, with over 3,400 meters of climbing. While there were no monstrous ascents, the terrain was relentless—if I wasn’t climbing, I was descending. And those descents? They were a dream. Rolling, winding roads through tree-covered valleys made for a scenic and soul-soothing ride. 

The roads of Normandy

I’m usually cautious on descents—speed isn’t my thing—but today, I found myself singing at the top of my lungs to the music in my one earbud. I was alone on the road, so no one could hear me, and that solitude made the experience even more special.

Shortly after leaving Food Stop 3—the lunch stop—I had a moment that shook me up. I ate quickly and got back on the road, hoping to finish the ride and rest as soon as possible. Not long after, I hit a steep 13% climb: the Côte de Mortain, just outside the historic town of Mortain, known for its WWII significance and panoramic views. 

Mortain WWII Memorial

As I was grinding up the hill, a car passed me and then abruptly stopped right in front of me to make a turn into a parking lot—likely for sightseeing. I had no time to react except to swerve to avoid slamming into the back of it. I followed his path into the lot, but the sudden move threw off my balance. I tried to unclip my shoe, but it was too late—I went down hard onto the pavement.

The driver kept going, leaving me there in shock. I lay on the ground for a moment, stunned, before getting up and shaking it off. Two riders from Le Loop spotted me and came over to check on me. They offered to ride with me, but I told them I was okay. Just as they were about to leave, I realized my bike was in worse shape than I was—my handlebars were knocked off-center, and I couldn’t fix them. Thankfully, one of the riders had a special screwdriver that fit the bolts and got me sorted. I was seriously impressed—and grateful.

I rode the full 206 km solo, without the benefit of a wheel to draft behind. To make things more challenging, I’m currently battling a cold. My only goal for the day was simple: don’t get sicker. I kept my heart rate in Zone 2, monitored it like a hawk, and eased off whenever it crept too high. Between the coughing, throat lozenges, and constant nose-blowing, it was a long, slow grind—but a beautiful one.

Normandy roads

Normandy itself is a region that never fails to inspire. Rolling green hills, half-timbered houses, and quiet country roads make it a cyclist’s paradise. The area is steeped in history, from the D-Day beaches to medieval towns like Vire, where we finished the stage. Vire Normandie, perched on a granite outcrop, is known for its dramatic landscapes and rich culinary traditions—but I’ll have to come back another time to enjoy those. For me, it was straight from the saddle to the bus, heading 90 minutes out to our next hotel.

Vire Normandie

In my sickly morning fog, I forgot to pack day clothes, so I’m still in my sweaty kit, sitting on the bus. But honestly? After riding over 200 km with a cold, I've made it this far. I'm going to manage just fine.