The Ultimate Ride: 275km Across Mallorca

Mallorca has long been one of cycling’s great playgrounds. For Luke Michael James, however, the island carries a meaning that goes far beyond its roads and climbs.

It is where his relationship with cycling abroad began, where he shared his first cycling holiday with his wife, and where he received news that would change his life forever.

Five years after first imagining an ambitious ride across the island, Luke decided it was time to make it happen. Alongside Theresa, and riding two Colnago C72s, he set out before sunrise with one goal: 275 kilometres, 5,100 metres of climbing and a final arrival at Sant Salvador in time for sunset.

This is Luke’s story of the ride.

Five a.m. I’m wide awake, at least an hour before my alarm.

I’m ready. I’m excited. I’m nervous. Today is a ride I’ve been imagining for five years, in a place that means more to me than almost anywhere else.

Mallorca was where I first rode abroad. It was where I shared my first cycling holiday with my wife. It was also where I found out that my mum had passed away.

I think that will tie me to this island forever.

For this adventure, I have Theresa beside me. She is kind, selfless and incredibly strong on a bike. We’re supported by a small team in a support van, and riding two beautiful Colnago C72s.

The plan is ambitious: 275 kilometres, around 5,100 metres of climbing, Sa Calobra along the way, and a final ascent to the Sanctuary of Sant Salvador in time for sunset.

Honestly, I don’t know if it’s possible. But that’s the point.

We roll out on optimism, excitement and, dare I say, a hint of naivety.

The first climbs bite, but our legs are fresh and our spirits are high. Mallorca is slowly waking around us. We stop briefly for coffee at the Sa Batalla petrol station, a familiar ritual before the next challenge.

Then comes Sa Calobra.

The road twists and folds into the mountains, leading us towards one of the island’s most famous climbs. Beautiful, dramatic and completely unforgiving.

Once you descend into Sa Calobra, there is only one way out. Up. So we take the plunge. The climb is everything we expected and more.

The temperature reaches 36 degrees, there is barely a breath of wind, and the heat starts to take its toll. I begin to wilt.

Theresa doesn’t make a fuss. She simply keeps going, steady and calm, somehow making the climb feel more manageable. She lifts me without even trying to.

I’m grateful for that.

After Puig Major, the descent is pure joy. It is probably the most fun I’ve had on a bike in as long as I can remember.

The C72 feels planted, responsive, just right.

At the bottom, we fist bump.

Then we keep riding. The hours are passing. The heat is building. The distance ahead is still enormous.

The road takes us along Mallorca’s spectacular coastline. Yachts drift across the blue water below as we follow the bends above them, the kind of scenery that makes you forget, for a moment, just how many kilometres are still left.

By 3 p.m., we reach Port d’Andratx. And suddenly, we have a decision to make. Stop to eat, or keep pushing?

The day is getting away from us, but we know we need to fuel properly.

We take the risk and sit down to eat, knowing that the effort afterwards will have to be real.

There is no more time to waste.

As we head towards the flatter roads, we lose the support van.

We’re running low on water. We need to make up time. We wait. No signal. No answer. No idea where the van is.

For a moment, the whole plan hangs in the balance. Just as we are about to leave without water, the van appears.

We regroup. Refill. Eat. Commit. From here, the ride changes. It becomes a two-person time trial against the setting sun.

Somewhere along the way, I find a second wind. Theresa and I begin pushing each other on, taking turns, finding a rhythm. The ice from our bottles melts against our necks as we surf the tailwind towards the final kilometres.

And then we see it. The final climb.

Sant Salvador is waiting in the distance. But so is the sunset.

The stress starts to show. I lose Theresa’s wheel again and again.

She is worried about letting me down, worried that we won’t make it in time.

But by now, the outcome feels less important than the fact that we are doing this together.

I tell her: whatever happens, even if we don’t arrive before the sun disappears, we arrive together.

The final kilometres hurt. But the view ahead makes the pain easier to forget. The road climbs. The mountains turn gold. The island stretches away beneath us.

And then, somehow, we are there. We reach the summit just as the sun touches the mountain range.

There is barely time for photographs. We fumble with cameras and phones as the light disappears almost as quickly as it arrived. But it doesn’t matter. We’re here. We made it.

As the last light fades from Mallorca, I’m overwhelmed. I think about what we have just achieved together. I think about my wife. My daughter. My mum. I know a bike ride like this doesn’t change the world. But in that moment, it means everything to me. Five years after first imagining it, we have crossed Mallorca from first light to sunset. 275 kilometres. 5,100 metres of climbing. Sa Calobra. Puig Major. Sant Salvador. And two people who refused to leave each other behind. The C72 was there for every part of the journey, from the first quiet kilometres of the morning to the final climb into the fading light. But the bike is only part of the story. The rest is Mallorca. The road. The people beside you. The memories you carry with you. And the ones you make along the way. This was the ultimate day on two wheels. In every way that mattered.

Click on the following link to watch: Luke's video about their incredible day in Mallorca