Mallorca 312 Race Report: 8 Lessons from 8 Years in the Saddle (2026)
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They say doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result is the definition of insanity. In the cycling world, we just call it the Mallorca 312.
This year marked my eighth time lining up at Playa de Muro. I arrived on the island early to do some guiding, which is always a great way to find your climbing legs—and, as it turned out, a great way to find out my bike was trying to sabotage me.
The Shimano "Universal Shake of the Head"
After getting stuck in the big ring twice due to a front mech connection failure, I headed to the Shimano centre at the Expo. The mechanic didn’t speak a word of English, but the "universal shake of the head" translated perfectly: It’s dead, mate.
With 8,000+ riders descending on the island, finding high-end spares is like finding a flat road in the Tramuntana. I ended up buying a Shimano 105 derailleur. It’s significantly heavier and "chunkier" than my Ultegra setup—marketing would have you believe that extra weight is a disaster, but trust me: being stuck in the big ring on the Coll de Femenia is the real disaster.
The "Calling" and the Fast Start
The 5:00 AM rollout always feels like a religious calling. Thousands of us humming along in the dark toward the start line.
I managed a reasonably fast start and tucked in behind the group following the pace car. This was a tactical win—saving matches early is the golden rule of the 312. However, the Coll de Femenia remains a jungle. No matter how much space you give, there’s always one rider determined to squeeze through a gap the size of a cigarette packet.
Descents, Road Rash, and "Aero" Kit
By the time I crested Puig Major , I was ready for that glorious 16km descent. Unfortunately, this is where the "accidents" the guide warns about become very real.
I saw my first case of road rash early on. The rider was okay—sitting on his phone calling for help—but his bike was nowhere to be seen. I can only assume it had reached Soller before him.
As the mercury rose, the "Mallorca fashion police" were out in force. While I was sweating through my jersey, I was overtaken by riders in full long sleeves and leggings. To each their own, but I’ll stick to the heat-management tips we preach in the Academy.
The Human Element
I didn't get a PB this year, but for a good reason. A rider went down right in front of me; I stopped to get him to the side of the road and flagged down the medics.
The highlight of the day, however, was a couple passing me later on. The man’s kit was shredded—hardly any jersey or bib left on his right side.
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Her: "How are you getting on?"
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Him: "Was great until I crashed."
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Her: (In total earnest) "Oh, did you have a crash?"
I nearly told her it was just the latest high-ventilation aero kit from the Expo.
The Mental "Right Turn"
If you’ve done this event, you know the moment. You’re 5km from the finish, feeling the pull of a cold beer at the 225km finish line—and then you have to turn right to tackle the extra 90km loop.
Knowing exactly what’s coming after seven previous finishes doesn't make it easier. It makes it more intimidating.
When the Stomach Revolts
At the 8-hour mark, my body decided it had reached its "Carb Capacity." The thought of warm energy drink or another gel made me physically ill. I couldn't face another bite. I managed to limp it home, but there was no sprint finish or podium glory for me this year.
The Verdict
No PB. No "sprinting for the win." But I finished my 8th Mallorca 312, and unlike last year, I didn't need a medical injection in my backside at the finish line. I’m calling that a massive win for 2026.
James
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