When I glance at my Wahoo Bolt, the stats are mind-boggling. I’ve already been cycling for seven and a half hours, covering 156 km with around 3,000 metres of elevation gain. According to my bike computer, I’ve burned 3,600 kcal, prompting me to reach into my rear pocket for yet another ham sandwich.
It’s 1 pm on a warm day in Mallorca, and I realise this is now my longest, hardest ride of the year. I’m only halfway through one of the toughest sportives any keen cyclist would dare attempt: Mallorca 312. And yes, 312 km is the total distance I must cover today to earn a medal.
The long day begins at 6:30 am in Platja de Muro on the northwest side of the Balearic island. Along with 8,000 other cyclists, we arrive early at the start line, wearing cheap souvenir jumpers over our cycling kits—bought the night before from a local shop—to keep warm until the gun went off.
I’m with my friend from London, who rode the 312 two years ago but blew up at the end and felt he had unfinished business with the beast. Yet, because norovirus had sidelined him for the past month, and the longest ride he managed in the lead-up was only 90 km, he wisely chose the “shorter” format: 225 km with 3,600 metres of climbing.
The actual start of the event is something of a letdown. After months of preparation, an epic countdown, and dramatic music, as soon as we set off, we can’t really move. There are simply too many of us on the road. Instead, we shuffle forward awkwardly, one cleat clipped in and the other foot pushing.
It’s a comic scene, but it doesn’t last long. I’d been wary of people starting too fast in the first few kilometres, but I had no idea how fast. While I’m cruising in a small group at 35 km/h, easing my legs in and not overdoing it, other groups fly past at 45–50 km/h as if I’m standing still. Where on earth are they going?
As it turns out, all that early hustling was either to avoid the standstill at the first climb or simply pointless. After 20 km of flat roads, the climbs begin. Everyone has a different goal, whether to ride fast all day, find the rhythm, conserve energy, or stay within the cut-off times.
When I stop for the first of many nature breaks, the scene is surreal. I hear only birdsong in the woods and the hum of cyclists whizzing past me. I hear a few people chatting as most try to conserve energy, desperately clicking through the gears in search of something easier on their cassette.
The roads are closed to traffic, and only the organisers’ vehicles and ambulances are permitted. I glance back at the switchbacks, then ahead at what lies ahead. Everywhere I look, there are mountains and cyclists. It’s like a modern-day Caspar David Friedrich painting, but in motion. I take a deep breath, soak it all in, and start pedalling again.
I knew nutrition and hydration would be crucial today, so I started fuelling just 20 minutes in. A voice in my head keeps repeating an all-day litany: “Control the watts. Don’t forget to eat and drink.”
Hitting my carb target of around 90 grams per hour isn’t an issue (I probably exceeded it). Drinking enough, however, is more challenging. We start riding at 10°C, but I know it would warm up significantly. Aid stations are spaced roughly every 50 km, plus two extra ones organised by my hosts, Sportive Breaks.
I decide to carry most of my carbs in one 750 ml bottle (two Precision Fuel & Hydration 300 Flow Gels, totalling 600 grams of carbs), and leave the second bottle for water and electrolytes—which I use one per water bottle. This works well in the early cool temperatures, but after 4–5 hours I began to feel short on fluids between stops.
What saves me is gradually diluting the carb bottle with water at the different aid stations. In the end, compared with past warm events, I sweat less and stop to pee more often—perhaps a sign I was not dehydrated after all, and maybe I overdrank.
Aside from managing fluids, everything else is going smoothly. The mechanical issues I encountered after the trip (including a snapped chain, a loose cockpit, and worn brake pads) were all resolved by Sportive Breaks’ mechanics on time. Having that support right at the hotel made a huge difference, and my Canyon Ultimate feels incredible: smooth, silent, and fast, courtesy of a last-minute upgrade to Ceramic Bear’s bottom bracket. It is a joy to ride.
As often happens at these events, I find myself riding alongside the same people throughout the day, a bit like in Tim Krabbé’s book The Rider, in which the author writes about a fictional race in France and yo-yos with the same people from start to finish. We, too, pass each other again and again, like a moving cast of characters, and I often find myself drafting or pulling a Scandinavian group in white jerseys, two stylish couples in matching kits, three strong, tanned Spanish triathletes, and many lone riders in Mallorca 312 jerseys.
The hours fly by. With the long build-up over, I slip into a trance, moving quietly through the breathtaking scenery of the UNESCO World Heritage Site of the Serra de Tramontana. The only chaos is at the aid stations, where loud crowds push for food and queue for toilets. But even that calms as fatigue sets in. The roads gradually empty. The morning’s silent procession becomes a quieter, more solitary ordeal.
At the final aid station, though, the mood shifts one more time. Spectators, some clearly drunk, cheer us on as if we’re climbing Alpe d’Huez in the Tour de France. I even have a sip of beer, hoping for a miracle boost for the final stretch. It works.
Over the past hour, my legs feels strong again, as if I’ve tapped into a hidden reserve. The rolling roads and perfect tarmac help, and I fly towards the finish, passing 20–30 riders. A couple manage to hold my wheel, and together we form a final chain gang. It’s almost 7pm. I’ve been riding for over 12 hours. The sun is setting, painting the sky in soft peach hues. It’s pure bliss.
I cross the finish line at 7:50 pm, an hour before the cut-off. There were tough moments. The hardest was between kilometre 250 and 280, when my stomach rejected sports nutrition, and my legs felt empty. But that passed after the final aid station, when my mind locked onto the finish.
Final stats: 12 hours 22 minutes for 312 km, averaging 25.2 km/h and 174 watts. Total elevation: 4,523 metres. Calories burned: 6,639. I feel heavy-legged and sore, but strong.
Looking back on this journey, from couch to Mallorca 312, I realise how tight my preparation was. Early mornings, busy workdays, family life, poor weather, and saddle issues. I wouldn’t have made it without the support of my wife, who gave me the space to train; Sportive Breaks, for seamless logistics and race entry; EF Coaching and Nathan Haas, for the training plan; Precision Fuel & Hydration, for nutrition and strategy; and Ceramic Bear, for a last-minute upgrade.
I’m in awe of what I’ve been given and what I’ve achieved in such a short time. My legs feel better than ever, and I’m already itching to ride again.
So… what’s next?
