There’s a fierce elegance in Mathieu van der Poel’s racing—his explosive attacks, his seamless transitions across disciplines, the way he dominates cyclo-cross, road, and gravel with equal brilliance—but what captivates me most is the soul beneath that intensity. He often speaks of his “carelessness” as one of his strengths, not out of recklessness, but as a kind of freedom. A freedom from expectations, a refusal to let outside pressure cloud his love for the sport. He’s never been one to prove himself to others—he rides for himself, for the pure challenge, for the feeling that only the bike can offer.
Away from the roar of the peloton and the flash of finish-line cameras, the man behind the jersey is someone deeply grounded. In his private life, he values calm and simplicity. Early bedtimes, quiet nights, and time spent with Roxanne Bertels—his partner and anchor—are what recharge him. No endless distractions, just presence. In her, he’s found more than love; he’s found someone who sees him fully, who stood by him not only during triumphs but also during the darkest, most trying moments. When controversy and misunderstanding once swirled around him far from home, she didn’t just stand beside him—she helped carry the weight.
Mathieu’s path has never been easy. As a child, his drive and focus made him different. That difference didn’t always come with kindness from others. He was bullied, misunderstood for his discipline, for being part of a legendary cycling family. But instead of becoming hardened, he found strength in those early scars. His grandfather, Raymond Poulidor—the beloved “Eternal Second”—instilled in him the idea that greatness isn’t defined by applause, but by perseverance, character, and authenticity. Those lessons remain etched into how Mathieu lives and races.
His father, Adrie van der Poel, played his part too—not just as a coach or former champion, but as a steady presence. Their relationship, once built on training and tactical feedback, has evolved into something deeper. It’s no longer about telling Mathieu what to do; it’s about trusting him to know. They’ve reached a point where mutual respect runs the show, not results or control.
There’s a quiet dignity in how Mathieu carries himself. Even in victory, he never seeks the spotlight—it seems to find him. And perhaps that’s what makes him so admired. He competes with fire, but he lives with grace. While the world watches in awe of his power and precision, those closest to him know the real triumph lies in his gentleness, his loyalty, and the unshakable love he gives in return.
In the end, the medals and monuments tell only part of the story. The rest is written in moments the cameras miss: a shared glance, a late-night conversation, a quiet ride home. And that’s where his greatness truly lives.
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