Oh the places I have seen, the roads we have pedaled, and the pounding heart rates and heavy breathing. If you want to ever go on a cycling holiday, Mallorca should be on the top of your list. Miles and miles, or excuse me, kilometers and kilometers of smoothly paved roads, twisty fun summits and daring fast descents. Courteous drivers, cheering bystanders, and town sprint signs. Couple that with several Olympic cyclists and well, you have yourself a pinch me, I must be dreaming opportunity. It baffles me how the series of life events has lead me here - roaming the Spanish hillside and chasing watts and personal bests up climbs.
Today we visited the Orient. Don't let the name fool you. I think it should be renamed the Disorient - as going above Super LT for 15 minutes straight, turning back around and then doing it again two more times left me drained. And try as I did to sustain that power, it was no match for one of the guys who cruised by me like I was standing still. So that's what 400 watts looks like. Well done, sir!
The only thing that got me up the last one was the fact that I would get to descend it.
Pushing yourself to your physical limit came with a reward today: an afternoon nap in front of the fan. I passed out, book open, legs curled up and woke up to an ache. The hams are getting a workout and are starting to scream in protest. Today was a short day - only 2.5 hours in the saddle, tallying 22 hours or so of saddle time this week. My tan lines look sweet on the beach and I'm not self-conscious about them at all. Ha!
Next up: a solo venture to the supermarket. I'm picking up some mussels tonight for a certain somebody's birthday celebration. Super stoked to be able to spend this time with Benjamin in paradise.
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