Re: Mallorca blog

[ValleyMan]

Day 2

Breakfast was at 7.30 to 8.00 each day comprising a buffet of limitless proportions. We were now settling into a routine along ethnic lines with the Dynamos on one table, Aces on another. Whilst Huw and Andrew played sausage Jenga on their plate, Kim and I went for the healthier, more continental, option. The only limit on consumption was the queue for the coffee and juice machine making any more than 2 (dry) Weetabix a potentially dehydrating experience.

Andrew arrived at breakfast looking like all his Christmases had come at once. The Kuota had made it through the night following a complex operation involving what sounded like a cross between gynaecology and keyhole surgery. The seat was now firmly attached to the seat post.

Resplendent in our Dynamos kit, we waited in nervous anticipation for the start of the ride. The weather had cleared up and we glistened in the sunlight covered in Factor 20. As had been mentioned the night before, the 2b group was to be split to make it more manageable. The two group leaders announced that there would be a faster group led by Paul ‘Doddsey’ Dodds and a slower group led by Sean.

Needless to say Andrew and Huw opted for the faster group along with Gareth and John (I don’t think he had his hearing aid turned up). Kim and I, along with the Aces, went for the remedial group…

In contrast to Doddsey, Sean, one of the elder statesman of our sport, proved to be a very patient and charming leader. We had an initial discussion about group riding ‘Legros’ style where we cycle two abreast, wheel to wheel, with the outer rider on the front moving to the head on the inside on a regular basis. This in theory provided for a social rolling peloton. Again, as with the café stops, this concept of group riding was completely alien to Kim and I.

Concentration was clearly the name of the game; one eye on what is going on in front and one on the wheel in front of you. Given the state of some of the roads and the drop off the side, trust in your fellow cyclists was all important. Being a skilled exponent of the sport, this was like water off a duck’s back and 5 minutes into the ride I smashed my front wheel into the rear derailleur of a very expensive looking Pinarello. Needless to say the rather amazonian pilot of the bike was not best pleased and she never spoke a word to me all week. Making friends and influencing people…

The idea of this rotating peloton was I understood to promote social discourse in the group as you had the opportunity to chat to the rider alongside you for intermittent periods of time. It soon became clear that a number of the women in our group were not there to make new friends and any attempt at conversation was met with silence or a mono-syllabic answer. It must just be me I thought, but no others said the same thing.

We also had the obligatory teacher’s pet who had been along the to the camp before and insisted in scuttling up and down the line to report on progress to Sir, handing out fatuous advice and generally getting on everybody’s tits. However, it became clear later in the week that Mr Blobby was a bit of a one trick pony and as soon as the road went up, he went backwards. Even our dear old flat-earther Sweaty Ed would have wiped the floor with him.

Anyway, a lovely paced ride on generally flat roads had us in no time in Petra for a lunch stop having covered some 30 miles at 15mph. Approaching our destination down narrow streets, we had our first incident. An oncoming car slowed the head of the group but a wave of panicked breaking passed down the peloton faster than the speed of sound so warnings arrived too late. I managed to unclip just in time but behind was carnage with Nik in the centre of a tangle of bikes and limbs. Luckily this resulted in only a flesh wound and we were soon on our way again.

The main square is a mecca for cyclists and the place was heaving with hundreds of bikes from the many training camps and bike touring groups on the Island. Sitting in the blazing sun, we tucked into baguettes and coffee. A brief chat with Andrew and Huw confirmed that we had made the right choice as they had been whipped along at an altogether faster pace with instructions given in a rather more direct manner by Doddsey.

The striking feature of the first day was the sheer number of other cyclists about; all generally (apart from the Germans…) riding in disciplined groups of 15 to 20 riders two abreast. Overtaking manoeuvres were quite complex (four abreast at times) and occasionally groups getting tangled up. We also had to keep an eye out for groups coming the other way on sometimes narrow roads.

After a leisurely break we were on our way back with a bit of a pull out of the town before dropping down onto the coast road. The afternoon sea breeze had got up by then and taking your turn on the front was hard work.

We were back to the hotel by mid-afternoon having covered some relatively flat 60 miles; ‘flat’ being yet another alien concept to Pembrokeshire contingent.

Next up supper. With a Monastery ride planned for the next day (for some reason they delighted in building them on the top of any available hill) and a 60 mile ride completed it was time to step up a gear with the food intake that was to be a feature of the rest of the ride.

In general, we started with a large plate of salad, followed by two plates on the main courses on offer (the second plate being chips if nothing else was available) and then pudding. The trick was to be able to eat this fast enough to get to the meeting at 7.30. Huw had been suffering with a cold the week before and was clearly not at his best with his appetite failing him, the same could not be said for Andrew who appeared to be on some sort of comparative taste-testing mission all week.

The meetings followed a regular format allowing firstly for a ‘Doddsey tip’ (generally not forthcoming and when it did come was not repeatable) and then some observations on the day’s ride. The meeting then concluded with the plan for the next day and a rush for the bar…

Spending every night at the poolside bar enabled us to develop a rapport with the barman that would become our undoing later in the week. Pat and Brian, clearly stuck in some deluded time warp, decided that in the public good they should try and empty the mythical European wine lake single handed while the rest of us got an early night.