Cycling adventures abroad

Majorca 2023 (pg 1)

Cycling ◦ Adventures abroad ◦ Les Alpes (2016) ◦ Majorca (2017) ◦ Mont Ventoux (2017) ◦ Nice (2018) ◦ Les Pyrenees (2019) ◦ Girona (2022) ◦ Lanzarote (2022) ◦ Majorca (2023) ◦ Lake Como (2023)

Port de Pollenca, Majorca, Friday 24th to Monday 27th March 2023

Friday 24th March

Majorca is a popular holiday destination for Brits, particularly those with bikes.  All of us (Charles, Gethin, Marcus and me) had been before, but we all made ourselves available for an end-of-March trip designed to boost winter morale.  We originally tried (I say "we", but Gethin did all the work) to book somewhere in Port Soller, but that proved a challenge, so we switched to old favourite and cycling mecca, Port de Pollenca.

Charles and I were flying from Manchester at the slightly painful 6.05am, which meant the obligatory airport beer was obtained at around 4.40am, at the Seven Bro7hers' Amber Alehouse at Terminal 2.  My eyes are having to be constantly persuaded to keep open, as is a little evident from this picture.

As the beers slowly went down, our breakfast arrived to soak it up.  I went for a classic breakfast, whereas Charles' choice had a more creative appearance.  We had to check exactly what he had ordered, but it was quite early in the morning for such a decorative plate of food.  The chef had presumably been up for longer than we had.

The flight was event-free and, having exited the plane a little quicker than Charles, I spied this place and was slightly tempted, but there was a bit too much of a queue and Charles wouldn't be long.

Charles had pre-ordered a taxi and we had the fun situation of having someone in the airport with Charles' name on a sign waiting for us.  I nearly took a photo but it was a bit too obvious!  After a drive across the island, to the Aparthotel Duva Convention Center & Spa, Charles readied himself for the fun ahead.

I was excited to discover that there were Padel Ball courts just outside our apartments, having played a lot in my late-2022 trip to Lanzarote, but sadly we didn't have time to play as we spent the entire time cycling, eating, drinking or sleeping.

After a quick freshen up, we located the bike hire place, but first wandered to the sea front for a cloudy shot of the beach.

We also needed to refuel ready for our afternoon ride, so we chose the cycling-friendly Vitho café.

We tucked into our second beer of the day, over seven hours after our first (and it was still lunchtime).  Echoing our Alpe D'Huez ascent celebratory meal, we had pizzas to satiate us.  Charles was having a good time - that grin never left his face.

With us naturally sharing our beer progress on the WhatsApp chat group, Marcus provided an update on the Edinburgh contingent's progress, who were heading over on a later flight.  More cycling themed items but a little more reserved.

This is all very well but when are we actually going to get cycling, I hear you ask.  We picked up our bikes from 2GoCycling.  Charles had prepaid, which kept things simple, but I had only paid a proportion.  However, they were having an issue with the card machine so I had to go on a hunt for cash.  The first cash machine would not work with my card, and the second was stumping some guy, but thankfully it worked for me.  I shuffled back to the bike hire shop, to be told that they had just, in my absence, installed a working card machine (the card machine installer guy had turned up).  So it was all for nothing.  Bah.  After doing the obligatory short ride back to the hotel, we were finally ready for some action, heading west along the main road.  It was a bit cloudy but pleasant enough.

We had no cold water, though, which necessitated an early stop at Lidl.

Marcus, meanwhile, had properly kicked off the holiday from his perspective.

We headed south at Pollenca, setting a course for Selva, from where we would have a climb of a little over 5 miles and over 1,300 feet of climbing.  It was less fun on the main road, although still much better than it would be in the UK, but it was nice when we turned off onto a more secluded route, albeit some of the road surfaces were a little sketchy.  On the way to Selva, we headed through a small village called Moscari.

Charles clearly had the bit between his teeth here.  Maybe he smelt beer.

Just to prove that I was there, Charles dropped back to take a picture of me as we approached Selva.

Jagged rock faces closed us in from either side as we climbed from Selva.

Back in the UK, the Edinburgh duo were revving things up nicely.

With such inspiration unknowingly tucked away in our back pockets, we stopped for much needed refreshments at the café next to the petrol station, a place which would become a regular haunt for this holiday.  Without inspecting too closely, I ordered two pints of Cruzcampo, as well as Girona's favourite soft drink, Fanta, receiving some complimentary salty snacks.  What I had not realised was that the Cruzcampo was the Radler variant - basically a shandy.  Whilst I would give such drinks a wide berth normally, it really hit the spot as the sun shone down.

After that pit-stop, we were ready for the long descent home with a tailwind.  Charles got a bit of a lead on the steeper, windy bits, but then I saw him in the distance and put the hammer down, eventually getting onto his wheel a little bit exhausted.  Rather than head straight for the hotel, we went straight by to sit by the sea and have some full strength lager beer.  Looks like Charles would have preferred the Radler based on his less-than-cheery disposition.  Or perhaps he just wanted the sun to come out.

It was a very pleasant location and calming to sit by the sea.

As we moved into the evening and the sun started to say goodbye, with the temperature cooling and our lack of lights, we headed back to the hotel to get ready for an evening out (and, in Charles' case, a cheeky little snooze).  In all, we managed a little over 40 miles with around 3,000 feet of climbing.

After a bit of chill-out time at the apartment, and a quick snooze for Mr Ward, we headed to the hotel bar for beers and to check out the restaurant situation.  We were running out of time to order before it shut so we contemplated ordering ahead of time for everyone.  However, Marcus and Gethin were not being rushed to be with us, so we decided to rendezvous in the town.  An initial plan was for Cardamom Bay, partially in a curry-in-Spain reference from Girona, but eventually we settled on a place called Meraki (research suggests).  Whilst there were tapas options, we mostly decided to go for burgers, including me.

I asked the waiter to take a photo of us and, sensing the close proximity of the tables, I switched my new phone to 0.5x zoom so that he did not have to step back.  However, it seemed that the waiter new the requisite distance for a standard phone and stepped back anyway to the perfect position... had I left it on 1.0x.  So what we got was a zoomed out picture of us all.  It kept us amused anyway even if it wasn't quite what we were after.

Our visit was rewarded with four tumblers of purest green.

The insides, and potentially the gents here, offered some striking decor.

With the Edinburgh boys still with luggage, and with the Manchester boys having been up for over 18 hours, we called it a night (or at least that is my vague recollection). 

Saturday 25th March

The next morning greeted us with glorious blue skies.  In the background, the mountains called us.  It would have been a beautiful scenic shot were it not for the car park, the lampposts and the power lines.  The padel ball court on the right was a constant tease but we never had the time (or the energy) to play.  Very much not in the Club La Santa (Lanzarote) spirit.

Having learned from the undernourished debacle of Girona's first day of cycling, I went the extra mile to fill myself with fried breakfast from the buffet.  Charles and I already had our bikes so we had a bit of time to kill while Gethin and Marcus fetched theirs, so we had a leisurely start.

We weren't, however, quite ready to set off on our day's cycling, at least not properly, so we went down to the water's edge for some Cafe 1919 action.

It really was a splendid morning, with beautiful views of the sea available.

Let's try another angle, to see if it is just as nice.

Yup, confirmed.  The route for the Saturday was to head out due west, initially a reverse of our finish the day before, so a long (long) drag up, starting shallow but gradually getting steeper.  Well hello, who's this handsome fellow.

Eventually, about 23 miles in, I got my own phone out again to snap a picture of these arches.

Shortly afterwards, we turned right off the main road, descending a little before a little kick up.  Gethin had inevitably shot off, despite suffering from some painfully bruised ribs having been cleaned out by his brother's fat spaniel on a dog walk, and so the three of us chatting and ambled up.

This would generally be a familiar sight, although our relative fitness/tiredness levels did vary throughout.

And then we had arrived at our destination: Sa Calobra.  It's a bit of a cruel climb as the only way to do it is to head down first, so you get to see everything you are due to subsequently climb, including all the hairpins.  Oh how you torment us so.

Charles also stopped for some piccies of the snaking climb...

...including a panoramic view that incorporates me (taking the photo two above).

Majorca in off season was cyclist central, and many a seasoned / brave / foolish rider fizzed past me on the descent as I made my sweet way down.  We did eventually reach the bottom, me last as was often the case, in order to say hello and goodbye to see the sea.

We managed to get a stranger to take a photo of us all lined up at the bottom.

Then it was time for the climb.  I had conserved a bit of energy thus far with the intent on putting a bit into this climb, despite (or perhaps because of) being less fit (and/or light) than when I did it during a family holiday in 2017.  I dragged behind at the start but slowly reeled in Charles and then, when he came into view anyway, set my sights on Marcus.  I overtook him and it was soon time for the crazy double back over the bridge.  Marcus was not far behind but I had just enough to keep him at bay at a reasonably comfortable distance.  Gethin had disappeared into the distance of course, as his photo shows.

He was well-placed to take pictures of us all as we arrived, with me narrowly the best of the rest (my finest moment since my weariness escalated as the holiday went on).

Marcus was clearly gasping for a pint.

Standard posing in front of the climb sign....

Charles had taken a more scenic approach, taking photos on the way up (he said), but soon enough his grimacing face came into view, his helmet hooked onto his handlebars in classic "mountains abroad" mode.

Gethin took the role of irritating Tour fan, running up behind him, possibly shouting "Allez! Allez!".

Who photos the photographer?  Well, that would be me, as Charles puts his helmet back on, already ready for action, while Marcus looks up in awe at the summit sign.

Finally Charles gets a go on his own.

Not sure why but Charles took a picture of a group of strangers.

More soon....