
The Queen Stage of the Tour de France is legendary.
It’s the day when the race splinters apart, where heroes are made and hearts are broken. It’s where cyclists aren’t just racing each other. They are battling gravity, weather, and the quiet voice of doubt inside their own heads.
This year’s Stage 18 is a classic: three monumental climbs. The Col du Glandon, Col de la Madeleine, and the mighty Col de la Loze, each bigger, steeper, and more demanding than the last. Together, they form a brutal alpine gauntlet that will test even the world’s best to their limits.

I won’t be there. I’ll be tucked away in Ireland’s midlands, hundreds of miles from the roaring crowds and snow-dusted peaks of the French Alps. But that doesn’t mean I can’t ride my own Queen Stage, right here in the quiet heart of the Sliabh Bloom Mountains.
Let’s talk numbers – because every cycling story needs a reality check.
The Tour de France Queen Stage this year clocks in at a whopping 171 km with a mind-boggling 5,500 metres of climbing. That’s the kind of ride where even the pros wonder if their legs are secretly made of jelly.

My own Queen Stage here in the Sliabh Blooms? A modest 118 km with a humble 1,620 metres of ascent.

https://www.strava.com/routes/3230112157221185274
Put another way: The Tour de France is climbing Everest, while I’m more like hiking a very persistent hill… with occasional coffee breaks.
My legs aren’t screaming in three languages and I’m not dodging helicopters or fan mobs, but hey! I do get to enjoy the luxury of not needing a team car or a personal masseuse at the summit (actually that would be a great idea).
So, while my “Queen Stage” might not feature on Eurosport or break any records, it’s my version of royal treatment: all grit, no glamour, and a lot of caffeine.
And honestly? I’ll take that any day.
The Cut, The Wolftrap, and Glendine: Our Mini-Monsters
We don’t have 20-kilometre ascents or dizzying switchbacks carved into towering cliffs. But what we do have are climbs with character, steep, stubborn hills that demand respect.
The Cut, The Wolftrap, and Glendine are known to every cyclist around here. They might not show up on international broadcasts, but their reputations precede them in every local club spin and whispered café conversation.
The Cut is a staple of both Rás na mBan and the men’s Rás, a climb known for breaking up the bunch. In 2024, the tough ascent shattered the peloton in the women’s race, with just 23 riders reaching the summit in the front group. By the finish, the top 20 were separated by only seconds, but some of the stronger county riders lost minutes. The 2025 men’s Rás also tackled The Cut on Stage 4, with the fast, technical descent proving as decisive as the climb itself, before a high-speed sprint finish in Mountrath town centre.
The Cut: Deceptive: it looks gentle at first, but the steady grind and exposed sections test your mental grit.

The Wolftrap: A sharp sting in the legs, with sustained gradients that seem to drag on forever.

Glendine: Quiet, remote, and when ridden at pace, it leaves your lungs pleading for mercy.

They may only be a few kilometres long, but underestimate them at your peril. They’re small in scale compared to the Alps, but in spirit? They pack every bit as much bite.
Espresso Over Energy Gels
Watching the pros, I always marvel at the precision of it all. Team cars glide behind the peloton, carrying a mobile arsenal of nutrition – energy gels, electrolyte drinks, protein bars, all meticulously prepared and distributed on cue.
For me, race-day fuelling starts a little differently. It begins with a stop at the local café (Peavoy’s) in Kinnitty, the hum of the coffee machine replacing the roar of team cars. A flat white or an espresso, maybe a slice of banana bread if I’m feeling indulgent, that’s my fuel.

It’s not precision sports science. But somehow, the familiar comfort of that warm cup and the friendly nod from behind the counter carries me further than any energy gel ever could.
And besides, when you ride alone, you take your motivation where you find it, and sometimes, that comes in a porcelain cup.
Audiobooks Over Team Radios
On the Queen Stage, the riders are constantly connected. Radios buzz in their ears with tactical instructions, updates on breakaways, split times, wind direction, even reminders to eat and drink.
Out here, it’s different.
My team radio? An audiobook, playing softly as I grind my way through the Sliabh Blooms. Some days it’s history, other days it’s a thriller or cycling memoir. The steady rhythm of a narrator’s voice fills the silence between breaths, turning even the hardest climbs into something meditative. Right now? It’s Matt Rendell’s “The Death of Marco Pantani” Biography, and who better to inspire a climbing performance than the greatest climber in recent Grand Tour history. Il Pirata è una leggenda.
It’s not tactical data or split-second instructions. But it keeps my mind steady, distracts me from the fire in my legs, and transforms a solo ride into a quiet escape.
The Lonely Roads vs. The Frenzied Tour
During the Tour de France, the mountain stages are a festival. Fans line the roads in their thousands. Flags wave, cowbells clang, smoke flares drift across the tarmac. Helicopters hover above, TV cameras tracking every grimace, every attack.
It’s chaotic. It’s electric. It’s beautiful.
The Sliabh Bloom Mountains, in contrast, offer the exact opposite. The roads stretch out ahead, empty and quiet. The only spectators are the occasional sheep, a curious bird, or the distant rustle of leaves.
But in that emptiness, there’s space to think. To hurt. To push. To reflect.
And the questions the Tour riders face on the brutal slopes of the Madeleine and Loze?
Can I keep going? How much do I have left?

I ask those same questions here. The scenery might be gentler. The stakes lower. But the internal battle? That’s universal, By the time we have climbed the first of my mighty Col’s I am now trapped within the Sliabh Bloom fortress. The quickest way home is to keep climbing.
Battling the part of my brain that seeks out shortcuts, or alternate softer routes.
The Spirit of the Queen Stage Lives Here Too
No, the Wolftrap doesn’t scale snow-capped peaks. The Cut won’t earn you a polka-dot jersey. Glendine won’t feature on international broadcasts.
But that doesn’t mean these climbs lack meaning.
In every gasp for air, every burning quad, every moment of doubt, the spirit of the Queen Stage lives on. It’s not about the altitude. It’s about the attitude. It’s about showing up. Turning the pedals. Climbing your own mountain, however small or steep.
Whether it’s the Alps or the Blooms, the challenge is the same: overcome the road, and overcome yourself.
Your Own Backyard Queen Stage Awaits
The Tour de France might have its iconic climbs: Alpe d’Huez, Mont Ventoux, Col de la Loze. But every cyclist has their own battleground. For me, it’s the familiar roads winding through the Sliabh Bloom Mountains.
The gradients may be shorter. The roads quieter. But the satisfaction? That’s no different.
So next time you zip up the gilet, clip in, and head out the door, remember this: your own Queen Stage is out there. It might be hidden in a familiar climb. It might be tucked away on a quiet road. You don’t need roaring crowds or TV cameras to make it count.
Find your climb. Ride your race. Write your own legend.





