Much More Than a Motorcycle Tour Through Valencia, Teruel and Cuenca

Toro Biker experiences are always remembered for the roads our routes take us along, the local food we discover and the cultural activities that are part of the journey, but above all, they are remembered for the people we share each experience with.

Richard came from England to enjoy nine days on a motorcycle, exploring Valencia and some of the best roads in its inland areas, before continuing towards Teruel and Cuenca.

His bike was a BMW R1300GS, and the plan included mountain roads, small villages, gastronomy and culture: the three fundamental pillars around which we create our experiences.

What neither of us imagined was that the trip would end up becoming a collection of memories that still come up from time to time in our conversations today.

The first kilometres went exactly as expected. We left Valencia in search of secondary roads, linking one set of bends to the next and passing through places such as Dos Aguas, Cortes de Pallás, Benagéber and Chulilla, a very different way of travelling from simply joining two points by motorway.

Here, distance is not what matters; what matters is everything that happens between departure and arrival, the roads you choose, the landscapes you ride through and the stops you make along the way.

On the second day, as planned, two other participants joined us for the rest of an experience that included the Ruta del Silencio, or Silent Route as many riders outside Spain know it.

The trip, however, took an unexpected turn during the third stage.

The two riders who had joined us most recently had to leave the experience early due to a series of personal circumstances, which forced us to completely change the planned itinerary.

These situations happen very rarely, but when they do, you have to stay calm, find solutions and keep moving forward.

I remember those moments perfectly because, while we were trying to sort everything out, Richard never lost his smile. I never heard a complaint or a reproach about having to change the plans or about ultimately missing the Silent Route. From the outset, he understood that two people had seen their circumstances change dramatically from one day to the next, and that solving the problem mattered more at that moment than sticking to a timetable or an itinerary.

Once we had sorted out their situation and said goodbye, we arrived in Teruel that afternoon. We left the bikes in the hotel car park and went for a walk around Plaza del Torico before visiting the Museum of the Lovers of Teruel.

I have always liked that story, not only because of the legend itself, but because of that small detail in the two sculptures: their hands are stretched towards one another, separated by just a few centimetres, but never quite touching. A simple symbol capable of summing up a love story that has survived for centuries.

We took photos, wandered around the museum at our own pace and, when we came out, sat on a terrace in the square for a beer. We were so comfortable there that we decided to return a few hours later for dinner: Teruel ham, a good cheese board, cured meats, several dishes to share and a bottle of Rioja that was finally emptied long after the food had disappeared from the table.

We talked about motorcycles, England, Spain, our families, how quickly the years go by and, in short, everything under the sun. It was one of those dinners that never appears on a travel itinerary but ends up becoming one of the best memories of the trip.

Changing the itinerary also meant changing some of the roads and destinations, but not the philosophy of the experience.

We kept looking for secondary roads, bends, villages and places worth stopping for, because that is precisely what riding a motorcycle through this part of Spain allows you to do: in a relatively short distance you can leave Valencia's Mediterranean landscape behind, climb into the mountain roads of the interior, cross Teruel and continue towards the landscapes of Cuenca without the day simply becoming an exercise in clocking up kilometres.

Back in Valencia, we spent a morning discovering the city on foot, which is how I think it should be discovered.

We entered through the Torres de Quart while I explained what old walled Valencia had once been like, walked through the Barrio del Carmen, reached the Central Market, admired the façade of the Palace of the Marqués de Dos Aguas, stopped at the small Plaza del Negrito and even ended up going inside the City Hall, a building I had never visited myself. We walked through its rooms, stepped out onto the main balcony and took a few photos pretending, for a moment, to be the city's mayors.

Then we found a terrace opposite the Central Market, ordered a salad and simply enjoyed the atmosphere of an ordinary midday in Valencia, with no rush, exactly as it should be.

Another day, our route took us to the Caves of San José, where we travelled by boat along Europe's longest navigable underground river, a visit that remains impressive no matter how many times you have done it.

After the boat trip, we ate at La Gruta, a restaurant carved into the mountain rock itself, which certainly lives up to its name.

I particularly remember some delicious mushrooms with truffle oil that we shared. I had sea bass and Richard chose meat. It is one of those places that, because of both the setting and the food, fits perfectly with what we look for in a Toro Biker experience: the stop itself should be part of the journey, not simply somewhere to eat. 100% recommended.

For the following day's route I had planned a stop that was very special to me personally, a place away from the usual tourist circuits where I had spent much of my childhood and to which I return whenever I can: Cueva de las Palomas, a natural cave with a 15-metre waterfall and a natural pool where you can still swim in a genuinely wild setting.

I suggested that Richard put a swimsuit in his luggage, "just in case". He smiled, but in the end decided not to bring it. When we arrived, I changed right there, walked to the rock I used to jump from as a kid and, without thinking twice, jumped into the water. It was cold, clean, perfect.

While I enjoyed the swim, Richard watched the scene, amused and slightly surprised. I think that was the moment he understood that this was not simply another stop marked on a route, but a small journey back into my own childhood, and that made him experience it differently too.

The motorcycles were taking us from one place to another, yes, but what we were really doing was sharing places and moments that are difficult to find when you simply follow the tourist highlights in a guidebook.

Among the roads, meals, caves and activities, there was also time for plenty of small stories, the kind that never appear in a brochure but are often the ones you remember most fondly.

One of them involved the famous paella.

For several days I had been telling him that he could not go back to England without trying an authentic Valencian paella. I had explained its origins, its connection with the rice fields of l'Albufera and why, for us, it is much more than just a typical local dish, so on one of the last days we headed to El Palmar, stopped among the rice fields to take photos and enjoy the landscape, and then sat down for lunch at El Rek.

I am the one who cooks paella at home and, when for whatever reason I eat it out, this is one of the places I usually choose because, in my opinion, they make some of the best rice dishes in Valencia. Another recommendation I can make without hesitation.

We were already enjoying the starters, a salad of Perelló tomatoes with tuna belly and some calamari, while the paella was cooking, when Richard looked at me very seriously and said: "Rafa, I have to confess something. I don't like rice." I still laugh when I remember it.

After several days of me talking to him about Valencian paella, it turned out the man didn't even eat rice!

I told him he could have mentioned it earlier and we would have ordered fideuà or something else, but he insisted that he wanted to try it: "After everything you've told me about it, I can't leave without eating it."

And there he was, the man who had spent years refusing to eat rice despite his wife and daughter's attempts, trying a paella in El Palmar. Can you picture it?

The first thing he did after trying it - and he liked it, I can confirm - was take a photo and send it to his family.

A few seconds later he started laughing as he looked at his phone: "My wife and daughter say they want to meet you."

When I asked him why, the answer was simple: "Because they've spent my whole life trying to get me to eat rice without success... and you're the only one who's managed it." That kept us laughing for quite a while.

It was not the only Valencian tradition he took home with him.

During a mid-morning coffee stop on one of our routes, I ordered him a cremaet - a coffee drink made with rum and spices - so he could try another of our local specialities. I showed him how it was made and even recorded a video so he could make one himself when he got home.

Some time later he messaged me to say that he had made one in England and that his wife had liked it too. Mission accomplished!

One evening we went for dinner at the underwater restaurant at the Oceanogràfic.

I had really wanted to show it to him because the setting is spectacular and dining surrounded by the huge aquarium is impressive, although that night I came away with two disappointments.

The first was discovering that the sharks rest at the bottom of the aquarium at night, so if you go for dinner, don't expect to see them swimming around you.

The second was the food. The service was fine, but I honestly expected much more from somewhere so special and, in my opinion, the dishes did not live up to the surroundings.

Even so, the restaurant is worth experiencing for the setting, and perhaps the food is different at lunchtime. Try it if you want, but not with my most enthusiastic recommendation.

There was also time for the occasional scare, including one involving the BMW R1300GS and its Keyless system, which gives me the perfect opportunity to share a real experience and explain why, personally, it is not a system I particularly like on a motorcycle.

At one of our stops, without realising it, the BMW's electronic fob was left hanging with the rest of the keyring from the top-case lock. Because the bike could still detect it, Richard was able to start normally and continue riding.

Little by little, with the vibration and movement, the physical top-case key worked its way out of the lock until the whole keyring eventually fell onto the road, including, of course, the Keyless fob.

The motorcycle kept running, and it was not until we joined the motorway that it warned us that the key was out of range.

At that point we had four motorcycles stopped on the hard shoulder, and the first priority was to get the three bikes that could continue moving away from there as quickly as possible. Richard climbed onto my bike, we rode to the next exit and left our companions having a coffee while we went back to look for the keyring.

Our first instinct was to return all the way to the place where we had stopped and retrace the entire route, around forty kilometres, scanning the verges and both sides of the road.

We found nothing.

Then I realised the detail that should have occurred to us from the beginning: if the BMW had only warned us that the key was out of range when we joined the motorway, the keyring must have fallen relatively close to that point, not forty kilometres earlier.

We returned to the motorway access and, as we rode through the entry bend, there it was, lying in the middle of the opposite lane. We looked at each other and started laughing when we realised how absurd our search had been. We had been lucky, but the story was not over yet.

The fall had physically damaged the fob, and that created a second, much more serious concern: the bike started again, but Richard had no certainty that, if he switched it off once more, it would recognise that battered key again.

We were a long way from Valencia and still had to continue the journey, so he made a very logical decision in the circumstances: not to switch the BMW off.

For the rest of that day the motorcycle remained running at all times. Even when we stopped for a café con leche, the bike stayed running on the pavement outside the bar, so we would not risk becoming stranded in a remote place.

It was only when we reached the hotel, with the bike finally somewhere safe, that he dared switch it off and check whether it would start again.

Everything ended well, but that experience reinforced an opinion I already had about Keyless systems.

I completely understand the advantages of technology and everything it has brought to vehicle safety and convenience, but on a motorcycle I prefer a conventional ignition key.

A simple oversight such as leaving the keyring in the top case allowed the bike to start and move away from the fob until it eventually fell onto the road. If we had not found the key, the entire day would have changed: we would have had to remove the motorcycle from the road, arrange a recovery vehicle and work out how to get a valid key before we could continue the trip.

Can you lose a conventional key too? Of course, but normally, if you do not have the key, you cannot start the bike and the problem appears in the same place where you lost it.

In our case the Keyless system did exactly what it was designed to do and the motorcycle did not suddenly stop while we were riding, which would obviously have been dangerous, but the convenience of the system also allowed a small mistake to travel with us for many kilometres.

This is a personal opinion, not a judgement against technology, but since that day I have been even more convinced that, if you ride a motorcycle with Keyless, the fob should always stay on you, preferably in a zipped jacket pocket and never in the pouch with the rest of the keys.

We still laugh when we remember that story, because travelling is also about collecting anecdotes that, with time, become every bit as important as the roads you rode.

Every journey comes to an end and, after nine days of riding roads, visiting towns, discovering hidden corners, sharing meals, conversations and more than a few stories that we still remember today, it was time to take Richard to the airport.

We said goodbye with a genuine hug and the kind of smile that needs very little explanation when you know you have had a truly great time.

As time has passed, we have kept in touch from time to time. Sometimes we remember the paella, the cremaet or that BMW key that decided to make a break for freedom, and we laugh just as much as we did then.

For me, that is the best example of what this kind of experience really means: not that everything goes exactly as written in the programme, because real journeys rarely do, but knowing how to adapt when something unexpected happens and continuing to enjoy the road, the places and, above all, the people you share them with.

Richard arrived as a client and left as a friend.

I honestly cannot think of a better ending to a story like this.

Back home, this is what he wrote

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