Mountain biking is a variation of the sport of cycling which involves the use of specially reinforced frames with suspension forks, big tyres with nobbly bits, a helmet with a peak on the front; and in this case shaved legs are optional. However, Greg has invented a new variation whereby the carbon framed road bike with 23 mm tyres will do dual duty as a mountain bike – it is, after all, very light to carry. Road cleats? . . . no problem, they can be turned into makeshift crampons in extremis; and if you get a pinch flat while shuddering over the jumble of boulders and flinty rocks . . . well, those skinny tyres are easy to pump up again afterwards. So it was that we ventured forth, like Indiana Jones in search of the lost Arc, with Lou resplendent in her full camo’ top . . .
. . . with spooky prescience from yesteday’s post, if she had wandered too far from the trail we would never have found her. Alas, equipment failure curtailed our journey, but we did manage lunch amongst the gargantuan creatures that inhabit this forgotten realm, before starting the treacherous descent back to base camp. As you will have already concluded, dear reader, I survived to record our amazing adventure in what I can only describe as a ‘Lost World’.
Back on the road then, to Artà and the Santuari Sant Salvador, a walled fortress high above the town, for a very windy café con leche . . .