Alan Villemin: instinct, heart, and the finish line

There are riders who win. And there are riders who leave their mark. Alan Villemin is undoubtedly one of the latter. Those who leave behind traces, emotions, stories. Those whose actions, races, and silences are remembered. This year, Alan let us ride in his wheel, for a sincere and deep exchange. With an open heart, he answered our “21 questions”, thus painting a portrait of a rider as humble as he is tough, as atypical as he is lucid. And profoundly human…

By Jeff Tatard – Photos: ©Gérard Briand / https://www.instagram.com/c.a_photographies

2025? He says it himself, it was “pleasure“. A simple word. And yet, behind this apparent lightness lies a return to the essence of cycling: “to enjoy oneself“, as he repeats, with a smile that we can imagine on the other end of the phone. Because this season, Alan Villemin rode with his heart, literally and figuratively. And in pain, he found light.

The turning point of his year was undoubtedly Nantes-Segré. A classic that shifted into another dimension. “I arrived at the race emotionally impacted by Simon’s death,” he confides. Simon Millon, his friend, his brother on the road. Alan didn’t just race this race. He lived it as a tribute. And more. “We wanted to have fun, put out watts in nature… That was our way of creating myths.” When he breaks away alone in the final, it’s Simon he sees, he feels. Memories flood back, emotion rises, but instinct takes over. The lines are clean, aerodynamics optimized. Until the organization’s car whispers in his ear that it’s good. That it’s done. And then, everything lets go. “I wanted to find a small corner away from the crowd to dissipate the overflow of emotion.” We imagine him, alone, with Simon somewhere in his thoughts. A suspended moment. And a mythical finish line.

He also transformed this moment. Because this victory was not just another line on his palmarès. It changed his perception. “Losing Simon made me understand that we don’t know what tomorrow holds.” Pleasure, once again. Like a mantra. Because without pleasure, the result is worth nothing.

Yet, the results were there. And not just any results. Podium at the French Amateur Time Trial Championships. A medal he considers “the showcase of all efforts“. Unrewarded but formative breakaways. Leg pains that became tools for progress. Because Alan is not a pure sprinter. He is an endurance puncheur. A rider of instinct. “Sometimes, I do incomprehensible things… even for myself,” he says with a laugh. And that’s his singularity.

Trained at Paris Cycliste Olympique, he spent his U23 years there. Two stints. Two lives. And an intact affection: “I’m in contact with almost everyone I met there.” The announcement of the end of the PCO’s DN didn’t affect him as much as one might imagine. Because this year, he experienced harder things. “I surely experienced one of the worst things in April…” The loss of Simon still weighs heavily.

But in adversity, Alan builds. He moves forward. He dreams of an ideal team, “united, committed, passionate…“. And in this vision, we guess what he values most: the human element. Behind the athlete, there is the son. The son of a cyclist father, the driving force of his passion. “He passed on discipline, the taste for effort.” And more: tenacity. “He taught me that true strength is to hold on when all seems lost.”

In the peloton, Alan says he is truer than elsewhere. “That’s where I feel free, alive.” Outside? More discreet. More reserved. But perhaps that’s what makes him so endearing. This mix of strength and modesty.

He knew doubt. Just before the French Championships, after an underperformance at the Route Vendéenne. 6th. Not what he hoped for. But he bounced back. Because he’s built that way. Because he loves the time trial. This demanding discipline. “Luck is not enough to win a time trial.” Every detail counts. Every second is hard-won. “The course must be known as if it were my everyday training roads.” The polygon. Always.

What would he change? Not much. Alan is not one for regret. His defeats don’t amuse him, but he accepts them. He prefers an authentic victory to five bland podiums. He says it frankly: “I’ve never been fast. My sprints are the same at the start and at the finish.” But he compensates with endurance, resilience. “When everyone else is done, I still want more.”

His mental strength is not innate. It was forged. “In my early days, I didn’t win.” So he learned to lose. And to get back up. Today, he’s no longer afraid to try. Even if it doesn’t often work out. It doesn’t matter. Because what he aims for are great emotions.

And big events. That’s perhaps what will lead him to the pros. He rules nothing out. He wants to keep pushing himself. Always. His greatest pride? That podium at the French Championships. A summit, for now.

As for amateur cycling, he sees it changing. The DNs are disappearing. The model is transforming. He observes. He questions. But he remains true to his convictions. And when he talks to young people, he insists on respect. “Listen to the passionate, the elders. They have already lived what you are going to live.”

And if cycling hadn’t existed? “I would have done something that would have allowed me to travel, to discover.” Like what he’s experiencing today in Indonesia. An extraordinary adventure. Invited by Lotfi Tchambaz for a UCI race, he didn’t hesitate. Despite his approximate English. He went for it. And he was welcomed like a king. “Every day was a waking dream.”

He arrived ten days early, to acclimatize. To discover. To immerse himself. But also to train. Seriously. Because the level was high. And the last stage, mythical: the Ijen volcano. A final climb of 1h30. Slopes of 23%. “The hardest effort of my life.” And he has experienced many efforts.

Alan Villemin, that’s it. Instinct. Pain. Overcoming. But always, pleasure. Always, heart. He rides with the desire to live. To feel alive. To share. He loves this sport for the emotions it provides. For the bonds it creates. For the stories it writes.

And we are happy to have ridden in his wheel, for a moment. Because in his wake, there is wind. Real wind. And a future waiting to be written.

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