Last night a plan had been formulated.
This morning after breakfast, Jono went out and sourced a rental place that would allow 10 lads to rent scooters… That is a big rental order, so it’s very tempting for a business, but I could just feel the admin lady’s trepidation hanging in the air while, one by one, we paid our deposits. We signed our lives away on faded over-photocopied contracts and passed them our most precious of possessions in a foriegn land; we voluntarily handed over our passports to be hostages for the day and set off across the Island.
Flying into Palma Majorca we had seen a very mountainous west coast, crowned with what looked like a gigantic golf ball. I had thought this was an observatory, but a quick google pointed out it was a military radar station. It would be our loose target for the days riding as we started due west through little villages seeing what we could find.
Away from the lunacy of Magaluf Propa™, it turns out the island of Palma Majorca is really beautiful. Lots of spanish houses dot the hills like sugar cubes dropped by a clumsy waiter. Known predominantly as a holiday destination, there is agriculture here with rough fields carving up the lower slopes of the mountains, mostly containing almond and olive trees.
The gutless little 50cc scooters did their best to haul us along. One or two scooters would have been quickly overtaken by any cars on the road but there was 8 of us screaming along at 20mph, weaving and overtaking each other as we jostled for position. It was like racing go-karts; no one had enough power to actually overtake properly, so it was all about carrying speed around the hairpin bends and reading the road ahead. Me, David and Chris had a bit of an advantage riding motorbikes consistently, while others barrelled in using blind luck and enthusiasm to get them around corners without incident. It was
dangerous great fun!
Pulling up in a hillside town, it was time for lunch. We engulfed the restaurant and filled the outside seating at the edge of the road. 10 rowdy lads that knew zero spanish and couldn’t make up their minds what to eat. In the end we ordered a selection of the dishes and a load of bread. It was a beautiful view over the road, down the hills to the sea and we recalled the riding so far and the sketchy roads that we had travelled. The food arrived and was immediately descended upon like starving vultures. Within seconds it was gone and the slow ones were looking around to see if there were any morsels that had been overlooked… After 10 mins the waitress came back and we ordered the same table full of food again.
Moving on (even slower now the mopeds were weighed down with our full bellies) we headed further north up the coast. Mark and James had been
boring scared sensible and opted for a car to take part in the trip. This was fine until Jono had gotten separated and wandered off on his own (following a fucking butterfly or something) and I had to turn around and go and find him. Everyone pulled over to the side of the road to wait and Mark and James did the same. They managed to drive off the edge of what must have been a small cliff onto the dirt at the side of the road, cocking the back wheel and thumping down on the suspension. A short way after this, and reunited with Jono, a warning light appeared. Luckily this was solved by turning it off and on again, just like the IT Crowd taught us.
We were now heading for Port De Soller. This little town, formed in a natural bay had a nice sandy beach, ice cream cafe’s and an ancient tram railway along the seafront. It was super picturesque and just what we all needed now the heat of the day was on us. None of us had really planned on renting scooters on this holiday so, sensibly, we all opted to wear our most protective designer jeans and t-shirts. It was the best we could do, but meant we were LUDICROUSLY hot and sweaty and no sooner than arriving, we were in the sea cooling off. Bobbing about, we engaged in some light hearted local ornithology while listening to some chilled poolside music. Laddie Bliss.
However, while the spanish unhurried lifestyle was manifesting itself in us, if we wanted to enjoy another wondrously all included dinner, we would have to be back at the hotel on time. Until this moment we hadn’t realised the distance we had covered. It was SO FAR back to Magaluf and would mean driving the fast boring roads.
Venturing out of town, we headed for the Golf Ball as it was
basically kinda sort of enroute. Some wide sweeping roads took us up and over a few mountains and then in one valley, we found our way barred by some serious looking military chaps who had clearly had their humour muscles removed at birth. While we could sort of get away with a bit of lairyness in the Magaluf bars, this was not somewhere it would go down well. We didn’t stop for a photo or collect our $200 as we passed Go. We found a scenic layby a little further along and hoisted David above us for a manly group photo.
Now the race was on. Last person back to the hotel would likely have nothing to eat. We abused the little scooters all the way home, holding them flat out for as long as we dared. It also had clouded over and the altitude of the mountains made for a chilly descent back to the town. After a few wrong turns, we rolled into the hotel and dived into the restaurant. In all the excitement, the light lunch we had had on the side of the road seemed a long time ago.
After returning the scooters and car, without incident or damage (which in itself was a miracle) we retreated to the rooms to tart ourselves up for the night ahead. Well… One of us did. Tonight we were going out as Gangsta’s and Doll… there was only one, and no prizes for guessing who had that pleasure. To add insult to misery, Davids chest hair was also ceremoniously shaved into the shape of a big cock. And just to make sure no one could misunderstand, it was edged in permanent black marker pen. It just poked over the top of the tight stringy black dress he had squeezed into. Coupled with the red wig, flapper feather headband and a ball-gag tied around his leg, he was ready. It was another truly terrifying image that will haunt all our nightmares.
After venturing out like that, I cant go into too much detail. Partially because I think I have repressed the memories, but also after a couple pints of pure peach schnapps (the only, even remotely, tolerable all included free drink available) I cant remember… this must have meant we had a good time.
I was going to stop writing there but it was just too funny…
One event did stick out in my blurry recollections. David, bent over gripping the bar edge, and having a girl lay siege to his butt with the leather 9 tails whip. She seemed hesitant and he didn’t seem bothered by her attempts. Then a bouncer bounded in and gave him a flying forehand open palm slap on the rump. This made a clap like thunder that made the whole bar stop dead to see David on his knees nearly crying. By the next day, the red handprint turned yellow and blue, testament to the nights hilarity.