Re: Mallorca blog

[ValleyMan]

Dear Follower, sorry for the hiatus. Here is the next thrilling instalment…

Day 6

The ‘active recovery’ ride did not depart until 10.00, so plenty of time for grazing the breakfast buffet. The ride was a 40 mile return trip for coffee and cakes in the square at Muro. The route took us along a beautiful valley, the Val du Colonya, with lush (as in green) vegetation dotted with some idyllic looking villas.

I was at the front of the peloton with Dave the Texan speculating on the viability of a holiday home in this paradise when rounding a sharp bend on the narrow road we were confronted by a speeding 4×4. Showing consummate bike handling skills we both managed to brake then swerve to miss both each other and the car. As there were no screams from behind apart from ‘Car Up’ and no sounds of splintering carbon fibre we assumed all was well and continued with the pace setting.

The road soon deteriorated into one long teeth-rattling pothole that, despite the frantic waving of arms of those up front combined with a deafening chorus of ‘hole’, were impossible to miss.

The steepest climb of the day turned out to be up to a roundabout over the motorway, but it did give the legs an opportunity to remind you of the excesses of the day before.

A feature of the trip was learning the etiquette of group riding. One of the requirements of riding safely in an orderly peloton is good communication, however, it was at times a case of information overload. Cries of ‘Car Up’ and ‘Car Down’ mingled with all manner of descriptive nouns for hazards on the road. One such hazard on the ride included a rather impressive pile of horse droppings. It was not clear if the cries of ‘Shit’ related to the particular hazard, or from the person behind who had just been sprayed with the stuff.

However, the most dangerous part of group riding was bringing the peloton to an orderly stop. Sean’s expression of choice was ‘Steady’ and was much copied, however, it was rather vague in conveying the intentions of the particular rider and seemed to cover all points from a gentle application of the brakes to an emergency stop.

As a group we did take delight in the sound of our cries echoing off the walls of the narrow back streets in the small towns and villages we passed through. I am sure the blow by blow account of every conceivable defect in the road surface, the description of pedestrians (including gender an approximation of age) and the make and colour of any cars we encountered, all shouted out by 20 or so cyclists at the tops of their voices was music to the local’s ears as they settled down for their mid-morning siesta.

Coffee and cakes were taken in the town square with the sun beating down on us; those Dynamo’s wearing club shirts reopened the discussion on the possibility of an away kit for the summer and foreign sorties. It seemed too early for lunch and everyone was anxious to get going again. The remedial class of Group 2b had swelled in numbers and volunteers were sought to go back with Doddsy and the faster group. There did not appear to be many takers.

Sensing that we would be back in good time, Andrew, disappointed to have missed the ride to the lighthouse was seeking riding companions to tick this particular box. Gareth, his new sparring partner (like Roger except that Gareth actually beat Andrew to the top of the climbs), refused point blank and Huw, still teetering at deaths door, gave a withering look that left Andrew in no doubt that he was not going.

The route back took us back along the coast road with the lure once more of retail therapy. Kim had decided that she too would like a rain jacket and there were other shops to visit. The small group of us that had gone our own way on the return journey were soon exhausted by shopping and thoughts turned once again to food. Toros is a legendary cyclist’s haunt on the seafront in Port de Pollenca and for once there was space, thankfully out of the sun. Refuelled, people drifted off to do their own thing.

Kim and I got back to the hotel and went to the main pool to socialise with the Aces, who we found putting on a talent show for the benefit of everyone else. The slight problem with this was that their repetoir, as exemplified by Carl, appeared to be limited to bombing. Nevertheless, it did seemed to be keeping people generally amused (however, it should be pointed out that the audience were principally from the cultural wasteland north of Watford Gap so would have been a rare treat for them).

Shortly afterwards Andrew arrived ‘fresh’ from his solo excursion. ‘Has anyone see Huw?’ he asked casually to a mute response; ‘Perhaps he is in the room’ and off he went. Five minutes later Andrew was back; ‘Has anyone see Huw as he is not in the room?’ he asked again, but this time in a melancholy voice you might imagine someone using if they had just lost a new puppy. Jokes about doing a ‘Reggie Perrin’ did not seem to overcome his anxiety and off he went not to be seen again until supper. It transpired that Huw had gone shopping on his own and didn’t leave a note. How thoughtless can you get?

An extra effort was made to carb load at supper by not wasting time in the bar, giving a full 60 minutes of eating time. The next day after all was the Big One.

Now we were perhaps a bit less in awe of our group leaders, there was a slightly more rebellious air to the meeting. Top tip of the day was about not panic braking when faced by an oncoming car; a direct reference to Dave and my experiences earlier in the day. It was suggested that this could be avoided by anticipation and looking ahead up the road. I did have to point out in our defence that we would have had to have been f*****g telepathic to anticipate the car careering around the blind bend.

Next up was the best comedy routine of the week. An American complained that he was confused by the calls of ‘Car Up’ and ‘Car Down’ as there seemed to be no consistency in the use of the terms to describe the actual location of said car and could this be clarified. Sean, with a straight face suggested that the objective word was probably ‘Car’ and as a simple test, if you could see it, it was probably in front of you and if you could not it was probably behind you. He then enquired if this resolved his query whilst the rest of us pissed ourselves laughing.

The Taffiosa were determined that we were going to ride the Big One come hell or high water and Nick had previously offered to escort us round if there was any risk to the official ride being cancelled due to the weather. However, Sean and Doddsy seemed confident that the ride would be leaving as planned the next morning. A suggestion that we could perhaps start at 9.00 rather than 9.30 as we had bikes to pack and be returned to the hire shop fell on deaf ears.

Following the meeting was a presentation by SiS that Kim and I decided to skip and went for a very pleasant stroll around the bay and found where all the money was (large villas not the end of a rainbow). In our absence a plot was being hatched at the bar to in fact do the Big One as an independent group led by Nick leaving at 9.00. We were let in on the secret by encrypted text messages (a result of Andrew’s fat fingers and his small keypad). I was slightly concerned that we would upset Sean and Doddsy and get blacklisted, however, they were apparently quite pleased as this meant they could have just one group instead of two. We were also to do the ride the opposite way around taking us straight into the first climb. I am still not clear if this is the preferred way around!

It transpired that rather than explaining what all the gels and powders we had been given were for, the SiS talk was on the power of beetroot juice. One girl we met after the meeting described it as quack science. Nick, however, swears by it.

No drinks in the bar for Kim and I and it was straight to bed in anticipation of the grand finale the following day.