Extrem touring
An impromptu stop in Extremadura unlocks amazing riding in Spain’s secret mountains
SOMETIMES IT’S LUCK that delivers the most memorable rides – luck and bad planning. Well, no planning. I’d headed to Spain aiming to play it by ear, as for once there was no schedule to follow. I had three days to ride to Seville after the ferry docked in Santander. I’d just follow my nose, stop where I fancied, see the sights, take it easy, no rush…
Arriving late in Plymouth, I’d been one of the last to board the Brittany Ferry. That had been a bit stressful as I was convinced I was going to miss the boat. But then the panic paid off, because when we arrived in Spain, I was one of the first to disembark. I breezed down to Burgos, then jumped on the motorway to get across the plains. My very vague plan for the trip had been to stop somewhere in Valladolid… but it was barely 4pm as I approached the city. Far too early to stop.
The joy of having nothing booked is being able to keep going, so I hugged the Valladolid ring road and headed south on the N601. I thought I’d look for somewhere to stay in Ávila, so I’d be ready to pick up the majestic N502 that heads all the way to Córdoba in Andalucía next morning. The thing is, it still wasn’t much past 5pm as I approached Ávila. So I kept going.
Now I had only a hazy idea of where I was going next. I wasn’t sure what the next big town might be or how far away it was – in Spain I prefer to aim for bigger towns as it’s sometimes hard to find a hotel in smaller ones. I was so busy poking the sat nav I didn’t notice I’d missed the turn for the N502, so I sailed on happily down the N110.
By the time the road reached the town of El Barco de Ávila it was well past 6pm and I was starting to feel
both hungry and tired. That’s when I got lucky. I spotted a large hotel with a small group of bikes outside. I pulled in and parked next to them. Yes, there was an affordable room – result! Later in the bar I met the riders: a Dutch tour group. As we chatted, it became clear I’d ridden far further that I’d needed – I could easily get to Seville by the end of the next day. A whole day early.
“You should stay and ride around here,” my new friends suggested. They were on the way home from Portugal and promised me the roads between this hotel and the Portuguese border had been some of the best on their trip. I had no plans and a day to spare, so why not? Next morning, as the Dutch headed to San Sebastián, I put their directions into the sat nav and headed for the hills.
I set off heading south-west, carrying on along the N110. It rose gently but steadily over the ridge of the Sierra de Gredos before suddenly dropping in a cascade of broad, immaculate hairpins to run along a valley floor. Joining a minor road, I wasn’t sure I’d put the Dutchmen’s directions into the sat nav properly, until after a mile or so I turned onto the glorious CC94 that rocketed skywards with a spectacular view back over the valley I’d just left.
Crossing the A66 motorway, I had the first proper hint of where I was heading. The horizon was darkened by a line of mountains that rose steadily as the EX205 swept onwards between dusty fields and olive groves. I realised the awesome roads I’d just enjoyed in the Sierra de Gredos were only the warm-up act.
Turning onto the CC81, it was as if someone turned the landscape up. I was surrounded by widescreen views on a bigger scale than is usual in Europe – an arrow-straight road shooting towards the heart of the mountains, like a scene from the American West. The corners came – a couple of miles apart at first, but then the land began to rise. I was no longer looking at the mountains, I was in them.
Now the road hugged the contours, swooping in generous curves round corners that opened up massive views over more olive groves and stubbled fields down to a deep blue lake far, far below. The road was getting tighter and tighter as it dropped down through the town of La Pesga and climbed again, heading deeper into the high country.
Scrubby pines rose above roads cut into the hillsides, valleys sloping sharply down on one side and exposed rock walls on the other. It was staggeringly good riding and by the time I’d climbed the first of the hairpins to Casares de las Hurdes, I was ready for lunch – luckily these Spanish hill towns hide some stunning restaurants.
This was where the tips from the Dutch ran out – their route had come through here from Ciudad Rodrigo and Portugal, but I didn’t want to go that far west. Instead I turned north into the mountains, though the road shrank to a single track after Ladrillar. After a few miles I turned off in a tiny village called Las Mestas, heading for the highlight of the whole ride.
Joining the SA201, the road widened again, just as it went into full epic-climb mode. Bursting free of the pine trees at the top of a tight run of hairpins, I was blown away by the view back across the wooded valleys and rumpled peaks. There was no sign of civilisation – just a vast vista of wild, wooded hills. Pure magic.
Descending from the 1240m El Portillo pass, I had two lanes of perfect tarmac utterly to myself. The roads had been quiet all day, but now they were utterly deserted as I dropped out of the hills from Sotoserrano and turned onto the SA220 – I must have gone 15 miles without even seeing another vehicle. It was only after I crossed the motorway again and traversed the town of Béjar that I saw any real traffic, but even that was left behind as I set off on final run down the AV100.
I got back to the hotel before 6pm, tired but exhilarated. Next day, I backtracked to the N502 and continued to Seville. It was a great day’s ride, but not a patch on my extra day in Extremadura. It just shows that sometimes, you can have a great ride without planning – all you need is a bit of luck. And a few tips from some Dutchmen…
“Generous curves open massive views to a deep blue lake far below”