TRAINING • WORLD TOUR • GREEK CYCLING • BRITAIN’S CANALS • NORTH AMERICA
UK’S LEISURE CYCLING AND TRAVEL MAGAZINE
APRIL 2021
BIKE-MAG.COM
SUN, SEA AND CITIES CYCLING IN NORTH AMERICA
NO FLIGHTS? NO PROBLEM, I’LL RIDE MY BIKE! FROM SCOTLAND TO GREECE
FRED’S PANTXIKA AND
WORLD TOUR
SPRING
CYCLING APRIL 2021
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APRIL 2021 BIKE MAGAZINE
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CONTENTS BIKE-MAG.COM
INSIDE APRIL 2021
6
ARE YOU GETTING
THE FITT RIGHT?
14
SUN, SEA AND CITIES CYCLING IN NORTH AMERICA
22
46
CYCLING BRITAIN’S CANALS A GRAND UNION ADVENTURE
NO FLIGHTS? NO PROBLEM, I’LL RIDE MY BIKE!
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MALLORCA
FROM BREEZING ALONG IN THE UK TO CYCLE-TOURING ACROSS FRANCE
BIARRITZ TO GENEVA
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WELCOME BIKE-MAG.COM
WELCOME
to the April issue Spring is officially here and, traditionally, that means change is in the air. The warmer weather is heating our bike seats and with a little bit of WD-40 here and there, the bikes will be raring to go. If like me, you haven’t been brave enough to cycle through the wetter weather then even the bicycles themselves are eager to get out on those country roads. But April is also a month filled with important cycling-related dates from start to end. The first day of the month is April Fool’s Day, a day overflowing with pretend arachnids and OTT jokes. Of course, that has nothing to do with cycling, that was just a reminder to buy a fake spider. However, 7th April is World Health Day. So, if we need an excuse to talk about all the health benefits that cycling has, then this is it. Then, on 22nd April we have Earth Day. This is a day to make people aware of how good riding a bike is for the environment. Especially because when travelling, cycling gives off the lowest carbon emissions of all the transport out there. Whether roaming America, India, Europe or solely the UK, this is perhaps why some of this month’s contributors opted for cycling when
they took their trip around the world. Or why, when they are arriving at their destination, they chose to travel the country on two trusty wheels. It’s also why we see an article about the naked cyclists that highlight the importance of cycling for the environment. In this issue, we also hear from fitness coaches and cycling trainers and as well as this, we have a special interview conducted by a class of budding Italian bicyclers. We can also read about how to deal with those scary sheepdogs when cycling in the European countryside (they are just big balls of fluff, really) and we read in detail all about specific destinations people have visited throughout the mag too. Surely after all that excitement, there is only one thing left to do. So, as Freddy Mercury famously says, “Get on your bikes and ride!”
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TRAINING • WORLD TOUR • GREEK CYCLING • BRITAIN’S CANALS • NORTH AMERICA
UK’S LEISURE CYCLING AND TRAVEL MAGAZINE
APRIL 2021
BIKE-MAG.COM
Sales Executive: Moeez Ali E. moeez.ali@bike-mag.com
SUN, SEA AND CITIES CYCLING IN NORTH AMERICA
NO FLIGHTS? NO PROBLEM, I’LL RIDE MY BIKE! FROM SCOTLAND TO GREECE
Sales Executive: Ana Santos E. ana.santos@bike-mag.com Sales Executive: Alexander Jameson E. alexander.jameson@bike-mag.com
FRED’S PANTXIKA AND
WORLD TOUR
SPRING
CYCLING APRIL 2021
£5.99/€6.99/$8.59
ARE YOU GETTING THE FITT RIGHT?
MADE IN THE UK
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Scot Whitlock Twitter: cadencemag Website: cadencemag.co.uk Author, ‘Simple Words from the Saddle, Simply More Words from the Saddle & The Way of St James’ Twitter: @saddlescot
I think we are all aware that Menorca is much quieter and less commercialised than it’s more vibrant, vocal and gregarious cousin. The reputation of Magaluf and Palma Nova is legendary for all the wrong reasons, but I wanted to experience the real Majorca.
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It’s common knowledge amongst the cycling fraternity that the Island is popular with the pro cycling teams who enthusiastically use the beautiful surroundings as their base for winter training. I was here to see what attracts them in their conveyor belt of minibuses. Even though my immersion was going to brief, I wanted to experience as much as possible of the real Majorcan culture and lifestyle. I was hoping for new and exciting things to discover. Again, the gang, especially Sarah and her friend Chrissie, will never learn. They had booked a hotel which conveniently offered bike rental and I planned to follow a mirror of the previous year’s two wheeled schedule. Siesta time equalled bike time and I couldn’t wait. I had finally received my shiny, waterproof Mapa Cicloturista from the postman and I was now ready to explore. I had devised a clever plan to allow my eyes to completely bypass the gradients in the hope they would not materialise, a figment of the cartographer’s imagination! Our base was in S’Arenal which is located a short distance south along the coast from Palma. I had read that the resort can be written as El Arenal or just Arenal and is frequently confused with a similar sounding resort on the neighbouring island of Menorca. However, this mistake would only be made once as the Arenal on Majorca is the German equivalent of Magaluf attracting the 18-30’s and, in complete contrast, the one in Menorca is a relatively quiet, unspoilt beach resort, popular with families. Had we made an error with our choice of destination? only time would tell. I was intrigued by the fact that over half the Island’s population live in the Capital, Palma. I hired my bike from ‘Ansab – Rent a bike’ situated directly on the seafront but there were many rental outlets dotted throughout the resort. I paid 30 euros for 4 days which I felt was reasonable. The bike was interestingly branded as a Panther, it was slightly battered, slightly rusty but more than adequate to accommodate my two wheeled demands. On my first ride I had decided to investigate Palma and then continue west towards the infamous Magaluf. The resort of Arenal lies at the eastern
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end of a 6km stretch of beach running from the resort through Playa de Palma and finally to C’an Pastilla. This 6km route wonderfully followed the contours of the coast on a well maintained, designated cycle path. From our hotel I freewheeled the short distance to the sea. The weather was glorious with bright blue skies and a comfortable heat. The path allowed me to pedal so close to the volatile sea, accompanied by a constant flow of cafes and restaurants. It was impossible to establish where one resort ended, and another began but the promenade provided lovely flat conditions to pedal or just strolI. I then entered a stunning section of heathland which reminded me of a stereotypical British nature reserve. The sign informed me I was now pedalling in the El Carnatge, the setting provided lovely panoramic views back towards Arenal and onwards to Palma. I opted to stop and just sit looking down on the ancient ruins, trying to imagine the area overrun with its ancient inhabitants. They were so obviously concerned with self-preservation, the remains of the various domains appeared indestructible. It was apparent that today we are moderately safe but for them it was a totally different proposition. Stone and mortar were a major factor in their personal safety, and it worked perfectly. The remains are testament to their construction abilities and sheer determination. As I pedalled on, I had a rather scary encounter with a lady on a bike strangely accessorised with a small dog, flowery basket and fluffy ear muffs (obviously worn by the lady, not the dog). It all happened in a matter of seconds, as I was attempting a nifty bit of overtaking, (I had even utilised the slightly depressing bell as a warning) she decided to cut across my path completely devoid of any spatial awareness. I’m not sure of the Spanish equivalent of a ‘Smidsy’ but I can definitely tick it off the list of my ‘not so amazing’ European experiences. In contrast the section of cycle path from C’an Pastilla to Palma was one of my most amazing European experiences. The view of the Cathedral in the distance with the dramatic peaks rising all around and the azure sea touching the cycle path was astonishing and undeniably beautiful. The Cathedral is arguably one of
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the greatest locations for a place of worship in the world; its location set dramatically close to the surf is so enchanting, oozing a picture postcard charm. Its official title is the Cathedral of Santa Maria of Palma but commonly referred to as La Seu and is believed to be the 2nd largest gothic cathedral in Spain. It possesses an untamed, direct natural beauty. The façade is amazing; the architecture is gloriously gothic in style with stunning pronounced vertical and horizontal lines complimented by some amazing flying buttresses and wonderful carvings. I stole a brief glimpse of the interior which was lovely but not a patch on the exterior. There were plenty of tourists milling around and the aroma of incense was overpowering, so I decided to leave before I was drawn into the confessional, yet again. I then sat for some time on a bench in the sun, contemplating what I had just seen. Behind me was the cathedral and in front was a glorious vista of the sea with an eclectic mix of sun seekers with beaming smiles, in stages of undress. I felt at home, relaxed and at ease. Unfortunately, my day dreaming ended abruptly as human contact had appeared in the guise of a group of school children with an overly enthusiastic travel guide. So, I pedalled off to investigate the delights of the City, actively seeking some shade. The narrow-cobbled streets and boutique shops were a throng with predominately tourists, they were so easy to identify with their rather whitewashed complexions and rather fetching yet predictable attire, white socks and toeless sandals. I eventually left the bike secured to a lamppost outside a lovely simple church. Religion is obviously a constant companion for the Islanders, and this is especially evident in the exquisite workmanship and architecture of its Churches. The carvings at this simple place of worship were stunning and the depictions took on a wonderful lifelike personality. The naive sophistication was so evident and so majestic. It was now late afternoon, the cafes and the bars were bustling, the city’s atmospheric narrow streets were awash with people strolling, animatedly walking and talking as their only amusement. The claustrophobic streets full of their conversations, there was no other
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sound. It evoked a Mediterranean feeling, so relaxing but brimming with a wonderful, understated Iberian charm. I wandered aimlessly for some time around the old quarter which allowed my mind and imagination to drift into the lives of past inhabitants; I could almost touch the vivid ghosts of Kings, knights and troubadours. Time was getting on, so I relocated my bike and continued along the route westwards towards Palma Nova and Magaluf. As I entered the infamous resorts I was surprised at how welcoming and attractive they actually were. Thankfully my adolescence had completely satisfied my urge for the superficial delights of sun, sea and sangria. My focus had changed significantly, the draw of bars, nightlife and beer bottles were no longer appealing. On my radar now were architecture, ancient ruins and wonderful landscapes. The realisation hit, I am getting old and more worryingly, it felt great. The next step is slippers topping my Christmas list. Unfortunately, the evening had started to draw in, so I decided to head back towards our base. I followed the lovely coastal path back towards Arenal, I was overjoyed I had discovered such a glorious route and was convinced I would use its surface again before the week had ended. I was 100% certain I would. I bypassed the resort and discovered at the rear of Arenal harbour a lovely secluded beach. The only sound was the sea lapping at the shoreline and me enthusiastically chomping on some earlier acquired Haribo. The red horizon was so atmospheric and provided a fitting finale to the wonderful experience I had encountered over the past three hours. I had contented myself with the fact I had found yet another amazing cycle route to match any I had previously experienced. That evening the hotel entertainment even had a two wheeled theme, there were parrots on bikes, comically Rob, the other monkey in our group, coined the name ‘Bradley Wingins’ which caused hilarious pandemonium amongst the rest of us. It strangely still does. An African grey in a tight Lycra yellow jersey and tiny helmet has so many entertainment possibilities. Its
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the Passeig Jaume III. I dawdled back to the lovely Church of San Miguel and reluctantly jumped back on the bike and headed for my temporary home. The ride back was more arduous but no less enjoyable. I finished the day back on the seafront in S’ Arenal, sat watching the kite surfers enjoying the blustery conditions eating my usual supply of Haribo. I was happy. Unfortunately, I was feeling the weather conditions in my cheeks (face obviously, please) and wasn’t sure if this was due to the sun or the wind or both, who cares it was well worth the effort. Actually, the expected dull aching pain was annoying and unnecessary.
comedy gold dust seriously watch this space, next stop Britain’s Got Talent! The following day I headed inland, my destination was Llucmajor. I had not researched the town, so it was a voyage into the unknown. I initially followed a lovely tree lined cycle track out of the urban surroundings and easily followed the ma-6020 which ran conveniently alongside the fairly busy ma-19. I eventually arrived in the outskirts of Llucmajor. The town is fairly commercialised on the fringes but once I hit the inner cordon, it was an absolute joy, the wonderful atmospheric, laid back streets and narrow alleyways were astonishing. It was bursting with so many contradictions. There were the usual modern amenities and shops like banks, mobile phone shops and supermarkets but they were seamlessly non-existent, unnoticeable in the beguiling surroundings. The place just oozed a peaceful and amiable eccentricity. The roads were laid out in a confusing one-way system, but it didn’t matter as my
wheels happily twisted around, down and through the lovely streets with their endless nooks and crannies, it was so much fun! I eventually stopped in-front of the welcoming entrance to a simple and rustic church. I locked my bike and set off to explore. The constant clatter of footsteps, echoing in the main square was a draw. The square didn’t disappoint, the place was bubbling with people displaying joyous demeanours. There was no artificial magnificence just plain old natural beauty. All the buildings had simple and primitive facades and I find great pleasure in the simple things that life has to offer and Llucmajor was one such thing I will always remember fondly. However, the history of the town portrays another side, a bloody, feudal past. In 1349, it was the site of a battle where Peter IV of Aragon defeated his cousin James III of Majorca who he left for dead and this event is commemorated throughout the town with several monuments especially the memorial to James on
It was my final day of cycling and I couldn’t leave without experiencing the delights of the coastal route to Palma again. So, I set off along the promenade which appeared so familiar to me by now. The weather was glorious; the expected bright blue skies had arrived and were complimented by windless, warm conditions. The route was even busier than previously, but this didn’t hamper my progress at all. I even made a brief foray inland just because I could, but I had been totally spoilt with the coastal route, so even if the ride was enjoyable and at times picturesque it was no match for the seafront. I breezed past the aquarium which looked promising especially for the kids, that includes the big kids as well, before the compulsion and draw of the sea took over. I reacquainted myself with the water and pedalled onwards. The view from the cycle path of the Cathedral was as evocative the second time. I briefly stopped by the beach and watched a rather enthusiastic group of volleyball players prancing around the sand, in hardly any clothing. The sight of the sand encrusted wedgies were rather nauseating. I pedalled through the Parc de La Mar and passed the Cathedrals museum before leaving my bike located conveniently central to most of the attractions and places of interest. I clambered up some lovely stone steps to the entrance of the Cathedral, horses with decorative carriages blocked my route and after deflecting some rather enthusiastic requests to utilise their alternative transport, I entered the Cathedral.
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It would be so easy to bombard you with an array of superlatives to describe the building, so I will. Beyond the doorway was another world. Its size was absolutely astonishing, the interior was beautiful, and I was pleased that I had been able to visit the cathedral properly after my brief encounter earlier in the week. I happily spent a large amount of time wandering through the sublime surroundings. It appeared they were preparing for a service, there were plenty of individuals milling around in crisp, clean regalia with all manner of crucifixes and ceremonial equipment in hand. The cacophony of chorale music enhanced by the outstanding acoustics elevated the atmosphere, it was so invigorating. The light and diverse colours generated by the countless stained-glass windows were stunning. I especially enjoyed the large Muriel of the Lord looking up to the heavens on the far wall opposite the altar. I was intrigued to discover that parts of the building had been modified by Antoni Gaudi, the wrought iron structure symbolizing the crown of thorns was inspired by him and he is also credited with introducing electricity to the cathedral. I defy anybody to come to Palma and not be completely overwhelmed by the Cathedral’s beauty. Frustratingly the crowds became annoying, so I left and headed deeper into the heart of the City. The majority of the shops were closed, I was unsure if this was due to it being out of season or was siesta time still being adhered too. Most of the outlets were pricey boutiques housing highend designers like Hugo Boss and Louis Vuitton but amongst the obvious money was some lovely independent stores, my favourite was ‘The Monkey Shop’. It offered some lovely knick knacky merchandise and a wonderful amiable ambience. I then stumbled on Placa Major. It is so wonderfully Spanish, simple but yet refined, the pedestrianised square consists of some glorious terracotta buildings, all with vibrant green shutters. The whole atmosphere was complimented by a bustling craft market taking place in the centre. The outer part of the square is occupied predominately by modern shops, cafes and a plethora of life statues, kitted out in the usual gold and silver costumes. I had read that the square was built in the 1820s on the site of the demolished
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headquarters of the infamous, Inquisition. (Just the mention of that word reminds me of the classic Monty Python sketch). I stood for a while listening to an authentic Spanish accordion player who I established disappointingly played not so authentic music after all, his repertoire consisted of ‘My Way’ followed by ‘Let it be’. Imposter, his name was probably Steve and he most likely hailed from Bootle. I had decided I wanted to visit C&A before I left the City. To explain, anybody born before the 90’s would have fond memories of C&A, it was the Primark of its day and I was here to experience a bit of nostalgia before returning the bike. My inner GPS never fails and after several detours and some puzzling interactions with the locals, I was stood outside the store. The sight of the logo was reassuring and ultimately satisfying. The whole C&A experience hasn’t changed much over the years, the current clothing lines would have looked pretty much fashionable back 20+ years ago and I was confused by the perceived demand for lumberjack shirts and jumpers, but it was the winter season so dodgy clothing is always acceptable, isn’t it? I was surprised to discover that actually the brand only left the UK at the end of 2000, it seemed so much longer ago.
I sauntered back to the bike, completely satisfied I had seen some wonderful sights in this lovely City. The cycle path was relatively quiet, but I could never tire of the views, especially by the port where the waves were actually crashing onto the cycle path and splashing both me and the bike. The ride was uneventful through to S’ Arenal and I continued on to the beach I had found earlier in the week. The sunset took on a magical crimson hue, the solitude was amazing and provided me with prime opportunity to analyse my Mallorcan experience. I recognise as a cyclist I am looked upon as a strange human being with a bizarre and slightly addictive fascination, but we are, actually, the lucky ones. I have pedalled along some absolutely amazing routes, in some beautiful locations and Mallorca was no exception. The route from S’Arenal to the metropolis of Palma was breathtaking, it had everything, stunning views, well maintained surfaces, a plethora of cafes and restaurants and an abundance of animated joy. I was hooked. I cannot enthuse about its qualities enough and hope if you do venture to this part of the island, you feel the urge to discover from the saddle. The smooth transition between urban living and nature has no contradictions. The Island continues to evolve but my hope is that it maintains its naive
underbelly which is ultimately its main attraction. That’s it for my annual sun fest. We won’t see his face until that single week in May when he arrives with aplomb before leaving us with his miserable, slightly depressing relation Senor Rain or Senorita Cloud cover. To re-affirm my love and total commitment to cycling. I want to share with you a television interview I watched on my return, the joys of BBC iPlayer, between, the comedian Dara O’Briain and Professor Steve Jones, a Geneticist from University College London. It took place on the programme ’Science Club’ which is shown on BBC2. The professor claimed that the single most important event in human evolution was the invention of the BICYCLE. Were my ears deceiving me, had he just mentioned the meagre bicycle! Happily, I will let the Professor explain, his reasoning was simple. He stated, that we no longer had to procreate with the boy or girl next door, we could get on our two wheels and pedal to the neighbouring village or town and expand the gene pool. This was the beginning of exploration and limitless travel and we arrived at the stage, today, where it’s so easy to just hop on a Boeing 747 and pro-create on another continent. Ok, I am not advocating excessive pro-creation but just simple, excessive pedalling. Please, when has a Professor ever been wrong!
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