Bikepacking is like backpacking – but with a bike. You travel into nature and camp at night. It’s essentially the same as ‘bike touring’ except that the routes are usually on gravel or dirt and pass through more rural environments. Also, the typical way of carrying the gear is different – bikepacking consists of strapping bags directly to the bike in order to be more slender and agile for navigating dirt trails – as opposed to the traditional bike rack + saddlebag setup of bike touring.

I don’t remember exactly when the seed for bikepacking was planted, but it was amplified by Instagram. I started following ultra-endurance bike athletes and came across a few Instagram accounts for specific bikepacking routes. This is how I discovered Montañas Vacías (Empty Mountains), a 600KM bikepacking loop through some of the most isolated, natural, beautiful and uninhabited regions of Spain. I was instantly entranced; I knew I had to do it.

Months passed and the idea of bikepacking Montañas Vacías continued to gnaw in the back of my brain. The problem was that I didn’t have an adequate bikepacking bike. My Surly Long Haul Trucker is an amazing road touring bike, but wouldn’t be comfortable on 8 hours/day of gravel and dirt. I spent weeks scouring classified ads and looking for that perfect mountain bike. In the end, I pulled the trigger on a 29-inch, hardtail mountain bike – traveling down the coast to Calpe to acquire my new best friend.

The weeks that followed the purchase of that bike were a blur of test rides, mechanical adjustments, purchasing gear on bikester.es, a few reluctant trips to the mechanic to let a professional solve some issues, a test ride and multiple hours pacing around my apartment prepping gear. Journal entry in the final days before I embarked on the adventure:

The last week has been frenetic packing, prepping, testing, tweaking, strapping stuff to my bike and a lot of test rides. It’s a bit stressful at times but I’m loving every moment of it. I feel alive. I have purpose. It’s the zombie-autopilot antidote.

Day 1: Dénia a Valencia

The first part of the trip was traveling to Valencia via bike and then train. The plan was to spend a few days in the city, catch up with friends and make final bike adjustments. Entries from my journal:

He’s awake at 4:00AM. Quick oats. Morning departure. Last minute packing. “Anything else?!?” He thinks to himself as he dashes out the door. Weeks of planning have led to this moment.

It’s still dark on the vía verde out of Dénia. A family of Jabalí dashes in front of the path. Crickets chirp. The sun rises. He lets out a ‘WOOOOOO!’ as his adrenaline is pumping on full blast. The journey has begun.

The Nostalgia of Valencia. Valencia is a cool city: the stylish people, pretty streets, beautiful park, art scene and vibrant markets. It was great to catch up with old friends and feel the nostalgia of being in the city.

Day 2: Llíria a Santa Cruz de Moya

This morning, up at 5 AM. The plan: bike 10 minutes to the metro stop and grab the train to Llíra – the end of the line for the Northwest metro. The 50-minute ride cuts out 25km of the journey – nearly 2 hours on the bike. Part of me doesn’t want to take it- there’s something poetic of simply waking up and leaving the city by riding off into the sunrise. The first challenge was fitting the bike in the elevator – it required some nimble maneuvering and almost got stuck, but was able to get it safely down to the tracks.

I finally arrived in Llíria at 7:30 – the powerful sun rays were already showing their bright faces. “Got to get moving before it’s too hot!” So much anticipation and excitement. What will the route look like? How will I get to Torrebaja to join MV? Where will I sleep tonight? Will I immediately get a flat? Questions, excitement, novelty and spontaneity swirled through my brain.

I was a bit lethargic in the beginning. It was a flat vía verde next to the freeway. The bike felt a bit slow. Adjusted tire pressure. Worried about a flat. After about an hour, I found my rhythm. Made my first decision of the day – go right to the CV-345 – the less busy (but more mountainous) road and avoid the car traffic. Always a good decision.

I start to descend and I notice the slowness of my hardtail mountain bike. It’s great on dirt or gravel but feels a bit sluggish on the road – especially compared to my touring bike (Surly LHT). Show me the dirt! I think to myself. Descend, Descend, Descend.

I pass through ‘Higueruelas’ – what appears to be a sleepy pueblo. All pueblos must be properly experienced by finding la fuente (water fountain), and el ayuntamiento (town hall). It turns out to be a mountain biking haven. There are tons of cyclists, all decked out in their finest MTB gear. As I’m filling my water bottles, one of them chats me up and asks about the journey. He gives me some advice on how to get to my destination and I can tell he’s excited to hear about the details of my trip. The camaraderie of chatting with fellow cyclists – I love it.

I continue the journey and enter a grueling climb. I’m alone, sweating in the sun but making slow, steady progress as I conquer the mountain pass. Out of nowhere, I hear another cyclist behind me. He seems to be going only slightly faster than me. I wait for him to catch up, but he isn’t gaining ground on me. I hear a friendly ‘Buenos Días’ – and I look back to see a smiling guy in a straw hat happily pedaling a city cruiser electric bike with 2 neatly packed panniers. “A fellow bike traveler!” I think to myself. I wonder if he’s doing the MV route as well! ‘Que Suerte!’.

We end up chatting and turns out that Luis lives in Ibiza and is doing a bike tour with his electric bike, staying in rural hotels and touring the countryside. He’s gregarious, friendly and a fearless traveler. We chat about past adventures, future plans and the beauty of connecting with strangers on the Camino.

On the descent, my knee starts to feel a bit irritated. I always try to be very conscious of my body and knew that this particular pain was due to improper bike form and lack of stretching. I pulled over to the first pueblo we came across to do some stretches and get my body back in the right place. Luis and I parted ways as he was going much faster due to his electric bike. We said goodbye, knowing we’d cross each other at some future point on the Camino ( we were right).

After stretching and eating some cold-soaked mashed potatoes (a surprisingly delicious and calorically dense meal), I felt like I was at a bit of a crossroads. My knee felt slightly better but I was creeping into the hours of the mid-afternoon sun – which can be brutal in the summer. I contemplated calling it a day, resting my knee and getting a room in the pueblo. I was on the verge of calling a few places to book a room but in the end, it just didn’t feel right. I wasn’t ready to stop. I pushed onward, paying special attention to my form as to not aggravate my knee.

The second wind has come! After a few hours of pedaling, I decided to pull off onto a dirt road to rest underneath the shade / look for a campsite. The land was rocky and filled with spiked plants; not ideal for resting. I finally found some adequate land and laid out my tarp. I took a mini-siesta – mostly just resting my eyes while I laid in the shade and escaped the heat.

It was after 6 PM by now – I still had 3+ hours of sunlight. I felt rested and rejuvenated. The dirt road reminded me how capable my rig is off the asphalt. I became energized to push onward.

The scenery started to become wild. Massive gorge and canyon. The road built into the side of the cliff. A Giant bridge that defies the laws of physics. The Turia river roars below me – it goes all the way to Valencia! I feel like I’m in nature, I’ve escaped the real world and the adventure has actually begun.

Dinner is served – cold-soaked couscous, sun-dried tomatoes, olive oil, spices, mixed nuts. Surprisingly good. I find a beautiful spot to eat. Could this be a potential camp spot? It’s too close to the road and there are dozens of abandoned bee hives – I don’t trust that they’re fully empty so I decided to push onwards.

Passing through picturesque pueblos. It’s starting to get late. I’m tired. My knee is sore. Must find a home for the night! I stock up on water and take the next left turn onto a dirt road. I follow it a few KMs into the mountain before I find a semi-flat, non-rocky section of the earth below a few trees and call it a day. Inflatable camping mattress, sleeping bag and mosquito net all set up. There are tons of insects – chirping away in the trees. I fall into a dreamless sleep just as the sun was setting. Day 1 complete.

Day 3: Santa Cruz de Moya a Río Cabriel

It’s my first morning. I cold-soak oatmeal, protein powder, date paste, peanut butter and cinnamon. It’s delicious. The instant-coffee-in-a-water-bottle works like a charm. It shall be named “go-juice” from now on – it helps me get going in the morning.

Camp is taken down, packed up and I’m on the road. The morning air is crisp, cold and silent. The rising sun silhouettes the mountains as I glide effortlessly on the mountain roads. It’s stunning. I’m a happy man.

I arrive at the first pueblo, Casabajas. Luis spent the night there but everyone (including him) is still sleeping. It’s 8 AM and the earliest signs of life are usually at around 9 AM.

On to the next pueblo – the cousin of Casasbajs: Casasaltas. It’s a lush river valley. It feels like I’m going back in time. The pueblo is picturesque. It seems empty but I find a small bar on the edge of town. I enter with all my bike gear and order a café solo. “Te ha sacado del tour?” The lady asks me, referring to the tour de France and all my bike gear. “Estoy haciendo mi propio tour” (I’m doing my own tour), I reply with a grin. I take care of my bathroom business, put in my contacts, refill my water. As I’m organizing my things, a few locals chat me up, asking about my adventure and wishing my luck with a smile. They’re drinking pints of beer at 8:45 AM – living their best life.

The pueblos never get old. Ademuz is spectacular. It is built into the side of a giant granite mountain wall. I briefly consider passing it by and not entering the main square, but I quickly discard the thought and continue with my tradition of always soaking in the vibes of the pueblo but entering into their heart. Ademuz is often listed in the ‘most beautiful pueblos in Spain’ list and I see why. Its geography is mind-bending, stuck into a rocky mountain, overlooking a lush river valley.

I continue the route – hitting some true gravel roads. I’m loving every moment. The bike glides over the dirt and rocks like a snowboard on fresh powder.

My knee is still tender. I focus on quality form, engaging hamstrings, abs and lats. I take many stretching breaks.

Up, up, up. Down, Down Down. “WEEEEEEEEEEE!” It’s like a roller coaster for adults.

Finally, I Arrive at Torrebaja – my destination to actually begin the Montañas Vacías route. I’m joining it mid-way and following it in reverse in order to avoid having to immediately climb a monstrous 2,019 M peak (Javalambre). My plan is to take a shortcut to cross the mountains and grab the route in the ‘correct’ direction.

The route immediately lives up to its name: Empty Mountains. There is no one in sight: no cars, no people. The sound is the wind, the animals, the insects, the river. It’s like Jurassic Park. Mainly gravel, some dirt and a bit of asphalt. Smooth as butter.

The sun starts to beat down. I find a river, have lunch and take a mini-siesta. Suddenly, I see the familiar posture of a man riding an electric city cruiser bike – it’s Luis! He’s going in the opposite way as me – I run to catch up and we’re thrilled to see each other. We trade stories – he tells me about a fantastic river spot a few KM’s down the road and warns me not to go to the bar in the next village – the woman is extremely unfriendly (very atypical). We part ways knowing we will meet again.

I go to the river spot that he recommends. It’s phenomenal. I jump in the water and let it wash the dirt and grime from my skin and clothes. The water is ice cold and extremely refreshing.

Next stop, find a campsite for the night. I find an orchard off the road and set up the mosquito net, sleeping pad and sleeping bag. I set off for another deep sleep.

I’m awake at 1 AM. It’s very cold. I’m freezing. This is summer – it’s hellishly hot in most of Spain. I’m used to sweating at night in the sweltering heat if I don’t have the AC on. Why is it cold now!? I’ve underestimated this region. It’s known for dry heat during the day and cold temperatures at night. I grab my emergency thermal blanket and wrap it around my body. It warms me up. I make it through the night but I’m kicking myself for once again forgetting that cold does exist during the summer.

Day 4: Río Cabriel a Cañete

The frigid temperatures don’t lead to a night of good sleep. I roll out of bed and make my go-juice extra strong to supercharge my neurons into action. It was a rough night and the morning will be slow as well: I check my bike and the front tire is completely deflated.

I pack my gear, eat my oats and move into the sun where my body finally returns to a normal temperature. I then proceed to fix my bike – old tube out, new tube in. It does not inflate. Another flat?!? How is this possible? I checked the tire for anything sharp, the tube is new, this shouldn’t be happening. In frustration, I switch out the new tube for the backup backup tube and it inflates. Nearly two hours later, I’m finally on the road again. I remind myself that I have no agenda, no schedule, no timeline, nowhere to be. There is no destination except for the present moment. As soon as I hit the first gentle descent along the river, the frustration and annoyance completely melt away. It’s all worth it. The highs and the lows. The gliding of being on the bike again – it’s the best.

I’m out of water and my battery pack is nearly drained, so I divert from the MV route slightly and follow the road into a nearby pueblo, Salinas de Manzano. There was an old lady filling a jar of water – it’s like I’ve traveled back in time. I buy bread from the bread van and made some improvised tostadas – olive oil, salt and hierbas provinciales – delicious. Everyone knows each other in pueblos – they greet each other. It’s charming. As expected, the bar was not open so my electronics would not be charged. The primary goal of getting water and food was accomplished.

Feeling recharged and confident, I headed in the general direction of MV and asked some friendly locals how to get to the mountain road. They pointed me in the right direction and I was on my way. I knew that I was vaguely going in the right direction, but the dirt road started to become very rough. I figured I could connect it to the MV route and even started daydreaming of being a route-making and discovering new shortcuts and variations for MV. Turns out, I need more practice – the dirt road turned into a field of sharp thorns and weeds. I backtracked and stuck to the GPS, following the actual route over the mountain and to the next destination.

The bike felt good. My legs felt powerful. The sun was strong but manageable. The roads are mostly gravel and dirt – in some steep sections I decide to walk the bike – I’m still a novice on a mountain bike and not completely confident with steep ascents or descents.

The scenery is spectacular – it reminds me of the Lake Tahoe region of the Sierra Nevada mountain range. Dry heat, the smell of pines, isolated wilderness. I’m leaving the prairie behind.

I bomb down curvy roads. It’s incredible. I’m beginning to feel at a spiritual level why people love mountain biking – it’s like riding that perfect wave, hitting fresh powder on your snowboard, just flying through space. The big wheels roll over any bumps, the shocks absorb rough roads, the wide tires securely grip the earth.

Onward! To the next pueblo! I arrive in Tejadillos and ask some locals if there is a tienda (store). They excitedly direct me on how to get there, each group gives me slightly different directions and then argues over which is more correct. I make my way in the general direction and then a kid comes roaring past me in his own mountain bike and says “Señor! I’ll show you where the store is!” He’s such a friendly kid (I’ve also never been called “Señor” before so I suddenly felt like a grownup). We bike together across town (about 40 meters) and he drops me off by the store. I carefully scan the aisles, looking for suitable food: not too heavy and vegan. In the end, fruit and pasta are purchased. After 2 days with no fruit, I’m dying for some natural sugar and fiber. The lady working there was super friendly and happy to help me with my order. She gave me precise directions on how to find the next pueblo.

Up, Up, Up. Down, down, down. I follow a sweeping descent into the next pueblo. I’ve been eating lots of nuts and dried fruits but I’m starting to crave something hot and fresh. I enter the town of “La Huerta del Marquesado” and I arrive at the only restaurant in town, ‘Bar Meson Bora Bora’. I scan the menu and order the only vegan thing on the menu – patatas bravas. They were delicious and homemade. The owner said they came straight from la huerta (the garden). “Las mejores patatas bravas que he comido en mi vida” I think to myself. The portion is huge and they are delicious. They provide my body with much-needed calories.

After the big meal, it was decision time. It was so cold last night and temperatures look similar tonight. Do I brave another night outdoors? Should I go off-route to Cañete to stay in a hostel and buy some warmer clothes? I felt tired and lethargic after eating the bravas and sitting in the hot Spanish sun. I debated my options and called a few places to get a sense of hostel options. In the end, I decided to go off-route, down a descent to Cañete, a lovely pueblo surrounded by an ancient wall. I needed warm clothes and a good night of rest.

It was the right decision. I ended up finding socks and sweatpants – I made some DIY arm warmers with the socks and I was all set. It was nice to sleep in a bed, organize the bike and catch up in the journal.

That evening, I laid out the plan for the following day: wake up by 6 AM and out the door by 7 AM. I would return to the MV route and go deeper into nature, away from pueblos and humanity. I would continue to go in the reverse direction because it made the most logistical sense – at that point, I still hadn’t met another MV traveler, so what did it matter anyway? In terms of sleeping – There were 2 refugios (shelters) that I could stay at – a closer one and a farther one. The beauty of a trip like this is that you make a rough plan but it can completely change. When you wake up in the morning, you really have no idea what you will see that day or where you will sleep. It’s pure freedom.

Day 5: Resupply and Back to the MV Route

I wake up feeling extremely rested and ready to go. Pack the bike. Get it down the stairs and out of the hostel. Eat the delicious, energy-dense cold-soaked oatmeal. On the road before 7 AM. It’s cold out! I pedal hard to warm my bones. The sun creeping up. The long shadows. The old man waiting for the bus. It’s brilliant out. I’m full of life and vigor. Pedaling up, up, up. Entering pueblos, leaving civilization behind.

After a few hours of riding, I’m rounding a bend and come across another cyclist packed with gear. It’s clear he’s doing the MV route as well. We pull over and chat about our experiences. He’s a guy from the Basque country that took a week off to do the route. We laughed at how ambitious our plans were to do more than 100 km/day. The mountains are brutal and the elevation gain is no joke – it’s way harder than anticipated. We exchanged tips on which refugios to stay at and which bar has the best patatas bravas. It was refreshing and exciting to meet a fellow traveler doing the same route as me. We said our goodbyes and continued our individual journeys.

Up, up, up. Climbing the mountain. The roads are getting older and more dilapidated until they turn into full-on gravel. I come across a cyclist who is helping a couple that just had a minor motorcycle crash after entering the gravel. They were ok but she had a twisted ankle. Respect the gravel!

I continued onward onto pure dirt and gravel roads. I looked around and observed the vast, empty mountains. It occurred to me that the name fits perfectly: Montañas Vacías – empty mountains. I would occasionally just stop and listen to the sounds: the wind, the insects chirping, the birds singing. Nothing more. It was magical.

On that road, I came across two more groups of travelers! A Spanish father and son on mountain bikes (like mine) as well as 2 Belgian friends on gravel bikes. Again, it was great to share a bit of trail camaraderie, exchange stories and tips, and see how other people are doing the route. The beautiful thing about this route is that you make it your own; there is a variety of bikes you can use, you can camp every night or stay in hostels, you can go super minimal and fast, you can do 20 KM/day and take lots of pictures or ride sun up to sun down and try for 150 KM/day. The Belgian guys were on gravel bikes, staying in hotels and traveling super minimal – just one pair of clothes and snacks for the day. Compared to me, I felt like I was on a 12 month Odyssey through Africa! I showed them my gear and they chuckled at my mosquito net – they had about 1/8th of the luggage that I had and must have been super fast and lean. It was fun to see their gravel bike and chat with them about their tech. They found out about this ride because it’s one of the most famous gravel rides in Spain and a few Belgian pro cyclists have done it.

After all the encounters, I felt a bit sad that they were so brief. I wanted to share the experience of riding together instead of just a quick chat. Up until this point, I was following the route in reverse – mostly due to logistical reasons. Suddenly, I arrived at a fork in the road (which turned out to be both literal and symbolic) and pulled over to consult my map and GPS to make a decision.

It turns out that the road to the right was a shortcut that would put me on the MV route going in the correct direction. The path to the left was my intended destination of continuing the route against the grain. Up until that day I hadn’t met anyone – so the fact that I was going opposite didn’t seem like an issue – there are so few people here, so what does it matter? Mountains are mountains, there is no “correct” way to cover them. However, after meeting the groups and having flashes of connection and camaraderie, I felt myself yearning for more. I studied the map and mentally plotted out the next few days given the 2 options before me. I also had to keep in mind that I needed to somehow get back to Teruel to take the train back to Valencia and get home.

In the end, the possibility of connection won out and I decided to take the right fork shortcut and cut across the giant circle of the route to follow it counter-clockwise (the correct direction). That way, I would be doing MV proper and have a higher chance of coming across other cyclists. It would also lead me directly to the river Tajo which was recommended as a beautiful spot by the other cyclists.

As I made my way to the right, I reflected on the beauty of the adventure – you’re able to adjust your plan and make spontaneous decisions when you get more information. There’s no need to have a rigid schedule. You’re living in the moment and deciding as you go. When I woke up that morning, I had no idea that I was going to make this radical change: but it happened and I couldn’t have been happier.

The shortcut was a departure from gravel which was disappointing but started off with a really nice descent into the pueblo of Tragacete. I refilled my water and continued on my way. Flat roads through a valley on asphalt – at least there weren’t too many cars. I sped along for 20 minutes and then the GPS told me to go left, directly up a giant mountain pass. Dammit! I cursed to myself. It was during the mid-afternoon sun – but luckily the heat is very dry and manageable – as long as water is consumed, it’s not too bad. After the 90 minute slog of a climb, I reached the top and enjoyed the wonderful views. It was all downhill from there and I would arrive at the refugio at around 6 PM – plenty of time to relax, set up my sleeping gear and enjoy the remaining hours of daylight.

I’m exhausted from the climb and as I arrive at the refugio, a feeling of dread washes over me. It is at the intersection of two roads – both are relatively empty, but the fact that a car can drive up at any moment was not encouraging. I look inside the refugio and immediately know that I won’t be spending the night there. It’s a dump! There’s garbage everywhere, dirt on the ground, no doors, rat poop. It’s also too close to the road. I’ve learned that the best refugios are the ones that you have to hike or bike to. If a refugio is close to the road, it’s easily accessible for people who arrive by car and generally don’t care about nature.

The total distance for the day was around 90 KM – with a lot of climbing. I was pretty exhausted but the firm decision to move on rejuvenated me. A cyclist I met earlier had recommended a refugio: El Refugio de San Lorenzo – it was only 19km away. That would mean 90 additional minutes of cycling, but I was ok with it. I was on the proper MV route, going in the right direction, on dirt and heading into the forest. I had a plan, a purpose and a newfound second wind.

The scenery became quite stunning as I ventured deeper into Tajo Alto national park. I once again felt the ’empty mountains’ vibe. Sweeping pastoral landscapes with beautiful golden-hour sunlight delighted my senses.

It was getting later and I was approaching the area where the refugio should be. I saw a sign for ‘La Ermita de San Lorenzo’ – but this was an Ermita, not a refugio. I looked down the road and saw a guy, a dog, and a van. Another person! This was strange – I hadn’t seen anyone for the last 2 hours. We get to chatting and it turns out it’s a couple traveling around in a van with their dog. They’re super passionate about nature and this region in particular. They have a website with all sorts of info about the Alto Tajo Park, including all the refugios. By coincidence, they came to check out this exact refugio – to see if it actually exists, if it’s open and what condition it’s in.

They invite me to join them for a drink and a rest. I’m happy to socialize, eat my cold-soaked bulgar and learn more about the region. They’ve been coming for the past 5 years – sometimes weeks at a time. They know all the animals, the pueblos, the refugios, the geological zones. They have a wealth of knowledge and enthusiasm about the region. Their passion is contagious and they have such good vibes. It’s still uncertain if this refugio exists (is it just an Ermita – if so is it open?) I decide it’s time to venture down the path, following the sign that indicates the Ermita is 2km away. The sun is setting and it’s beautiful. I’m a bit nervous; what will I do if it’s closed? Will I spent another freezing night outside? As I follow the trail, I can make out something on the horizon…

I see it. It’s a small white structure on the edge of a prairie looking into a valley. The scene is something out of a movie. The sun is going down, the brilliant light is reflecting on the billowing field of wheat below it. The Ermita beckons me like a mirage in the distance. There could be angels dancing and singing in the clouds. My mind was alight with fire and awe. It’s there! It exists! I hope it’s fucking open!!!

The beauty of the scene and the excitement of seeing it cannot be understated. I curve to the right and get within 100m. It’s definitely an Ermita – but is it open? I get off my bike and stumble through the weeds. I enter the gate and approach the structure. It’s closed. But wait! There’s another structure next to it. Yes, that looks like a refugio! There are picnic tables and everything! I run over, navigate the door, turn the lock……and it OPENS! The refugio is immaculate – super clean, new and cozy. It’s incredible. What a day.

I unpack my gear, get set up to sleep and reflect on the wild ride. More than 115km and 12 hours on the bike and I’ve had more adventures than I usually do in a week. The van couple arrives by foot to the Ermita and they remark at how clean and nice it is. We watch animals in the prairie and talk about the beauty of the place. I finish setting up the sleeping gear and fall into a restful sleep.

Day 6 – Take me to the River (Tajo)

I love the mornings. The ritual of prepping the gear, packing, preparing oatmeal, mixing up some go-juice. It’s an incredible sunrise – so powerful here. The only sound is animals. There is no time. It was freezing at night! Frigid mornings. Sun warms the soul. This place is perfect. I want to continue to flow on this MV route. I don’t want to leave! I’m in it! What’s the rush to go back?

Stars at night. Zen morning, starting off with a brilliant sunrise in a peaceful valley. Slowly beginning the morning tasks: soak the oats, go juice, take down bed, putting things in their spot, eat delicious oatmeal, enjoy the view, write in my journal, meditate, marvel at life, plan the route for the day. The best morning so far. That place is magical.

After a slow and relaxing morning, I make my way back to the main route. On the way out, I meet a super friendly guy doing a gravel ride. He knows about MV and offered me his mom’s place in Orea for the night. I take down his number. Super good vibes.

Directly after the previous encounter, I run into the van couple and they offered to take me a ride back on Saturday – it turns out that they live in a village close to mine and just happen to be heading back on Saturday from a location farther along the route. It will be perfect for me! This means I can continue the MV route for a few extra days and not have to worry about returning to Teruel and beginning the long slog of trains to get back home. I will arrive late Saturday and have Sunday to decompress. MV magic in action.

I was high on life after that. Ideas flowing. Thrilled to be connecting with people and sharing moments. The ride was nice: ups and downs into Checa, a fantastic pueblo. I passed through Aguas Peñas which is a giant rock with a natural waterfall covered in moss. The water here is spectacular.

The pueblo of Checa is lovely: a river literally runs through it. I went to all 3 local stores to acquire nuts, fruit and pasta. I found the most happening bar in town and asked (in my most clear and articulate Spanish) if they could make me a “bocadillo de verderuas a la plancha” (grilled vegetable sandwhich). I expected some sort of reaction and they completely surpassed my expectations. “Que?!?!?!” The woman looked at me as if I asked her to serve me the head of her firstborn child. It’s not typical to ask for a veggie sandwich (especially in rural areas). I asked again in a different way and she finally understood. “Verduras?!?! Tenemos lechuga y tomatoe, nada más”. Sigh, it’s hard being a vegan in rural Spain.

I ordered a tostada de tomate (classic breakfast of toast with olive oil and tomato pulp) and proceeded to construct the most amazing, protein-packed open-face sandwich known to man: lentils, avocado and spices. So delicious. I ended up ordering two more tostadas and chowed them down while organizing my things and soaking in the vibes of the town.

There was an ever-growing group of farmers arguing, laughing and teasing each other as the pile of beer bottles grew more voluminous. I was re-supplied, well-fed and ready to go. It was 13:30 and I had only gone 15km. A day of relaxation – that’s the beauty of a trip like this – no deadlines, plans or expectations.

As I was about to leave, another cyclist rolled in! He had panniers as well – it was obvious he was doing the MV route. Jorge and I became fast friends, chatting about the route, our plans, our bike setup and food on the road. We teamed up and rode together for the rest of the day. It was fun to chat, share stories and adventure around in a pair. Different vibes than going alone. I let him take the reigns on the GPS – he had a nice setup with direct access to his phone and I was ready to sit back and follow for a bit.

We climbed a giant mountain and then realized we missed the turnoff! We were chatting away and stopped paying attention to the route. We improvised a shortcut through a gnarly mountain descent. Jorge is a bit more aggressive on the dirt descents and I loved the adventure. We crossed a quaint river bridge and bisected our way across the land to get back on the route. The pure adventure of it all was thrilling – making our own course, bombing down mountain roads, using GPS to find our way back, being part of a team.

The scenery continues to be mind-blowing. I struggle with words in Spanish or English: amazing, awesome, incredible, que chulo, que guay, increible. They all seem sorely inadequate to describe the experience. You just have to live it. Nothing can do it justice. The sweeping descents, flying down the mountain. Few natural highs exist like that.

We enter the river canyon. It’s insane. Massive. Crystalline green-blue water. Large vultures. We go swimming! So refreshing and liberating. We arrive at the idyllic shelter. We clean the interior, set up our gear, have dinner and reflect on the day. There’s no one around but us and the animals.

Day 7: Leaving the River

It was an excellent night in the refugio. It felt warm, cozy and secure. The morning was lovely. I woke up early, explored the area on foot with my camera, wrote in my journal, found a cool cove with a fire pit. There were no humans to be found.

Jorge and I parted ways after breakfast. It was great to have the camaraderie of a fellow rider. He was planning a long day and I was feeling like a leisurely ride along the river. It made sense to continue our individual journeys alone.

I took my time to finish eating breakfast, pack my bike, enjoy another walk around the area and slowly make my way along the river, knowing that in a few kilometers I would be rising out of the river valley into the more arid conditions of the surrounding mountains.

I wanted one last swim in the river before I said goodbye. I passed up a few spots because there were too many people and didn’t seem “right”. I continued onward and realized that I had climbed so high that I was now leaving the river. I had missed my opportunity to swim one last time! I hesitated for a moment, and then remembered I saw what appeared to be easy access to the river about 1 KM behind. I immediately made a u-turn and went back – I had to experience the magic of the river one last time. I found the spot – it was a bit challenging to get to the river with my fully loaded bike – but proved to be a fun adventure. I scraped together my remaining food for an improvised lunch – white bread, peanut butter and date paste. I ate on the giant rock next to the river. It was glorious. I felt like a king or the richest man in the world. I then jumped in. The water was magnificent – sparkling green and blue, the most perfect ice-cold temperature. “Estoy en la puta gloria!”, I thought to myself. No humans around. The river flowing but not overly aggressive. Plenty of bugs, birds and critters.

The final river experience was the highlight of the day. I got back on the bike and proceeded to climb out of the valley on a long slog that was exposed to the sun. I ran out of water halfway through, but I knew I was close to a pueblo. It was hot, dry and the scenery became dull: a bit of a downer after the glory of the river.

I made it to the next pueblo, bought some fruit from the fruit van (in many small pueblos there are no stores to buy fruit or bread so there is a fruit/bread van that travels from pueblo to pueblo with a loudspeaker announcing their presence at a higher than necessary volume). I found a really cool nature center in the pueblo that had tons of interesting facts about the history and science of the region. I learned that the river Tajo is over 1,000 KM and disembarks in Lisbon, Portugal – madre mía!

That evening I found an isolated refugio. It was a bit dirty but I cleaned up the garbage and made it my home for the night. It was an uneventful evening until I heard the sound of hooves, cowbells and moo’ing in the distance. The cows were coming! They are giant creatures and made a lot of noise. They decided to eat grass directly outside my home! It was slightly terrifying, I could hear them clomping around and tearing up grass out of the earth. “Will they break inside and try and eat my face and my food?,” I nervously thought to myself. I reinforced the unlocked doors of the refugio with rocks and sticks to protect myself from these mad cows. In reality, they are quite harmless but it was scary to be there at night with giant creatures lurking right outside my door.

Day 7: Decompression

For the final day of the trip, I had a very short biking day. The plan was to meet the van couple in Beteta (a town 15 KM away on the MV route) and get a ride back with them. It turned out that they were heading back the same day as me, and they live in a nearby town. That allowed me to continue down the route for a few extra days without having to worry about catching several trains to get back. MV magic in action!

The slow day was welcome, I was exhausted from the non-stop long cycling days and rough sleep in cow territory. I made my way through a few pueblos before arriving in Beteta, a lovely pueblo perched on a mountain-top overlooking the valley below.

I enjoyed the slow-pace morning of a pueblo. I bought bread and ingredients and constructed a delicious bocadillo in the only spot I could find shade: a bench in a children’s playground. I felt like a creepy homeless person as I built my sandwich, attempting not to make a mess. No one seemed to notice me as they played with their kids on the swing. A father proudly encouraged his 3-year-old on how to ride a tricycle. An abuelo energetically attempted to have his 2-year-old grandson swing a badminton racket. It was charming.

I sat in a local terraza and drank a doble caña (pint of beer), reflecting on the adventure. I’ll end this post with a verbatim transcription of what I wrote in my journal.

The adventure is winding down – what a trip it was! Zero regrets. Highs and lows – but the lows were not that bad – heat, hunger, tired, loud cows. I’m so glad I did this. This is exactly what I needed. I can’t believe I was thinking about not doing it – it seemed a bit scary, overwhelming, foreign – “is this really what I want to do? Go biking in deserted nature?” Hell YES it is. You love movement, newness, novelty, excitement, fitness, challenge, photography, seeing new things. This trip checked all the boxes. Why was it so awesome?

Amazing Scenery. So diverse – at times it felt like Yellowstone, Yosemite, Tahoe, Moraga, The Grand Canyon, Colorado River. I saw lizards, insects (butterflies, moths, bees, ants, horse flies), bats, cows, deer, sheep, vultures. The forest mountains and prairies are simply a feast for the eyes. It’s like watching a movie about nature but living it. The wildlife made all the sounds: chirping, rustling, moving, buzzing. Very few people and a lot of nature.

Complete unpredictability and freedom. When I woke up in the morning, I had no idea what would happen, what I would see or where I would sleep. Just living in the moment.

Meeting people. Fun to pass by a few other groups, chat about the route, the gear, tips/and tricks. Instant camaraderie and good vibes. It was really cool to ride with Jorge – perfect amount of time too. Nice to share moments in addition to lone-wolfing it.

Physical Challenge. Body is moving, muscles are engaged, breathing hard, feeling alive. Enough said.

Rituals. Packing in the morning, go juice, staying organized. Requires patience and focus. Gives purpose.