Mallorca - from the ground
I’m putting it down to the brakes being the ‘wrong’ way round. I was picking myself up on the floor, trying to resist the temptation to take the glove off for a look at what was causing the pain. There was something about my left thigh as well. The adrenaline would wear off later and I’d have a much better knowledge of the pain. For now there was no option but to pick myself up, have a quiet word with myself, and get going. A tumble always knocks my confidence for a while. By the time we’d finished the trail to the beach I was pretty much back in the groove. Then my right pedal started to feel strange. We tightened it up once. But that lasted maybe 50 metres. Essentially the thread in the crank was shot. Maybe that’s no surprise given the amount of pedals this crank had seen, but I was feeling angry and sorry for myself.
For the start it’s worth tracking back a few months, to when I was in Mallorca in Spring 2016 – remember those heady pre-Brexit, pre-Trump days? Four of us, on road bikes, covering the smooth roads around the north-eastern – some might say German – part of the island.