The Last Stand of Cycling's Loyalist: Why Kruijswijk's Farewell Matters More Than You Think
In an era where athletes jump teams for marginal gains and sponsors rewrite legacies, Steven Kruijswijk’s decision to end his career with a single organization after 17 years feels almost radical. This isn’t just about retirement—it’s a quiet rebellion against modern sports culture. As the Dutch climber prepares for his final Grand Tour at the 2026 Vuelta a España, I can’t help but wonder: Are we witnessing the end of an archetype?
Loyalty in a Transient World
Let’s get this straight—Kruijswijk’s career isn’t remarkable because he stayed with Visma. It’s remarkable because he became Visma. Through name changes, ownership shifts, and tactical revolutions, he remained the team’s beating heart. In my opinion, this loyalty wasn’t just sentimental; it was strategic. While others chased podiums by switching jerseys, Kruijswijk mastered the art of institutional memory. How many organizations today could claim such continuity? The man is the brand’s history.
What many people don’t realize is that this steadfastness came at a cost. His third-place finish at the 2019 Tour de France—a result that should’ve cemented his legacy—gets overshadowed by the fact that he wasn’t wearing yellow. But here’s the twist: That ‘failure’ might’ve been his greatest contribution to cycling’s narrative. It proved that excellence without victory can still resonate.
The Reinvention of a Climber
Kruijswijk’s career arc fascinates me precisely because it defies traditional hero tropes. He started as a Grand Tour contender, suffered spectacular crashes (looking at you, Colle dell’Agnello), then morphed into a super-domestique. This evolution wasn’t just tactical—it was existential. How many athletes gracefully accept their physical decline while finding new purpose? His shift from leader to lieutenant mirrors the Japanese concept of kintsugi—valuing brokenness as part of beauty.
Consider this: When Visma extended his contract, they weren’t buying a podium threat. They were investing in a walking encyclopedia of racecraft. His ability to mentor riders like Vingegaard while still competing speaks to a deeper truth—modern cycling demands polymath athletes. Kruijswijk isn’t just a rider; he’s a bridge between eras.
The Psychology of the Almost-Champion
Here’s what gets overlooked: The mental toll of being a perennial near-miss. Third place in the Tour, four-minute leads squandered at the Giro—it’d be easy to frame this as tragic. But from my perspective, Kruijswijk weaponized these moments. He turned setbacks into currency, trading short-term glory for long-term influence. That 2016 crash? It didn’t just cost him a Giro win—it taught an entire generation how to recover from disaster.
This raises a question: Do we undervalue riders who redefine success? While Froome or Pogačar grab headlines, Kruijswijk shaped cycling’s backstage dynamics. His legacy lives in the tactical decisions of young leaders who learned to trust his judgment on mountain passes.
The Final Chapter: A Homecoming That Isn’t
The poetic symmetry of starting his last Grand Tour near Monaco—where he’s lived a decade—is impossible to ignore. But let’s dissect this ‘homecoming.’ Kruijswijk isn’t returning to Dutch soil; he’s concluding his career in a principality that’s both home and foreign spectacle. This tension mirrors his career: A man deeply rooted in one team yet constantly navigating cycling’s nomadic reality.
What this really suggests is that endings in sports are never tidy. His final time trial won’t be a victory lap but a punctuation mark—a semicolon, perhaps, acknowledging that his influence will continue off the bike. Will Visma create a leadership role for him? Maybe, but that’s beside the point. His true legacy is the culture he leaves behind.
Why This Retirement Should Make Us Rethink Athletic Value
Kruijswijk’s career challenges our obsession with quantifiable success. He’ll retire without a Grand Tour win, yet few have shaped cycling’s recent history more profoundly. If you take a step back, isn’t this the ultimate paradox? We celebrate winners, but we remember those who redefine what winning means.
As I reflect on his journey, I’m struck by a deeper implication: In a world increasingly fragmented by specialization, Kruijswijk’s versatility—both physical and psychological—might be his most underrated trait. He was a climber, time-triallist, crash-test dummy, and mentor rolled into one. Can today’s hyper-optimized riders replicate that breadth?
His departure leaves a void that analytics can’t measure. When the peloton rolls out in 2027, the absence of this tactical savant will ripple through every breakaway decision and mountain-stage calculus. That’s the hidden cost of losing a human GPS.
Final Thoughts: The End of an Analogue Era
Steven Kruijswijk’s retirement isn’t just personal—it’s generational. He represents the last gasp of cycling’s analogue era, where instincts trumped data and loyalty wasn’t a liability. As teams increasingly rely on algorithms and transient superstars, I find myself wondering: Will we ever see another rider so completely intertwined with a team’s DNA?
One thing’s certain: His final Vuelta won’t be about seconds lost or gained. It’ll be about measuring the immeasurable—the quiet power of presence, the weight of history in a peloton, and the stubborn beauty of staying put in a world that rewards movement. That, more than any podium, is what we should celebrate.
