Chris Froome’s ungainly and desperate attempt to sprint up Mont Ventoux in his cleated cycling shoes is not, sadly, the event for which Bastille Day 2016 will be remembered in France. But it is likely to occupy a permanent place in the history of the world’s greatest bike race, and its consequences may lead to significant changes in the sport.

Not even L’Équipe, the custodian of the race’s long and incident-packed history, could remember such a thing. In the early days of the race, riders often had to get off and push their bikes over the top of a mountain pass. For the man wearing the leader’s yellow jersey to take on the route without his machine, however, was deemed without precedent.

Froome probably knows the rule stipulating that riders must be with their bikes when they finish a stage. But when he abandoned his broken equipment and set off up the road he was fuelled by a cocktail of adrenaline, pure competitive instinct and a fear of falling behind at the very moment when he appeared ready to confirm his supremacy. Knowing that his team car, with its stock of spare bikes, was stuck farther down the hill, something told him that he had to keep going towards the finish line, by whatever means.

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The poignancy of that spectacle – a perfectly prepared athlete suddenly flapping like a canary with broken wings – may have been among the factors which persuaded the Tour’s commissaires to decide, after a tense hour’s cogitation and consultation, that Froome should suffer no penalty. He and the other two riders brought down in the same incident, Bauke Mollema and Richie Porte, were given a time commensurate with the gaps that had existed just before the crash, which took place when the press of spectators on the narrow road forced a motorbike carrying a TV camera to brake to a sudden halt.

Some of Froome’s rivals, particularly the riders and management of Nairo Quintana’s Movistar team, grumbled that the Team Sky rider was getting special treatment. A former UCI commissaire was quoted in L’Équipe as accusing the organisers of “inventing a new rule on the spot” and setting a dangerous precedent. Froome was whistled by spectators as he finally took to the podium.

The first two text messages that reached me after the decision to reinstate him were from people who know and love cycling. “Totally disagree with the decision,” the first of them said. “Incidents like these are part of the race.” The second was a little different: “Great!!! Correct decision.”

Adam Yates, who would have taken the race leadership for the first time at the age of 23 had the original times been allowed to stand, and who had already survived being brought down by a falling inflatable flamme rouge bridge in Lac de Payolle six days earlier, could not have been more dignified or generous in his response. “I wouldn’t have wanted to take the yellow jersey like that,” he said.

In fact this was the second time in the day that Froome had benefited from cycling’s unique, unwritten, ambiguous and provisional code of ethics. There had still been 32 kilometres to go when the Australian rider Simon Gerrans of Orica-BikeExchange, leading the peloton down the Col des Trois Termes at 50kph, lost control. In falling he brought down the two riders immediately behind him, Luke Rowe and Ian Stannard, who were guarding Froome, their team leader.

Acting as the race’s patron, a role seldom assumed these days, Froome swung off the front and, with a gesture of his hand, slowed the peloton right down and appeared to take a quick pee break during which, by tradition, the yellow jersey is not attacked. Although a pee break is extremely unusual so close to the finish, when the tempo is high, the peloton did as it was asked, at least giving the fallen riders a chance to recover.

The majesty of the Ventoux stage had already been compromised by the unavoidable decision to move the finish line down to the tree line, 6km from the summit, in order to avoid the 100kph winds battering the bald upper slopes. Thousands of spectators who had planned to line the road that winds across the scree were thus forced to join those lower down, probably doubling the density of the crowd in the 15km from Bédoin to the improvised finish at Chalet Reynard. The sheer numbers spilling off the verges and on to the road made life extremely unpleasant and hazardous for the riders, particularly when some of the spectators were the kind of idiots who wear fancy dress and cavort for the TV cameras.

Taking place over 3,500km of public roads, the Tour is a notably well-policed event. Every junction, no matter how small, has a gendarme posted in order to keep the course closed to all but the competitors and official vehicles. The mountains, however, are where the trouble is most likely to occur. In 1975, Eddy Merckx lost the chance of a record sixth victory after he was punched by a spectator on the Puy de Dôme. That was an isolated incident, and the culprit could be identified and charged, but the threat is growing.

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Usually the last 2km of a summit finish are lined with metal barriers, but Thursday’s emergency arrangements meant that only the final 500m stretch was barriered. The crash occurred with 1200m to go. The sad truth, however, is that crowds on the mountain stages of Grand Tours have been getting further and further out of control, many of them willing to abuse the privilege of being able to watch the world’s greatest riders at such close quarters by standing too close or running alongside and making an exhibition of themselves.

On the Ventoux or the Alpe d’Huez a rider, already at the limits of mental and physical exertion, is in a uniquely vulnerable position. Last year Froome had a cup of urine thrown over him on the way to victory and earlier in this year’s race he was fined after lashing out at a fan who impeded him.

The TV motorcycle did not cause the crash on Thursday; the spectators did. And if they can no longer be trusted to respect the riders by observing the etiquette of normal civilised behaviour, then the Tour’s organisers should recognise their own responsibility by placing barriers along the final 5km of every significant climb, maybe also banning the ubiquitous and unsightly motor homes from the verges. The race itself must always come first.