Mallorca Cycle Tour III

The first four days of our Mallorca cycle adventure had taken us from Cap de Formentor on the very northern tip of the island, via the Serra de Trumuntana mountain range defining the west coast of the island, down to Puerto Andratx on the southern coast. Four spectaular days behind us, the next route would take us from the reorts of the south via Palma and back home to Alaro in the interior.

Day 5

The ride up the hill out of Puerto Andratx was the hardest of the trip. Hangovers in tow (it was the fault of the last beer, by Rosco's estimation), on top of a lack of proper sleep and a disappointing breakfast, we knew our work was far from over for the first part of this ride.

The Mallorca south-west coast has the most concentrated areas for tourism on the island. Extending from Santa Ponsa through Magaluf, Palmanova, Palma city centre and all around the bay on the Playa de Palma to S'Arenal in the east. Mallorca's tourism is predominantly generated from Germany and the UK, and to a lesser extent from Scandinavia, Holland, etc. Cheap European flights and the lure of the package holiday paradise has resulted in the majority of Mallorca's resorts taking on the culture and characteristics associated with their primary punters. Generally, the resorts south of Palma are largely English, including Palmanova and the notorious Magaluf. Resorts east of Palma along the Playa de Palma are again almost exclusively German, and to a lesser extent Dutch. This adds a particular vibe to the resort towns, and clearly identifies the major cultural group in situ. This again reinforces the mentality that people want to go on holiday to a different country, climate and culture, but still want to live exactly as they do at home!

Potsdam Germany? No, Paguera Mallorca...Oompah band on the roundabout.

The day's intended destination would be Palma, on the way back to Alaro. In cycling terms the ride of about 50km would be fairly flat and easy, and largely a gentle downhill for the final stretch into Palma. The route took us along the coast via Camp de Mar, Port Adriano, Paguera (a German encalve in the midst of Oktoberfest or Fiesta de la Cerveza) and Santa Ponsa. It was also along this stretch that Rosco would have his come-uppance and have a laugh at the expense of yours truly. At Port Adriano, on reaching a cycle crossing along the bike path, I slowed down to a stop and promptly forgot that I needed to click out of at least one pedal. On cue, and in perfectly choreographed slow motion, I keeled over onto the sidewalk in full view of an audience of waiting traffic, pedestrians and the odd jogger. Physically I was fine, with my pride unfortunately signing up for the full force of the damage.

Over a much needed usual breakfast of poached eggs, juice and black coffee, the effects of the previous night finally bade farewell, and a stunning day in terms of weather made an appearance. It was then agreed that we would go and find a beach for a few hours and actually enjoy the fruits of the previous few day's work.


A 9km detour from the main cycle route took us to Portals Vells, another favourite beach, that is, to those that know how to find it. A short distance from the madness of Magaluf, Portals Vells is a gem of a cove well hidden in the rugged coastline. Natural surrounds, large caves in the rock, a protected sandy beach and warm crystal clear waters make Portals Vells a popular spot. In the high season, dozens of yachts and cruisers drop anchor here and enjoy the surrounds, the beach restaurant and perfect snorkelling conditions.

Portals Vells

The road to Portals Vells is essentially a farm track or 'cami' that has been roughly tarred and filled in with concrete. This meant a rattling ride for us, with every joint taking a battering, but the rewards were all too good. Bright warm weather, the warm sea and a lie on the soft sand made for an exceptional couple of hours. It was hard to leave, but we had to get back to Palma, and Alaro before the light faded. The steep hill out of Portals Vells goaded us after a good relax, but this detour made for another highlight of this trip.

An uneventful ride lay ahead as we headed through Magaluf and Palmanova on a dedicated bike track, one of many around Palma designed for cyclist's pleasure and safety. On cue, the smug serenity of the day came to a very profane end as Rosco announced another blow-out. The back tyre had basically given up after the week's riding, and was the likely reason for the number of blow-outs. I watched the traffic roll down the hill while confirming our inventory of five punctured inner-tubes (and no glue fix) as Rosco made his repairs.

A short distance later we found ourselves back on the Paseo Maritimo along Palma’s marina. Exactly a week before, we had been at this very spot for the stag weekend, but now under very different conditions i.e. sweaty and salty, soapless, unshaven and unmoisturised.

Small Rewards...

Also the site of the bike hire shop, Rosco experienced the non-existence of Mallorquine customer service as he attempted to get the back tyre replaced, albeit for only one more day of riding to follow. A short argument later we had a slightly less old and worn tyre on Rosco's bike and much-needed glue for the repair kit.

The sun sinking fast, the next part of the journey would have to be by train, from Palma back home to Alaro. A short 5km sprint took us into Alaro in near darkness, but this did not cast any shadow on the thrill of the previous 5 days. In our minds it was a great achievement and awesome experience of Mallorca's beauty and diversity.

A welcoming committee was laid on in the form of my niece and nephews Neve, Seth and Finn as they greeted us excitedly at the gate. Despite Seth's insistence that if we dared enter, he would “put an octopus on your face”, it would be a happy trade-off as it meant being home for a guaranteed hot shower, soap and much-needed moisturiser on my part!

Castell d'Alaro

Back in Alaro after 5 great days on the bike, our next challenge would be pedal-free and take the form of a hike up to Castell d'Alaro, the ruins of an old Moorish castle overlooking the full length island's interior from the heights of Puig d'Alaro.

Castell d'Alaro

Intending an early start, the weather had other ideas. The rain came down, torrential and continuous through the night and early morning. This would not make great conditions for anything in the outdoors. However, a mid-morning break saw the clouds lift off the mountain tops, and the decision was made to go for it, once again. Rain jackets at the ready we set-off up the hill.

For good reason Castell d'Alaro is one of the island's favourite hiking trails. The 10km return journey officially starts in the village plaza, climbing rapidly over 600m to a final height of 821m above sea level. Despite the first 3km being on a road, the direct route to the castle is by no means easy. Inclines are steep, and once away from the relative comfort of tarmac, the paths are rocky and quite treacherous.

Meeting a short rainstorm on the the way, this would be the last of the bad weather we would encounter for the day. Once at the top, we were treated to the clouds clearing quickly over the mountain in quite spectacular fashion, and the sun carving out excellent views over the island. Although the castle ruins are sparse, the fact they are perched on 200 to 300m sheer cliffs makes for an incredible setting. It is hard to imagine how this castle would have been built half a dozen centuries before with only the aid of dirt tracks and mules. By comparison, repair work recently done on the 'refugi' (centre for hikers accommodation) on a ridge above the castle, could not be completed without the aid of military helicopters lifting the building materials.

The journey down took a different route via a forest service road, leading to the famed Es Verger restaurant. This popular eatery is renowned for it's shoulder of lamb, with both locals and visitors travelling from all corners of the island to experience the pleasure. We were no different - a South African and New Zealander - carnivorous by nature. Rosco does consider himself an aficionado of lamb, so a visit to Es Verger was in-essence compulsory. We were not disappointed with a succulent lamb shoulder complemented by a delicious light local white wine. At the recommendation of a German couple at the adjacent table, dessert came in the form of a rather potent flaming coffee made with Tia Maria, coffee beans and lemon. The drink is delivered alight in a terracotta bowl, with a ladle provided to stir off the burning alcohol, then to be served into small glasses. Legend has it that over the years a few too many of these high-octane coffees has resulted in the odd disaster-filled descent back down the mountainside to Alaro.

Men. The best Gillette Can Get.

A great day on the mountain ended with a with an excellent steak bbq, hosted by friends, a Kiwi couple also resident in Alaro. Compulsory too was a stop-off at my regular pub on the way home for 'Herbes Mallorquines', a local herbal liqueur, and a few smooth single malts, all for medicinal purposes of course.

Day 6

Single malt Scotch whiskey is not a performance enhancer. This we quickly learnt on our last cycling leg, “the Orient Express”, a quick-fire 40km circular route from Alaro via the Orient Valley, Bunyola and Santa Maria.

As expected, the testing steep climb out of Alaro runs between Puig' d'Alaro and Puig d'Alcadana, into a beautiful sun-drenched valley equally appealing to hikers and cyclists. The village of Orient is nestled in the valley, and a popular destination for discerning travellers. The area boasts a few highly regarded restaurants, and several boutique hotels in and around the town.

Scotch on the rocks?

From Orient, the ride would take us along the spine of the valley, snaking into a second tree-lined pass. This would truly be our last experience of the mountains. Once over the pass, the 7km descent into Bunyola brought with it the rain that had threatened us on the third day back in Puerto Alcudia. A wet ride down a mountain insists on total concentration, the occasional slide of the bike's back wheel around the hairpin bends providing a stark reminder. Donning our rain gear in Bunyola, we launched into a very wet and final 20km back to Alaro via the winelands around Santa Maria.

Orient

Home and drenched, we clicked out of the pedals for the final time, truly invigorated by the entire experience.

In retrospect, the challenge and splendour of this Mallorca adventure has only left a distinct craving for more. The reality is that there is still the east of the island to explore, and two more wonderfully unique Balearic Islands in Menorca and Ibiza. Watch this space.

The final word....

Yes Rosco. I deserved that...

Mallorca Cycle Tour II

Part 2 of our cycle tour down the Mallorca west coast.

Days 1 and 2 had taken us from Alaro in the interior, along Cap de Formentor forming Mallorca's most northern tip, and back to the medieval town of Alcudia.

Day 3

Consulting the morning weather report, it called for an executive decision. We could continue east, but there was a window of opportunity to head west instead, and make the most of good conditions predicted for the western coast, and by far the more spectacular route. So, like the Village People, we donned our spandex shorts and helmets, and unanimously decided “Go West!”.

A 10km flat ride back to Pollensa gave stiff and aching muscles ample time to warm up, and get onto the first of the mountain passes for the day en route to Lluc Monastery. Overcast conditions made for a near perfect ride as far as comfort was concerned; another blistering hot day would be sure to takes it's toll in the long run. The 20km Lluc road would take us into a great 7,5km climb into the heights of the Serra de Trumuntana range. The long climb required a few stops for minor bike adjustments to maximise comfort in the climbs, and also to savour breathtaking views of valleys and high-lying vineyards.

Which Way Now? On the road from Lluc to Soller

Nestled high up in the mountains, Lluc Monastery is Mallorca's most visited centre for religious pilgrimage. Established in the 13th century the monastery has long-served the travellers of Mallorca, as it still does today. A true sanctuary, the centre provides accommodation for pilgrims and hikers for a nominal fee. The monastery is also the site of a famous school choir, botanical garden and a chapel built in the 1600's.

Our stopover once again took the shape of a refuelling of P'amb Oli and Mallorquine pastries, and a look around the monastery grounds and chapel. We had made very good time getting up to Lluc, and therefore did not need the option of staying here overnight. The second executive decision of the day meant a push of a further 35km to Port de Soller. This we would not regret.

Lluc launched us straight into another mountain pass, the first of another three passes along this stretch, and two road tunnels en route. Once in the mountains of Mallorca there is no respite from the terrain. The routes are either up, or down; there are no flat roads, making for hard riding. Climbs of several kilometres, followed by long descents, are equally testing in terms of concentration and riding technique. Any loss of concentration, slip-up or mechanical malfunction on a descent is potentially disastrous in terms of traffic and the sheer cliff faces.

Gorg Blau Resevoir

The stretch between Lluc and Port de Soller made for exciting riding. Passing closely by Gorg Blau and Cuber, two blue-green reservoirs resting in the cool mountain air, we traversed in the shadow of Puig Major, Mallorca's highest peak at 1445m. Alternating quad-crunching climbs and white-knuckle descents were only interrupted by the occasional photo opportunity, and on cue, Rosco's next puncture, that after hitting speeds of near 60km/h down the mountain. This provided the perfect opportunity to veer off the main road and descend into the narrow streets of the villages of Fornalutz, Biniaraix, and on to the town of Soller.

We were at Gorg Blau too...

Another easy roll down the hill took us to our next stopover at Port de Soller. With the sunset approaching, and tourist information closed for the day, eagle-eye Rosco located a perfect apartment right on the harbour front. Salt-encrusted and sweat-drenched, our first priority was a proper electrolyte refuel, followed closely by an ice-cold beer, a snack of mixed nuts, a swim in the sea to relieve the day's aches, and a welcome orange sunset.

A leisurely stroll through Port de Soller in search of dinner brought us to the gates of Restauarante Randemar, appearing to be one of the town's more popular eateries. Staring through the walled surrounds, patrons in dinner jackets sipped their wines and chatted quietly on the terrace. Consulting the menu, we agreed that prices were clearly intended for a more upmarket clientèle, rather than two weather-beaten cyclists who had not been near any form of soap in 3 days. A few minutes debating the potential predicament and our attire of baggies, cycling tops and flip-flops, we decided to go in anyway.

For some reason we were immediately led to a table in the darkest corner of the terrace (so dark a torch was provided to read the menu!). Apparently the table with sea views were “all reserved”.

Lots and Lots and Lots of Llauts

In all fairness this would turn out to be the finest meal of the trip. Our meal was complemented with an intense lesson in the social aspects, climate and geology of Port de Soller, this care of a 30 minute running commentary from our American hostess to the adjacent table. Tired and worn down by a total information overload, the curtain came down on another excellent day.

Day 4

Another beautiful day made for an early start out of Port de Soller; simply heading south along the coast to a still-to-be decided destination. Our progress during another tough day in the mountains would ultimately determine the next overnight stop.

As had become customary, the road out of Port de Soller headed straight into a mountain pass on the road to Deia. The standard breakfast of poached eggs, toast, black coffee and juice provided just the kick-start to get the climbing muscles working at short notice.

The coastal route to Deia would prove to be another spectacular part of our journey. Roads hugging the coastline meant we were squeezed between the dizzy heights of an amazing sea view on one side, and steep mountain slopes on the other. Concentrating purely on the road in front is hard to do surrounded by such diverse beauty.

The tough 10km wake-up climb took us to Deia, probably Mallorca's most famous village. Brought to light by the poet and writer Robert Graves, Deia has over the years become a Mecca for artists, writers and musicians seeking some kind of inspiration. The surrounding mountains, rugged coastline and natural light help make Deia an unavoidable stopover point.

Deia

The inevitable climb out of Deia leads on to one of Mallorca's natural splendours, Sa Foradada. Here a 200m drop to sea level looks out over a rocky point with a 10m diameter hole straight through. Legend has it that anyone climbing through this hole will change sex. We would not take any chances.

Valldemossa is another of Mallorca's famous villages and a very popular tourist destination. Cobbled streets and stone houses typify this village set around the hills of the Trumuntanas. Famous residents include the composer Chopin who described Valldemossa as “the most beautiful village in the world”. Chopin might have a point, but he would certainly have complained about the service at our lunch stop. That said, the P'amb Oli, ensaimada (traditional custard-filled pastry) and pecan and fruit pies were once again the perfect refuelling choice.

During lunch, we plotted our journey south from Valldemossa, having made good time over the first stage. Of course, and right on cue, Rosco once again fell victim to a blow-out. Rosco repeatedly convinced himself that it was sabotage. I refilled the drinks bottles and watched Valldemossa's multitude of tourists go by while he finished the repair job.

Charming Valldemossa. Need a hand mate?

Stage 2 of the day would take us through a further 23km of hills and descents, via Banyalbufar, to Estellencs, which we considered a possible stopover point for the night. Hugging the coast, the views remained all to impressive, somehow diluting the fact that the route was quite tough in physical terms. Photo opportunities were aplenty, with occasional stops to admire the scenery and engage in yet more 'Rosco has a another flat' related banter.

Over an ice-cream and a Coke in Estellencs there was the realisation that we were making good time, and had a fair chance of reaching the town of Andratx. With enough daylight left, we decided to go for it, leaving approximately 25km to go, and a guarantee of finding easy accommodation.

The coastal route continued for another 10km, then veered inland toward Andratx in south-west Mallorca. In this final stretch we said reluctant farewells to the stunning Serra de Trumuntana we had conquered in 2 days. As the landscape changed, a thrilling cavity-rattling 5km descent took us into the town of Andratx. With the sun still high in the west, we knew we could now push for Puerto Andratx, only 6km away on the coast. Our estimated 45km ride, had turned into 70km in a matter of three hours. This was an exceptional day's riding in terms of distance, and the diversity of terrain we had experienced.

Small Rewards...

Puerto Andratx is considered one of the most beautiful natural ports in the Balearic Islands. A destination for many independent travellers, Puerto Andratx has largely managed to escape the ravages on mass tourism, and still retains the charms of a typical Mallorca port down. It is also believed to be one of the wealthiest towns on Mallorca.

Arriving too late for the tourist information office, Rosco's eagle-eyed Lonely Planet led us up a narrow side-street from the port to seemingly the only bed and breakfast in town, and well hidden in overgrown greenery. We ventured to reception, devoid of human presence. A converted front room, here hundreds of traditional ceramic plates hung in almost every free space on the walls, along with a multitude of religious tokens of Catholic devotion virtually turning the room into a shrine. An old lady quietly appeared from the shadows. Easily in her eighties, it became apparent that she was likely the sole custodian of the guest house, and had been so for a very long time.

The room we were ushered into epitomised the term rustic. The furniture was typically Mallorquine and could easily date to the mid 1900's, and before. Ceramic tiles similarly adorned the paper-thin walls. Later, we would learn that a painting of Puerto Andratx hanging in reception dated back to 1957 - this was likely also the last time that any notable renovation was done to this premises. A long day and 70km in the saddle was however enough reason to accept a clean bed and a warmish soap-free shower of any description for the night.

Mentally refreshed we hauled our weary bones down to the port to catch a stunning sunset and enjoy a couple of well-earned beers once again. Finding a restaurant via recommendation, we were not disappointed. An epic meal of pizza, traditional tapas and awesome local wines was just the thing to appease two ravenous and aching cyclists.

Perfect End to a Perfect Day

With no desire to simply head to bed after an adrenaline-filled day, we hit one of the beachfront bars for another drink and to catch a game of football. Another inexplicably turned into several and the football was forgotten. The arrival of a group of German bikers (of the Harley Davidson kind), our combined state of mind, and Rosco's self-perceived grasp of the Germanic languages signalled an immediate end to our relationship with Puerto Andratx's nightlife and the need for some rest.

Part III to follow...

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Mallorca Cycle Tour

The Background

A rich history, strong cultural identity and natural splendour make Mallorca one the most visited tourist destinations in Europe. Simple pleasure seekers and more discerning travellers alike are able to find their thrills on this Balearic Island oozing with beach holiday resorts, breathtaking secluded coves and an endless cultural roundabout. Diversity is exemplified in almost every facet of daily life in Mallorca.

This diversity similarly extends to Mallorca's geographical make-up. Rugged limestone mountains define the wetter west coast of the island, while the interior and east is largely flat and dry. It is these conditions that attracts another large group of visitors to Mallorca. Long, flat coastal plains and their close proximity to rugged mountain passes result in almost perfect riding conditions for cyclists.

The island has therefore long-been a popular training destination for professional cyclists and their teams. Although Mallorca offers relatively short distances in cycling terms, the diverse geography of the island creates a perfectly compact environment closely mimicking riding conditions found in the national professional tours. One of Europe's most popular and fastest-growing individual sports consequently has cycling enthusiasts visiting Mallorca in their droves, all to experience the thrill of riding conditions very similar to their professional counterparts.

The Challenge

For any cycling fan, the lure and thrill of the open road on Mallorca is too much to ignore and consequently had yours truly piling on the miles and criss-crossing the island within days of arriving. The Mallorca experience is in a different league from mountain-biking through London's forests, parks and Thames paths, and the usual bone-aching cold, crotch-sodden, terrifying white-van-man cyclist-bashing conditions.

The idea of a cycle tour around Mallorca first surfaced while I was still in London, via my mate Rosco. A seasoned veteran in the saddle (in cycle terms, not age), Rosco had already cycled the likes of Corsica and Sardinia in his younger days, and saw Mallorca as the next challenge.

This of course, would turn out to be my challenge over the summer – getting back into shape after years of London life and it's compulsory late nights and loud music. My fitness levels when starting out were that of an occasional cricketer i.e. being very good at standing about and watching somebody else run.

So the scene was set: Rosco and Craig, two wily old DJ's swapping the spinning of two vinyls, with the spinning of two wheels, for a week in October.

With the enthusiasm of a broke televangelist I hit the road at the end of June with the intent of covering as many miles as possible during daylight hours. The fact that July and August are the the island's hottest month somehow did not deter my training regime, despite the cries of “crazy” from the Alaro's expats, and cries of “loco guiri” from the Mallorquines. (loco = mad, guiri = affectionate/or derogatory term for 'foreigner'). In all fairness, I was born on the edge of the Kalahari Desert, so how can a bit of 30 degree plus Mediterranean heat be that bad?

The Setback

Training in full swing, as the temperature rose, so did the mileage, and all was good. Nobody melted, and the bike didn't overheat; it is air-cooled. Come mid-September all was going according to plan. I had cycled enough circular routes in and out of Alaro to make me dizzy, zigzagging through the miles of vineyards in Mallorca's interior; and the odd jaunt up nearby mountain passes; all long-enough rides, but close enough to home-base should things go pear-shaped at short notice.

Looking West: Biniali, Consell, Binissalem and Alaro hidden between the peaks

As anticipated, pear-shaped did come, in the form of a white Citroen Xsara at a very unglamorous roundabout in Palmanova.

This experience made me realise how the term “my life flashed before my eyes” was coined. The moment of realisation of the inevitability of being hit by this car filtering into the roundabout, made the incident feel like an eternity. Everything was in slow motion – the car entering my peripheral vision, hearing the knock against the bike, me crashing onto the bonnet and then flying several metres onto the tarmac. The skin missing from my hands, right elbow and shoulder seemed inconsequential compared to the force impact of my head on the road, so-much, it left a neat dent in my helmet, and thankfully, my skull intact.

The next few moments remain a blur. My first realisation was that I stayed clicked into the pedals, and very conscious of probably having broken something – too many years of following the Tour de France reminded me that collar bones, ribs and wrists are first to go in bike crashes. I would gladly have accepted one at this point. Fortunately my future brother-in-law Mark was riding ahead of me and was quick to the rescue. In 'man terms' I drew enormous comfort in his first assessment, “Don't worry mate, the bike is fine.”

The driver of the offending Citroen was of-course a taxi driver. In my worst Spanish and his worst English we managed to come to the agreement that I was fine, and by no means wanted to be taken to the hospital. Not in a taxi, and definitely not in a French-made car.

Mark and I sat on the pavement while I recouped my thoughts from this utterly surreal experience. For the rest of the day I felt like the central plot to an episode of the Mighty Boosh. We both agreed the only thing to do was to head to the beach, and have a beer.

Scab-laden, aching and white Citroens banished from my subconscious, I was back on the bike four days later once-again criss-crossing the wine lands of the interior, albeit a bit more careful and imagining Jeremy Clarkson to be behind the wheel of every car.

All Systems Go

Rosco arrived from London with eight another lads in tow, all in Palma for Saj's stag weekend. The plan was to hit the strip for the stag party, have a day of recovery, and then head for for hills on the bikes. Either way, this was not going to be easy, and after three days of laugh-a-minute shenanigans care of some of London's finest connoisseurs of premium lager.

Surviving the madness of the Paseo Maritimo, we headed for the serene surrounds of Alaro, my home village. Nestled between the two distinct and symmetric peaks on the eastern edge of the Serra Trumuntana mountains, Puig d'Alaro and Puig d'Alcadana, Alaro's location is visible from almost every point within Mallorca's interior, making it one of the most unique spots to be on the island. The shadow cast by the mountains over Alaro was our first reminder of the task we would soon face on the bikes.

View of Puig d'Alaro & Puig d'Alcadana from the front gate

Packing for this impending adventure was quick and easy. Too eliminate carrying weight, we would take only a small backpack with bare essentials. Map, bicycle spares and tools, two sets of riding gear, a rain jacket and baggies, T- shirt and flip-flops for the evenings. No soap, no shampoo, and much to my disgust, no place for moisturiser. I knew this would be a rough week. Squeezing in a can of deodorant in protest, we were ready to hit the road.

Day 1

The route on the first day would take us from Alaro, via Binissalem and Inca, through the foothills of the mountains to Puerto Pollensa in the north, a distance of 45km. This would be a flat and easy ride as we followed a prescribed cycling route through the many villages en route. The first point of interest was a small detour to a favourite beach on the north coast, Cala Sant Vicenc, characterised by it's clear azure waters and steep rising cliffs.

Cala Sant Vicenz

Cala Sant Vicenc provided the perfect stop for lunch, and the first of Rosco's punctures. While he repaired the blow-out, I enjoyed a cold drink and one of Mallorca' iconic panoramas. This would also be the perfect spot to introduce my riding companion to one of the delights of Mallorquine cuisine, P'amb Oli. This traditional dish consists of bread with olive oil, olives, tomato, cheeses and sobrasada, a pork sausage made from local porc negre ('black pig'), seasoned with paprika.

Rested, repaired and fed, the final stage was a short ride to Puerto Pollensa, our first stop-over point. Situated in the corner of a large bay protected by the mountains, Puerto Pollensa is largely a resort town with long sprawling beaches and a vibrant beach front and town centre focussed solely on the tourist trade. As we headed for a much needed night's sleep, and right on cue, a stark reminder of the town's purpose reverberated through the hotel. Tuesday nights at the adjacent British pub had the local Elvis impersonator strutting his stuff. All shook up and out of sleep, a little less conversation would have been nice, but we had no choice but to grin and bear it. Bloody tourists.

Puerto Pollensa

The day had been easy in riding terms, but we both knew that the next stage and first-test was looming in the form of Cap de Formentor.

Day 2

Cap de Formentor is spectacular cape forming the northern tip of Mallorca. Locally it is known as The Meeting Point of the Winds. Carved by wind and water water over the millennia, Cap de Formentor offers cyclists a 36km coccyx-shattering ride of passes and descents. The rewards of this ride are however in the vistas, as 300m high cliffs fall away into the sea, and the beautiful and secluded Formentor beach offering respite from the rugged surrounds.

Formentor

The road out of Puerto Pollensa immediately turns into a 4,5km climb up to the Mirador de Mal Pas, a stunning viewpoint looking down the length of Formentor, across the Mediterranean and back to Puerto Pollensa. A popular tourist spot, buses and cars are a continuous hazard to the hundreds of cyclists passing through this point simultaneously. A rapid descent down the narrow pass takes one to the beautiful Formentor beach nestled and protected in a corner of Pollensa Bay.

The road extends a further rugged 11km to a spectacularly situated lighthouse at the very tip of the cape. A tunnel on this route provides cyclists with another hazard and challenge. Unlit inside, entering the tunnel turns to pitch dark after only a few metres. Effectively this means that we were riding in absolute darkness, knowing only that there are half metre vertical drops off either side of the tarmac, and should there be anything lying in the road, we would certainly be the last to know. Advice is to take off your sunglasses before entering, grit your teeth and hope that nothing dropped off the cars ahead.

Formentor Beach

The weather on the day was perfect. Warm, and clear skies allowing pristine views of Cap de Farrutz on the east of the island, and Mallorca's smaller sister Menorca, 34km across the ocean to the north-east.

Taking a well earned break in the sun, we fuelled up on bananas, chocolate, pecan nut and custard pastries. Energy food needed for doing the three steep climbs and tunnel all over again, and heading back up the cape and around Pollensa Bay to the the former Roman and Moor settlement of Alcudia.

A tour through the the medieval city walls of Alcudia provided a welcome respite from a long 50km in the saddle. Rosco announced that there was “definitely a party in my calves” which signalled a good enough reason to stop to refuel on P'amb Oli once again, sit back and enjoy the sites for a while. Our next stop would be a short roll down the hill to another resort town, Puerto Alcudia.

Alcudia

Tourist information was good enough to provide two weary cyclists with an apartment for the night. Our insistence on a pool came to little as the weather had turned rather rapidly, making the water a touch too cold by the time we had checked in. This was of-course counteracted by making the absolute most of the last of the day's sunshine with a few well-earned beers on the lawn.

After a relax and a shower (still no soap), we headed into the town centre for another beach side beer and a very good three course 10 Euro meal, including a bottle of wine!

Our original intended route should have taken us east of Alcudia, down the coast via Porto Cristo and around to Palma in a clockwise direction. However, the weather had other ideas. It was apparent that rain would be on the way fro the next couple of days, and could potentially make our ride wet and uncomfortable. The weather forecast for the following day was therefore crucial.

In Puerto Alcudia, the potential Elvis impersonator was substituted by our German neighbours talking very loudly until the early hours of the morning. I lay awake and vengefully plotted a cunning plan to wake up a little earlier and remove all the towels that they had likely already placed to reserve the sun loungers around the pool.

Part 11 to follow...

(See my Facebook page for more photos)
www.facebook.com/craig.heldsinger