Six Days on a Motorcycle. A Friendship for Life

Some motorcycle journeys end when you return the bike.

Others continue for years.

David B. and Dara S.'s story unquestionably belongs to the second group.

Everything began about a month before they arrived in Spain. David contacted us because he wanted to experience our Valencia and Cuenca motorcycle tour. From that very first email, we started exchanging messages, answering questions, and planning every detail together. As the weeks went by, our conversations became about much more than motorcycles and routes. By the time Floren and I picked them up at Valencia's North Station, it already felt less like meeting new customers and more like welcoming old friends.

The first thing that caught our attention was their luggage.

Besides several large suitcases, they had brought an enormous Alpinestars gear bag packed with everything they needed to ride. Helmets, jackets, boots, gloves... practically half their house had crossed the Atlantic with them. I remember looking at the boot of my Honda FR-V—thankfully a fairly spacious one—and thinking that we had come very close to needing two trips.

From the very first minute, laughter came naturally.

We headed to the Toro Biker office, handed over their welcome pack, took the traditional photo at our Wall of Fame, and collected the BMW R1300GS they had chosen for the adventure, fully equipped with side panniers and a top case.

With plenty of afternoon still ahead of us, Floren took Dara to the hotel while David and I enjoyed a short warm-up ride to Alcublas.

That was all it took to understand exactly who they were.

David radiated calm. Tall, solidly built, with a deep voice and the quiet confidence of someone used to working with precision. As a mechanic maintaining vessels for the U.S. Army, he followed every instruction exactly as it had been explained. Before we left, I gave him the usual safety briefing. Throughout the entire experience, he didn't break a single safety rule.

Not one.

I honestly don't think I've ever seen anything like it.

Dara, on the other hand, was the perfect balance.

Always smiling.

Always full of energy.

Always ready to enjoy every moment.

Two completely different personalities that somehow fitted together perfectly.

That first evening we had dinner by Malvarrosa Beach, and while talking about our jobs and our lives, one particular subject kept coming back.

David was fascinated by the idea of making a living creating motorcycle experiences.

He couldn't stop asking how Toro Biker worked and how I had managed to turn a lifelong passion into a career.

Neither of us knew it then, but that conversation was only just beginning.

The following day we joined Floren and a few of his friends for a ride along some of our favourite roads.

As every proper Valencian motorcycle ride should, the morning began with a traditional almuerzo.

I told David to trust me and ordered him a local cured meat sandwich with homemade garlic aioli.

He still talks about that sandwich today.

Later, after our friends headed home, we continued to Chulilla for lunch at Restaurante La Rueda.

But before we even sat down, one of the funniest moments of the trip unfolded.

The waitress, who already knew me, decided it was time for the famous...

"Ajoarriero Challenge."

All morning long I had been making David practise a word that is almost impossible for foreigners to pronounce.

"Ajo... arriero..."

"No, David... try again."

"Ajo... arrierou..."

Over...

and over...

and over again.

When the big moment arrived, the waitress asked him to say it in front of the camera.

He took a deep breath.

"...Ajoarriero."

Perfect.

The look on her face was priceless.

David and I exchanged a knowing smile before all three of us burst into laughter.

Lunch became yet another reminder of something that would define the entire trip.

David and Dara loved great food just as much as they loved motorcycles.

And that's always a wonderful combination.

The next morning we headed towards Cuenca through the beautiful Ademuz region.

There is something most guests never notice during a guided motorcycle tour.

While I'm riding, I'm not only watching the road.

I'm constantly watching them.

I have developed the habit of checking my mirrors after almost every corner to make sure the rider behind me appears exactly when they should.

Over the years, it has become second nature.

That day it almost gave me a heart attack.

On one particularly tight bend, David slowed down because Dara's injured leg had started hurting again.

I kept checking the mirror.

They weren't there.

One second.

Then another.

Then another.

Far too long.

The first thing that crosses your mind in a situation like that is that something has gone terribly wrong.

I was just about to turn around and go back when they calmly appeared around the corner.

I don't think I've ever felt so relieved.

Later, laughing about it, I told David he had nearly given me a heart attack.

His answer made me laugh even more.

"I knew it.

When I slowed down I thought... if Rafa doesn't see me coming out of this corner, he's going to panic."

We both laughed.

But that simple conversation made me realise something important.

He had been watching me too.

He understood that I wasn't simply leading the route.

I was looking after them every mile of the journey.

Shortly before reaching the Enchanted City, we had to stop once again.

The leg injury Dara had arrived with was becoming increasingly painful, and at one point the pain was so intense that tears came to her eyes.

So we rested.

Without checking the time.

Without worrying about the schedule.

Because motorcycle experiences should never be measured by the clock.

They should be measured by the people sharing them.

Once she felt a little better, we completed the final few kilometres to one of Spain's most extraordinary natural landscapes.

Among those incredible rock formations we recorded one of the funniest videos of the entire trip.

At the famous Sea of Stone, Dara pretended to be a mermaid drowning among the waves of rock while David dramatically came to her rescue.

We laughed while filming it.

Then laughed even harder watching it afterwards.

That afternoon we arrived in Cuenca and checked into Posada San José.

It's one of those places that simply cannot be explained.

You have to experience it.

Its endless staircases.

Its maze-like corridors.

Hidden rooms that seem to appear from nowhere.

And above all, the unforgettable feeling of sleeping right beside the city's famous Hanging Houses.

Later we wandered through the old town and visited Cuenca Cathedral.

I still remember the expressions on David's and Dara's faces as they discovered every corner.

Watching visitors fall in love with your own homeland is always something special.

That evening ended exactly where I always hope to end a day in Cuenca.

At María Morena.

My favourite restaurant in the city.

It was there that I finally confirmed something I had suspected from the very beginning.

David and Dara enjoyed outstanding food every bit as much as they enjoyed spectacular roads.

And I truly believe you can never fully understand a place without discovering its cuisine.

The following morning Dara made a decision that said everything about the kind of traveller she is.

Her leg simply couldn't handle another full day on the motorcycle, so she decided to return to Valencia alone by train while David and I rode back.

She barely spoke a word of Spanish.

And it didn't matter in the slightest.

You can always tell when someone has travelled extensively.

Experienced travellers somehow find their way anywhere in the world.

On our ride back we stopped beside a helicopter base simply to stretch our legs and take a few photos.

Pure chance did the rest.

One of the mechanics was servicing a wildfire helicopter.

We started chatting.

He invited us inside.

And before we knew it, we were standing beside the helicopters while he explained how everything worked.

Watching two mechanics passionately talking about engines for the better part of an hour wasn't difficult.

They were both enjoying themselves like children.

Back in Valencia I decided to surprise them one last time.

I'd seen how much they appreciated outstanding food, so I booked a table at a truly special restaurant.

Over an excellent dinner, a pitcher of sangria and endless laughter, the idea of opening a Toro Biker branch in the United States stopped sounding like a joke and started feeling like a genuine possibility.

I had the experience.

David had the enthusiasm.

Why not?

Our final ride together took us through the rice fields of El Palmar.

Soon an authentic Valencian paella and an arroz del senyoret arrived at the table.

I picked up my phone.

"David... what's this called?"

"...Paella."

With that unmistakable American pronunciation.

I couldn't stop laughing.

Then I pointed at the second rice dish.

Dara looked at it confidently.

"Paella too?"

"No!"

I laughed.

"That's arroz del senyoret."

David immediately jumped in.

"That's cheating, Rafa... we'd never heard that name before!"

That video still makes me smile every time I watch it.

After returning the BMW, I loaded that mountain of luggage back into the car and drove them to the hotel where they would spend a few more days discovering Valencia on their own.

Before leaving, I handed them a small guide with some of my favourite places in the city.

Even though their Toro Biker experience had ended, there was still plenty of Valencia waiting for them.

Over the following days we kept talking almost daily on WhatsApp while they shared everything they were discovering.

When it was finally time to return home, I picked them up once again and drove them back to Valencia's North Station for their train to Madrid.

We said goodbye with a simple...

"See you again."

Before leaving, David quietly left an envelope with a generous tip.

It was never about the money.

It was simply his way of telling me how much those days had meant to them.

In the end, the idea of creating Toro Biker USA never became reality.

Life had other plans.

But something much more valuable happened instead.

We've stayed in touch ever since.

They still ask my opinion whenever they're planning new motorcycle adventures, whether in Morocco, Montenegro, or somewhere else entirely.

Not long after returning home, David sold his Harley-Davidson and, after countless motorcycle conversations, bought a Yamaha Tracer 9 that we practically chose together.

Every time we speak, I come back to the same thought.

Some people measure success by the number of tours they lead.

Or by the miles they've ridden.

I prefer to measure it differently.

By the friends the road has given me.

Because some stories end when you switch off the engine.

Others...

simply cross an ocean and keep living beside you.

Back home, this is what they wrote

Read David B. and Dara S.'s review on Google ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐