Now that the final start list for the Mallorca 2016 Depends Challenge a/k/a Tour de Prostate has been released, I’ve begun training in earnest in order to show my main sponsor, Metamusil, that I’m not just another dirtbag roadie who takes all the swag and shits. Er, splits.
None of the Norwegians have nicknames because when your parents named you “Munch” or “Stig” there is not a lot of room for humorous improvement.
The Texas Cruz Crazies are led by one of the fiercest, canniest, toughest, most experienced elderly fellows in the assisted care facility, Ol’ Grizzles a/k/a Skinless Boneless a/k/a What’s Your Name Again, Sonny? Next comes a man known only by the initials SITL, the meaning of which will never be revealed (unless you happened to have read Friday’s blog).
After that the Texas Cruz Crazies are:
… and J-Lo.
The Norwegian Salted Fish Eaters are:
Trond da Furst
Trond da Sekund
… and Stig.
Since none of the Texans can read, it made sense for the Norwegian contingent to plot out our ride routes. Even though Norway is essentially Germany for Dumb People, they have been the designated choice for detailed planning ever since the Texans were put in charge of building a bonfire that one year.
In order to view the routes you’ll need access to MapMyRide.com, the cycling equivalent of MySpace. You’ll have to join MapMySpace and friend me and promise not to be one of those stalker weirdos. Here are the stages:
Stage One: San Salvador and Puig de Randa. We start out guns blazing because everyone knows that in our aged and weakened condition we’ll only become feebler and unable to ride as the days pass, especially on Day 2. This 85-mile loop will separate the men (none) from the old men (almost everyone else) from the wheelchair-bound (Ol’ Grizzles). MapMyRide link here.
Stage Two: Cap Formentor. For the one or two riders still alive after Stage One, this little jaunt, also known as Cap Tormentor, takes us out onto a promontory and 8,000 feet of climbing that is often swept with howling gales and, if you leave past 9:00 AM, is littered with giant tour buses.”Cap Formentor” is Catalan for “You should have driven.” Although marketed by the sneaky Norwegians as a recovery day, Cap Formentor promises nothing but hell, awfulness, and one more excellent reason to fall off the wagon. MapMySpace link here.
Stage Three: The Gristmill. After two days of vicious riding, the Norwegians have inserted a truly despicable day, the 103-mile rolling ingrown toenail known as The Gristmill for the tiny, fine granules into which riders are ground. With only 5,700 feet of climbing it will feel like 57,000, especially for the Cruzin’ Crazies whose idea of a hill repeat is the 12-foot climb coming into Fulshear. Several of the Norwegians can be expected to DNS if the ride starts before noon, as they’ll still emptying the dregs from last night’s bender. MapMySpace link here.
Stage Four: I’m Mainly a Birdwatcher. By now the 2016 Tour de Broken Man Parts will be over for all but a few who are properly dosed and under a medically supervised training plan. At 72 miles and two minor climbs, today is the first true recovery day, and we can expect to see enthusiastic competitors take out hiking boots, binoculars, and Spanish phrasebooks as they insist they really only came to Mallorca “for the hiking” or “for the excellent birding at Albufera Marsh” or “in order to practice my Spanish and learn about the culture.” MapMySpace link here.
Stage Five: Sackwhacker. This is the queen stage of the Tour, so called because of the toll that this day will take on your manhood. Ascending 7,400 feet in 64 miles, the Cruzies will all be chanting anti-abortion songs and voting for secession from the comfort of the villa while the ill-tempered Norwegians drink salt-fish gels as they pound their way to the top of Puig Major, the biggest climb on the island. No one will dare post his time to Strava. The Texans will prove they climbed it with Photoshop. MapMySpace link here.
Stage Six: The End of Life as We Know It. This day’s ride is simply a sick joke; 103 miles and 13,000 feet of climbing through the hilliest portion of the island. No one will start. No one will finish. Everyone will brag about it back home, claiming you can’t see their time because their battery died or that the Spanish GPS stuff doesn’t work on their English Strava/Garmin etc. Whoever hasn’t booked an early flight home by now or checked into the ICU will have sold the bike and headed over to the mainland for something easier, like bare-handed bullfighting. MapMySpace link here.
Stage Seven: Bitch Pudding. 50 miles and 3,200 feet. Who cares? MapMySpace link here.
Stage Eight: It’s All Downhill Not. By now everyone hates everyone else, the nationality jokes have turned to nasty glares, the Norwegians mutter angrily in Norwegian and the Cruzy Crazies whisper among themselves in Pig Latin. The Not Smart Enough to be Germans have one last knife up their sleeve, though, and it’s the 67-mile, 10k-feet Sa Calobra, truly saving the worst for last. No one shakes hands as each rider gathers his filthy belongings and glowers, each harboring dreams of revenge and planning for the other’s destruction … next year. MapMySpace link here.
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