Mallorca-Tours - Brägels Mallorca-Tours
Brägel, the Lapp, can sometimes be quite exhausting. But you have to hand it to him: After around 20 years of training camps on Mallorca, he knows a few really nice routes. Here he reveals his four favourite routes to follow
Route 1 To warm up:
Palma (Café Cappuccino at the marina) - Coll de Sa Creu - Calvia - Es Capdella - Galiliea - Puigpunyent - Establiments - Palma.
Kilometres 50altitude metres approx. 700
What's it all about on Malle? It's about early form, first victories, good food - and fine wines. At least for me. That's why the prologue round starts in Palma, because everyone knows Café Cappuccino. Even old Hans thinks so, because we always watch the prologue of the Mallorca Challenge on the terrace there on the first Sunday in February. I always feel a bit stronger when I've seen professionals. There's also a pharmacy nearby that sells EPO without a prescription, but that's just a side note. You can even scrape the last of the winter hair off your calf in the cappuccino, as the mirrors in the sophisticated toilets reach down to the floor and the drops of blood are wiped away by the service staff every 30 minutes. At least that's what it says on a sign behind the door. I also secretly treat myself to a vitamin B-12 ampoule. And a little magnesium. And an espresso. And an aspirin. But then I'm off.
We start directly in front of the café, turn right into the town and uphill. The sea behind us, always straight ahead, even over the roundabouts (always towards the motorway). After three kilometres, we crossed the motorway and I sent the president down to the left towards Andratx. Okay, that wasn't nice, but he survived. After the motorway there is another roundabout, first exit out (Ma 1043), past a barracks, then it gets quiet because it's steep. Sa Creu sounds like a southern German curse, and that's the way it goes. Five kilometres, up to nine percent steep and up to almost 400 metres. So piano, it gets even steeper. And besides, it's all about the base, theoretically.
After a short descent with a nasty intermediate bump onto the Coll d'es Vent and left at the T-junction towards Calvia. This descent is also known as the Brägel Rally because I like to let my hair down here. It's only slightly downhill, sometimes a little uphill, and the wind is often stiff in your face. Just right for shouting a friendly "relax!" to old Hans and a few other wimps and then kicking it until your kneecaps shake. When the boys are starving in the wind 150 metres away from the group, it's going to be a great day. Of course, those with a more refined nature can also enjoy the pretty high valley. No traffic, orange groves, almond blossom ... for those who like it. I only use nature for a forced photo stop when my calf is shaking. So often.
Through Calvia and straight on to Es Capdella. There's even a cycle path here, two abreast is possible. In Es Capdella, turn right to Galilea, but I prefer to cycle another 50 metres straight on to the Bar Nou. Typical Mallorcan cuisine, everything with garlic - and insane portions. The place is always full, and I make sure that the bikers from the cycling club get their fill. I make do with a bit of bread, olives and a Coke and later launch an attack up to Galilea - on the short descent, before things really get going in the forest. Six kilometres, around seven per cent on average, you shouldn't have too much in your stomach. Unfortunately, my legs aren't always up to it, and then I'm passed to the back by a stinking bunch of slightly dusty cycling friends. From Galilea (27 kilometres from the start) it's all downhill. First steeply to Puigpunyent, there at the only junction to the right and then always slightly downhill (well, only two intermediate waves) towards Palma. Two-up cycling is now permitted again. The easiest way to find the Cappuccino is to keep heading towards the cathedral in Palma. Then turn right onto the promenade, about a kilometre, and that's it. And that's where I stop. It can't be that I'm the only one who doesn't stink.
Route 2 The rough one:
Port Andratx - Andratx - Banyalbulfar - Valldemossa - Esglaieta - Esporles - Establiment - Puigpunyent - Es Capdella - Peguera - Camp de Mar - Port Andratx.
Kilometres 100altitude metres approx. 1,650
Old Hans orders café con leche and pronounces it wrong, i.e. "leche" instead of "lätsche". He could have said "Milchkaffee", almost everyone here understands German anyway. We sit in a chic bar in Andratx harbour and watch the seagulls circling over the yachts, hoping for some sushi to fall overboard. All around us are women in furs and mature men in black, reading the business section of the FAZ and ordering their first glass of rosé shortly after ten. They look a little bemused at our jerseys, then continue chatting about whether anyone has seen Dieter (Bohlen) today and when Sabine (Christiansen) will be back. "Or the skipper," whispers the president. Old Hans asks who has to go to the loo and I realise that we should start slowly. The round today is rough, it's approaching half past ten. But there's no point in starting early, otherwise the coast road will still be in the shade. I'm wearing a black Campa jersey to match the starting point and I've put the "Handelsblatt" in my back pocket so it's clearly visible - now to be part of it, later for the long descent from Valldemossa to Esglaieta. I also have valerian pills from the supermarket with me, but more on that later. "Is that Klinsmann?", asks a black scarf his fur and points at me. "No," she says, "too old and too fat." Helmet on and off we go.
Out of "Klein Düsseldorf" and via Andratx onto the coastal road towards Banyalbulfar. If you use the five kilometres of cycle path at the start of the tour, it's your own fault. Speed bumps and potholes - it's no fun. And if there's a hat on the road, there's bound to be one underneath it. The coastal road afterwards is beautiful, the view is magnificent, but if you push hard here, you'll soon break down because there's no rhythm. It's either up or down - or vice versa. After all, we are in the Tramuntana mountains.
Break after 45 kilometres in Valldemossa. There are wonderful cafés up here at just over 400 metres, but because the good Chopin once lived here for two months in a monastery and wrote the Raindrop Prelude, they are correspondingly full and expensive. The black-fur faction from Port Andratx is already here, sipping bubbly. We order non-alcoholic beer and I give everyone a white valerian pill, which I disguise as vitamins and magnesium. After that, the boys take it easy - and freeze a little on the undulating descent to Establiments. On the slightly uphill approach to Puigpunyent, some of them recover, but during the short stop at Café la Vila, I give them a sedative pill with their Coke, which makes some of their legs feel really heavy again. Nice. Then it's time to climb up to Galilea, four kilometres of slogging - me in the lead because I have espresso in my blood instead of valerian. Then a concentrated descent to Peguera, where I arrive first, declare the lap finished and show the pack in the Café Schwarzwald on the seafront promenade why Mallorca is called Germany's 17th state. Old Hans falls asleep on the chair and the others are also exhausted, but it's not just down to the valerian.
The south-west of the island is scenically beautiful, but also hard to drive - even if the roads are mostly well developed and have little traffic. We've already covered 93 kilometres, with a good seven still to go. From Peguera to Camp de Mar first. The pack almost rushes me to death on the last wave because they've stretched the valerian. The box fell out of my jersey while I was paying in the "Black Forest". Back in the rich man's harbour. Tired but happy, we strap the bikes onto the car. We want to have a real beer, but the black furs are back and all the cafés are full. And that's in February. I throw away the Handelsblatt, that's it for today.
Route 3 The flat for the sensible:
Playa de Palma (Arenal) - Bahia Azul - Llucmajor - Randa - Algaida - Pina - Lloret de Vista Alegre - Sineu - Llubi - S'Alqueria Blanca - Muro - Sa Pobla - Port Alcudia.
Kilometres 85altitude metres approx. 410 (so almost nothing)
The guys from the cycling club were already super nervous days in advance. The tour starts at the place where Germany's men like to go to pubs like the Bierkönig or the Oberbayern to become drooling bundles of hormones and alcohol, i.e. adventurers (or so they think). I wanted to do the route the other way round from Alcudia to Arenal, but since even a morally impeccable person like me might be prone to derailment after three litres of sangria, we'd rather not. So we set off sober in the morning from the den of iniquity, only to philosophise about global warming, Arab despots, natural rubber handlebar tape and the new Campa groupset over dinner in Alcudia in the evening.
What's more, Europe's trendiest party beach in spring is as sinful as a muesli bar. A few older couples go for a stroll, a few scattered professional cyclists look for their training group, and in between, ladies with injected facial features show off the latest trends in plastic surgery. Even so, old Hans has been knocked over the handlebars while rolling off, allegedly because his front wheel got caught in a manhole cover. I recommend that he has some silicone fitted in the collarbone area so that his falls hurt a little less.
But now to the serious business of cycling. The route from the centre of the island to the north-east is easy, it's flat and mostly sheltered from the wind, so it's ideal for a relaxed two-up ride, as it runs almost all the time along side roads with hardly any traffic. But since a Brägel tour has its pitfalls, let's get one thing straight from the start: you can only find your way around this beautiful tour on quiet side roads with very, very good maps. If you skimp on this, it's your own fault. After all, you always have to reckon with one of my attacks, which I sometimes even manage on these roads through almond and orange groves, which are mostly lined with waist-high walls and feature several right-angled changes of direction: ride in front, raise your hand and point to a photo opportunity - and then go full speed ahead from the front. Into the sharp corner, after 150 metres around the next corner, two or three more times - and the pack is already standing alone in the Mallorcan hinterland. If you don't have a good map, the only option is the well-signposted main route Llucmajor - Inca - Sa Pobla - Port d'Alcudia. Also pretty, but with more traffic and noise.
However, a good map alone is not always enough. But if you want to ask for directions, you shouldn't just open iron doors weighing tonnes, behind which fincas the size of a suburban clinic are enthroned. The president did it and was greeted by two very well-trained Dobermans. They only calmed down halfway when the President offered them his ham sandwich and two muesli bars. He still didn't find out the way - the landlord, presumably a silicone implanteur, wasn't there and the female cleaner was shouting louder than the alarm system. The president didn't understand whether she said anything about the route. So always just ask pedestrians for directions, or look out for the very small brown wooden signs that mark the cycle routes. Or just stick to it. After my nasty attack, they put me in the centre of the field. Once that was clear, I briefly took the pack off the route in Randa and led them up the five-kilometre ascent to Randa Monastery.
You really should do this - firstly because of the view, and secondly because there's a chance that one or two people will try the famous sweet liqueur from the souvenir shop and be lost for the rest of the tour. At least until the lunch stop at the mill in Sineu, a well-known cycling centre. Then on to the coast, nicely in twos and without attacks, as the track is sometimes straight as a bolt for kilometres. The end of the tour is like pure Germany: Lidl, Aldi, Burger King, Chinese restaurants, neatly arranged around roundabouts. Incidentally, the bus to Playa de Palma runs until twenty past seven, taking cyclists and bikes for four euros each.
Route 4 The longest at the end:
Port Alcudia - La Cisterna - Pollenca - LLuc Monastery - Selva - Lloseta - Binissalem - Binali - Sencelles - Ruberts - Sineu - S'Alqueria Blanca - Santa Margalida - Can Picafort - Playa de Muro - Port Alcudia.
Kilometres 106 altitude metres approx. 875
Mallorca is amazing, and so are men sometimes. We're now sitting in Alcudia having a relaxed breakfast by the sea, the sun is sparkling in the water, it's warm and there's almost no wind. There's no reason to do anything else on a day like this other than casually roll along the sea towards the south, eat a sole drowned in garlic with roast potatoes and return a few hours later. But as men are rarely sensible, we do the last lap in a nasty way, which I disguise with the term "culture".
From the coast through the Tramuntana mountains to the Lluc monastery - and that as an introduction. After five kilometres, we turn left off the coast and it becomes quiet in the field. Very quiet. I think the cycling club is contemplating the visit to Lluc Monastery. In reality, everyone is whistling at the top of their lungs, as the ups and downs are pretty intense. The president pedals at the front as if he had the incarnate in his back. But it's only a few pros from Euskatel who are probably cycling the lactate from the previous day out of their legs at a heart rate of under 100. The gentlemen chat and laugh, we bite, keep quiet and are still overtaken.
"Maybe you could slow down a bit," I shout, "after all, we're still visiting a place of worship." Old Hans hisses: "If we ever reach the monastery, you can prepare to meet your maker." After 33 kilometres, we actually reach our first stage destination, all happy and a little God-fearing again. A little later, I sent cheeky old Hans to the right at the famous petrol station in Lluc, while we continue on towards Inca. "Little shortcut!" I shouted. The road goes over the Puig Major to Sollér. After ten minutes, we called him on his mobile phone and told him that we would be waiting for him at Can Miguel in Binissalem at lunchtime. The lunch break takes a little longer, which is no great sacrifice in the area around Binissalem.
We are in the middle of the largest wine region on the island, José Ferrer's red wine cuvés are famous, have around 14 per cent rpm and were actually able to calm down our battle group on the longest training lap. After two teeny-tiny glasses to replenish our blood, we are suddenly all rolling through the Mallorcan plains in rare harmony. And from Can Picafort onwards, on clean cycle paths along the sea, something like peaceful euphoria really does set in. And enjoyment. But we cycle without stress, our heart rates well below the coma limit. It's so peaceful that I'm afraid the boys will hug each other at the next stop. "Wonderful, we're on holiday and not on the run," says the boss, putting his arm on the shoulder of the man next to him in an old-fashioned manner. Somehow, wine combined with a sea view works like Valium on men's souls. "Honestly, guys," I shout into the row, "I'm happy to ride behind you, I don't mind your hobby pace at all." That's it for the calm. "What do you mean by hobby pace?" growls old Hans and immediately increases the gear and pressure. I try to appease him and point to a pretty café terrace with a sea view, but then it's back to racing. The last eight kilometres are spent pushing, swearing, banging and rattling as usual. At the hotel, the president is so exhausted that he falls asleep in the bike cellar.
We fly home tomorrow morning. The relaxed basic training didn't materialise this time either, but it was still nice. And instructive. Even old Hans now knows Chopin and knows that Inca is not in Peru. "Where are we going in 2012?" I ask. "It doesn't matter, Malle or Tuscany," says the president, "the main thing is Spain."
You can download the GPS data below
