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| dozing Alcudia |
Standing outside the Lidl in Port d'Alcudia. If you closed your eyes and listened to the shoppers shuffling out into the sunshine you could almost be transported to Middleton. Almost. The sunshine gives it away though. Welcome to Mallorca. The culture shock of finding the port full of tattooed boozy red Brits (and that's just the kids) wears off once we get out of town and up the hill to the old town of Alcudia. The cobbled narrow streets and sun-drenched plazas with palm trees are busy with diners eating al fresco, but it feels more peaceful here and most of the village is shutterd up for siesta. After our picnic lunch we cycle down to the bay and along the road to Port de Pollença which is teeming with tourists but still manages to carry it off with a sedate restrained air. We're not stopping.
Loaded up with water we begin the steep road up to a pass. Two or three hairpins and quite a few rental cars and buses, and we pop out at a little cafe on a clifftop. Everyone stops for the view. There are a lot of other cyclists here, on road bikes, in lycra, cleated shoes tap tapping about, doing the funny walk part dictated by the shoes and part dictated by the length of time crouching on the bike. There are no other cyclists with panniers.
The road winds down into lovely cool forest and then slowly pulls us back up and along the rocky ridge of the Cap Formentor. There's a lighthouse at the tip. This is one of the iconic drives on the island and a favourite of the road cyclists who come to the island in their droves to enjoy the superb weather and mountainous conditions whilst northern Europe remains cold, dark and dreary. Groups of cyclists pass us in both directions.
"By 'eck, you're carrying a bit of weight, aren't you?" a woman with a Yorkshire accent asks as she rides alongside us. I sit up and pat my stomach and look affronted. "I'm trying to lose it as fast as I can" I offer.
In the forest the road is fenced on both sides. Periodically we pass a warning sign: Danger. Big Game hunting. The message is clear- stay out unless you want to get shot. But what's the 'Big Game'? We keep our eyes peeled for tigers or rhinos hiding in the dark shadows. And then we're up and out of the woods and onto the sun-baked ridge. There are stunning views left and right into the sea and across the headland.
The tarmac cavorts left and right, up and down, writhing like a dragon's back. No, it's not writhing. That's just us. This is hard work on our loaded bikes. By the time we get sight of the lighthouse we're about ready to call it a day. But the rocky landscape is not suggesting any good wild camping, so we return along the dramatic route to the forest and clamber down below the road, out of sight of the cars and cyclists passing by above. The sun is setting, the traffic peters out. It's just us and the tigers now.
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| "Gayle, have you seen my blunderbuss?" |
