‘The past is never dead. It’s not even past.’ So said American novelist William Faulkner, and it’s a sentiment cyclists can understand better than most. We may ride modern carbon fibre bikes on tarmacked roads but we remain at the mercy of a landscape formed eons ago. And with its rocky canyons, mist-draped forests and weather-carved outcrops, few places feel as primeval as Gran Canaria.
It’s something that my guide, Eva, warns me about before we begin our ride. Originally from Poland, she lived in Dublin long enough to pick up a Celtic lilt, and fell in love with Gran Canaria after stints in Mallorca. When I mention that it’s my first time here but that I have ridden in Mallorca before, she tells me not to expect the same. They may both be Spanish islands, but they weren’t created equally. Gran Canaria, she says, was formed from violent volcanic activity, and that is reflected in the riding.
I’m told there are no easy days on the bike in this part of the world, just hard days and even harder ones. The weather is either glorious (generally in the south) or awful (typically in the centre and to the north of the island). Unless you hug the shoreline, you’re either going up or are on your way back down, Eva says.
My visions of a gentle day out on a sunny Spanish island are fading fast.
The only way is up
Our start point is the photogenic fishing village of Puerto de Mogán, located at about 8 o’clock if the island were a clock face. From there we will aim for dead centre of the dial, and the highest
