The Worst Cycling Crashes of the Century

These are the worst cycling crashes of the century.… 😳 The kind where barriers explode, bodies fly, and legs get torn open. Crashes so violent they don’t just end races, they change careers. And the crash that has all of it… is Wout van Aert’s nightmare at the 2019 Tour de France.

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We dive into historic race footage, rider interviews, and official race reports to bring you storytelling and highlights you won’t see anywhere else.

These are the worst cycling crashes of the century. The kind where barriers explode, bodies fly, and legs get torn open. Down is down. Crashes so violent they don’t just end races. They change careers. And the crash that has all of it is Wenard’s nightmare at the 2019 Tour to France. He was absolutely flying. locked into the time trial position, slicing through the course with the control of a seasoned veteran and the raw power of a man on a mission. Then, just as he rounded a tight righthand turn lined with barriers, it happened. He’s down. One banana is down. He crashed straight into the metal fence at over 55 kmh. [Music] The barrier just exploded beneath him and his right leg took the full hit. a clean slice straight through his thigh. No agitating, no chaos, just a silent bloody wound. It didn’t look like a crash. It looked like an amputation. He was rushed to the hospital and straight into surgery. His tour was finished. And for a moment, so were his spring classics. But Wout being W came back stronger, smarter, and even more complete. That crash didn’t break him. It made him Garren Thomas. He wasn’t so lucky to have a soft landing at the 2015 tour to France. He was right where you’d expect him. Up front, leading the charge after a brutal alpine climb. The descent into gap had just begun, fast and technical with blind corners and barely a margin for error. He was locked in going over 70 kmh when it all went sideways. Warren Bariel just ahead misjudged his line and drifted wide. one clip shoulder and Thomas was sent flying off the road head first into a concrete pole. Silence. The fans had no idea what they’ just seen. It looked bad. Really bad. And then out of nowhere, he reappeared. He got back on the bike and finished the stage. Turns out he’d suffered a mild concussion and tore a muscle in his shoulder. Most riders would have pulled immediately. Not G. Not the man who once rode half a tour to France with a fractured pelvis. When asked how he felt poststage, his response was Pete Thomas. Yeah. Uh I feel all right for now. I guess uh the doctor will ask me my name and my date of birth soon. So can you remember either? Chris Froom. That crash wasn’t just intense because of the impact. It was the absurd recovery. It became one of those moments you had to rewind just to believe it really happened. G defied physics. Philipe Gilbert just straight up ignored them. Three years later, Phipe was tearing down the CEO Daspe, the same haunted stretch where Fabio Casatelli lost his life in 1995. Gilbert knew the risk. He was pushing hard, dancing on the pedals, slicing through corners at over 70 km per hour. Then came the moment. No, no, no, no, no. Oh, Phil. One miscalculation, one line too wide. His tire slipped just enough and suddenly Gilbert launched off the road. Not a slide or a tumble, but a full flight over the stone wall and out of sight. For a moment, nobody moved. The footage cuts. Oh my goodness. I hope he’s okay. But then, like something out of a movie, Gilbert pulled himself back up. Blooded, shaken, and worst of all, his knee fractured. And yet, he rode on 60 more kilometers. Forget the football theatrics. These guys don’t fake pain. They raced through it. His tour was done, but Gilbert wasn’t. That crash didn’t end his career. It became part of his legend. Gilbert’s crash was the price of pushing too hard. What took the next one out wasn’t on the starting list and definitely wasn’t supposed to be on the road. Johnny Huggalind was living every breakaway rider’s dream. The breakaway was flowing. Rhythm set, five riders working well together. Then in the blink of an eye, it all went sideways. Oh. Oh, it was a France television car that that swung to the right and knocked off Juan Antonio Fletcher. Out of nowhere, a car from France television swerved into the road to avoid a tree. It clipped Juan Antonio Fletcher, who hit the deck hard. But Fletcher was just the start. The same car sent Huggalan flying off the road at full speed straight into a barbed wire fence. Yes, actual barbed wire. The footage is unbelievable. His body tangled in the fence, shorts ripped to pieces, skin shredded from head to toe. He needed 33 stitches, most of them in his legs and back. It looked like the end, but no, Johnny pulled himself out, somehow got back on his bike, and finished the stage. He didn’t just finish, he fought to the line. Blood streaming down his legs, barely able to sit on the saddle. And when he crossed that finish, the world took notice. Not because he won anything that day, but because he showed what cycling is really about. Pain, grit, and pride. He got the Combativity Prize, sure, but let’s be honest, that doesn’t quite cover it. And just when you think it couldn’t get any stranger, the next crash is a fan favorite. Not because of how it looked, but because of how ridiculous it was. Julian Al Phipe was flying, locked in a breakaway with Walt Vanard and Matthew Vanderpole. With just over 35 km to go, they were deep into the heart of Flanders. Then the moment came. Oh, Philip’s on the ground. How did that happen? Julian Alfipe on the deck, his bike nowhere to be seen, lying on the tarmac out of the tour of Fllanders in bitter pain. Allefi, tight on Vanderpole’s wheel, reached down to adjust his radio. In that exact second, a race motorbike stalled on the side of the road. He looked up too late. He slammed into the back of the motor at full speed, flipped straight over the handlebars, and hit the deck hard. He lay on the ground, curled up, clutching his shoulder, clearly in agony. The medical report confirmed it. Fractured hand, season over. But what hit fans even harder was the randomness. A worldclass rider wearing rainbow stripes taken out not by another rider, not by mistake in his line, but by a stationary motorbike. Flanders was supposed to be man versus man. Turns out it was man versus moto. Fans, pros, and commentators alike lit up social media asking the same question. How is this still happening? Why are race vehicles getting so close to decisive moments? Because when a rider like Julian in peak form has his race ruined by something so easily avoidable, that’s not just bad luck. That’s a system failure. When Julian hit that moto, fans were stunned. But what Port faced on the descent, that was next level terrifying. All right, Mondusha, you already know it’s coming. One of those descents where even the bravest shave a few% off. Richie, locked in, arrow dialed. It’s wet. It’s twitchy. And they’re flying here. Let’s have a look at this. It’s huge. Offroy comes across the road. Collects down Martin. Richie comes in hot just a hair too straight. He’s off the road and onto the grass. He hits the tarmac like a sack of bricks. Slides straight across the road and bang. Richie’s just lying there. You start thinking collarbone, hip, maybe worse. And yeah, turns out it was both. Broken pelvis, busted clavicle, tore over, dreams done in under five seconds. What hits hardest about this crash isn’t the impact, it’s the timing. He was right there, peak form, looking like a real podium shot, and boom, gone. All it takes is one mistake, one line too wide, and it’s not just your race that’s over, it’s the whole season. It’s brutal. It’s unfair. And it’s exactly why we watch. You can fight your way back to the top, fix every broken piece, but some roads don’t forgive and some crashes leave more than scars. Remco Aven 2020 Tour of Lombardi. It started on the Kulma D Smano, narrow and dangerous. Remco was right there, calm and sharp, setting up for the descent. The road dropped away beneath him, twisting tighter with every turn. Old stone walls just inches from the line. It’s the kind of descent you either expect or you pay for it. The group was stretched thin and every rider chasing seconds like it wouldn’t cost them. It looked fast, but it still felt like it might just hold together for a second anyway. Then you see it. And this is the moment. Oh dear. Oh no. Oh no. His front wheel catches the wall and in a sickening flash, he’s gone. No time to react. No chance to break. Riders keep flying past, some of them realizing too late what they just witnessed. When they reached him, somehow he was still conscious. But the damage was brutal. Fractured pelvis, bruised lung, a season that had looked unbeatable, now crushed under a single mistake. Remco would spend months rebuilding, relearning, resetting. He came back, sure, but moments like that change you. They make you race differently. They make you carry something invisible that never really goes away. If Aventipul’s crash was a harsh reminder of the sport’s risks, Cavilv’s story showed how those risks can shape its rules. Andre Cavilv was riding near the front on a fast flat stretch outside Santien. The pelatin was moving quickly and tension was building. Riders fought for space heading into the final kilometers. Everyone was trying to stay out of trouble. Nothing about the scene screamed danger. No mountains, no desents, just wide roads and crosswinds. But that’s what made it worse. It looked safe. It felt routine. Then it happened. He touched wheels with another rider and went down hard and hit his head directly on the pavement. No barriers, no walls, no protection, and no helmet. He lost consciousness on impact. Hours later, the news broke. Iv had passed away. Just 29 years old. a father, a teammate, one of the good guys. For years, the helmet debate had dragged on. After this, there was no more debate. Within weeks, the UCI introduced a mandatory helmet rule. Some riders resisted. Some said it would ruin the feel of the race, but it stayed. And today, every helmet in the Propelin traces back to this moment. Cavil didn’t win a grand tour. He wasn’t a global superstar, but he saved lives. From quiet heartbreak to pure chaos, the sport never slows down. Fabio Yakobson 2020 Tour of Poland. Yakobson opened his sprint like any top sprinter would. Head down, legs firing, locked into the finish line. He was gaining on Dylan Gronovan at over 80 kmh. Then out of nowhere, Gronovan deviated off his line. One elbow, one violent nudge, and Jakobson was launched straight into the barriers. The fencing didn’t hold. It exploded. His body flew over it into a race official while the finish line turned into pure chaos. His face was barely recognizable. Jakobson was rushed to the hospital in critical condition. multiple fractures, severe blood loss, broken bones, damaged vocal cords. He was placed in a medically induced coma. At that point, nobody was talking about racing anymore. This was about survival. But against all odds, he came back. Less than a year later, he returned to the Pelaton. And not just to survive, but to win. By 2022, he was sprinting to stage victories at the Tour to France. His comeback was a symbol of everything this sport demands. grit, heart, and a kind of pain most people will never understand. Jakobson’s crash forced the UCI to act. Barriers were redesigned, sprint regulations were tightened, and riders finally had a safer finish to race toward. There are crashes that rewrite the rules and others that simply remind us how thin the line is between control and chaos. Allesio Martinelli, Jiro D’atalia 2025. Wet roads, nervous pelaton, every descent carrying that sharp edge of risk. Allesio Martinelli, young, aggressive, hungry, was pushing on the front, dancing between the white lines as the group plunged into the final descent near San Valentino. The camera catches it. Nearly 7 minutes to get what on earth was that? Catch a rad straight on. A blur of motion and wheels slipping just wide. Oh, and watch the barriers as well. I think possibly just straight off the road here. That’s badly. It was a That is terrible. One second he’s there. The next he’s gone. A terrifying 15 m drop below the guard rail. Emergency crews scramble down the slope. Miraculously, Martinelli is conscious. Initial reports flood in. Trauma to the chin, deep bruises on the right side, no fractures, no spine damage. Martinelli’s crash didn’t just shake him, it shook the pelaton. How many times does the sport get to call it just luck before it runs out? These weren’t just crashes, they were turning points, moments that stripped cycling down to its roarest form. Pain, risk, sacrifice. Some riders walked away, others never did. But all of them left a mark. If you think this was intense, wait until you see the race that changed cycling forever. Not with a finish line, but with a tragedy. Tap here for the tour to France that changed cycling forever.