Paris–
Roubaix

It began with a simple question from Timo during the Christmas holidays: did I fancy riding the Paris–Roubaix Challenge? I had just bought a gravel bike, so the most obvious excuse was already gone.

We spoke to our families and decided: let’s do it. A spontaneous idea became a shared journey, with seven riders from our group heading to Roubaix.

We had searched around Stuttgart for gravel and every scrap of cobbles we could find. It still did little to prepare us for northern France.

Roubaix was full of cyclists from many countries. Thousands ride on Saturday and then stand together along the professional race on Sunday. That combination gives the entire city a special rhythm.

There is a start window, but no official timing. That changed everything for me: no fight for every second, just the desire to tackle the famous pavés and experience the day consciously.

Much of the route is not fully closed to traffic, so parts of the ride took place on public roads and demanded our full attention.

I had enormous respect for Arenberg. Honestly, I was a little afraid. Television images had not prepared me for stones this rough, uneven and uncompromising. The bike bucks, the bars fight in your hands and your whole body searches for calm.

There was no room for thought on the cobbles. Hold the line, look ahead, keep pedalling. Afterwards, friends and strangers stopped almost automatically and compared what had just happened. No explanation was necessary.

Kevin found the right comparison: after Arenberg, Paris–Roubaix becomes a little like an amusement park. The cobbled sectors are the rides; the roads between them are the transfers to the next roller coaster.

With no finishing time to defend, we stayed at the generous feed stations, ate, laughed and talked about the last sector and whatever came next. Those pauses belonged to the experience.

Then came the entrance into the velodrome. We rode in from a different direction to the professionals, but in that moment it did not matter. Suddenly we were inside the magical place we had watched so often on television – with our own bikes.

No ranking decided the value of that moment. I lifted my bike above my head, not because I had won a race, but because it felt exactly like that.

The Challenge on Saturday and the professional race on Sunday make an almost perfect pairing. We ate together that evening and replayed the day. Early next morning, Timo and I returned to Arenberg.

Only 24 hours after our own ride, we watched the professionals race across the same stones. We bought the T-shirt, of course. We were simply proud – exhausted, inspired and carrying home a story far bigger than a result.