As I already wrote, I rode my 🚲 out of town a couple of times on weekday evenings, scaring off the casual strollers in the Turia. Once to the south, to Silla, another time to the north, to Pu
çol. Spain has more than just the famous pilgrim's way (El Camino de Santiago) that everyone constantly dreams of walking and mentions as if there were no other hikes in the world.
Sorties to Silla and Puçol
There are others. Including some that last thousands of kilometers and cross half the country. I rode a piece of one of these on my bike on a weekday, though this fragment didn't impress me much. To be honest, this whole idea that you absolutely have to ride or walk from start to finish, to cover the entire route entirely on your own steam, is rather silly. Personally, I’d rather ride a 🚂 for a few hours and then stomp around 🗻 with legendary views, than drearily wander among "fragrant" fields of 🍆🥔🥕🥒, interspersed with the Spanish version of collective farms. Not to mention how uncomfortable it is to walk near busy highways, which are unavoidable on the approaches to a big city. This was a downside to my plan of living and riding around Valencia, which I knew about but didn't fully take into account. Nevertheless, I consider the plan a success: I took the bike out about five times. On my last Sunday in Valencia, a buddy and I first set out to support a runner friend at the local Valencian Trinidad Alfonso marathon. The tram wasn't running because of all the commotion, so we were shamefully late, but what can you do.
After all sorts of congratulations and hugs, we headed for the train and set off somewhere relatively close to go for a walk in the hills. "Relatively close" (about 40 minutes away) turned out to be Xàtiva ( Xativa ). There, in theory, everyone recommends checking out the 🏰, but it was at the very end of the route. So we never made it there — we arrived way too late. You should always start serious hikes or rides as early as possible, hitting the road by 9 o'clock at least, if not eight. Especially if sunset kicks off at six. Easier said than done, of course. Interestingly, I found the route on the website of some guy named Dmitry, originally from Latvia, who lives in Valencia and runs hiking tours for 💰 around the area. Kind-hearted Dmitry shared some of the routes completely for free on his site. While also explaining how to get there by bus. Unlike Switzerland, where hiking is a national hobby and you can reach an incredible number of places by train or bus, in Spain you will very, very often need a car. We, like poor relatives without one, rode whatever we could, meaning cercanias (commuter trains)
La Coca Negra
We arrived in Xàtiva, walked through the cute town center, and started hiking up the mountain. That's how we reached the black cave ( Cova Negra ), which on my Garmin I accidentally Freudian-slipped into "Coca Negra." I won't translate that so Substack doesn't ban me. Alas, the cave was closed off for archaeological research.
On the bright side, we came across an aqueduct along the way, though not a Roman one, but a Gothic one just a few centuries old. It's call ed Les Arcadetes d’Alboi , also known as the " Aqueduct of the Dry Bridge Ravine". It runs along the Albaida river for ten kilometers and provided a constant water supply to the city of Xàtiva during the Middle Ages. Along the way, we kept seeing mini-wells of unclear purpose. The internet tells us the following.
"Along the way we find breathers. Local legend has it they were born thanks to the cleverness of the daughter of the Muslim king of Xàtiva. These vertical structures were breathers that released water pressure so its accumulation wouldn't destroy the air duct." In modern terms, a breather is a device that draws air from the street into a house, heating and purifying it in the process. I think the machine translation really dropped the ball here — in reality it didn't mean air ducts, but water conduits, so the pipes wouldn't burst from high pressure. To bleed off the excess.
I'm just passing it along exactly as I read it. We also saw the Aventador wall with a bunch of rock climbers, but along our route we climbed even higher than where they were crawling. This was the hardest part of the hike — a sharp ascent over rocks. My heart rate always shoots up to 140-150 on these sections. It's a good thing it's not 190, like some people get after Covid.
Soon the sun started to drop rapidly, and we decided to cut the route short. If we hadn't taken the plunge and done so, there was a high chance we'd be hiking across rough terrain in the dark, which is never a great time. Even then, we first tried to cut almost straight across, but ravines and bogs materialized in our path. Had I been alone, I definitely would've gotten tangled up in that misadventure, but my more sensible friend held me back. Well, out of the frying pan and into the fire. We had to turn onto a mountain highway. It was sketchy: you walk with no shoulder, guardrails immediately on your left and right, but at least it was only 800 meters.
From there it was all downhill, and soon enough we made it to Xàtiva. Interestingly, kids were playing around the houses on the outskirts (without much supervision), and a fence was covered in mathematical formulas instead of swear words. Cultured people live in Xàtiva!
Without rushing much, we reached the train station, where we generally successfully hopped on the train back, though we had to dick around a bit with the tickets (such is fate). We walked 20 km with 430 m of elevation gain according to the barometer — decent, but still a long way from Switzerland. There, we were constantly going 800 meters up. But in return, Garmin handed me a medal for that day — first for 30k steps. And then it was already close to 40, so I went to the store in the evening — and got the 40k one right then. Turns out, I only have two such maniacs among my Garmin friends.
Viva la senderismo!
Subscribe and get a love arrow right in the forehead!