Logistics
It's May. It's a check-in queue. There's a pile of very big oblong bags. That'll be the Gosforth RC annual holiday cum "training camp" then. Spurred on by the success of holidays past, our numbers had swollen to unprecedented levels, 
including a number of wives and girlfriends to keep us on the straight and narrow, all bound for Cala Millor on the cyclist's paradise island of Mallorca.
Once again we were in the capable hands of Easyjet (at least the pilot's hands, that is), and arrived safely in Palma late on Saturday. Now lets just get the bags and get the coach to the hotel. Unfortunately, a forlorn handful of John, Ian, Matt, Ty and myself appeared to be bikeless. Surprisingly, there was somebody more worried than me. Ty's dark secret would soon be revealed.
A grim hour passed. The lost luggage guy was helpful and professional. We skulked to the coach and accepted the mickey taking with good grace as the Balearic's slowest driver took us to our Hotel. Perhaps he didn't want to disturb the slumbers of the soporific party. The hotel had laid on a cold collection even though it was well past midnight, and the room pairings were all pre-arranged. Kip.
Hold on - what's that noise - " Rob, it sounds like Jurassic Park out there" - weariness finally overcame the racket. Morning revealed blue skies, and a pond infested with Balearic frogs. We reckoned the pond was the amphibian dogging site on the whole of Mallorca. They certainly seemed to get frisky after dark.
Some people rode bikes on Saturday
Peter had done a great job on the hotel front - we were on half board, not just B&B, and the breakfast and dinner buffets could satisfy even the hungriest cyclist. 
Full of Germans mind - but after each ride, the Gosforth RC got the towels down around the pool first.
Everybody was gagging to get out on the road, and so off the first ride went. Without us five though. What do you do on a bike holiday without a bike? Easy if you're Ty and me, you walk along the beach, find a café, and get stuck into Café con Leche and tortillas. Matt and Victoria were running up the phone bills talking to Newcastle ground staff about the bikes. Over lunch, Ty revealed his missing bike nightmare- he'd taken delivery of a new Litespeed Sienna from MTS in Durham 2 days before leaving. Ten miles would be scant return on his investment if it never showed up again.
The Hire Bikes and Collin gets Hot and Bothered
There was a very friendly lad from Bishop Stortford CC in the hotel, and he told us there was a hire shop in time with decent bikes. So, shortly after lunch we found ourselves a fleet of "cooking" Pinarellos (except for John , who got himself the proprietors Prince!). Off to the races! Out to Arta , for a very pleasant first café stop, then westwards. We were honking now, but John's mobile piped up. It was Peter - big Collin had gone down with heatstroke. As the Judge was looking after him and getting him rehydrated, there was not much our resident orthopod could do. Not for the last time, GRC was stretching the Balearics medical resources.And so south towards Petra. All the other Sunday runs seemed to be going the other way, but that was because it was a long drag into a strong headwind. Matt and I enjoyed our suffering.
We were all concerned for Collin, but he seemed to be recovering OK when he came into dinner. There had been an unofficial Club Hill Climb championship on the climb to "the monastery" at Felantix, and Peter , on medical duty , wanted to know who'd won the KOM title - Mr Ormrod had sauntered up to the line.
Pollenca and Lluc
The missing bikes had arrived. Good work by Rod on escort duty from Newcastle, and particular thanks to Victoria who had done more telephone work than reasonable chasing the airline at Newcastle. They were built up in record time, and so the entire group (minus of course Collin, who wisely was having an R&R day) set off north-westwards for a big ride. Out via Arte and the north coast main road to Pollenca. There was a café stop in Can Picafort en route, where Peter met a long lost mucka from deep in Gosforth RC archaeology. After further refuelling in a supermarket in Pollenca, we set off up the big climb towards the monastery at Lluc. For a lot of the group this was their first big continental climb (Cat 2 in the Tour de Mallorca). The club split into groups, everyone doing it at their own pace, regrouping at the top just below the drop towards Inca. It was fascinating to see the mixture of pain , pride and pleasure at making the top. Simon (H) and John (W) had a private battle all the way up, and were bubbling. Mentions in dispatches must go to Chris Gerber for sheer determination, and to Peter for making it up without a working 23 sprocket.
A final café stop in Petra was essential before the train got going again for Manacor and the road home. I got on the front and pulled for what turned out to be too long. It was a 97 miler - and for a lot of people it was if not the longest ride they'd done, certainly the most challenging. The poolside beers (for some) went down well.
Karaoke Kapers
After such a good ride, a few of us set out to see the sights.
Tumbleweeds blew through the main drag in downtown Calla Millor. Nightclub touts tried to bodily drag any able bodied person below the age 60 (yes that includes me) into whatever club they were paid by. The Bigg Market it wasn't. Most bars were Teutonic in style, but a few outposts of Empire were dotted about. Let's try this one - "the Rose and Crown". It was Quiz Night, followed by Karaoke. We won the quiz handily, despite our poor effort on the Otis the Aardvark question. A bottle of bubbly was added to the kitty. A couple of the local expats were stellar singers, and so the honour of the Gosforth was at stake. Fresh from their placings in the Sloan Trophy, Rob and Matt were up for anything. The stunned regulars and the rest of us squirmed in acoustic agony as the Unrighteous Brothers murdered "You've lost that Loving Feeling". I believe the American Constitution calls this sort of thing "cruel and unusual punishment". Before staggering back to the hotel it was revealed that the landlady was one of Alex's near neighbours from Fenham -Geordies get everywhere!
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