The Trip
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In May 2025, I embarked on a two-wheeled adventure that stitched together Spain’s coastal charm, rugged interior, and forgotten heartlands. What began as a breezy coastal ride soon turned into a soulful exploration of natural parks, medieval towns, and crystalline rivers—each pedal stroke revealing a new layer of Spain’s quiet magic.
The journey kicked off with a coastal route that hugged the Mediterranean’s shimmering edge. I passed through Pego where rice fields and wetlands whispered tranquility. Valencia greeted me with its futuristic architecture and vibrant street life, while Sagunto marked the final coastal stop before the terrain began to rise. Leaving the coast behind, I entered the Parc Natural del Desert de les Palmes, where the climbs grew steeper and the silence deeper. As I ventured inland, the rivers became my refuge. In Segorbe and Cofrentes, I found quiet spots to cool off and reflect. But it was Montanejo that stole the show: a town blessed with thermal springs and canyon pools so clear they seemed unreal. Swimming here felt like pressing pause on time. The next leg led me to towns that don’t make the typical tourist itinerary—but should. Teruel, with its Mudéjar architecture and romantic legends, felt like a living museum. Albarracin, often hailed as Spain’s most beautiful town, was a maze of pink-hued buildings and medieval charm. And Cuenca, with its hanging houses and dramatic cliffs, offered a surreal blend of nature and architecture. |
The Stages
Day# 1: Alicante to Calle D'Or (38.8 km) - Ascent: 300m - Descent: 300m
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I arrived in Alicante at 1pm, greeted by the warm Spanish sun and the hum of a city ready to be explored. After collecting my gear and assembling the bike, I rolled out of the airport around 2pm, eager to begin the first leg of my cycling adventure.
Navigating through the busy streets of Alicante was a lively introduction to the trip. The traffic was energetic, but the coastal views and vibrant atmosphere made it worthwhile. I followed the shoreline northward, passing bustling beaches, palm-lined promenades, and locals enjoying the afternoon heat. The route remained mostly flat, a gentle warm-up for the climbs that lay ahead. With the Mediterranean glistening beside me, I continued toward Calle D'Or, my destination for the night. By evening, I arrived and settled in, soaking up the golden hues of sunset and the quiet charm of the town. After a satisfying meal and a moment to reflect, I called it a night—ready for the road ahead. |
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Day# 2: Calle D'or to Cullera (125 km) - Ascent: 1560m - Descent: 1560m
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Day two began in Villajoyosa, a town that looked like it had spilled a box of crayons across the coast. Its candy-colored houses and quiet beaches made for a cheerful start to the day. After a quick breakfast, I hit the road towards Benidorm, weaving through its towering skyline and lively streets. I didn’t linger long—Benidorm’s bustle was a stark contrast to the serenity I was chasing inland.
Leaving the coast behind, I climbed toward the mountain towns of Polop and Tarbena, each nestled in the folds of the hills like hidden gems. The air grew cooler, the roads quieter, and the scenery more dramatic with every turn. By midday, I reached Les Fonts d'Algar, a natural paradise where mountain rivers carve through limestone and plunge into crystal-clear pools. I couldn’t resist a swim—the water was brisk, refreshing, and exactly what my legs needed. From there, the real climbing began. I tackled the legendary Coll de rates, a 6 km ascent with sweeping views over the valley and out to the sea. The gradient kicked up near the summit, but the reward was worth it: panoramic vistas and a thrilling descent that carried me swiftly towards Pego The final stretch to Cullera was a push, but the promise of rest kept me going. I arrived just as the sun dipped low, casting golden light over the town’s castle and river. After a hearty meal and a moment to take it all in, I settled in for the night—grateful, exhausted, and ready for whatever Day 3 would bring. |
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Day# 3: Cullera to Segorbe (104 km) - Ascent: 650m - Descent: 280m
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My final day along the coast began with a tranquil ride through the Parc Natural de l'Albufera, Spain’s largest freshwater lagoon. Spanning over 2,800 hectares, this wetland sanctuary was a haven for birdlife—home to nearly 300 species. The morning light shimmered across the paddy fields and marshes, though the scars of the October 2024 floods were still visible.
From Albufera, I cycled into Valencia, a city that always feels alive. Though I didn’t linger long, I made time to pass by a few of its iconic sights—the City of Arts and sciences, the Turia Gardens, and the bustling historic center. And then, disaster struck.Not every journey goes according to plan. Somewhere along the route, I had a moment that reminded me just how quickly things can change. While maneuvering my bike, I lost balance and fell—my knee twisted awkwardly beneath the weight of the bike. The pain was immediate and sharp. I knew something wasn’t right. It turned out I had damaged the ligaments in my knee. A stupid mistake, perhaps, but one that came with real consequences. The swelling set in quickly, and every movement became a reminder of the injury. Cycling, once effortless, now demanded caution and grit. From Sagunto, I turned inland and joined the Via Verde Ojos Negros, a repurposed railway line that now serves as one of Spain’s most scenic cycling routes. The path was peaceful, winding through quiet countryside and gentle gradients. |
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Day# 4: Segorbe to Montanejos (73.7km) - Ascent: 1680m - Descent: 1580m
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Day four was meant to be a relatively short ride, but with my knee aching from the fall, every pedal stroke felt heavier. Despite the discomfort, I pressed on into the heart of Parc Natural de la Serra d'Espada, one of the most breathtaking and well-preserved natural areas in the Valencia region.
The landscape was a balm for the soul, even if not for the body. Cork oak forests lined the winding roads, and freshwater springs bubbled up from the earth, offering moments of cool relief. Deep gorges carved through the terrain, creating dramatic vistas that made the effort worthwhile. I stopped at one of the springs for a quick dip—icy, invigorating, and just what I needed to keep going. By early afternoon, I reached Montanejos, a town tucked between towering canyon walls and known for its thermal baths. Slipping into the warm waters was pure bliss. The minerals soothed my sore muscles, and for a moment, the pain faded into the background. |
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Day# 5: Montanejos to Teruel (87.4 km) - Ascent: 1510m - Descent: 1060m
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Day five was another short ride on paper, but the steady climb towards Teruel made it a challenge—especially with my knee still protesting every ascent. The route led me through the heart of the Sierra de Gudar, where the air grew cooler and the scenery more dramatic with each passing kilometre.
I stopped first in Mora de Rubielos, a town wrapped in medieval charm and surrounded by forested hills. Its castle loomed above the rooftops, and the quiet streets offered a peaceful break before continuing onward. Next came Rubielos de Mora, one of the most beautiful towns in the province of Teruel. The town centre, enclosed by ancient walls, was a tapestry of stunning houses . I wandered through the narrow lanes, soaking in the timeless atmosphere before climbing back onto the bike. By late afternoon, I reached Teruel, a city that feels like a living museum. Its historic centre is a showcase of Mudejar architecture, a unique blend of Islamic and Christian styles that earned UNESCO World Heritage status. |
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Day# 6: Teruel to Albarracin (53.4 km) - Ascent: 740m - Descent: 520m
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Day six was the shortest ride of the tour, and intentionally so. I arrived early in Albarracin, a town often hailed as Spain's most beautiful, and from the moment I entered its ancient gates, I understood why.
Albarracín has preserved its Islamic and medieval soul with remarkable care. The old quarter, declared a Property of Cultural Interest, felt like a living museum. I wandered through steep, winding streets , each one revealing hidden corners, stone archways, and buildings that seemed to defy gravity. The Plaza Mayor , with its commanding town hall, offered a breathtaking viewpoint over the Guadalaviar river, where the water carved through the valley below in quiet elegance. The town’s fortified enclosure loomed above, its walls tracing the contours of the hills like a crown. I took my time exploring, letting the silence and history settle in. |
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Day# 7: Albarracin to Cuenca (111 km) - Ascent: 1360 m - Descent: 1490m
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With my knee worsening rather than healing, I made the decision to set off early—hoping to complete the day’s ride before the pain became unbearable. The morning greeted me with a crisp frost, the kind that bites at your fingers but paints the landscape in silver. Despite the discomfort, the ride through Parque Natural Serrania de Cuenca turned out to be one of the most visually stunning of the entire journey.
The Cuenca mountain range unfolded around me like a geological tapestry. Towering cliffs, deep ravines, and surreal rock formations sculpted by centuries of water and wind gave the landscape a dreamlike quality. The terrain was rugged, but the solitude and grandeur of the park made every climb feel purposeful. I passed through pine forests and karstic plateaus, where the silence was broken only by the crunch of gravel beneath my tires and the occasional call of a bird overhead. By evening, I rolled into Cuenca, a city that seemed to rise straight out of the cliffs. The climb into town was steep, but the reward was immediate: panoramic views, warm light spilling across stone facades, and the unmistakable silhouette of the hanging houses. |
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Day# 8: Cuenca to Landete (112 km) - Ascent: 1540 m - Descent: 1560m
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After the architectural grandeur of Cuenca, Day 8 offered a stark but welcome contrast: a ride through Spain's remote heartland, where silence reigns and the landscape speaks in whispers.
I left Cuenca early, the city’s stone towers fading behind me as I pedaled into a patchwork of forests, fields and forgotten villages. The road narrowed, traffic disappeared, and the only company I had were the rustling leaves and the occasional shepherd tending to his flock. The ride was meditative. With fewer distractions, I found myself more attuned to the rhythm of the bike, the ache in my knee, and the subtle shifts in the landscape. T By late afternoon, I arrived in Landete, a small town nestled in the hills. |
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Day# 9: Landete to Requena (63 km) - Ascent: 520 m - Descent: 810m
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By Day 9, reality caught up with me. My knee and ligaments, already strained from earlier in the trip, had worsened. I knew the original plan—three of the toughest days of riding—was no longer feasible. So I made the decision to shorten the route and take a more direct path to Requena, preserving the spirit of the journey while respecting my body’s limits.
The ride was gentler than planned, but still offered moments of quiet beauty. I passed through open countryside and small villages, where the rhythm of rural life moved slowly and the roads were blissfully empty. Arriving in Requena felt like stepping into a different century. The town’s historic old quarter, known as La Villa, is a maze of narrow streets, charming squares and stone houses adorned with coats-of-arms. |
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Day# 10: Requena to Almansa (81 km) - Ascent: 930 m - Descent: 940 m
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With my knee still limiting my range, I made another adjustment to the route. Instead of heading toward Xàtiva, I opted for a more direct path to Almansa, a town nestled in the province of Albacete.
Though shorter, the day’s ride was anything but dull. Midway through the journey, I reached Cofrentes , a village perched at the confluence of the Jucar and Cabriel rivers. Its castle, standing watch over the valley, offered sweeping views of the surrounding hills and waterways. After soaking in the scenery, I continued toward Almansa, riding through quiet countryside and gentle hills. The town welcomed me with its own historic charm, dominated by the Castillo de Almansa, a fortress that rises dramatically from a rocky outcrop above the city. |
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Day# 11: Almansa to Elche (98.5 km) - Ascent: 530 m - Descent: 1140m
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Day eleven began under a blazing sun, with the first 30 kilometers unfolding over gravel roads that tested both endurance and patience. The terrain was dry and dusty, winding through open countryside with little shade and fewer signs of life. My knee protested with every bump, but the promise of Elche kept me moving.
By early evening, I rolled into the city—tired, sun-soaked, and ready to explore. Elche's historic quarter was a revelation. The streets still echo with traces of its Muslim past, woven into the architecture and layout. The true highlight was the Palmeral de Elche, a Unesco World Heritage Site and one of the largest palm groves in Europe. With over 11,000 date palms, the grove is a living legacy, its origins tracing back to the 10th Century when Muslim rulers introduced sophisticated irrigation systems and planted palms in geometric patterns |
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Day# 12: Elche to Alicante airport (13.6 km) - Ascent: 20 m - Descent: 60m
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Last day will see me cycling a short distance to the airport to catch my flight back to Ireland.
What I didn’t know during those final days of cycling—pushing through pain, adjusting routes, and leaning into the beauty around me—was just how serious my injury had become. After returning home, I discovered that the damage to my knee ligaments was more severe than I’d hoped. Recovery would take nearly four months. It wasn’t just physical healing. It was a test of patience, of learning to slow down after weeks of motion. The bike stayed parked, and the mountains I had climbed gave way to physiotherapy sessions and quiet walks. But in that stillness, I had time to reflect. |
