Miguel Indurain disliked being called Miguelón. He would say plainly, My name is Miguel. He did not care much for Mikel at first either: Miguel, and the discussion ends there.
Today, in an era where Tour de France heroes come from nations beyond the traditional cycling strongholds of the 20th century, the faces from France, Spain, and Italy still shine. Names from Slovenia like Tadej Pogacar or Denmark like Jonas Vingegaard are now household, and with them the challenge of pronunciation. The question of how a name travels across borders becomes a real moment of culture and sport.
The reality is never far from the rider. Details of how a name is spoken travel with the person, much like any other part of a rider’s identity. Some athletes fear mispronunciation, others simply prefer clarity. When a name is spoken in its home tongue or in different languages across the world, fans in Spain and France rely on the hearing of bike narrators to judge accuracy. Vingegaard, for instance, is often misread by those not familiar with Danish phonetics. The double consonant feels light on the tongue, yet it shifts in local accents. The key is sensitivity to sound, not to guesswork or shortcuts.
reanimation
On a Friday, at the end of a stage that wore the yellow jersey, a rider took part in an interview with French state television. The station held rights to broadcast the tour and its footage reached viewers around the globe. The question they posed was simple: how should his name be pronounced correctly, slowly, almost letter by letter. Jonas answered with care. The Danish rendering of the name is the true guide, so the sound must land as ao, reflecting the Danish pronunciation.
With Tadej Pogacar, pronunciation follows a similar pattern. If his name were rendered into Spanish, it would become Tadeo, yet the Slovenian jota shifts to a Greek sounding letter here, a soft y that alters the reading. In a straightforward attempt, Pogacar would resemble Pogachar if written without local rules. Primoz Roglic, his fellow rider, should be pronounced roughly as Roglich. It is a tricky balance, but the goal remains consistent: names should be spelled and spoken in a way that honors the rider and his family, and that fans near and far can recognize and repeat with accuracy.
Hindley and the John Wayne memory
The case of Jai Hindley, the Giro d Italia winner and recent Tour yellow jersey holder, grows more intricate because his name evokes an echo from distant memories. Yet the rider is not responsible for the past. The sport now carries a larger map of names from many languages, and that map continues to expand with every season. It is not unusual to see more Anglo-Saxon and other names in the peloton, reflecting the global reach of the sport.
In years gone by, grandfathers watched Westerns and held a favorite actor by memory. John Wayne remained a touchstone, but the phonetic trail was often different in everyday speech. People would call him Yon Baine as it sounded in their ears, even when the spelling told another story. Moving forward, the same challenge appears: riders and fans alike prefer a pronunciation that aligns with local speech while respecting the original tongue. The goal is to honor the name, wherever it travels, and to let the rider be read as he is known in his own country and in the places where cycling thrives.
Across the sport, names travel in bundles of sound, culture, and history. The task for commentators, coaches, and fans is simple: listen closely to the origin, learn the correct cadence, and share the name with respect. Good pronunciation becomes a bridge, not a barrier, between the rider and the audience. It is a small thing that helps the sport feel connected, year after year, across borders and languages, with the same love for speed, strategy, and precision that defines cycling at its best.