Colette and I booked a week in Mallorca back in November, along with a big group of our cycling buddies. As it turned out, she wasn’t able to go, but she insisted that I still go, as there were plenty of friends to keep me company.
All but one of us rented bikes from the various hire companies in Puerto Pollensa, where we were based. I opted for a flat-barred road bike rather than the usual drop bars, as I find that extended braking with drop bar handlebars gives me a pain in the forearm and elbow. There were going to be lots of long descents, so I went for the unfashionable flat bar option. That narrowed down the options of hire companies, and several of us hired the same type of bike from the same company. We got a good deal on price, but they clearly don’t do any routine maintenance on the bikes or even check them over before sending them out. We all had to go back to the shop multiple times to get problems sorted out, while the owner grumbled and mumbled oaths in Spanish while reluctantly fixing our problems. If you want to avoid the same problems, then don’t deal with the hire company with a month in its name. In contrast, all those going to 2GoCyling had a great experience.
We were also very pleased with the Hotel Daina, where we were staying, and in the Daina bar on the second evening, after a couple of beers, Scott persuaded me to sign up for a ride along the mountain road on the Thursday. What happens is that a bus takes you and your bike to Andratx on the west side of the Serra de Tramuntana mountain range, then you ride all the way back to the east coast, where we were based. It seemed like a massive challenge, and as the big day approached, I began to get a little nervous and frankly regretted my hasty decision to sign up for the ride.
I didn’t sleep well the night before and was awake when the alarm went off at 6am. We had to leave before breakfast but Scott had arranged for the hotel to give us a “packed breakfast” to eat on the bus. So a total of nine of us cycled off to the pickup point at the Duva Hotel, where we joined more cyclists to almost fill a whole coach, which pulled our bikes in a trailer behind.
We set off on a lovely sunny morning, with the mountains to our right as we headed down the motorway towards Palma, then turning off for Andratx. Then, with less than 10 miles to go, the bus started making a terrible noise. One of the guys in the back shouted you’ve got a puncture, and the driver pulled off to the side of the road. He went out to have a look, with traffic screaming past at high speed.
Now, I had done a quick mental calculation that given my slow average speed, we were going to get back in the early evening. If a replacement bus needed to be called out, that could set us back by over an hour and we would be in danger of getting back after dark. Some of us thought about getting our bikes out and cycling to the start point, which wasn’t far away, but doing that on the busy motorway would have been impossible. Finally, after about 15 minutes or so, the driver got back into his seat and got going again. I’m not sure what he did, but he drove on, with the shuddery, grating noise now only intermittent.
Thankfully, we got to our destination without having to stop again. I got out and looked around the bus but didn’t see any wrecked tyres, so I’m not sure what the problem was. Whatever it was, we just left the driver to deal with it. We got our bikes out and faffed around for a few minutes, getting ready for the off. Sadly, we left behind one of the cyclists from another party, or maybe he had just come alone. It looked like he had a problem with the tubeless tyre on his back wheel and was phoning for help as we departed. I felt really sorry for him, but we had to get going.
We were going uphill from the off, but it was a nice easy gradient. It was also made easier by my decision to pace myself and not hare off, as the route was over 70 miles long with a phenomenal amount of climbing. Alison had the same idea, so we made up the rear end of our group, and continued to do so throughout all the climbs.
It wasn’t long before we had climbed a significant height and had a good view down to Andratx town, nestling in a bowl below us. We rejoined the rest of the group at the top of Coll de sa Gramola. We were all feeling good, and if all the climbs were like that, I felt the whole ride should be quite manageable.
The group in good spirits after the first climb
Next came our first descent. This was taken with some caution, as two of our number, Colin and Susan, had attempted this ride before and abandoned after Colin came off his bike at the first tight hairpin bend and had to go to hospital. We took the descent carefully, though some were a bit more cautious than others. However, when we reached the next climb, it wasn’t long before most had gone past me again, especially after my chain came off when changing down.
The group then came together at the village of Estellencs, after which we covered some undulating ground, with views out to the sea. Following that we had more proper climbing to do, with a few steeper sections thrown in.
At some point along this road, we ran into Willie, who hadn’t come on the bus, but started cycling the mountain road from the other direction, planning to meet up with us along the way. He must have gone like the clappers to reach us so soon!
We carried on eastwards until we regrouped at the top of Coll den Claret. After that, we carried on as far as the village of Deia, which was reached following a long, sweeping, and for once, quite relaxing descent.
We stopped at a roadside cafe in Deia for a break. It was now 1pm, so lunch was in order. I got myself a small caffeine hit, and most of us ordered filled baguettes, which are quite a popular lunch option in Mallorca. My water bottles were nearly empty, so I filled up from the tap in the loo. Although some are fussy, the water in Mallorca is perfectly safe to drink (or at least that’s what I told myself!).
At lunch in Deia – photo by Janette Lee
Next, we had the usual problem encountered whenever you pull over in Mallorca, which is trying to get back out into the stream of traffic. The roads can get very busy, not just with cyclists, but also with cars. It had got steadily busier since we started and it didn’t help that the cafe was located on a sharp corner, but we finally got going again, heading in the direction of Soller.
A small climb and another descent took us all the way down to nearly sea level at the town of Soller. This was the only point along the route where we might have taken a wrong turn, so we made sure to follow the Ma-10 road out of town, with the navigation being handled by Scott.
Leaving Soller brought us to the foot of the island’s tallest mountain, Puig Major. I’m fairly sure it was here, as the gradient gradually started to increase, that we came across the only accident that we saw on the ride. There was a cyclist on the ground, holding his upper arm, while others looked on with concern. A car had stopped on the other side of the road and someone was on the phone, so we concluded that it was all in hand, and just carried on. It was probably just a simple spill following the coming together of bikes and didn’t look serious. With the speed and closeness that I got passed by lots of cyclists, it’s a wonder that we didn’t see much more of this.
Anyway, as the climb began in earnest, I changed down to my granny gear and the chain came off again. As we were going uphill, this slowed me down to a stop very quickly and Alistair ran into the back of me. No harm done, but after that, I made sure to warn people before changing down.
Having hit the steeper gradient, our group stretched out ahead of me, and most of them disappeared into the distance quite quickly. It took me over an hour and a half to cover the 14km from Soller to the top. At first, I was enjoying the views, but then I became more interested in counting down the yellow kilometer markers. The second part of the climb was really taxing on the legs, which made me also look out for possible stopping places to rest my weary legs. When it got to that point, I became obsessed with counting down every little white 100 metre marker on the road.
While I was sat nibbling on a biscuit and swigging water at one of my stops, Willie went past. He had taken the detour to Fornalutx, eaten an ice cream and then caught up. He told me I’d broken the back of the climb, but I was more worried that the climb might have broken me.
Still, I carried on and after a long slog, I eventually caught sight of the viewpoint layby ahead, next to the entrance to the Monnaber tunnel which takes the road through to the other side of the mountain. The euphoria allowed me to change up a gear or two, and I arrived with a smile on my face. Nobody told my legs though, which were distinctly and unexpectedly wobbly when I climbed off the bike.
Selfie with Wille taken using my sunscreen-smeared phone at the Tunnel de Monnaber
We posed for a group photo, then carried on through the tunnel, which took us to the highest point before the road started to descend into the Blue Gorge, past several reservoirs in picturesque locations. I was definitely tired by this time, so I made sure to go nice and slow and not take any chances on the descent.
At the turnoff for the coastal village of Sa Calobra, next to an aqueduct, there is a small roadside cafe. We had stopped there a few days earlier on our visit to the village, and we halted there again on this ride for ice cream and to top up the water bottles. The sun had disappeared behind cloud by this time and it started to get a little cool. So most of us put on an extra layer to cope with the cooling effect of the descent to come.
After an undulating section, most of the rest of the ride was downhill, but since I was tired, it required a lot of concentration, and as a consequence, it wasn’t as enjoyable as the previous time. There was also a lot of traffic at this time (about 6pm), with a traffic jam at one of the junctions. As we waited for a chance to move off, we witnessed an impatient cyclist overtaking a bus, and he narrowly avoided being squashed against a line of stationary cars. Why the rush? You’re on holiday!
I descended wearily to Pollensa, where most of us came together again, and we rode the last few miles in convoy along the flat road to Porto Pollensa. At last we arrived at the hotel at around 6.45pm, a bit earlier than I’d anticipated, with my moving average speed at 11mph. That was amazing – much better than I expected, even if I was among the slowest people ever to complete the route (according to Strava). Still, even to complete it was way beyond what I thought myself capable of. So thanks to Scott for (gently) pushing me into it. Now I need to persuade Colette to go there with me again to get some proper photos of the fantastic scenery!