Tag: bicycle

Mallorca had been on my cycling short list for a number of years. Everything I’d seen and read made it sound like a road bike paradise. Beautiful scenery, well-maintained roads and a perfect climate for much of the year. Would it live up to the hype? I was about to find out. As my flight dipped below the clouds I had my first glimpse of the Mediterranean just as the sun was about to set. A firey orange stripe on a deep blue sea.

After landing and collecting my suitcase I went over to fetch my bike at the oversized luggage area. A few young guys were there waiting on their bikes as well. No golf clubs or skis came down the conveyor, just bike cases, but I was getting nervous as time ticked on and there was still no sign of mine. Before I left Denver I had put an AirTag in the case and, upon checking its location, my heart sank. The bike never made it onto my connecting flight and was still sitting at the airport in Munich.

Argh. This was not what I wanted to deal with after 16 hours of travel. I’d figure it out the following morning. In the meantime, I got situated with the rental car and made my way up to Port Pollença, the town on the northeast end of the island where I’d be staying for the week, conveniently situated near some of the island’s best cycling routes.

The next morning I awoke before dawn, feeling surprisingly well-rested and, good news, my bike was on its way. I had received an email from the airline letting me know it was due in on the next flight from Munich and would arrive mid-morning. Perfect. In the meantime, I had a couple hours to walk around and explore the little port town where I was staying.

Port Pollença harbor

First impressions: Port Pollença is charming. December is off-season and there were very few tourists. Most of the shops and restaurants had closed for the season and the town had a lovely air of abandonment. It all felt slightly shabby, like nothing had ever been new there. Salt from the Mediterranean has made everything a little bit rusty. The buildings need paint. The tiled roof on the restaurant across from my patio was covered in dirt and moss that looked as though it had been accumulating for centuries.

I immediately fell in love with all of it. But one also got the feeling that, come spring and summer, these empty shops and eateries would be overrun with tourists. (Many of the Tour de France teams also come to Mallorca in early spring to start training for the season.) Now though, as I walked about in the early morning chill, the streets were quiet and empty, with just a few locals walking their dogs along the promenade and an occasional stray cat watching with suspicion.

The opposite of bustle. My rented apartment on the second floor overlooked the promenade and the harbor beyond.

The endearing shabbiness of Port Pollença is juxtaposed by cyclists periodically riding by on $10k bikes. I was dying to get out and ride myself and so, after a coffee and a scone with the locals at the café on the corner, I braced myself for the 45 minute drive back to the airport.

My soundtrack for the drive (and for most of the week) was Alice Sara Ott playing Chopin. This was appropriate in part because Chopin had lived on Mallorca for a time and had composed most of his Preludes there in a small town called Valldemossa, which I would ride to in a few days’ time.

There she is! Better late than never.

The trip to the airport took up a good part of the day unfortunately, but I was happy to have retrieved the bike without incident. It takes me about an hour to reassemble it after travel and at first glance it seemed as though everything had survived the journey intact, but when I attached the handlebar I found the carbon fiber stem had developed a crack. Not good. Not safe. I could tighten it down to some extent with my torque wrench, but I had visions of it failing catostropically as I decended a steep cliffside turn and, although this would make for an interesting obituary, I decided it would be better to find a replacement. There was a Trek store on the island, but it was all the way back in Palma. I’d head over there again the next morning. But, in the meantime, I decided to take a very careful ride out to the lighthouse on the north end of the island and try very hard not to die.

Almost intact : (

View along the road to Cap de Formentor, the northernmost point on the island

I wondered if I’d see goats, but I didn’t wonder for long. They are everywhere on Mallorca. This handsome family crossed in front of me 10 minutes into the ride.

Beautiful roads, barely any cars and switchbacks galore

The views on this ride were spectacular.

In the distance, the lighthouse at Cap de Formentor

The next morning I drove all the way back to Palma only to find that the Trek store did not have a handlebar and stem to fit my bike. What the heck Trek!

Given the circumstances, I decided I’d rent a bike for the rest of the week. There looked to be a decent shop a couple blocks from my apartment and the owner said he could have a nice Specialized Tarmac ready for me in a couple hours. Perfect. This was a fancy new racing bike that would be fun to ride and some consolation for having shipped a disabled bike halfway across the world.

I had to laugh, though, when I walked into the shop and saw what they had ready for me. “It’s pink!” I said. “No, no, it’s champagne!” “Champagne is a beverage. That bike is pink.” But it would have to do.

The nice guys at Bike Island Mallorca, tweaking my ride. Thank you gentlemen. You saved my vacation.

But it’s definitely pink.

By the time the bike was ready it was early afternoon. The sun was out and I had enough time for a tour around the bay. This would take me through Alcudia, the town just to the south, and out along a peninsula to an old military base. It was a beautiful day and the pink bike was fast, comfy and a good climber. All was finally right with the world.

Little Egret

Biking down one of the many narrow lanes on the island

The view back towards Port Pollença after riding up a winding ascent

Headed back to town with evening approaching.

The next day’s ride would start in the tiny village of Selva and take me over the mountains to the even tinier village of Sa Calobra on the northern coast. This would be a workout, with over 4000 feet of climbing, but was supposed to be one of the most beautiful rides on the island.

On my way to Selva I got stuck behind this truck with three guys dressed up in strange outfits driving through the village of Campanet and waving to passersby. I was not exactly sure what was going on. The three wise men? Is it really wise to drive around standing up in the back of a flatbed truck? I remember Santa coming through my neighborhood on a fire engine when I was a kid, but this was 8 in the morning, a week before Christmas. It will remain a Mallorca mystery.

Olive groves were around every corner on this part of the island, also almond and orange groves. Many of the orchards looked like they had been there for centuries. This gnarled tree could surely tell some stories.

No ride was complete without goats. This guy gave me the stink eye as I stopped to take his picture, but he did let me pass unmolested.

Rugged terrain on the north side of the island. My destination is on the other side of the far ridge.

Looking down at the curvy 10 mile descent leading to Sa Calobra.

Once I got to the village I had a nice espresso and slice of apple cake in the only open café. Two cyclists sitting out on the patio were the only other patrons.

The weather was a bit sketch on the ride back. But I only got rained on for five minutes or so. Humping it up over the mountain was no joke, but what a great day out.

Lots of sheep on the island as well. Most were penned in, but this family just seemed to be wandering about in the middle of nowhere.

S’Empeltada

The next day’s ride would take me through several other towns on the northwest side of the island. Starting in Sóller, I’d ride to Déia and then on to Valldemossa and back, passing through a number of smaller villages on the way.

La casa de Robert Graves. English poet and author who lived in Déia most of his life. Déia has been a haven for writers, artists and celebrities for decades including D.H. Lawrence, Gertrude Stein, Keith Richards, Jimi Hendrix, the Beatles, Timothy Leary and others. Apparently Tom Hanks, Michael Douglas and Andrew Lloyd Webber also have places there, though I saw no one famous when I rode through.

There’s a thing with green shutters on Mallorca.

Narrow lanes of Déia

Narrow cars for narrow lanes

The strange artwork of William Waldren

Elms along the road to Valldemossa where Chopin stayed with George Sand in the 1800’s. I never knew George Sand was a pen name. She was a woman!

Above are the 365 Calvari steps that lead up to a chapel from the town square in Pollença. One step for each day of the year. Below are various pictures from rides on other parts of the island.

Stopped at a winery somewhere out in the country but no one was around.

No one except the sheep in the vineyard. For miles all I could hear was an occasional sheep bell in the distance.

Another country lane all to myself.

Biked through the town of Buger. Not sure if this is pronounced “bugger” or “booger”. Either way, it’s a bit embarrassing.

Another deserted little village. Everyone must have been buggering off when I passed through.

Strange sculptures by the sea in Can Picafort

Another country lane on another ride. Peaceful, quiet, lovely.

After riding around for much of the week I returned the bike on Thursday evening, opting for a hike on Friday, my last full day on Mallorca. I found a trailhead that I could walk to, leading out of Port Pollença and up through a canyon to Cala Bóquer, a cove on the north coast. The forecast was calling for rain, but I was hoping my luck would hold out a little longer.

The trail over to Cala Bóquer was a goat paradise. Billy here blended very well into the surroundings.

The kids were adorable

And playful

Goat-shaped shadows

Wild rosemary grew everywhere. It had rained the night before and the whole valley smelled of it.

Stone walls were ubiquitous, many dating back to Roman times. I also learned that the Greeks originally called the Balearic Islands Gymnasie, which meant “naked”. Apparently the original inhabitants did not fuss much with clothing.

The rocky beach at Cala Bóquer

My final morning on Mallorca started early. It would be a long day of travel back to Denver. I said goodbye to Port Pollença harbor and packed up the rental car as the sun rose into an overcast sky. It had been such a wonderful week of riding, I didn’t want to leave. There were so many other roads and villages yet to explore. Perhaps I’ll be back again Mallorca. Until then, adiós.

The end.