Pour yourself a heavy tripel beer, grab a bowl of frites, and take a deep breath. The Spring Classics are over. We have survived. From a strictly Belgian perspective, the period between the late-winter Omloop and the dying embers of Liège-Bastogne-Liège is not just a sports season; it is a two-month-long national cardiovascular event.
This year, the scriptwriters of the cycling gods gave us an absolute masterpiece of a 2026 season. We had redemption, we had tragedy, we had a generational French talent ruining our Sunday afternoons, and we had the undisputed confirmation that Tadej Pogačar is an alien sent to earth to make everyone else look like they are pedaling through wet cement.
Let’s break down the beautiful chaos of the Spring, focusing on the heavyweights who dictated the headlines from Strade Bianche all the way to La Doyenne.
📅 The Road to the Holy Week
The rhythm of the Spring is a masterpiece of escalation. We kicked off with the dusty, chaotic gravel of Strade Bianche, which immediately shifted gears into the agonizing, slow-burn tension of Milan-San Remo. From there, the peloton marched north to our holy ground for the build-up to the Tour of Flanders (De Ronde) and Paris-Roubaix, before pivoting through the twisting, turning roads of the Amstel Gold Race, and finally ending in the brutal hills of Liège-Bastogne-Liège.
It is a grueling marathon of one-day racing, and this year, it belonged to a select few.
👽 Tadej Pogačar: The Modern Cannibal
Let’s just get this out of the way: Tadej Pogačar has absolutely no respect for the modern rules of cycling, and it is glorious.
For the last two decades, we were told that Grand Tour winners are fragile creatures who must hide in their altitude tents until July, occasionally descending to ride a quiet one-week stage race. Pogačar looked at that rulebook and set it on fire. He rides everything, and he rides everything to murder the opposition. He is a modern-day Eddy Merckx, a true Cannibal. He races with a smile on his face while simultaneously ripping the legs off his competitors. Had Wout van Aert not stood in his way, Pogačar would have completed a sweep so unique and terrifying that they would have had to close down the sport.
But sport is a brutal, fickle mistress that gives and takes. Because Pogačar has set the bar so absurdly high, he is now a victim of his own success. He is the cycling equivalent of Bayern Munich. Bayern can have a record-breaking domestic season, but if they don't win the Champions League, their year is suddenly labeled a "trash season." Similarly, if Pogi somehow fails to win the Tour de France this July, the media will treat his year as a disappointment, entirely forgetting his otherworldly Spring. That is the terrifying standard he has created.
🪨 Wout van Aert: The Holy Grail at Last!
Speaking of our public darling, Wout van Aert finally did it. Sound the alarms, ring the church bells across Flanders: Wout has his cobblestone.
After yet another incredibly difficult winter filled with setbacks, questions, and doubts, Wout arrived at the Spring Classics with the weight of a nation on his shoulders. Yes, he already had a Milan-San Remo trophy in his cabinet, but for a Belgian bred in the mud, your career isn't complete without the Ronde or Roubaix. Time and time again, he was plagued by bad luck, punctures, or the immovable objects of Pogačar and Van der Poel.
But not this year. In Paris-Roubaix, Wout finally put the pieces together. He conquered the Hell of the North, beat the Cannibal, and hoisted that beautiful, ridiculously heavy rock above his head in the velodrome. The collective sigh of relief from Antwerp to the Ardennes could have powered a windmill.
🇳🇱 Mathieu van der Poel: The Silent Spring
While we were celebrating Wout, we couldn't help but look around and ask: wait, did Mathieu van der Poel even ride this year?
As Belgians, we have a deep, grudging respect for our Dutch neighbor, mostly because he usually spends the Spring breaking our hearts. But this year? A blank. It has been a remarkably long time since MvdP went through an entire Spring campaign without bagging a massive, monumental win. We won't complain too loudly, but it was strange not seeing him launch one of his trademark, nuclear attacks on the Paterberg.
🏥 Mads Pedersen: Wrist Watch
A quick moment of silence for Mads Pedersen. The powerhouse Dane was tipped to be the ultimate disruptor in the cobbled classics, the man built like a tank who could roll over anyone. Unfortunately, the only thing that got rolled over was his luck, ending his Spring prematurely with ruined wrists. A massive shame for the race dynamics, but a stark reminder of how cruel these races are.
📉 Remco Evenepoel & Paul Seixas: The Belgian Paradox
And finally, we arrive at the great conundrum of Belgian sports media: Remco Evenepoel.
Let’s look at the raw facts of Remco’s 2026 Spring: He won the Amstel Gold Race (a massive achievement) and he finished 3rd in the Tour of Flanders (an incredible result for a rider of his profile).
Look at his palmares over the years: it is already unbelievable. World titles, Olympic titles, major Autumn classics, and even a Vuelta a España. Most riders would happily sacrifice their firstborn for a resume like that. And yet, somehow, it never seems good enough. But in sports, just like in financial investments, past performance is no guarantee of future results. You are only as good as your last race. It is genuinely hilarious to observe how both analysts and supporters seem to operate with the collective memory of a goldfish.
To be brutally honest, Remco doesn’t exactly help himself in the sympathy department. For some reason, I just don't find him all that likable. There was always an excuse. At his previous team, the squad supposedly wasn't strong enough. So, he packs up and moves to Bora, convinced that this would be the environment where he truly storms the absolute world top. In his head, he had already won the next Tour de France before the season even started.
But the illusion shattered in Liège-Bastogne-Liège. When Pogačar and the sensational French climbing prodigy Paul Seixas put the hammer down, Remco was left parked on the tarmac. He was completely chanceless against them on the steep, attritional climbs.
Now, he stands at a very painful crossroads. Does he stubbornly keep chasing a Tour de France dream with an increasingly slim chance of success? Frankly, looking at the pure climbing talent out there, I see Seixas winning a Tour much sooner than Remco. Or does he swallow his pride, re-tool, and accept his destiny as a one-day classics specialist—a discipline where he is undeniably at the very top of the world?
If Pogačar is Bayern Munich, Remco is starting to feel a lot like Arsenal: undeniably talented, capable of periods of sheer brilliance, but perhaps destined to fall just short of the ultimate prize while driving their fanbase slowly insane. It is the ultimate Belgian paradox: we have a generational talent who wins major classics, yet we spend our time agonizing over the fact that he might not win the yellow jersey.
The Spring Classics of 2026 gave us everything we could have asked for. The mud is drying, the cobbles are back to being farm roads, and the riders are heading to the mountains. It was beautiful, it was brutal, and we can't wait to do it all again next year.
Over to you, Hive! Are you a cycling fan? Do you prefer the chaotic mud of the Spring Classics or the sunny mountain summits of the Tour de France? Drop your thoughts below!
Cheers,
Peter