1965 Tour de France

Lore & Background

By 1965, Jacques Anquetil was already a monument. Four Tours, a World Championship, the Paris–Roubaix, the Liège–Bastogne–Liège—his name was synonymous with an almost mechanical perfection of speed. His riding style, hunched low over the handlebars in a position that looked almost like a crouch, earned him the nickname 'L'Ant' (The Ant). He was not the most gifted climber, but his time-trialing was so devastating, so surgically precise, that no rival could build a cushion large enough to survive his clockwork.

Into that world of controlled dominance came Eddy Merckx, a young Belgian who rode as if the peloton owed him a debt. Where Anquetil calculated, Merckx improvised. Where Anquetil waited for the moment, Merckx created the moment. In 1965, their first true head-to-head for the overall classification, the contrast was almost philosophical. Merckx attacked in rain, in crosswinds, in stages where no one else would commit. Anquetil absorbed the damage, reeled in the gaps in the flat, and then, in the decisive time trial, simply rode faster than anyone else on the planet.

The legacy of 1965 extends beyond the result. It is the year cycling fans first saw the template for the greatest rivalries in the sport's history. The Anquetil–Merckx duel would continue through 1966, and the echoes of 1965—the rain-soaked attacks, the final time-trial showdown—became the mythic origin story for a generation of riders and spectators who understood that the Tour was not just a race of legs, but a war of wills.

In Their Own Story

The rain came sideways on the final mountain stage, turning the tarmac into a grey mirror. Merckx dropped his shoulders, looked back once—just once—to see the peloton stretching into a long, thin ribbon of suffering behind him. He did not look back again. In the team car, Anquetil's directeur sportif gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, watching the gap on the road rather than on any clock. Back in the team bus, Anquetil himself sat perfectly still, his low frame barely visible behind the windshield, his eyes fixed on the road ahead with an expression that could only be described as arithmetic. He was not angry. He was calculating. He knew what the time trial would cost him. He knew what it would cost Merckx. And he knew, with the quiet certainty of a man who had already won this war four times, that the numbers would hold. The rain kept falling. The gap kept growing. And somewhere in the distance, a single rider in a white and red jersey pedalled through the mist like a man who had already decided the outcome and was simply waiting for the road to confirm it.

Reader's Guide

The 1965 Tour de France was unforgettable for one reason above all: it was the year the old order met the new, and neither blinked.

The early stages belonged to the sprinters and the breakaway artists, but the real story began to crystallise in the mountains. Merckx, twenty-two and ferociously confident, attacked with a frequency that unsettled the peloton. He would surge in the first half of a climb, force the pace, and then sit in the wheel of whoever was left, daring them to respond. Anquetil, riding with his characteristic low, aerodynamic tuck, did not chase in the mountains. He let the gaps form. He let the other riders burn themselves on Merckx's wheels. And then, on the flat days, he reeled them in with a metronomic, almost inhuman consistency.

The drama peaked in the final week, where Merckx launched his most sustained attacks, testing Anquetil's resolve on rain-slicked roads. The Belgian was faster on the climbs, more explosive in the sprints, more willing to gamble. But the final time trial was Anquetil's cathedral. In that solitary duel against the clock, the Ant's power and efficiency were simply beyond anything Merckx could match at twenty-two. The margin was small, but it was enough.

What made 1965 resonate beyond the result was the feeling that the race had been close enough to be decided by a single pedal stroke, and that the next year would be even tighter. The rivalry had been born, and it would not die quietly.

Did You Know?

• 1965 was Jacques Anquetil's fifth and final Tour de France victory, completing a career in which he won the race five times—matching the record held by Henri Desgrange and later equaled by others.
• Eddy Merckx was only 22 years old during the 1965 Tour, making his first true duel for the overall classification against one of the sport's all-time greats.
• Anquetil's nickname 'L'Ant' (The Ant) came from his extremely low, aerodynamic riding position, which made him look like a small, fast insect skimming the road.
• The Anquetil–Merckx rivalry continued into the 1966 Tour, where Merckx finally took the yellow jersey, but 1965 is widely regarded as the year the battle was truly inaugurated.