Formentera, Ibiza's small neighbouring island, is the pearl of the Mediterranean. At 82 square kilometres, Formentera is also the smallest island in the Balearic Islands and the least populated with just 1,500 inhabitants. The island is better known for Italians dressed in skimpy swim shorts roasting their bodysuits on the "Playa des Trucadors" in the style of Michelangelo's dreams than for its technical bike marathons featuring top riders.
Formentera used to be inhabited by hippies shrouded in clouds of smoke who were fed up with the dissolute life on Ibiza. But in the past decade, the island has become a new holiday destination thanks to a very popular beer advertisement. Also for Spanish mountain bikers. But the bike scene surrounding the traditional La Mola marathon has no eye for the dream beaches with turquoise water and shimmering red starfish.
Here you can bike for all you're worth. In winter, during basic training, it can happen that the more sporty riders take on every road on the entire island in one morning on their minimally profiled racing tyres. Because you have to know: In Spain, accelerating with low-suspension bikes is still the supreme discipline among leisure activities on two wheels for ten months of the year.
3-day race on an island 19 kilometres wide
For two years now, the BTT Formentera even organised as a three-day stage race. Organising a stage race on a 19-kilometre-wide island with Pilar de la Mola, the highest point on the island at 192 metres, is pretty crazy.
After an intense racing season, in which I clipped every possible race number I could find to my handlebars, I wanted to round off October with a cosy weekend. But the bikers on Formentera only know the word "cosy" from hearsay.
I had travelled from Mallorca with my girlfriend in tow, whom I had promised a wellness holiday with minimal elevation gain. But my real plan was for her to ride the race track on a sputtering Piaggio scooter and lurk along the single trails to take the best possible pictures.
The DIN A4 Olympus within reach
The first two days are interspersed with short timed sections. With start number "1" on my handlebars, I'm over-motivated as I push past professional bikers on one section, who use the trail with its great views to pull out their new smartphones. When I get to the top, I'm immediately rewarded with a nasty coughing fit mixed with nausea. But at least I get my first top ten placing of the year! So was I still going to make it to the A4 Olympus that I had been dreaming of all year?
Sunday morning in paradise dawns with rain. Dozens of clean-shaven Ibizenco racers have travelled over to Formentera on the ferry with their shiny machines to take part in the main course, the classic BTT La Mola marathon. This is one of the last races on the Spanish racing calendar. Even ex-road pro and fun cannon Ibon Zugasti is at the start. Zugasti is exactly the guy who fought a fierce duel with Christoph Listmann, one of the sharpest blades in the BIKE editorial team, at the BC Bike Race two years ago. And Zugasti hasn't travelled here just for fun. He flew over from Barcelona with exactly one ulterior motive: to add another trophy to his bulging trophy cabinet.
In my joy at my placing on the 1000 metre uphill course the day before and the Estrella beers to celebrate, I suspected nothing bad. Formentera! Beach, sea, palm trees! A lactate party at the end of October? The boys must be having a great Sunday morning, I thought.
Another misjudgement that I can add to my ever-growing book of bike marathon don'ts. As soon as the rattling of the bikes echoes through the start box framed with advertising banners and the carbon shoes click into their matching XTR pedals, there's no stopping me. All 192 metres of altitude are immediately climbed at 400 watts, as if a Swedish beach volleyball team were waiting for us at the finish line.
Gas!!! Paso!!! Paso!!!
Derecha!!! Izquierda!!!
I am shouted at from the left and right to make way. In front of me, a muscular Spaniard on his stylish Orbea Fully disappears into a hedge. At kilometre five, we ride briefly in a half-sawed open drainage pipe, reminiscent of a skate park. Some even try to overtake there, to squeeze past somehow. What a rush in paradise! A gladiator fight is more organised. "They're crazy, they'll never be able to keep up this pace for two hours," I think. Incidentally, I have the same thought at the start of every race, when saliva drips down my handlebars in Laurens ten Dam style.
There really are loads of beautiful, sandy single trails on Formentera, which we ride up and down left and right until we have 1200 metres of altitude on the clock. Only then do we roll under the finishing arch with a good chew. Despite the rain, there are bananas and black pudding from the barbecue at the finish. Oh man, how I love that!
After we missed the ferry back at the harbour, I'm already dreaming of the next racing season and big adventures. But first we'll have new equipment next year.
Hasta luego,
Alex
