Re: Mallorca blog

[ValleyMan]

Day 7

So this was it, the Big One, 83 miles, three mountain passes and 8,800ft of climbing (according to Huw’s Garmin!) .

Looking out of the apartment window to the west, grey clouds shrouded the mountain peaks, however, the rest of the sky was azure blue. There would be no holding us back now.

Breakfast was an unusually sombre affair; the banter was replaced by a reverent silence as the Taffosia contemplated the hours of self-inflicted pain and suffering that was to come. Or in my case, deep in thought working out how I could stuff another pancake with maple syrup down my neck on top of the three dry Weetabix and omelette that has just preceded them without throwing up. In the Dynamos enclave, the silence was all the more poignant signalling an end to Huw’s coughing and spluttering that we had endured at every mealtime for the whole week. Huw was on the mend.

Back to the room for final preparations; frantically reading the impossibly small writing on the back of SiS gels and drinks powders in a vain effort to find a miracle cure to tired legs. Sod it I thought and stuffed as many gels in my back pocket as I could fit. I was not the only one who took this scientific approach to ride nutrition and the assembled mass looked like an outing from an old people’s home bent double under the weight of gels.

Joining the Taffosia as special ‘guest’ riders were our adopted ‘wingman’ Robbie and Julian (he of puncture fame on Day 3). As the last cloud evaporated into the morning sky revealing the mountain peaks in all their glory, we set off on the dot of 0900.

Despite the lack of a ringmaster, the discipline drilled into us for the preceding week held firm as we headed in perfect formation for the 10km rollout to the foot of the first climb to the Puig Major. Nick had come tooled up with various audio visual devices and scuttled up and down the line with his video camera. This was to become a theme of the day.

The first part of the climb to the Orange Seller was familiar to us all as we had been this way on the approach to Sa Collabra and knowing what was ahead I decided to go for glory only to be overhauled by Gareth, Andrew and Julian shortly thereafter. However, after they pulled away a bit, I suddenly (and very unexpectedly) found myself coming back to them. Gareth was getting a bit of a reputation as a human dynamo, just effortlessly pulling up the hills with Andrew trailing in his wake. The observant amongst us had spotted a couple of days before that Gareth had a very oversized rear hub that he claimed was a power meter. When I finally caught up with him, I casually asked (between gasps) how many watts he was generating. I was not convinced that the 270 he reported was his output, or that of the ‘hub’. Anyway Gareth had sensibly decided to back off the power a bit on the first climb, but this still left me struggling to hold his back wheel.

We had our first regroup at the turning for the Lluc Monastery and then it was onto the Orange Seller. The next bit of the climb was undulating with some shorter fast descents between small climbs. Once again I set off at some speed but this time ‘got away’ and soon caught up with a solo cyclist who was going at my pace. I trailed him up the climbs but then went past him as the road started to descend and really enjoyed the sections of fast sweeping bends on empty dry road that followed. I stopped at the Orange Seller leaving my travelling companion to head off up to the pass on his own with a cheery wave.

To reinforce my athletic prowess, I quickly stashed the bike, off with the helmet and gloves and tried, with legs screaming and lungs bursting, to strike a nonchalant pose sat at a small table before the others came into view. I think it worked as Gareth insisted that I provide a urine sample.

A short stop and photo session followed (see Facebook pages) and we were then off into unknown territory. After a short climb, a very unnerving short decent through a dark tunnel brought us out alongside a reservoir and some stunning scenery. Where was Dave the Texan when you needed him to take a photo. The road soon kicked up again and this time I could not keep up with Gareth and hoped I had not peaked too soon having got over-excited on the last bit of the climb. Kim was just behind me catching fast so I persuaded her that she should slow down so we could cycle together. At this point Nick came sweeping by with his camera disappearing effortlessly into the distance.

The pass was just beyond a second tunnel with a convenient layby and viewing point for a regroup and photos. Nick kindly took a Dynamos Group shot whilst we were waiting for the Aces to catch up (last dig, honest!)

There was now a long 10km sweeping descent to Soller, however, being a Sunday, the roads had started to get busier, mainly with packs of large powerful motorbikes driven by men with clearly very small penises (Nic told me she had looked when one stopped for a pee at the side of the road so we have proof that this is not just a fallacy).

Going for broke once again, I was soon out in front having the time of my life when Nick, closely followed by Pat came screaming past. There was no way I was going to keep up with them. Shortly after Carl performed a similar manoeuvre that got me thinking about the acceleration of mass due to gravity.

As I approached a corner, a motorbike came out of it the other way. The bike looked very spectacular with the rider hanging off the side of the saddle with his knee kissing the tarmac. Unfortunately, the phallicly challenged rider had failed to spot the corner was over and he was now on my side of the road closing at a rate of knots. Luckily for me (and you as readers) he just managed to straighten up in time and whistled past my left ear. It was all over in a flash and I didn’t think much more about it, however, Julian who was just behind said the bike missed me by a matter of inches. I think he was more shaken by the experience than me.

Another regroup at the base of the climb before the transition along a really bad road to the foot of the Soller Pass. Nick assured us that there were 21 hairpins to the summit and it was quite a steady climb. I had not even counted to one before I noticed that my front tire was flat; my first puncture of the trip. Kim helped me change the tube and we set off together. At 21 hairpins, there was no sight of the café we were to meet at and I began to worry that it was 21 pairs of hairpins, however, all such worries were dispelled as we were greeted on what we were told was the last bend by the ever cheery Nick with his camera.

The café provided a welcome bottle refilling service (€1.00) and some very expensive coke (€2.50), but the view was stunning. No time for slouching (or eating) and we were off again on the 21 hairpin descent (I didn’t count them this time). On the way down, we saw the ‘official’ Big One tour coming up. The descent was not that much fun as it was hard on the brakes at each hairpin and in no time we were at the foot at the last climb of the day, the Orient.

Traffic congestion in the small village split the group up so there was to be no all-out race to the top. Kim kindly waited for me at the top of the village and off we went together. Shortly after we caught up with John who sat on Kim’s rear wheel as she decided to accelerate up the hill. I could not keep up the pace and slowly dropped back watching John punish himself trying to keep in touch (welcome to my world…), however, the pace was just too hot and he soon dropped back into my clutches having shot his load.

Another regroup at the top of the climb was a cause for celebration having conquered all the mountains could throw at us. Nick led a master class in descending on the way back down a long fast sweeping road. We were now some 40km from home and the route back had been described as ‘bumpy’. Every village we passed though was built on top of a hill straining the tired legs of some. Others had clearly been holding something back and Huw won a sprint up one of many small hills we encountered; recovery completed!

Retracing our steps back down the beautiful Val du Colonya, we were soon at the junction with the main road to Port de Pollenca. Again the Sunday traffic split us up and we started the final push along the main road in dribs and drabs, however, the final 10km sprint to the finish was soon looming in the mind. Did we really have enough left for anything other than a gentle roll in?

One group was already up the road and out of sight, however, a second group started to coalesce and was starting to wind up with serious intent. Out front to start with was Gareth, trailed by John, Kim, Carl and myself. ‘Do I you really want to do this?’ demanded my aching legs, ‘shut up and get on with it, it’s the last 10km of the last day’, I replied. Legs reply was not repeatable even on the Dynamos forum (we are still not speaking to each other).

Gareth put the hammer down and we all hung on for dear life trying to get a rolling peloton going to share the load, however, it soon broke down into short heroic bursts of speed from whoever could muster enough breath to launch themselves up the outside and into the front. Giving our all, we probably averaged 25mph for the last 10km and arrived at the Hotel knackered ,but pleased we gave it one last go.

That then was the Big One.

We all piled into the pool to cool aching legs in the refreshingly cold water, swapping protein recovery drinks for a couple of pints. However, thoughts soon turned to the early start the next morning and packing up the bikes. Kim and John took their bikes back to the hire shop in town whilst the rest of us littered the poolside with bike bags and boxes and soon it was a hive of activity (and foul language as peddles suddenly came loose leaving knuckles impaled on the chain ring). Then back to the rooms to pack, shower and prepare for the last supper.

We met up in the main hotel bar for pre-dinner drinks as had been our custom for the week, however, as we didn’t need to go to the evening meeting, there was no rush to eat. There didn’t seem the need to cram quite as much food down, however, we still gave it a good go. Rather than a big night out in town, we decided to remain loyal to the pool bar and the excellent bar tender who did us proud all night.

The meeting was in full swing in the room off the bar when we arrived and was packed with new intakes. On more than one occasion we were asked politely by Doddsy and his colleagues to keep the noise down. We were forgiven a bit later when we presented Sean with a whip round for the Legro Team hastily gathered from the Taffosia.

Kim and Nic having consumed a litre of Sangria decided that they could perhaps manage another half a jug so I was dispatched to the bar. This time we were treated to the Barman’s ‘special’. As his manager looked on with a resigned air, he proceeded to mix a cocktail of whatever could be found on the sprits shelf then added a splash of red wine and seven up for good luck. All for the bargain price of €6.00.

Robbie was doing a fine job getting through the beer. He bought a drink for Carl only to find he had gone to bed. After briefly enquiring if anyone else would like it, by the time the offer sank in, Robbie had downed it. This was going to get messy.

As the evening wore on, and seemingly completely out of context, Huw suddenly announced he had lost his wedding ring. Was this just an ‘accident’, or a clumsy admission of something deeper? Could this explain Andrew’s distress from the day before? What an earth was going to happen when we got home? Could ‘what goes on tour stay on tour’?

Before we knew it midnight had come and gone leaving only a few hours before our transfer to the airport the next morning. Nick had arranged for the coffee machine to be turned on at 6.00am. We therefore retired to bed at the end of a very long day.

To be concluded…