The world’s media froze as Merckx, the “Cannibal” who once devoured mountains and rivals alike, finally confessed his health was failing. “My body is weak, but my spirit keeps riding,” he said softly.
Those words broke millions of hearts. Fans across Belgium and beyond flooded social media with messages of love, gratitude, and disbelief. “You shaped our childhood,” one comment read, “and still inspire our lives.”
Only hours later, a sudden shock followed. Tadej Pogačar, the Slovenian prodigy and modern-day hero of the peloton, abruptly canceled all his media commitments and flew to Brussels without warning. No one knew why.
Witnesses at Zaventem Airport described the young champion carrying something wrapped carefully in cloth — a silver-framed vintage Colnago bicycle, identical to the one Merckx rode during his legendary 1969 Tour victory.
He arrived quietly at a private hospice, surrounded by family and close friends of Merckx. Cameras were banned, but a nurse later revealed, “When Tadej entered, the whole room fell silent.”
Merckx looked up from his bed, his face pale yet dignified. The sight of the bicycle brought tears to his eyes. He tried to speak, but emotion overwhelmed him before he could form words.
Pogačar knelt beside him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and whispered: “You taught the world what courage means. Now let me ride for you — one last time.”
Those seven words, witnesses say, changed the atmosphere completely. Even doctors couldn’t hold back tears. The meeting, though brief, became a symbolic moment linking two generations of greatness.
Later that evening, Pogačar posted a single image on Instagram — the old Colnago leaning against a tree under the sunset, captioned simply: “Legends never stop riding.” The post went viral instantly.
Within two hours, #RideForEddy was trending worldwide. Fans, amateur cyclists, and even former Tour de France champions joined in, sharing their own rides in tribute to the Belgian icon.
In Liège, hundreds gathered with candles, some wearing vintage jerseys from the 1970s. “He was more than a champion,” one elderly fan said. “He was the reason we believed in effort and heart.”
Meanwhile, reports surfaced that Pogačar planned a special tribute ride — retracing Merckx’s 1971 Liège–Bastogne–Liège route, known for its brutal climbs and unforgiving weather, as a gesture of respect and admiration.
The idea spread like wildfire. Within hours, more than 20,000 cyclists registered to join online under the event’s banner: “The Last Ride for Eddy.” Organizers confirmed it would take place the following Sunday.
As the world prepared, Merckx’s condition reportedly improved slightly. “He smiled again,” his daughter said. “He told us, ‘Maybe I’ll hear their wheels from my window.’” That line touched millions.
When Sunday arrived, the streets of Belgium were painted with emotion. From teenagers to veterans, thousands rode in silence through Ardennes hills, each pedal stroke echoing the legend’s timeless willpower.
At the same moment, in a small hospital room, Merckx watched the broadcast. His hand trembled as he whispered, “That sound… that’s life.” Nurses said he wept quietly, overwhelmed by love and legacy.
Pogačar crossed the symbolic finish line first, not celebrating but bowing his head. He lifted the vintage bike skyward, letting tears fall freely. The crowd responded with thunderous applause and chants of “Merci, Eddy!”
It was more than a race; it was a goodbye written in motion. For the first time in decades, the cycling world stood still — united not by competition, but by gratitude.
Later that night, Merckx’s family issued a short message: “Eddy is resting peacefully, surrounded by love. Today, he rode again — through all of you.”
The legend’s story now transcends victory and loss. In that single gesture, Pogačar proved that heroes never truly fade — they simply pass the torch, one ride at a time.
