This is our penultimate highlight of the epic Ride4Five charity ride, undertaken by Ben & Sean’s excellent adventures, way back in 2017. Sponsored by Nexpay, the pair set out to cover 1500 miles in 15 days, with five of the classic Tour De France climbs, slap bang in the middle of the journey. 

At the time of posting, the events of this day occurred exactly eight years previously. Sean reflects on the issues that reared their head on the second climb of the Geant De Provence, Mont Ventoux.

Don’t Ignore The Signs

I cannot change the events of July 29th, 2017. Nor the events that led up to that day. What I can do is reflect on them honestly, and do my utmost never to make those mistakes again.  

If you have read the earlier samples that I have shared from the official book of our trip (to be published in November of 2025, all profits of which will go to St Luke’s Hospice), you will know that I felt a little off for the first few days of the ride. I had no obvious reason to feel out of kilter. Arguably, I was in the best shape of my life. Ben and I had previous experience of riding a physically and mentally demanding challenge. Our 1000-mile, ten-day ride for the Cornwall Air Ambulance had been a success. Looking back, though, the warning signs were clear. 

People often struggle with clear communication. When things are not right, we tend to gloss over the details with throwaway phrases. It will be fine is one such phrase. I hear that a lot, both in life and business. When I hear that phrase, I often see it as a deflection. Another is, I’m not too bad. Granted, the latter is a very British response. I am guilty of it. However, I am going to be honest with you. I’m not too bad, usually means there is something on my mind, and I don’t want to get into it. If you hear that phrase from me, challenge me. 

Of all people, I trust myself to speak the truth. I am renowned for being direct and cutting to the chase when dealing with situations, maybe to a fault. I have strong gut instincts for situations, always have had. I also know that when I ignore those instincts, things often go wrong.

Bedoin to The Summit of Ventoux – The Hard Way

Alp d’Huez had been a shock. Galibier was a fearsome climb, with icy winds and slashing rain that numbed our hands and forced our abandonment of the descent. Col D’Izhoard nearly broke me. I rode the last two kilometres in agony. The climb from Sault to the summit of Mont Ventoux had felt like a reprieve from the punishment the Alps had dished out. The descent had been incredible, though. 

On the morning of July 29th, 2017, we set out from Carombe for our thirteenth day in the saddle. We had each got into the swing of our rituals and preparations. I was already using the spare bike; mine had failed before reaching Alp’Dhuez. I was getting used to the much smaller Cyclocross bike. The gearing favoured the mountains, too. We were in high spirits as our bikes glided through the Provence countryside. 

At the foot of Mont Ventoux, Ancient villages gather in clusters, each packed with a jumble of stone buildings and cottages. The surrounding fields and vineyards are a symphony of lavender blues, olive and forest greens. With the early morning sun already warming our skin, we could have been cycling through the Garden of Eden. Riding in tandem, Ben and I chatted about the ride so far. Ben explained how the climb we were about to undertake was considered the hard way to the summit of Ventoux. 

With a chorus of birds announcing our arrival at the foot of the climb, the mood changed. Ahead of us, the road disappeared into the darkness created by a tunnel of trees. I traced the line of the canopy, which veered sharply upwards, meandering slowly from side to side.   

I looked at Ben as we freewheeled through the last of the sunlight. “Christ, that looks ominous. So we climb through the trees for how far?”

“It is about 16KM before we pop out of the trees at Chalet Renard. Then we do the same 6KM we did yesterday through the moonscape to the summit.” I nodded solemnly. The air temperature dropped as we entered the tunnel, the smell of pine needles filling the air. Immediately, the road veered upwards at 9%.   

“Go on then bey. I will see you at the top.” 

Can I go on?

When climbing, I like to keep a spare gear for when things get really tough. Knowing that you have a spare cog in hand is good for you mentally. Mont Ventoux had other ideas, though. I was barely 500 yards into the climb when I was reaching for the gear lever, and with a cyclocross rear cog, too! The climb from Bedoin is brutal and relentless. The other ascents had given moments of reprieve, with false flats and gentle gradients peppered throughout. Bedouin to the summit is a fearsome beast, with a gradient that does not let up for over 16KM. Every inch is a gruelling challenge, and by the fifth Kilometre, my feet had begun to swell with effort. My expensive leather cycling shoes were now digging into my skin, and the circulation to my toes was cut off. At the halfway point, I had to stop and loosen the dials on both shoes, as I could feel my toes going cold.

When you have stopped on a climb, getting going again is almost impossible. However, with a roar of sheer determination muffled by the imposing canopy of the trees, I managed to get the pedals turning. Each painful turn of the cranks inched me slowly up the mountainside. By the time I got to the junction at Chalet Renard, I was crying with pain. Still, I refused to stop. I view stopping on a climb as failing. Having stopped to loosen my shoes, I was determined to do the rest of the ascent in one hit. 

The stark contrast between the tree-lined tunnel and the vast, open, shale-lined slopes of the last 6KM hit me mentally. I had been able to focus a few hundred yards ahead in the tunnel, to the disappearing point. On the moonscape, though, the red and white building at the summit draws the eye. The road mocks you as you appear to be near the summit, before the tarmac switches back on itself, taking you away again. For the first time, I wonder if I will make it.  In those last few kilometres, my mind is drawn to the reason for our ride. Five friends, who felt they could no longer go on. As I hit the final ramp, tears roll down my face. 

Where The Hell Is Ben? 

Cyclists climb at different rates. I am used to sitting at the top of a long climb, catching my breath, before Ben appears twenty minutes later. At forty-five minutes, I am beginning to panic. On the ascent, cyclists and motorcycles had shot past me at near terminal velocity, as they descended the steep road from Chalet Renard. Those fortunate enough to make it to the bottom are spat out into the waiting Provence countryside at speeds of over 90KPH. Twice, I had felt the wind of a passing cyclist who had got their line wrong. By sixty minutes, I cannot contain my anxiety. 

“Guy, I think we should go down and see if he is OK.” 

Guy nods and opens up the back of the van so that I can chuck my bike in. As I close the back doors, Guy walks round to the driver’s door and peers over the sheer drop to the road below. “There he is!” he shouts, pointing excitedly to the last switchback. I run to the final ramp, a savage 21% section that threatens to burst your lungs before you reach the summit. 

Sure enough, Ben is struggling up the final ramp, pale, with a glazed look in his eyes. Guy runs down with his camera in hand, and I follow. Ben is cheered across the summit line by a smattering of people, but none is so vociferous as I.

“Well done, mate. Well done. YOU DID IT!” I shout. “How savage was that?” 

Ben climbs off his pick, picks it up and throws it angrily to the side of the road. “I’ve had a heart attack,” he growls. 

“Yeah, it is absolutely gruelling, isn’t it, mate?” The literalism in his voice was lost on me. 

“No, Sean. I have had a heart attack!”

It took me a few moments to unpack the statement. There he was, at the top of what has to be one of the most punishing sections of cycling in France. He could not possibly mean an actual heart attack. I am convinced he is joking, albeit a very dark joke. His grey pallor and laboured breath said otherwise. 

Reflections

It transpires that Ben had indeed had a heart attack. With savage chest pains, jaw pain and giddiness, he had got off his bike and leaned against the memorial of Tom Simpson, the British cyclist who had passed away on the ascent of Ventoux on July 13th 1967, while riding in the Tour De France. Almost fifty years to the day later, Ben had clung to the memorial and uttered the words, “Tom, I may be joining you, old boy”.

We could spend time debating why on earth Ben decided to get to the summit, despite a significant coronary incident. However, that particular story is covered in the book. We could even debate why Ben refused medical assistance that day. It is a matter of record that Ben, on his return to Cornwall, was eventually dragged to the doctor by his ever-tolerant partner, Anne.

For now, let’s reflect on the theme of this version of the story. 

Sense Check yourself regularly.

When we mask our true feelings, we know in our heart of hearts that we are not being honest. I knew that for the first twelve days of the ride4five, and even the months previous, I had not been truthful with Ben.

When I rang Ben a few months before the ride to ask why he hadn’t been recording training rides on Strava, he said, It will be fine. The legs will come as we ride. I sighed to myself and opted to let it be. When we met up in Plymouth, having not seen each other for quite a few months, I was shocked at the weight he had put on since the first adventure. I chose to bite my tongue. As Ben struggled through the first four days’ riding, I said nothing, silently critical of my dear friend, and even a little angry on occasions. Our post hoc rationalisation of each ride in those first few days seemed to have a consistent theme. It’ll be fine. 

It wasn’t. 

If we are to avoid disastrous outcomes, we all need to communicate clearly and without fear of reprisal. Struggling on and putting on a brave face is not an option. Seeing someone in a predicament or denial of their circumstances and saying nothing is of benefit to no one. 

We should have discussed Ben’s health long before we left. Simple. We should have had medicals, even if that meant postponing the trip. My tight-lipped approach and Ben’s Male bravado very nearly cost him his life. A fact that his doctor had no fear in spelling out after Ben had his stents fitted.

If you are struggling or living in fear of an outcome over which you feel you have no control, please, say something. If your business is suffering and you are feeling so pressured that you find yourself burying your head in the sand, please, say something. If you find yourself using the phrases, it will be fine! Or, I am not too bad, but inside, you are in turmoil. Stop and think. Pick up the phone and call anyone to whom you feel comfortable telling the truth.

We are not perfect. Problems happen. Nothing is beyond fixing. 

It is OK not to be OK.