TERMES 53 - How to see Mallorca and Redefine Yourself

Badass or hybris?

My back hurts, I cannot move my head to look over my shoulder. With a little prayer on my lips, I push the pedals and hope the cars and trucks around me see where I am going and have mercy. I probably look like they should.

How the hell did I end up in this situation? It is Monday morning, more than 25 hours after the official race start. I have cycled 5 kilometers in total and am another 5 away from the starting line, trying hard to escape traffic at a roundabout on the outskirts of Palma di Mallorca. Doubt is creeping into my mind. Is this really going to work out? Or were my ambitions well over my means?

Rewind to the day before. At Sunday 8am, right in front of the beautiful Cathedral of Palma, a field of gravel cyclists embarks on an epic journey: Termes 53, a 800km adventurous route through all 53 communities of Mallorca. With 12.000m of total climbing, the course promises to show the island in a completely new way. It is mid-May, and the perfect time for a first big adventure of the year.

At least this was what my teammates from the AlmostGrownUp Adventure Racing Team thought a few months ago. We are a bunch of Swedish and German adventure racers who love to sign up for new crazy stuff. After tipping the toes into the Seven Serpents Quick Bite Race last year, I convinced my mates that Termes 53 would be a great choice.

But the thing is: as the crowd is taking off full gas, I am not wearing Lycra. I wear traditional Bavarian Lederhosen and I am getting ready for church. It is the first communion of my daughter Magdalena and when signing up for the race, I just messed up the dates.

So as a grown up, the reasonable thing would have been to cancel the race. But remember, our team name is not just a name, but more a program. So I reached out to Toni and his amazing team organizing Termes 53 and they allowed me to start late. As long as I am back within the time limit. Fair deal. Challenge accepted.

This new personalized race schedule of course changes the overall experience and expectations. In my head I know that I will have to do my own race, be out there for days without seeing another racer and that dot chasing makes no sense and would just lead me to going too fast and wreck myself. But of course, I look up the race tracking multiple times on Sunday. My team mates Liv and Nicklas are racing as a pair and pushing hard. I love to see their progress. My team mate Fred has also a special mission. He has to start 12 hours late, but I know how strong he is and that he will definitely catch other riders.

Monday, 2 am, 18 hours after the start. With a solid 3 hour sleep I head to the airport. Everything goes smoothly and I am in an interesting mix of tiredness and excitement. As the plane lands in Mallorca, I try to focus: now it is time to execute. Pre race adrenaline kicks in and I change into cycling gear in the Airport restrooms. Feels a bit like a scene of a Mission Impossible movie. My appearance in Lycra then puzzles the already drunk party crowds at the airport. These folks obviously cannot imagine doing something else than drinking on the island. As my bike arrives safely, I head out to the airport parking lot and build it up. I strive to go to events by fair means, so more as symbol here because flying was unavoidable, I planned to ride to the start. I pack all my stuff into the bike case and strap it to my back.

Movement is restricted and cycling an act of balance, but I am on my way to the start. One hour later, I arrive in the heart of Palma. I escaped traffic, and I made it to the event HQ at Rapha's.

The welcoming spirit is exceptional, my bike bag is taken care of, I get my tracker, food and water, and the best wishes. It feels like the organizers just are there for me. As I roll off a few hundred meters to the cathedral, the official startline, and I am realizing how lucky I am to be here. It is always a balancing act between job, being a fair enough dad and husband, making a bit of a difference in the world and living some adventure dreams. Now it is my time: just the route, my bike and myself.

At 10:30 am, 26h 30min after the official start, I head off. Just 15 minutes later, I find myself in solitude in switchback wonderland. I ride lightheartedly. Up, down, on backroads and nice gravel. Everything feels good. But I know: this will pass, so better enjoy now!

After 50k and roundabout 1000m of climbing, Toni and his team give a first demonstration of what the course will throw at us: a tough short climb over 20%, then downhill on steep slopes with loose rocks.

You know, that kind of terrain you wish for an enduro full suspension rig. I am lucky and able to stay on the bike, while being an attraction to the passing uphill-hikers.

Down at the coast in St. Elmo, my plan was to have a short stop at a shop or bar. I pass the first ones, too crowded, the second one too small, and so on. I know that I am picky and I shouldn't be. But I don't stop and roll on, being to much in a flow state to even allow myself a short deviation.

So I eat a gel and a bar and ride on. The scenery is beautiful, and the terrain a great mix. Butter smooth tarmac, champagne gravel, rough stuff, small single trails - you all have it. But at 80K, it feels like the the hammer is hitting. My way to little sleep of the last days kicks in. Luckily, a bar with great sea view turns up and I enjoy a healthy meal: Bocadillo, Ice Cream and Coke.

At around 8pm, I am arriving in Soller. Over 130k with 2800m of climbing so far. I decide against staying here for the night. This means going solo through the night with a lot of climbing. Armed with another bocadillo, I tackle it. The route now gets nasty. There is a really nice tarmac road, but Toni chose to give us rough uphill gravel serpents. But nature is beautiful again. Lemons from a tree lie on the floor, and I cannot resist. I pick one up and eat it. I am loving eating from the floor. Once in a race in Portugal, we had plenty figs, grapes, apples and pears to grab on our journey. Another competitor from the US found the right words: "this is a freakin supermarket!".

Half up the mountain, I have a call with my wife and kids at home to say goodnight. This is the part where I feel the most torn. I love to be with them. But to be a bit closer the person I want to be, I also have to be away sometimes. I guess every adventure parent knows that feeling. While continuing uphill, I am spoiled with the most stunning sunset. What a beautiful day comes to an end. Let's go into the night.

On tarmac again, I am slowly climbing towards the highest point of the race. As I enter the Túnel de la Serra de Son Torrella, I remember that I've been here before with my Adventure Racing Teammates. Some years ago, in the middle of a chilly night, we were climbing the north side of Puig Major but then got stopped by the Spanish military forces as we accidentally entered their restricted zone... but that is another story.

As I go downhill, the weather gets worse, with some wind and rain coming in. It is way past midnight, and I am pushing on. Objectively I am going slow, subjectively I am doing the best I can. I realize that making it to Luc for some sleep is unrealistic. So I focus on getting down safely to Sa Colobra. I have the famous 270 degree curve and all the switchbacks for myself. Amazing, but my focus is on not falling asleep or crashing. At around 1:30 am, I am at sea level. 170km, 4000m of climbing, 15 hours since my start. Now it is definitely time to sleep for 3 hours. I find a nice spot, eat a third of my now well soaked up bocadillo, all under the hungry eyes of cats surrounding me and watching carefully. My eyes shut quickly, but there is hardly any rest: mosquitoes are welcoming me. I have no repellent or net with me (dear reader, pls add this to your gear list now). In a state of half asleep, half awake, I hit myself in the face more than once. After 2 hours, I get up and pack my stuff.

It is 4 am and I am the only person climbing Sa Calobra. Totally tired, I try to entertain myself with some podcast. I chose to listen to "Sitzfleisch", a podcast with ultracycling legend Christoph Strasser. They are talking about the Unknown Race and the challenges there. Suddenly, I don't feel alone anymore, but well understood. In a rush of gratefulness, I sent a short message to Christoph Strasser, thanking him for his work of talking about ultracycling. A few hours later, he really gets back to me and even drops lines of motivation: Schiab de Hüttn bis in Zui! (No translation available ;-)

With slow but steady progress I move on into the morning sun. Now another highlight from the island is on the plate: Cap de Formentor. The first climb has heavy crosswinds, but the scenery is breathtaking. In the flat section in the woods my tiredness is no longer manageable. I stop and pull out my beloved inflatable mattress for a cat nap. I fall asleep with the sound of more and more road bikers speeding by. 15 minutes later, I feel a bit better. I will push on, I want to submerge in this cyclists dream route.

So I roll to the picturesque most northern point of the route. On Cap Formentor, I want to refill water and treat myself with some snack, but everything is still closed. So I turn around on some last sips of my bidon and a gel. Outch, this hurts. Nearly back in Port de Pollenca, I find a road side bar and it's time for emergency sprite, water and orange juice, followed by a cookie and ice cream. Some force is creeping back into my body and my brain, and so I take stock: 250k and 5500m so far after 22 hours. I set a goal for this day: getting to Arta at km 400, half time of the race. There my teammates Liv and Nicklas are at the moment after the ripped shifter cable, and they warned me: it is beautiful, but really rough.

Heading south towards Alcudia, Toni the race organizer obliviously wants to spoil us a little. Fast tarmac on small roads is complemented my small tracks directly on the beachside. My heart is feeling light. I enjoy it, but remember that famous clip by Tom Hanks (you should definetly look it up on YouTube): He explains the importance of "this too shall pass": feeling great at the moment, like now? This too shall pass. Beeing totally destroyed and wanting to quit? Just keep on keeping on, this too shall pass.

After another short roadside stop - meat pie and ice cream to go, for the record - the heat is building up and so does the gravel. We are now transitioning from touristic to rural Mallorca. Small tracks with overgrown grass plus rough gravel are coming. Butt and back and hands start asking questions about smoother conditions. I take the time for a short break in the shade and switch from the cycling dress in a loose white Merino shirt for better ventilation. As I glance on my phone, I have a message from Toni on it: He thinks I am doing amazing and should take my time, no need to rush it, it is a long way. Wow, that is great motivation. A few kilometers later, I find oranges lying on the field. That's exactly the fuel I need. Note to myself: I run on fresh Vitamin C like Wall Street traders on cocaine.

Up and down some backroads, I am battling with the heat and towards my waypoint Arta. My teammates are progressing well: Fred is 10 hours ahead, while Liv and Nicklas got a new shifter cable and are well rested pushing forward with full force. Half an hour towards Arta, my last drop of water is gone and the burning sun is taking its toll. I push through, and once there I raid a supermarket. On a park bench, I refill and reorganize body and mind. Next on the route is a loop around Arta through a nature park. I see some elevation, but only 25k. It's 7pm, that sounds doable before I need some rest, and this will finally lead me to the 400k mark. I book a hotel and plan to get some real dinner afterwards. I decide to just take little food and water, as it will be just a little loop, I plan for 1,5 hours. What a naive approach.

I am cycling in good moods into the nature reserve loop. I’ve been basically now riding alone for more than 32 hours, and I like it that I have a beautiful mountain gravel road just for my own. I am going uphill and can sense the ocean behind the next hill. The track turns downwards and into one of most gorgeous and technical riding I've ever done. The track is at times so steep that any mistake would be terrible. Then it is loose gravel with big bumps. And then it is clear that this is a trail going all the way down to the most beautiful beach I have ever seen. As I reach sea level, the sun is setting and turning everything into a striking light. I get overwhelmed by emotions. As much as I am exhausted, I feel so damn privileged. I am alone in this spectacular piece of nature. I call my wife and kids to say goodnight to them. I wouldn't want to switch my life with no one else in the world in this moment.

But no matter how high or low your spirits are... remember, this too shall pass. It is now uphill for 1,5 hours, mostly bike pushing. Darkness is setting in, and I again run out of water. Suddenly, there are some black shadows in front of me. As I approach, these are huge black cattle. Luckily, I got no red shirt, and they let me pass without caring too much. Nonetheless, now every meter hurts: too little food, no water left. Also my hopes for a restaurant dinner vanishes, I focus on my safety reserve: freeze dried Pasta Bolognese in my pack. This is what gets me to my hotel back in Arta. With hot water from the shower, I prep my meal, and eat it wrapped in a towel lying in a nice and cozy bed. What a day comes to an end.

After sleeping like baby for 6 hours, it is time to restart. The deep dive into my energy reserves yesterday made such break absolutely the best decision. After years of Adventure Racing where we slept only for 1 or 2 hours a night, I noted with delight that in ultracycling the trend goes towards less time in the saddle per day, but faster riding fueled by more recovery time. The best byproduct of the strategy seems to me that you are also less zombie like, and able to feel and enjoy more. Like the beautiful sunrise I am cycling towards now and the following CP at a lighthouse.

On the following gravel sections, I need some time to find the right pace. My back and butt are hurting, and my hands and feet feeling numb. But hey, this is not supposed to be an easy ride. To boost my mood, I am looking for a nice morning refueling place. In Manacor, I am feeling that the route is doing a bit of an unnecessary hook ending at a roundabout, but then I find out why: It is another hint from Toni, who rewards the riders with an extremely delicious bakery at exactly this point. I love such messages from race organizers. You can see how much thought went into a course, when it is not just brutally hard, but also has rewards and is kind of talking to racer: "hey, I cause you pain, but I will show you beautiful places and will be occasionally merciful and give you easy access to refueling, before I will try my best to beat the shit out of you again."

Armed with two cookies, two pieces of cake and two "this is another secret food weapon" Tortilla de Patatas, I am ready to tackle the next section. Additional motivation comes from my team at work: They are following my tracker and it appears that I am close to the next rider who started at the official time. But it is a ghost chase, as it is just a gps tracker which stopped working for a few hours.

At km 480, it is time for another epic view, Sant Salvador. After some initial steep gravel roads, there are again wonderful switchbacks, and one can blend into the groups of roadies riding up. In the early afternoon, it is time for heat suffering again. I decide to take a restaurant break in Santanyi, but as I enter the crowded market square pushing my bike, I am rejected by two restaurants. Dirty, sweaty and salty, they probably don't see a really valuable customer in me. This should be the only rather unfriendly encounter on the island, as all other people in bars and shops and even all the motorists were really nice and gentle. But fine, supermarket time again, I think and remember that there is another superfood available in Spain: Gazpacho. The cold soup with tomatoe, vinegar and other cool stuff can be bought in bottles. It is a great dish to be served with Cola, jelly bears and milk rice, to add a little contrast and texture to ultracycling cuisine.

The next hours are filled with battling the heat and riding through plain terrain. I hit a kind of low point, where I have so much pain in my saddle zone that I start riding out of the saddle. After a while, it just hurts to much and I stop in the shade of a stone wall at the roadside. I probably look as shitty as I feel, as cars passing by slow down and people look at me if I need help.

Some more training may have been useful. I have 2000 cycling km this year in my legs, which I am quite happy with besides running and mountaineering, but let's face it, it is of course not enough for ultracycling. Before I trench too much into self-pity, I remember that I just should focus on the next step forward. And this is putting cream on my aching butt and feet. As I am in the saddle again, I feel relief immediately: It was not just the pressure, but mostly the friction which stopped me. Ok, I am not done yet. It is kind of funny how tiny improvements boost your morale. I continue...and after a few meters, some of the most crueling gravel begins. Washboard with bigger and bigger stones, it feels like an African Land Rover track - lovely on a full-suspension MTB!

After the off-road style part, I am moving towards the second to last big climb of the race, the Puig de Randa. It is golden hour now, and time for emotions. The tiredness and pouring sweat together with the epic view is like a catalysator for deep feelings. I feel so blessed that I have my loved ones. I call my dad and ask how he is doing. Technology should be used to connect, right?

Arriving at the monastery at the top, I spoil myself with another ice cream and prepare my strategy for the night:I have around 590k and 9.500m of climbing in the books. Not bad after less than 2,5 days, but too much to think about pushing through. I have a look at the tracker map: My teammates will finish strong this night, and the next racers are probably about one hour ahead. The organizers communicated that there will the chance of a sleeping spot at a sports ground in about 40k, so I aim for that for tonight. In my vision, there will be some nice real food, too.

So I am in good spirits riding into the night. In our chat group, our team member Bene brings up Back Street Boys songs to entertain us, and soon I sing (to put it euphemistically) along also to Britney and Christina and other 90s and 00s hits. Whoop, whoop, kilometers are adding up through little hills and small field tracks. But then of course, Toni prepared another highlight of pain: Puig de Bonany, a very nice church which unfortunately lies on a very steep hill. And this hill is even steeper when you don't use - both uphill and downhill - the nice tarmac road, but small bumpy tracks.

After the hill, the night hits me with full force, and I drag myself the last km to the CP. I am happy to meet another rider there, Thomas. He was even luckier, and got a nice meal an hour earlier. I stick to my little leftovers, and lie down behind a bench for three hours. Around 4:30, it is go time again. In my head are two important points: not dying before breakfast, and finishing today.

The route continues through fields and along stone walls into the first light of the day. That is the best time for race photographer Rafa Babot to capture tired but determined and fulfilled rider faces.