The 35th edition of the Tour de France, held in July 1948, was far more than a bike race—it was a mirror reflecting the political tension, fragile optimism, and postwar recovery of Europe. The world had emerged from the devastation of World War II just three years earlier, and the scars—physical, emotional, and ideological—were still raw. Italy, like much of the continent, was trying to rebuild itself, caught between monarchy and republic, Catholicism and communism, hope and despair.
Into this uncertain atmosphere rode a familiar figure: Gino Bartali, already a Tour de France champion in 1938, and a national icon whose fame had only deepened thanks to his quiet wartime resistance work. At 34, Bartali was thought to be well past his peak. Italy’s other great cycling hope, Fausto Coppi, had refused to participate, frustrated with the Italian cycling federation. Bartali, therefore, entered the 1948 Tour not as a favorite, but as a nostalgic figure—respected, yes, but expected to fade as the young stars of France and Belgium battled for dominance.
The early stages seemed to confirm this. Bartali struggled to keep up with the leaders. By the time the Tour entered the high Alps, Frenchman Louison Bobet was in the yellow jersey and looked untouchable. The race appeared destined to crown a new champion.
Then came Stage 13—a monster of a mountain stage from Cannes to Briançon, and one of the most famous single days in Tour de France history.
It was here, over three brutal Alpine passes, that Bartali didn’t just win a stage—he ignited a comeback for the ages, flipped the race upside down, and, according to some, helped hold a divided Italy together.
Stage 13 (15 July 1948)
By the time the peloton reached Cannes, Bartali more than 20 minutes behind in the general classification, with France’s rising star Louison Bobet wearing the yellow jersey. Few believed Bartali had any chance of victory. What followed was not only one of the most astounding stage wins in Tour de France history—it became a moment of national unity for a fractured, postwar Italy.
The 275-kilometer stage from Cannes to Briançon was a colossal Alpine challenge, featuring three legendary climbs: the Col d’Allos, the Col de Vars, and the Col d’Izoard—the latter being one of the most feared in the Tour’s history.
Bartali attacked early on the Col d’Allos, separating himself from the peloton. Many assumed it was a symbolic move—a final show of defiance from a veteran who had nothing to lose. But Bartali wasn’t done. On the Col de Vars, he caught and dropped the lead group. By the time he reached the Izoard, he was alone, riding with a fury that stunned spectators and rivals alike.
His climbing was relentless. Fans along the roadside screamed his name, some comparing him to Fausto Coppi, others realizing they were witnessing something entirely different: a man riding not just against competitors, but against time, age, and doubt.
Bartali crossed the finish line in Briançon nearly 8 minutes ahead of the second-place finisher—but the real shock came when the overall time gaps were calculated. He had taken over 20 minutes back from Louison Bobet, turning the general classification on its head. Overnight, Bartali surged back into contention.