Only madmen and tourists cycle on Madeira," is a popular island saying. Kai, a social pedagogue from Heidelberg, seems to confirm it. He has been cycling across the island for ten days with a much too small hire mountain bike and 20 kilos of luggage and has often had to listen to the saying; and experienced first-hand why it might even be true: "Madeira, at least the north side and the mountains, is a dream," he says. "But the climbs - brutal. I can't stop thinking about Bölts' saying 'Torture yourself, you bastard'."
We are standing at the viewpoint at the end of the six-kilometre ten per cent ramp from Porto da Cruz to Paso de Portela, panting and sweating. "From the halfway point onwards, I hoped before every hairpin bend that I'd reach the top of the pass," says Kai. "At some point, I pushed"; and I overtook him on my racing bike. But now it was time to put my jacket on and get my water bottle. And after satisfying my hunger with deliciously aromatic island bananas, it's time to enjoy the panoramic view of the north-west coast: the cliffs east of Porto da Cruz, the dark green eagle cliffs west of the small harbour town where ospreys nest, the terraced slopes in the hinterland of Faial, the rugged, wooded Machico valley, the foothills up to 1,300 metres high and the Massif Central at more than 1,800 metres.
How did Kai actually end up in Madeira? "It was the cheapest flight from Frankfurt - 135 euros," he says. And the mountains didn't look so dramatic in the travel guide. "But here on site, with a tent, sleeping bag, clothes and provisions, it's really tough." But the views make up for everything. Shortly after the pass, we go our separate ways. Kai wants to go to the Ponta de São Lourenço headland in the far east. I was there yesterday: a barren plain with few trees and dramatic cliffs. Today I've already been on the road for three hours and still have 40 kilometres through the mountains back to the hotel. At least without luggage. The climb to Santo da Serra is much easier, and the botany is a distraction: bright red poinsettias glow on metre-high bushes by the roadside, alongside chestnuts and rubber trees the size of family homes, cacti, palms, pines; roses, hibiscus, oleanders and hydrangeas bloom in between. Only the occasional rain shower disturbs the idyll. But the green splendour has to come from somewhere, and after all, they rarely last longer than ten minutes.
The route to Camacha is rather flat, with views of the turbulent Atlantic, the three Ilhas Desertas and the bay of the capital Funchal. Just after the church square, the road descends steeply to Caniço and the villa and hotel suburb of Caniço de Baixa - a five-kilometre brake test. As I try to carry the bike into the hotel's bike room, I almost brand myself when the hot rim of the front wheel hits my thigh. In the bike cellar, hotel manager Rainer Waschkewitz is just putting a coat on his special Madeira racing construction: a rear wheel with a 30 mm rim as the largest sprocket. "You can have it," he offers me, "you won't be happy here with your 25. But this makes Madeira a lot more fun," promises Rainer.
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(Text: Wolfgang Press)
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