Port de Soller to Palma de Mallorca

 As I rode atop the award-winning Tramuntana mountain range again today marveling at scenery that looked like it came directly out of the Mallorca – Cycling Paradise brochure, I wondered to myself how it was possible that despite all of the time I spent last night looking at today’s route, I didn’t realize that I was going to have to ride over the damn mountains again. Granted, 3,000 feet is less taxing than 4,000 feet, but I really thought I was done with that. We’re not talking about riding up a gradual slope all day; it’s up a mountain. And don’t forget that I’m a senior citizen. Cycling paradise indeed.

Eventually I did make it back down to Palma. What a difference 3,000 feet makes.

Now that I’m at the end of my ride, I’m thankful that I was able to spend a week just living completely in the moment, not only because it’s emotionally healthy but also because it’s physically healthy when you’re sharing the road with tractors, buses, trucks and British people in rental cars who may be driving on the right side of the road for the first time.

On the subject of traffic, I have to say that the drivers here are incredibly courteous around bikers. They are also strict rule followers. When I was on a bike path anywhere and had to cross a road, I could just go. Semis screeched to a halt, cars in mid-shift slammed on their brakes and everyone waited for me to get across. Same on the roads where there was often a line of traffic behind me patiently waiting for a wider spot on the road where they could safely pass. But any biker who rides on the road when there’s a bike path available is risking their life.

Tomorrow I’m off to Cadiz, which may or may not be the oldest inhabited city in Europe and which, according to one website was, for about 200 years, England’s favorite city to attack. Who knew it had a favorite?

So I’m repacking all my stuff, a task made simpler by the fact that I’ve worn the same t-shirt for more than a week. Not to worry; I washed it once. But honestly, the sun here is so brutal that after ten minutes outside, it and I were soaked in sweat. So there didn’t really seem to be much benefit in washing it anymore. Same for showers. I’m not sure when my last shower was, nor am I typically that aware of what day of the week it is because it doesn’t matter.  Anybody want a hug?