‘Once-in-a-lifetime opportunity’: 2 Eagle County cyclists complete every stage of the Tour de France

Most dream vacations to France include sipping wine at a sidewalk cafe, gazing up at the Eiffel Tower or into the eyes of the Mona Lisa. Mike Brumbaugh and Nick Kierstead have a different idea of ideal.

The Eagle County friends decided to bike the 2025 Tour de France route — all 2,200 miles and 155,000 feet of climb — this summer. They completed each of the 21 stages the day before the pro peloton.

“It presented itself last year,” Kierstead said. “I was like, ‘yeah, this seems like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.'”

“I’m blessed and this is all because of the amazing people I work with who allowed me to do this,” Brumbaugh said of the month-long adventure. The Venture Sports owner and Bighorn Gravel co-director was pitched the idea last September from a friend whom he’s ridden several European Haute Routes with over the years. Brumbaugh found a company to organize the trip, book rooms, provide stage transfers and fuel. Then he invited Kierstead to join the group, which included seven other riders from South Carolina, Florida, New Jersey, Ohio, California and New York.

Kierstead, who hinted at his commitment during Brumbaugh’s Bighorn Road test-event last fall, spent last winter in Australia. The 32-year-old bought a van, lived on the beach and surfed. While he was occasionally hitting the gym and conducting beach workouts, he dug himself a bit of a fitness hole without his bike.

“I only had two months to train properly,” said Kierstead, who returned to Vail in May. “Which made it a lot more exciting.”

Kierstead decided if he was going to pedal around France, he’d better do it for a good cause. He called his friend, Rob Shearon, for advice on how to make the trip to France about more than just himself.

“I decided to do it in honor of RECONNECTED,” Kierstead said, referring to Shearon’s non-profit, which helps individuals who are in or seeking recovery from addictions and mental health challenges through peer support, social events and community education. Part of Kierstead mission was to be vulnerable and honest throughout the training and the trip.

“I think more than anything, absolutely chronicling everything and trying to be honest and not make it a ‘beautiful social medial journey’ that’s not honest all the time,” he said. “The mental and emotional side of it was as daunting as the physical side. Some days weren’t fun and they kind of sucked … because that’s kind of the journey of all of it, right?”

Trying to be Tadej

While Kierstead and Brumbaugh didn’t benefit from trailing team cars giving out sticky water bottles or sponsor-covered motorhomes packed with protein shakes and Maurten gels, they definitely got a taste of the physical grind of a multi-stage Grand Tour.

A typical day started at 6:30 a.m. with breakfast. Then, team members loaded their luggage, packed backpacks with dry clothes for the end, filled up water bottles and hit the road by 7:30. Three hours in, some would stop for a quick refuel before embarking on another 5-6 hours in the saddle. Typically, stages were completed by mid-afternoon, at which point cyclists showered, changed, hopped in the van and drove between 1-4 hours to the next hotel. By the time they got there, it was time to get ready to repeat the cycle.

Each stage developed its own character. Brumbaugh frustratingly fixed nine flats during a rainy third. On the first time trial day, instead of driving 90 minutes to ride for 40, several team members opted to cycle over to the Normandy beaches American troops stormed during World War II.

“You want to talk about powerful. We all cried,” Brumbaugh said. “It put life in perspective.”

The 115-mile 12th stage introduced the Pyrenees with a whopping 12,676 feet of climbing. Two days later, the mileage went down to 99, but the climbing went up to 15,448 feet. Stage 16 had “only” 9K of ascent, but the century ride finished with a 5,000-foot climb up Mont Ventoux. Both Brumbaugh and Kierstead said their favorite stage was the “Queen Stage,” a chess reference signifying the 18th’s significant influence on the general classification outcome.

“The three climbs we did were just absolutely epic,” Kierstead said of the 115-mile ride, which contained 18,200 feet of ascent. “Because it was so daunting on paper, I was just so excited for it to come. And (my) body felt surprisingly great.”

Kierstad said proper fueling was key. He smashed carb-heavy Tailwind hydration products and LMNT salt packets on the bike and downed protein shakes the moment he got off.

“When I was thirsty I drank and when I was hungry I ate,” the 2022 Leadman finisher explained, adding that while he didn’t keep track of his exact intake, he estimates he was probably over 100 grams of carbs per hour.

While most of the time was spent either eating, resting, riding, or preparing for the next day’s events, Brumbaugh said everyone kept some tabs on the actual race. The NBC broadcast was often pulled up on a phone during van transfers. The only stage they witnessed in person was the last one. With VIP tickets along the Champs-Élysées finish, they watched the peloton pass by 14 times as Tadej Pogačar won his fourth title in dominant fashion. Although their viewership experience was limited, Brumbaugh and Kierstead got something better.

“Imagine riding up Beaver Creek and from Avon to the top, on both sides of the roads, with camper vans bumper-to-bumper and people losing their minds for you — yelling and screaming, squirting you with squirt guns, offering you beer, saying, ‘Courage!’ It was radical,” Brumbaugh said attempting to describe what it felt like to ride courses lined with fans each day. “Any bump in the road, any hill — for 21 days — there were countless people in camper vans freaking out.”

“In America, you couldn’t probably find anyone who has been to a cycling event, and over there, it’s huge,” added Kierstead, who gladly accepted a beer 90 miles into one stage from a scantily clad individual screaming him up the mountain. “I was like, ‘screw it, why not?’ So, it was really special to see how involved they get and how passionate they are.”

They also tried to be Tadej — to the best of their abilities. At the end of the 108-mile 11th stage, Brumbaugh hit a pitch so steep his Garmin’s incline maxed out. The next day, he watched the pro field climb the 30% wall with relative ease.

“Watching those guys go up it — my brain just does not comprehend how fast those dudes are,” he commented. “What they do and what I do — it’s a completely different sport.”

While he has no delusions of joining the UCI pro tour anytime soon, Brumbaugh does hope to cycle one of the other three Grand Tours, perhaps even next year.

“Most people, if you’re moderately fit, you can do it. You might be a little slower than me or a little faster than me, but as long as you keep pedaling, you’ll get it down,” he said. “It’s hard, but you just keep going.”

Even considering his other endurance exploits, Kierstead had a slightly different perspective.

“The reason I signed up was because I knew it was going to be hard and I kind of thought it was going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” he said. “And it absolutely was.”

He used the French fitness boost to pedal to a personal-best (7 hours, 54 minutes) at the Leadville 100 MTB a few weeks later.

“I was psyched to cap off the summer with that one,” he said. “And rest now.”