Wednesday, May 27, 2026. There’s no starting line yet. No announcer yet. No paddock packed with international teams, nor barrier tape stretched across the Vexin woods. There’s a phone. A conversation. And that extremely rare feeling that something is already alive even before it truly exists. On the other end of the line, Antoine Orchampt speaks with the energy of people who are no longer just thinking about it but are already in the thick of it. Very quickly, it becomes clear that what is taking shape in Chaumont-en-Vexin goes far beyond the organization of a simple UCI race. Because, at its core, this project is as much about mountain biking as it is about passing on a legacy, about the region, about rebuilding, and about the future. Just a few months after the end of Team Lapierre, one of the great symbols of modern French mountain biking, Antoine could have taken a step back. He chose the opposite: to dive right back into something even bigger. And the more the conversation progresses, the clearer one idea becomes: Chaumont-en-Vexin isn’t simply trying to create a race. The project is already seeking to create a place that matters.

By Jeff Tatard – Photos: Antoine Orchampt / Chaumont-en-Vexin Organization

On the other end of the line, Antoine Orchampt speaks with that particular energy of people who are no longer dreaming but are already in motion. The sentences come fast at times. Then slow down. He goes back to a detail. Talks about the terrain again. Riders. Categories. Volunteers. A parking lot. A downhill section. A future spectator area. You immediately sense something: this project no longer feels like just another race organization.

Very quickly, the conversation goes beyond the scope of mountain biking… It’s about passing on knowledge. About territory. About sporting heritage. About identity. About rebuilding, too. Because, deep down, it’s impossible to separate this adventure from the context in which it was born. Just a few months earlier, a huge chapter in modern French mountain biking had come to a close with the end of Team Lapierre. A historic organization. A culture. A sporting family. And almost immediately afterward, when many would likely have needed a breather, Antoine Orchampt decided to dive right back in. Not as a rider. As a builder.

And the more the conversation progresses, the more one idea becomes clear: what is being built in Chaumont-en-Vexin goes far beyond the organization of a single UCI race. Because, deep down, the events that truly matter always start this way: with people who one day decide that their sport deserves more than just a calendar. Great sporting stories rarely begin with certainties. They often begin with a few people who simply refuse to stop believing in it.

Mountain biking as a culture before it’s a sport

When you ask Antoine Orchampt what they’re really building, he never just answers “a race.” And honestly, that’s probably the first sign that the project is different. Because he always comes back to something bigger. The region. The experience. Mountain biking culture. Identity. The riders’ experience. The audience. The weekend as a whole. As if the race were, in the end, just a starting point.

“What we want is to create a real gathering. A place where people want to come back. Not just check off another race on the calendar.” The word “gathering” comes up often. And it’s important. Because today, the top international level is saturated with perfectly organized events… but ones that are sometimes completely forgettable. Clean races. Efficient. Functional. But soulless.

Yet some races become something else. They leave a mark on the riders. The crowd. The teams. They create an emotional identity. Nové Město. Val di Sole. Mont-Sainte-Anne. Albstadt. We never talk just about the course. We talk about an atmosphere. And that is precisely what Chaumont-en-Vexin seems to have wanted to build from the very beginning. Riders sometimes forget the results. Much more rarely do they forget the places that made them feel something.

Chaumont-en-Vexin, or the intelligence of a region

Why Chaumont-en-Vexin? Antoine’s answer is interesting because it never relies solely on the terrain itself. Of course, he talks about the topography, the technical potential, the natural diversity of the site, and that rare ability to create a modern course without completely distorting the environment. But very quickly, he turns to the people.

To those who make the project possible. And in particular to a name he mentions with great gratitude: Hervé Taieb. Owner of the land. Organizer of this weekend’s Royal Jump. And above all, a key player in this budding adventure. Because, deep down, major sports projects rarely come about on their own. They emerge when a community collectively decides it wants to host something bigger than itself.

Antoine emphasizes this a great deal. The encounters. The connections. The people who open doors. Those who instill confidence. Those who are willing to believe even before the project truly exists. “Without certain people around us, this project simply couldn’t exist.” And quite honestly, you can tell that this isn’t just a polite phrase. It comes up constantly in his speech. As if the project were built precisely on this deeply MTB-rooted idea: building together. In the beginning, there isn’t yet a UCI Cup. There are people who decide together that a piece of land can become a story.

Antoine Orchampt, or the transition from rider to builder

What makes this story so fascinating is also the human journey behind it. Because Antoine Orchampt belongs to that generation of French mountain bikers who grew up in a true XC culture. A culture that can be tough at times. Highly technical. Very organic. The culture of the French Cups in the mud, endless course reconnaissance, nerve-wracking circuits, paddocks set up in the rain, and weekends when mountain biking still felt like one big tribe.

Champion of Île-de-France, a regular on the very highest national and international levels, having competed in World Cups and been part of the French national team, he knows this world intimately. And that changes everything. Because he never romanticizes the top level. He knows it from the inside. “When you’ve been a rider, you know exactly what makes a race leave a good or bad impression.” That sentence probably sums up a great deal.

The great modern organizers are often those who deeply understand what athletes feel. The importance of details. The welcome. The flow. The technical areas. The schedules. The access. The paddock atmosphere. The logic of the circuit. And with Antoine, you can feel it immediately. He speaks like someone who knows what a driver is really looking for when he arrives at a major event. Not just the beauty of the venue. The overall coherence. The best organizers don’t think like managers. They think like drivers who have never forgotten what it felt like to stand on the starting grid.

After Lapierre, rebuilding without replicating

It’s also impossible to ignore the emotional context in which this project emerges. Because the end of Team Lapierre left a mark on the French mountain biking landscape. Not just a sporting void. A human void. For years, this organization represented much more than a professional team. A culture. A way of operating. A rare human connection in modern elite sports. A certain vision of mountain biking.

And inevitably, when a cycle like that comes to an end, a question always lingers in the community: what remains afterward? For some people, it creates a void. For others, an almost instinctive desire to rebuild. With Antoine, you can clearly sense the second option. But what’s interesting is that he never seeks to “replicate” anything. He’s looking for something else.

A different kind of continuity. As if part of what this French mountain biking culture represented simply refused to disappear entirely. And quite honestly, that gives the project a special emotional depth. Because deep down, what’s at stake here probably goes beyond sports. It’s a generation that refuses to let certain values die out. Sometimes, the strongest projects are born right after the end of something we thought was irreplaceable.

Experience at the very highest level does not guarantee a project’s success. But it teaches one essential lesson: details often make the difference.

And in this adventure, another figure discreetly accompanies the ongoing rebuilding process: Céline Hutsebaut.

For over four years, she led Team Lapierre, one of the most iconic organizations in the global mountain biking world. A rare experience. An intimate knowledge of the highest level. A deep understanding of what allows a project to endure, evolve, and sometimes weather the most challenging times.

Because even if Chaumont-en-Vexin isn’t Team Lapierre, certain things naturally travel with the people who have lived through them.

Organization, strategic thinking, structuring, experience with international events: Céline, too, contributes to the adventure. Often behind the scenes. Without seeking the spotlight. But with that unique perspective possessed by those who have already experienced the demands of the highest level and the sometimes invisible realities that come with it.

What stands out most is the consistency of the values that connect these two paths. Both prioritize people over results. Territory over visibility. Experience over rankings.

Just a few months after the end of an organization that shaped several generations of mountain bikers, there is something almost symbolic about seeing part of that legacy continue to live on in a different form. Not to replicate the past. But to pass on its best aspects.

Because, deep down, great sporting adventures rarely disappear completely. They transform. They change their face. They sometimes find a new outlet. And when you know Céline Hutsebaut’s background, it’s hard not to see Chaumont-en-Vexin as a form of continuity. A bridge between what French mountain biking built yesterday and what it’s already trying to build for tomorrow.

Nicolas Gali, the encounters, and the people who shape a project

There’s another name that comes up a lot in the discussion: Nicolas Gali. And the more Antoine talks about him, the more we understand that he’s one of those key figures who aren’t necessarily visible from the outside… but who profoundly change the course of a project.

Because, deep down, major sporting events are rarely built by a single brilliant individual. They emerge when multiple skills, multiple visions, and multiple energies suddenly begin to work together.

Antoine speaks of Nicolas Gali with genuine appreciation. As someone who understands. Who helps. Who organizes. Who drives the project forward. And here again, this reveals something interesting: this endeavor seems deeply collaborative. Not just in words. In reality. “Today, there are people who believe so strongly in the project that they give a tremendous amount of their time without even knowing exactly where it might lead.” This sentence says a great deal. Because it describes exactly what sets a “traditional” organization apart from a human adventure. Before they have sponsors, big projects often start with something much more fragile: people who give their energy with no guarantee of a return.

Miguel Martinez and the living legacy of French mountain biking

And then there’s that name. Miguel Martinez. In French mountain biking, that’s never insignificant. Because Miguel belongs to that extremely rare category of athletes who far exceed their own list of achievements. Olympic champion. World champion. A historic figure in modern XC. But above all, the embodiment of an era when French mountain biking deeply dominated the international imagination. His involvement in the project immediately changes its symbolic significance.

Because a man like Miguel Martinez doesn’t usually get involved in something just for the sake of opportunity. It takes sincerity. Energy. A vision. And quite honestly, you can sense that he’s rediscovering something here that he deeply loves: a project that still speaks of the terrain, the riders, the atmosphere, the passion, and mountain biking culture before focusing solely on marketing.

Today, international mountain biking is changing dramatically. More spectacle. More television. More standardization. More commercial constraints. And inevitably, many former champions sometimes feel a sense of nostalgia for a more organic form of mountain biking—one more rooted in the sensations of the ride.

Chaumont-en-Vexin seems to be striving precisely for that balance: being modern without losing its soul. And that’s no easy feat. When certain historical figures take an interest in a project, it’s never entirely by chance.

Building a credible race: the invisible reality

Creating a race is difficult. Creating a credible race is even harder. Because a UCI race isn’t built on enthusiasm alone. It requires funding, approvals, institutions, volunteers, partners, access, emergency services, parking, traffic flow management, insurance, infrastructure… and above all, months of invisible preparation that the public will likely never see. But ultimately, the hardest part lies elsewhere: convincing people. Convincing local authorities, partners, teams, riders, and the community itself. Making them understand that the project isn’t based simply on sincere passion but on a vision capable of standing the test of time.

And what strikes you most about the way Antoine Orchampt talks about this adventure is precisely the total absence of fantasy. He never sells an immediate World Cup. He talks about stages. Building. Reputation. Experience. Progress. “You have to succeed at each stage before thinking about the next one.” And paradoxically, it is precisely this clarity that makes the project credible. Because the structures that endure are often those that are willing to build slowly, even when they dream very big. Projects that make an immediate impression sometimes disappear quickly. Those that take the time to grow often end up becoming benchmarks.

The course, the event, and this modern question of mountain biking

At several points in the conversation, a question arises almost naturally: what kind of race do they really want to offer in Chaumont-en-Vexin? And the answer becomes fascinating because it directly touches on the current evolution of international mountain biking. Today, modern circuits must succeed at almost everything simultaneously: they must be physically demanding, spectacular, easy to follow on TV, technical, safe, intense… all while remaining capable of producing a true sporting spectacle. Yet finding this balance is becoming extremely complicated. Too technical, and some riders complain it’s a lottery. Not technical enough, and the race immediately loses its mountain biking identity. Too artificial, and the terrain stops telling a story. Too natural, and television viewers struggle to understand what’s actually happening.

In the way he talks about it, Antoine Orchampt often returns to very specific concepts: coherence, fluidity, rider experience, and the logic of the terrain. Like someone seeking a modern balance without falling into the caricature of “always more spectacular.” And honestly, that’s becoming rare these days. Because many modern circuits sometimes seek to impress more than to create real riding. The very high level of modern racing demands spectacle. Real mountain biking, on the other hand, still demands thrills.

French mountain biking may be searching for its next breath

Behind all this, another question looms: where does French mountain biking really stand today? In terms of competition, France continues to produce extraordinary champions. Riders capable of winning all over the world, in every discipline, and across all categories. But culturally, something sometimes seems more fragile. As if the country still had the athletes… without always managing to fully rebuild the emotional ecosystem surrounding the sport. And that is precisely why events are becoming essential today. Because they create vocations, memories, communities, imagination, encounters, and sometimes even entire life paths.

Ultimately, a sport truly exists when it has places that matter. And that is likely what Chaumont-en-Vexin is already striving to become: not just another entry on the UCI calendar, but a place riders want to return to. A place the paddock talks about. A race young people look up to with envy. Sports thrive on champions. But they grow thanks to places capable of inspiring the next generation.

What we’re already feeling

At the end of the call, a feeling lingers for a long time. Something very rare: the impression that the project is already alive even before its first edition. And honestly, that’s often a good sign. Because some organizations take years to establish an identity. Here, you can already sense a vision, an energy, a narrative, an ambition… and above all, sincerity. The kind of sincerity that the community feels immediately, even before the first riders have taken to the track.

By the end of June, a first official video of the course will give us a better look at the terrain. And quite honestly, here at 3bikes, we’re already eager. We can’t wait to go ride there. To get a feel for the terrain. To soak up the atmosphere. To see what Chaumont-en-Vexin is truly becoming. But above all: to be there on September 19 and 20. Because deep down, some stories give you that strange feeling very early on that you might be witnessing—without even knowing it yet—the beginning of something important. And in a French mountain biking scene sometimes in search of new benchmarks, that feeling is already worth a great deal.