Cycling fans are a dedicated, slightly obsessive bunch. If you’ve ever stood on a roadside in the Alps for six hours just to see a blur of Lycra pass by in three seconds, you know the feeling. But for Americans, that passion usually involves a 3:00 AM alarm clock and a Peacock subscription. We want the real thing. We want a Tour de France USA.
Wait. Does that even exist?
The short answer is no, not in the way you’re thinking. ASO (Amaury Sport Organisation), the powerhouse that owns the Tour de France, hasn't shipped the 21-stage monster across the Atlantic. But the history of American attempts to replicate that magic is a wild, messy, and occasionally heartbreaking saga of big dreams and even bigger bankruptcies.
The Coors Classic and the Golden Era
Back in the 80s, it felt like it was actually happening. We didn’t call it the Tour de France USA, but the Coors Classic was basically the American cousin that everyone actually liked. It was huge. We’re talking about a race that started as the "Red Zinger Bicycle Classic" and evolved into a legitimate international showdown.
It wasn't just some local crit race.
Greg LeMond and Bernard Hinault—literal gods of the sport—were duking it out on American soil. It had that gritty, high-altitude Colorado energy that felt like a genuine alternative to the European tradition. Honestly, if you look back at the footage, the crowds were massive. It felt like the sport had finally "arrived" in the States.
Then the money dried up. Coors pulled out after 1988. Just like that, the closest thing we had to a national grand tour vanished into the thin mountain air. It’s a recurring theme in American cycling: incredible talent, massive hype, and a business model that’s basically a house of cards in a hurricane.
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Why the ASO Won't Bring the Yellow Jersey to Vegas
You'll hear people joke about a "Grand Départ" in New York or D.C. It sounds cool on a pitch deck. Imagine the peloton sprinting down Pennsylvania Avenue.
Logistically? It's a nightmare.
The Tour de France has started outside of France plenty of times. We’ve seen it in Copenhagen, Bilbao, and even London. But those are a bus ride or a short flight away from the French border. Crossing the Atlantic means shipping hundreds of bikes, thousands of spare wheels, medical trailers, broadcast trucks, and the "caravan"—that weird parade of floats that throws keychains at fans.
The jet lag alone would ruin the competitive integrity of the first week. Plus, the ASO is fiercely protective of the "French-ness" of their brand. They’ll take the money from a Middle Eastern start or a European neighbor, but the "Tour de France USA" label is usually reserved for their amateur "L'Etape" series.
L'Etape Las Vegas and San Antonio: The "Amateur" Reality
If you search for Tour de France USA today, you’re most likely going to find L’Etape by Tour de France.
This is the ASO's clever way of franchising the vibe without actually moving the pro race. They pick a city—currently, Las Vegas and San Antonio are the big ones in the U.S.—and they set up a course that mimics a Tour stage. You get the yellow jersey branding, the closed roads, and the feeling of being a pro for a day.
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- L’Etape Las Vegas: It’s grueling. You’re climbing through Red Rock Canyon. It’s hot. It’s beautiful. But it’s not Pogačar or Vingegaard. It’s you and 2,000 other people named Steve trying not to bonk before the finish line.
- The Experience: They do a great job with the "Village." You get the French podium, the official timing, and the sense of scale. It’s the closest most Americans will get to the TDF without a passport.
Is it a "real" Tour? No. But it’s the only version of the brand that is currently sustainable on this side of the pond.
The Ghost of the Tour of California
We have to talk about the Amgen Tour of California. For a while, this was the Tour de France USA in all but name. It was a WorldTour level race. It had the palm trees, the Pacific Coast Highway, and the brutal climbs of Mt. Baldy.
It was perfect. Until it wasn't.
In 2019, the organizers "put the race on hiatus." That’s corporate speak for "we can't make the math work." It hasn't come back. The loss of the Tour of California left a massive hole in the American racing calendar. Without a flagship stage race, the U.S. has retreated back into a "crit-first" culture. We’re great at racing fast circles around downtown office buildings on a Friday night, but we’re losing the art of the long-form road race.
The Cultural Gap: Why it Struggles to Stick
Americans love winners, but we aren't always great at the nuance of cycling. In France, the Tour is a religious experience. It’s about the geography as much as the sport. In the U.S., trying to shut down a major highway for a bike race is usually met with a chorus of angry honking and city council complaints about "traffic impact."
There's also the broadcast issue. Cycling is a terrible sport for traditional American TV. You have four hours of "nothing happening" followed by ten minutes of absolute chaos. Unless you’re a hardcore fan, that’s a tough sell to a sponsor looking for a 30-second Super Bowl vibe.
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But here’s the thing: American cycling is actually booming right now, just not on the road.
The energy has shifted to gravel. Races like Unbound Gravel in Kansas are the new "Tours" of America. They’re dusty, they’re 200 miles long, and they’re incredibly inclusive. While the road racing scene is struggling to find its footing, the gravel scene is exploding. It’s weird, it’s muddy, and it’s very American.
What’s Actually Next for Tour de France USA Branding?
The ASO isn't stupid. They see the U.S. market as a goldmine. You can expect to see more L’Etape events popping up in cycling-friendly hubs like Bentonville, Arkansas, or maybe a return to Colorado.
They are also leaning heavily into digital integration. With the rise of indoor training platforms, the "virtual" Tour de France has more American participation than almost any other region. You might not be able to watch the peloton ride past your house in Ohio, but you can ride the virtual Alpe d'Huez on your smart trainer while it's snowing outside.
How to Get Your Tour Fix in the States
Since a professional 21-stage Tour de France USA isn't appearing on the 2026 or 2027 calendar, you have to be strategic.
- Register for an L'Etape event. If you want the official branding, this is it. San Antonio and Las Vegas are the current staples. Sign up early; they sell out fast because people want those official jerseys.
- Follow the Maryland Cycling Classic. It's currently the highest-level one-day pro race in the U.S. It’s not a Grand Tour, but it attracts WorldTour teams and gives you that "pro peloton" itch.
- Pivot to Gravel. If you want the scale and the "epic" feeling of the Tour, go to Emporia, Kansas. It sounds crazy, but Unbound is the closest thing to a cultural phenomenon we have in American cycling right now.
- Watch the Criterium Scene. The American Criterium Cup is where the domestic talent is. It’s loud, it’s fast, and it’s much more accessible for a casual spectator than a mountain stage in the middle of nowhere.
The dream of a three-week yellow jersey battle across the Rockies isn't dead, but it’s definitely in the "long-range breakaway" category. It’s going to take a massive shift in how we fund sports and how we view our roads before the ASO takes the gamble. Until then, we’ll keep our 3:00 AM alarms and our gravel bikes. Honestly, maybe that's just how we like it.
Actionable Steps for Fans:
- Download the official Tour de France app to track the "Grand Départ" locations; they are announced years in advance, giving you time to save for a trip.
- Check local UCI calendars for 1.1 or 2.1 rated races in the U.S., which are the only places you'll see European-based pros on American tarmac.
- Support grassroots road racing in your city; without a healthy local scene, the big corporate tours have no foundation to build on.