Where the mud calls, Andréo returns even stronger

He opened the doors of his sanctuary to us. A basement hidden from the world, somewhere in Val-d’Oise: a workshop that isn’t one, a living cavity where passion breathes. We came for 3Bikes, and what we found there goes far beyond mechanics, suspended frames, and tubulars ready to bite the earth. We discovered a man who built his life around cycling, with patience, intelligence, and touching simplicity. A long-distance rider, loyal to PAC 95 for over twenty years, three-time French cyclo-cross champion, several times qualified for the Gravel World Championships, but above all, a craftsman of surpassing oneself and of joy. In this basement, the light doesn’t come from the ceiling. It reflects from the mud.

Par Jeff Tatard – Photos : Guigui Photographe, Gérard Briand, Aurore Andréo

First steps at Max’s place

We go down a few steps. We go slowly, as when entering a church where something is happening, not necessarily an identified ritual, but a form of truth. The air changes, scented with Muc-Off, rubber, tubular glue, polished carbon. We also smell a warm note of freshly ground coffee; there, on a discreet piece of furniture, sits a high-end Italian coffee maker, worthy of a coffee bike shop. Beside it, a few fine and sleek Castelli cups await the next espresso shot as one would await a start.

Where carbon confesses, between Muc-Off and espresso… in a small Castelli cup

On the wall, RAR wheels hang like clocks, each indicating its own time: that of a circuit, a season, a memory. On the opposite wall, Ridley frames rest on their hooks, as quiet as beasts waiting for the horizon. The discreet metal of the most specific tools, usually found only in an extremely well-equipped mechanic’s shop, blends with the matte reflections of carbon; everything is clean, sorted, organized.

A few trophies, not all of them, only the most important, bear witness to a life spent playing with cold, mud, and wind: French championship medals, including three gold, a European podium, UCI medals shining like gold, a framed blue-white-red jersey. Further down, newspaper clippings recount some of his exploits, yellowed at the edges but proud like flags after battle.

On a shelf, neatly aligned: Red Bull cans. “That comes from motorsports, which I love,” he confides. And then, embedded in the wall, a large, very modern screen continuously broadcasts bike races, cyclo-cross in the fog, cobbled classics, disheveled gravel. The frames seem to listen, the wheels almost turn by themselves.

We then understand: here, nothing is left to chance, neither the gesture nor the emotion. It’s a workshop, yes, but also a refuge, a memory, an engine. A sanctuary.

We are at Maximilien Andréo’s. And his home is this basement. Not out of withdrawal, but out of necessity. Out of love for things well done.

In the warmth of the basement, we sip a beer together, 3bikes and him, watching the riders on TV, like in those San Francisco coffee bike shops where the race serves as a soundtrack to confidences.

A story that begins quietly

“I started at PAC 95 as a pre-licensed rider, I was five years old. The son of a friend of my parents was cycling, so I wanted to discover this sport.” That’s all. No obsession, no star proclaimed in youth newspapers. A simple curiosity, almost anodyne. We sometimes make grand stories out of it retrospectively, but in intimacy, it is often from this lightness that great adventures are born.

Initially, cyclo-cross was just an in-between. “At first, cross was just to pass the time after the road season.”

We imagine young Max tinkering with his sensations, without really knowing yet.

And then, one day, without really knowing why, patience became preference. “The passion for cyclo-cross came much later, after my junior years. I committed 100% to it: equipment, logistics, training…”

The world then began to revolve around a single point: progress.

From curious pre-licensed rider to accomplished champion: almost thirty years later, Max still raises his arms in the PAC 95 colors. The loop is not closed, it continues to turn.

Monampteuil: a foundational light

We ask him what stood out to him. He doesn’t hesitate: “My first French cyclo-cross championship title, in Monampteuil. I wasn’t the favorite, but that day, all the stars aligned.”

He doesn’t dwell on the technical narrative. Instead, he hints at an intimate truth: that day, a deep harmony occurred, the rare harmony between heart, legs, head, terrain, and rhythm.

“That day, the race went perfectly.”: The sentence seems simple; yet it says the essential. It’s not the pride of the result that interests him, but this inner alignment, this feeling of being exactly where he needs to be, as he needs to be.

We feel it, something was born in Monampteuil: not ambition, but awareness. The awareness that he can, that he must, that he wants to.

The day after Monampteuil, he discovered what it means to wear the blue-white-red: not a reward, but a responsibility. The jersey feels a little tight, his gaze changes, the story truly begins.

The identity of a rider in motion

What does he remember from all these years? “Even before the passion for cycling, it’s above all the taste for competition that drives me. Trying to improve year after year, despite my age showing.”

We talk about his palmarès. He deflects. “The palmarès, I don’t necessarily think about it. It’s constantly a reset.”

He is not focused on the past. He is not even focused on the future. He is focused on the present, the one built through decisions, adjustments, and preparations.

And he adds, almost as an aside: “I’d like to be seen as someone friendly. I keep the competitive spirit deep inside me, but I try to enjoy myself as much as possible, because we’re here to have fun.”

The statement says it all. He races to win, but not at the expense of others.

Six images like an intimate pantheon: three tricolor jerseys, two Île-de-France crowns, and a regional challenge. A poster you might find in a kid’s bedroom, perhaps the one he was, his eyes already turned towards tomorrow.

The Sunday ritual

One could write pages about his cyclo-cross starts. He arrives early, before the stands fill up, before the mist leaves the windows, before the fog admits the light.

“What I like is arriving early, scouting the course, making the right decisions for equipment choice.”

Then comes the warm-up. “A rigorous warm-up on the indoor trainer…”

And then “50 minutes of racing full gas.”

The phrase is a manifesto. 50 minutes full gas, meaning without reserve, without calculation, without safety nets. It could be a metaphor for his life.

He adds: “In cross, it’s never the same course. Every week, it’s different depending on the conditions, the type of terrain. That’s what I like.”

Captured by the attentive eye of Guigui Photographe, this image reminds us how much each Sunday rewrites the rules: today, you’ll have to carry the bike, when last week you were simply wondering if you really needed to go below 2 bars because the ground was so dry.

Repetition doesn’t exhaust him, it nourishes him. Every Sunday, new ground.

Every Sunday, a new problem to solve. Every Sunday, a chance to be himself.

The cobbles for four

There are victories that are recounted with measured solemnity. And there are others that come with laughter. This one is the work of one of the last weekends of the 2025 road season…

“When this cobbled race was announced, Dany and I said to ourselves: we can’t miss this.”

The rest is a story of friends. “We did the reconnaissance, we said: ultra-fast start, to be the first in the cobbled sector.” And for good reason, gravel is their new playground. “Riding on trails at 50 km/h, we know how to do that!”

They set off. “Immediately in front, four of us from PAC with John, Dany, and little Quintana.” That day, the plan was perfect. They found themselves in a breakaway. “When you’re out front with your teammates, you have more strength, everything is easier. It was a real pleasure to share that with my friends.”

Captured by Gérard Briand’s eye, the breakaway looks like a friends’ epic: four PAC musketeers charging at 50 km/h on the cobbles, plus an intruder, the cunning but doomed Auber rider. Dany, insatiable pedal-crusher; John, quiet experience; Louka, carefree; and Max, infectious camaraderie. We’ll never know who raised their arms first, and that’s perfectly fine: “what matters is that we won together.”

We’ll never know who raised their arms first, it doesn’t matter. “What matters is that we won together.”

The sanctuary, architecture of a heart

Before arriving here, there were years in an apartment. Three bikes in the bedroom, washing in the bathtub. “We knew the struggles…” he says with a smile. Then a move and the possibility of a basement.

“This basement was an opportunity for me to create a space to fully express my passion: motorcycle mechanics, bike maintenance.”

And he shaped it. Little by little. Without seeking to impress, but for efficiency. We stayed there for two hours discussing for 3bikes… The workshop is in his image: precise, calm, orderly.

Every tool has its place. Every lamp its cone of light. The Red Bull cans, aligned, tell of his loyalty to the images that build him. We see the gazebo, the Karcher, the indoor trainer, the carbon wheels, the frames. Looking at it, a phrase comes to mind: A workshop is not a place. It is a body. Here, it is his.

The van, a companionship

Over the years, he realized that a car was no longer enough. So, he bought a van. One day, just one. And it became a season-long project.

“Little by little, year after year, I fitted it out to be able to transport all the equipment: gazebo, Karcher, indoor trainer, the two bikes, the wheelsets…”

This van is a bivouac, the Sunday home. One can imagine the smells of coffee, damp clothes, rinsed chains, the wait for the start, frozen hands. It’s a cocoon, an airlock between normal life and the life played out on the circuit.

In this bubble, he doesn’t hide. He concentrates.

The right gesture, mechanics as a language.

For him, cycling is not just experienced in the saddle. It’s experienced at the workbench. Hands matter as much as legs.

“Doing my own assembly and mechanics is a big advantage.”

He elaborates: “I can choose my own equipment and do the assembly accordingly. And above all, for cyclo-cross bike maintenance, after each race, it has to be very meticulous.”

Every screw, every tension, every tubular counts. He knows his bikes like a singer knows his voice. Mechanics is not a secondary activity: It is a relationship. Intimate, demanding, infinite.

Aurore

It is then that she comes down. A rustle, a slight stir of air… Aurore!

She holds the bouquet from the first French championship title as one keeps intimate proof of a foundational moment. In her gaze, pride says the essential: before the podiums and the years, there were already two of them.

She brings two glasses and a 75cl Belgian beer (of course…) and some breadsticks. She smiles. She doesn’t stay. She doesn’t seek the spotlight.

He watches her leave. “Without her, everything would be much more complicated.” Then, after a pause: “She really helps me a lot. Over time, she’s become invested. She’s learned a lot, mechanically, logistically.”

And when they go to the French Cup: “We both go. So she’s forced to be my mechanic.” He laughs softly. “I’m incredibly lucky. She embodies altruism.”

The word is beautiful. Especially here. Because in muddy fields, makeshift parking lots, frozen hands, altruism is not a posture. It is a gift.

The price of passion

Cycling, especially at this level, is not a free hobby. He explains it simply, without gestures, without complaint. “The budget for a cyclo-cross season has increased enormously. The price of equipment is much more expensive, and multiplied by two…”

He gives a range: “I’d say 8,000 to 10,000 € in initial investment.”

What weighs the most? “The purchase of equipment, depending on breakages. The wheelsets and tubulars.”

Six wheels aligned, not counting those already mounted on the bikes: passion has a price, but here every euro is transformed into care, resale, reinvestment. You don’t spend: you cultivate.

He doesn’t just buy. He maintains, resells, reinvests. “Since I take good care of my equipment, I resell at the end of each year to lose as little as possible and reinvest in the next season.”

Gravel? More difficult to quantify. “What’s expensive, often, are the registrations and travel.”

This financial portrait says something else: That of a man who does a lot, with finesse.

Sacrifices

We ask him about the main sacrifice. He speaks neither of burning legs nor of cold clinging to bones. He says: “The time I don’t share with my loved ones.”

He also recounts that he became a father young. “I was a dad at 19. I got serious about cycling much later, maybe too late.”

The sentence is not bitter. It is true. As is often the case with him. A tender lucidity, without regret.

He has already stopped. “After my son was born, I took a break. I resumed for ten years. And in 2017, I got fed up with the cycling world. I stopped for three years, doing trail running, motocross.”

Then: “Finally, I came back. You always return to your first love.”

Love is never far away.

Gravel, another breath

Gravel arrives like an open window. “It was a great discovery. Thanks to Fred Ramon and Dany Maffeis who got me into it.”

He quickly understands that he is at home. “It was made for me: it combines cyclo-cross and road.”

But more than a profile, it’s an energy. “Gravel races are full of pitfalls. You have to get through every trap. It’s sometimes difficult to finish.”

With gravel, Max has found a new playground: between freedom and chaos, halfway between cross and road. Three World Championship qualifications later, he rides as he breathes, guided by adventure and friends above all.

Three times qualified for the World Championships, but he emphasizes something else: “Beyond the qualifications, the atmosphere is incredible. The start with over 800 riders, all levels, all backgrounds. The feast and beer at the finish, that’s rock’n’roll!”

He laughs. We laugh with him. We can already see him organizing a race. “Why not in the near future?”

Training… by feel

He doesn’t have a fixed program. “I’ve never had a coach with long-term follow-up.”

He navigates by common sense. “I don’t overthink it. I do it according to the weather. The pleasure of riding above all.”

We note the priority: pleasure. The one that lasts. The one that builds. The one that protects from burnout.

His goals? “To shine in a gravel race in my category. To win a beautiful road classic again.”

And cross? “I’ll continue, but maybe less. Just for pleasure, with fewer big trips.”

He moves forward. Without forcing. Like water.

Cross = erosion and hope

He doesn’t hide the truth. “Honestly, I don’t think there’s been any real evolution in cyclo-cross. On the contrary: fewer races, fewer riders at the start.”

But he doesn’t sink into pessimism.

He pays tribute. “Fortunately, club leaders are fully invested in organizing. I’m thinking of Pascal Noël and Rémi Turgis.”

The problem? “A lack of support at the federation level. It doesn’t go in the direction of the leaders.”

He speaks clearly. Without bitterness. With respect.

The mud has erased everything, the green of PAC 95, the blue-white-red stripes, the name… What remains is the essential: a rider who continues, despite the erosion of the calendar and the indifference of the authorities.

Transmission & what he would tell young people

We ask him what to say to those who are starting out. The answer comes immediately.

“Never give up, even when it’s difficult. Cycling requires a lot of work and patience, but efforts always pay off in the end.”

And above all “Keep the pleasure of riding. Don’t forget why you started. Enjoy the atmosphere with friends.”

It’s not advice. It’s a way of life.

How would he like to be remembered? The question is delicate. He takes it simply. “That I be remembered as someone friendly and a joker.”

Then: “A passionate person who loves beautiful equipment. Someone who prefers to enjoy group rides with friends rather than a studious solo training session in the middle of nowhere.”

Therein lies his entire philosophy. What cycling has taught him…

When asked about the lesson of cycling: “Perseverance and patience. With effort and regularity, you can always progress. Cycling has allowed me to push my limits and believe in myself, even when it was difficult.”

He says it calmly. Like a man who learned by walking.

Final scene, evening in the sanctuary

We are still in the basement. Time has stretched out. Night has fallen. The coffee has cooled. Or rather the beer has warmed. A full carbon frame rests, held on a work stand. Max runs his hand over the top tube. The gesture is neither utilitarian nor romantic, it is grateful.

We still talk. About his son. About the rain. About the cobbles. About those Sunday morning bivouacs where the road doesn’t exist yet.

Aurore passes by again, picks up a glass, disappears.

“You see, that’s what matters.” He doesn’t specify. We understand.

While Max talks about cobbles, sons, and muddy Sundays, Aurore glues tubulars without a word. In the sanctuary, the gesture says the essential: here, passion is lived by two.

Epilogue; In the mud, the light

Cyclo-cross is a sport of truth. You fall, you get back up. You lose tubulars and illusions; you gain friendships, laughter, and a keen sense of true life.

Max Andréo never sought to impress. He arrives early. Scouts the course. Chooses his tubulars. Warms up. And races “50 minutes full gas.”

Then he goes home. Cleans. Maintains. Starts over.

Tomorrow, he might shine in a Gravel World Series race. Or win another beautiful classic on the Elite or Open 1 calendar. Or simply share a ride with friends, Aurore in the van, a beer in the cooler.

There is a silent lesson in his trajectory: Beauty is not found in the spectacular. It is found in repetition, fidelity, simple passion.

In the mud, he found a light.

It bears his name, and the names of all those who accompany him. Thank you Max! Thank you for this interview…

=> To learn more about Max’s team: PAC 95

=> And here, if you want to discover all our other portraits: All our Portrait articles