Once upon a time in a little town in Majorca; Pretty Polence, there was a lost tribe of Wheelers, 3 men and a “Token Women” washed up and wined out after 3 days of hectic training.
Twas ‘eavenly, the heavens opened upon them and they suffered not to go out until the sun had risen above the yard arm; armless as it was, after 11is’s.
The epic planned journey was parked for another day, they made a rush for the coast in hot pursuit of fish and chips.
Robustly lead by the mismanagement they pitched up at the surfline….The Beach. They was no DeCaprio in sight and a hasty retreat from wind and seaweed was made with excessive wheel spin, or are we spinning this out?
The search resumed on the other side of the bay whilst the sun diminished and the cloud advanced with a curtain of rain.
Undiminished, our intrepid heroes braved their way to the local marina bar. Sheltering under a canopy they ordered a right royal feast of salad, avocado and fish platter; the chips came later! This was washed down with the Matre de Maison recommendation of Rioja, followed by a bottle of house Rioja, there was common purpose in the wine tasting , in so far as anyone can remember (not a lot).
There was then an excursion along the peninsula with the advancing squall chasing them into the roadside shelter. The recounted tales of automobile disasters helped to pass the time whilst team leader did press ups and knuckle crawls impatient to rush forth into the fray. There were no camp followers and shelter was then taken in a local cafe rather than the suggested cross country route – back packing bicycles downhill; no surprises there!
There was an uneventful return to the hacienda where there was a happy ending over eggs on toast and more Rioja.
John H