Mark Walker and members of the Hull Thursday Racing Team jet off for some pre-season training in warmer climes.

 

Majorca 2015 – Eat, Sleep and Ride

 

Majorca in February, sounds like the perfect getaway during the dark winter months in the UK. Most tourists, however, would find little to occupy themselves in Majorca during February with most of the tourist hot spots closed until later in the year. Fortunately, we at Hull Thursday are not most tourists and a week of mountains, miles and sun was exactly what we were looking for.

Day 1 – Unpacking and a slog up to Randa Monastery

 

After an early 4am start to pick up the flight to Palma from Stansted, me, George Leighton, Will Thomas, Danny Posnett and Andy Carroll landed on the island of Majorca ready to roll. After a bite to eat and a visit to the bike hire shop, we set off on a small 30 mile ride towards Randa Monastery. I was a little nervous beforehand as I’d aggravated an old knee injury just a week before and in no book did it say the ideal recovery method was 500 miles in a week with 1000s of feet of climbing.

 

The first 15 miles went OK but just before the climb I could feel the knee pull slightly, We hit the base of the climb with Danny powering off in the distance passing rider after rider. I was pedalling alongside George a few hundred metres behind trying to nurse my knee.

 

I found that when I got out of the saddle the pain relieved itself and it got to a point where I cold hardly feel anything. With renewed faith in my knee, I pressed on leaving George behind and with Danny in my sights. It took me a while, but I eventually caught him with just a couple of km left to go. My pace was dictated to a little by a fellow rider (a Dutchman I think) who was determined to drop me now I’d caught up with him. We distanced Danny just before the summit, where my companion made a point of out-sprinting me at the top. Upon realising he’d got the wrong finish line, he re-caught me and out-sprinted me once again. I couldn’t care less, as I was ecstatic my knee was seemingly OK.

 

 

 

The descent was a little sketchy in places but we all made it down in one piece. Ironically, now we were back on the flat, and easier terrain, my knee started to flair up again. I had to be shepherded along in places, but the descent into S’Arenal where we were staying allowed me to get home without too much distress.

Day 2 – Coastal Roads and Slippery Descents

 

The 2nd day of our holiday was to take in a little more climbing that the first day… actually an awful lot more than the first day. Fortunately our group had swelled upon the arrival of the likes of Richard Dean, Sean Nicholson and the Squadra boys – who treat hills as long pieces of flat roads to sprint on, especially Mr Dalton.

 

The weather was dry but somewhat overcast, which made extras like arm warmers and knee warmers necessary. Arm warmers were off though after the first climb up to Sa Cabaneta. After a few miles further along it started too get a little nippy, so arm warmers were rolled up again, only I couldn’t find mine anywhere. I’d come to the conclusion that I’d left them in Sa Cabaneta village and I’d never see them again. Only George pointed out that they were in fact on my arms, rolled up to my wrist. After stopping the whole bunch to address the situation, I was somewhat embarrassed and expected a tyranny of insults and mocking when we got back to the hotel.

 

After our unnecessary stop we hit the first climb of Valdemossa, where Dave Shackelton and Alex Dalton unsurprisingly escaped from the bunch. I was next with Matt Johnson on my wheel and Danny not far behind. Alex seemed to be in fine form, even sprinting after a motorbike at one point.

 

Me and Matt eventually caught them but I knew this was because they’d eased off rather than us over powering them at the end.

 

After a wait for everyone to rejoin in the village of Valdemossa we headed off towards Deia. Unfortunately Andy C was a little under the weather and took a shorter route back to the hotel.

 

We merged onto the coastal road between Valdemossa and Soller and the roads where slick after earlier rainfall. We almost came a cropper on some of the bends due to the unexpected sharpness of the apex. Fortunately no one came off, although we did split for periods. Fortunately Jacob Trotter was on hand to re-establish the group in a ‘patron of the peloton’ style.

 

After going through Soller, we hit the aptly named Coll De Soller (no prizes for imaginative names there) and the eager Matt Johnson flew the flag for the HTRC boys by leading the bunch with only Dave Shack and the Squadra pair of Trotter and Dalton able to keep up. The group of four quickly became a group of three, as Jacob eased back to the next group on the road which included me, Danny and a stubborn Rich Dean, who wouldn’t be dropped for love nor money (maybe a pint though if it was on offer).

 

We almost caught up with Shack at one point, but this was due to a mechanical, not a tiring rider. He repaired his bike and sprinted off back out of our sight to join up with Matt, who had been distanced by Alex near the top but was still climbing incredibly well.

 

We regrouped at the summit and headed off down to Bunyola via a tricky descent of hairpins. However, even before we set off, Rich was nearly run over. Trying to clip in, he veered onto the wrong side of the road with Madison Genesis coming the other way. ‘You daft c**t!!’ they raged. Fortunately no harm done and we all got down to Bunyola in one piece for a spot of lunch.

 

After replenishing ourselves, we headed back. Some went the short ride home – mainly due to mechanicals and a few tired legs, whilst the others went over the climb of the Orient for an extra 15 mile loop. The road surface was particularly bad and on the way down Alex fell. Fortunately no permanent damage other than some scuffed shorts and he was able to continue.

 

For Will Thomas climbing is never going to be something he excels at, but he’d done really well, dragging himself up thousands of ft of climbing during the day. However descending was an all together different matter and he revelled on the descent away from the Orient. Taking the corners well, we soon hit speeds in excess of 45mph and trying to keep up with him was a challenge in itself.

 

We were back on the flat in no time and by the time we got back to the hotel we’d covered a tough 87 miles.

Day 3 – Is that snow in Spain!?

 

For the 3rd day we were to tackle the longest climb on the island, the Puig Major, a climb I remember well after cracking there last year. The usual crowd were with us, including a few newbies who’d arrived later, but the sun had made an appearance making it feel like a lovely spring day.

 

Unfortunately lovely was not how Danny would describe it. He only managed a mile before his bike gave up on him. He got out for a short 20 but it wasn’t the same.

 

The first climb was the Coll de Soller, but tackled in the opposite direction to the previous day. The usual candidates were at the front, but George Leighton suddenly found his climbing legs. After losing 10’s of minutes on the climbs the previous day, this was a surprise but he was going well in the 2nd group on the road alongside myself and 12 year old Finley Pickering (yes I did say 12 and yes he’s better than most of us).

 

 

Up ahead Matt was starting to perhaps show signs of fatigue from the previous day as he’d been dropped by the elite group and was been reeled in by George. I put in a big sprint to get up to his back wheel right at the very top with George and Finn just a little bit behind. Alex was first to the top unsurprisingly.

 

After a descent that almost melted the rims on our wheels, we headed through Soller and on towards the Puig.

 

At the base of the climb the group imploded with riders and groups scattered all over the road. George managed to make the selection into the front group, although a couple of pushes from Alex no doubt helped. I was next on the road about 100 metres off the back, but the one exception from the group was Matt. Where was he?

 

The front groups pace eventually put pay to Jacob T and George. George was still climbing very well, however, and was never too far behind me after I’d passed him.

 

Approaching the summit the temperatures plummeted and the snow line was ever more apparent with it eventually creating a barrier between the road and the grass verge. There was even fog starting to form just above us.

 

 

Suddenly in my sights was Finn, who’d done really well to go with Alex, Max Williamson (an academy rider and a top lad) and Shack. He’d run out of water though and was suffering. Fortunately he was not far from the top.

 

He wasn’t the only one suffering, as my legs were starting to feel weak, just like last year. I’d managed to conserve enough energy for me to be fourth at the finish. Right behind me was Neil, who’d done a similar ride to last year where he’d paced his ride well and caught me within a few hundred metres of the line. I’d fended him off this year, but only just.

 

Next up was George, followed by Finn who was aided by a patient Alex, who’d had a long wait for the rest of us at the top, and Max.

 

The question was though, where was HTRC’s man in form, Matt? Rider after rider came through, until out of the snow line he appeared, a good 10 minutes down on Alex. He’d clearly suffered and the word on the road was he’d gone hell for leather mid way up the climb only to come unstuck towards the top. Bragging rights to George, for now anyway.

 

 

 

After pausing for a while we could really feel the cold temperatures when we got going again. There were suddenly queues of cars around the summit peak, with many Majorcan’s keen to see what this white stuff on the ground was all about (clearly they haven’t been to Britain in a while).

 

Fortunately we weren’t pelted with snow balls, although we did have to take evasive action at points to avoid ice on the road. You could tell the cold weather had an adverse effect on some of the riders at the café stop on the top of the Coll de sa Batalla. The warm food changed things, however, and after another nail biting descent, were back home after another 83 mile ride.

 

Day 4 – ‘Are we going to Maga?’

 

By day 4 the fatigue was starting to settle into some of the riders legs with some of the riders looking for shorter routes. Some however, in particular Rich Dean and the Squadra boys, clearly hadn’t gone far enough as they embarked on a 100 mile route to Pollenca.

 

So all this left us with just a small group that consisted of myself, Will, Danny and Matt. We were meant to be riding with George, Jacob Fuller, Finley Pickering etc, but they’d set off 10 minutes ahead of us.

 

We ventured out on the same route as day 2, with the climb of Valdemossa first on the agenda. We merged with a fast paced group of around 30 riders from Holland at the base of the climb and it was a struggle to match them. First we had to get around the support cars to make contact with the group and then make it passed the stragglers at the tail of the bunch. Danny was first to do so, followed by Matt and then me with Will going at his own pace.

 

The pace never relented, meaning the group diminished in size quite quickly. Danny eased up around the halfway point with Matt showing his fighting spirit by rejoining the group after temporarily been tailed off the back.

 

Unlike on day 2, when we headed north towards Deia, we turned south towards Andratx, but still hugging the coastline where we joined up with the group containing George, Jacob F, Finley and his dad Simon, amongst others.

 

Simon was heading back to the hotel via the most direct route at this point and was joined by Will and Matt who were perhaps showing signs of fatigue after the previous days of hard riding. The rest of us continued along the lumpy coast road that didn’t seem to have a metre of flat road along it.

 

 

After a café stop at the lovely village of Estellencs, we split up once more with me and Danny going ahead first. From the outset it looked like a proper training ride with us pedalling shoulder to shoulder. We couldn’t be separated on the climbs, where Danny was determined to ride along in the big ring. Only the descents allowed for a gap to open.

 

My legs were now suffering, so I was somewhat relieved to hit Calvia knowing the climbs were behind us and all was left was a descent into Palma. Before we got there though we had to negotiate our way around the suburb towns of Palma starting off with Palmanova where we could now see signs to Magaluf. There’d been talk of some of the lads going to Magaluf on the last day and Danny was excited to see how close he currently was. ‘Are we going to Maga?!’ he shouted. We weren’t unfortunately for Danny, as Magaluf was a few miles further west and I was in no mood to add miles to my route knowing how tired I was becoming.

 

We ended our ride by bypassing Palma Cathedral, the port and marina all alongside the sea. With the sun blazing down it was a nice route, although the cycle path to the hotel was a little dangerous in places.

 

 

By the time we’d got back we’d covered a decent 75 miles meaning I was getting close to the 300 mark for the week.

Day 5 – Rest and Pizza

 

By the time day 5 arrived we felt we had no choice but to have an easy rest day. Our legs were tired and the weather wasn’t great.

 

 

We’d opted to go south at my request to what looked like a lovely coastal road with a lighthouse. In truth the road was far from spectacular and the fact it was wet and windy didn’t help matters – my feet were particularly soggy. Neither did a loose crank arm help for Andy, who’s bike seemed to be falling apart. Fortunately nothing was broken and once tightened up again the bike was rideable. Still, it didn’t stop him falling off into a bollard on the outskirts of S’Arenal on the way back.

 

 

Only 40 miles in the legs for the day, which was topped off by lunch at a local café that served some of the best pizzas going.

Day 6 – The Wiggo Factor

 

The longest ride of the week was pencilled in for day 6, the 117 mile escapade to Cap de Formenter on the other side of the island.

 

Most of the riders were present bar the odd exception, but the talk in the town was about who would beat who up the climb of Sa Calbora the following day out of George and Matt. The pressure had been escalating all week, with George seemingly having the upper hand in recent days. One thing was for certain though, a long 117 mile ride wouldn’t help the recovery for either rider.

 

The weather was once again overcast with a few sprinkles of rain. We were going out against a headwind, which was relief knowing it would be easy on the way back when the legs would be no doubt tired.

 

The route out is fairly featureless and flat so we stayed together until we hit the climb out of Port De Pollenca and onto the Cap.

 

 

Not long into the climb I heard a commotion behind me and shouts of ‘Brad, Brad’. To my amazement Wiggo himself was coming the other way at about eight times the speed. You could tell it was him as he looked fairly moody and his bike looked like the best on the island. Safe to say he didn’t wave back.

 

Inspired, I pressed on and claimed third up the climb behind Shack and Alex. As I waited for Will, under the impression we were all waiting at the top, I could see that Matt was ahead of George and looking the better of the two ahead of tomorrow.

 

Now last on the road I got myself into a good rhythm, passing Sean and Will, then George, followed by Rich and Neil and then Matt. With the lighthouse now in sight the wind suddenly blasted in my face forcing me to go down to the small chainring in order to get any forward motion. The wind was so swirly that a mile or so up the road it was then propelling me forwards towards the lighthouse.

 

After a quick stop at the lighthouse, where Matt befriended a goat, we were back on our way. Alex and Shack were still attacking whenever they could and then easing up, allowing me to take the lead and get to the top of the climb outside Pollenca first. My first KOM of the week.

 

 

We had a bit of a wait at the bottom of the climb as George was suffering with cramp, but he managed to wheel himself to the café stop known for being one of Bradley Wiggins’ stop-off points. There was a collection of memorabilia inside including his Tour winning bike and World ITT bike from last year. Even the menu had a commemoration to him by naming a sandwich after him.

 

 

It was a gentle ride back up until the last 10 miles, where Danny, Rich and the Squadra group upped the pace and split the bunch. Unfortunately, behind all this, Neil had a puncture about 5 miles from home which meant we were some way behind the rest by the time we got home.

Day 7 – The Duel

 

So this was it, the final day. The banter between George and Matt had been flying around all week. Quotes such as ‘Taxi for Leighton’ had done the rounds on twitter, but the real talking would be done on Sa Calobra. I must say all the odds were against Matt at this point. He was visibly tired; he’d cracked up to Formentor apparently, allowing George to come past him despite a once sizeable lead.

 

George was clearly anxious though about the ride ahead and was buzzing in his room, struggling to contain himself. I secretly think he’d won before the race had began such was his confidence.

 

It was a lovely day which set the scene well and the two gladiators marked each other for the first part of the ride.

 

Now that most of us had around 400 miles in the legs for the week, everyone was tired and the pace was so slow. No one wanted to show their hand too early knowing that Sa Calobra was ahead.

 

The first climb of the day was the Coll de Sa Batalla, a relatively long climb with a shallow gradient. The pace was steady at first until George attacked. Perhaps unable to contain himself or just riding the crest of a wave he pressed on leaving us all behind. ‘What is he doing?’ we all thought, assuming he would be wasting vital energy before Sa Calobra. The other question was where is Matt? He’d been distanced despite the steady pace. Surely it was all over now. Matt, seemingly struggling to get up the climb, as opposed to George, dancing away effortlessly on the pedals. Only Alex caught George by the summit and we had a long wait for Matt to come up. He was nearly last on the road. Was he suffering, or bluffing masterfully?

 

For the next few miles the gradient levelled and George was chattering away to himself saying how good his legs were. He seemed both confident and on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

 

After a hair-raising descent to the small village of Sa Calobra we regrouped with all eyes on the two contenders. Matt was quiet, while George was getting into the zone by arranging his music.

 

 

They set off together with a group of us keen to just follow and see what would unfold. When I joined them they were doing track-stands, with neither man willing to go to the front. It was bizarre, and showed how much this meant to both riders.

 

They eventually got going with George leading the pace, his poker face giving nothing away. Matt, pushing a slightly larger gear looked under a little more stress but nothing out of the ordinary.

 

Suddenly, only a mile or so into the climb, came an attack from Matt. It was a violent acceleration that left everyone behind. I instantly thought this was far too early and I’m certain George did as he let him go, clearly unfazed.

 

Matt was soon out of sight, having caught the ailing Jacob Fuller, who’d set off earlier due to sickness, well and truly behind.

 

The riders we caught up ahead were saying that Matt was flying and going really strongly. Had his attack been a clever piece of tactical nous after all?

 

Around the half way point me, Max and Finn pressed on catching Will and Jacob T in the process and leaving George to toil behind. Despite our increase in pace Matt was still nowhere to be seen, leading on the road and riding well.
For a moment it looked like George was coming back, especially when Finn and Max dropped me around 2km from the top. George’s smooth tempo wasn’t going to be enough though, he was suddenly fading out of sight. It looked like it was all over.

 

 

However now coming into my sight was Matt, who looked like his legs were starting to give way, was there time for George to come back once more? Finn and Max overtook Matt, but he was still doing enough at this point to take it easy knowing he was well clear of George. I managed to just nip passed him right on the line, but he was still a good 2 minutes ahead of George by the time he came into view. It was all over now and it seemed that Matt’s performance on the first climb was nothing but a bluff and he’d won the battle tactically more than anything else.

 

 

We stopped once more at the café at the top of the Coll de sa Batalla, where Jacob Fuller looked as white as the nearby snow. He was very ill and even threw up on Sa Calobra. He’d done well to make it to the café, where he managed to recover just enough to get home.

 

After a mini race home between me, Rich Dean and the Squadra lot we reached the hotel after another 100 mile ride, meaning that I’d covered 530 for the week which I was pleased about.

 

George ended up trying to avenge his defeat by turning to the drink on the night, which didn’t go down well; in fact it didn’t go down at all as it then came back up again about an hour later when I was trying to sleep next to him. Not pleasant but boys will be boys.

 

The poor lad was in a bit of a state the following day when we set off home, but despite this I’m sure he had a great time like the rest of us and he’ll be looking forward to beating Matt up Sa Calobra next year.

 

 

Mark Walker
HTRC RR Secretary