A week of riding (and wining) in Spain's La Rioja

Over the years, I have been privileged to ride in some of the best-known wine regions of the world: Bordeaux and Provence in France, Tuscany and the Veneto in Italy, Mendoza and San Juan in Argentina, and of course Napa and Sonoma in California. There have been others but none with the immediate "bike tour appeal" as those mentioned. So, it was just a question of time when I would plan a trip to Spain's famed Rioja, and the time came once the spring bike-racing season had concluded.

Having a buddy who lives five minutes away from Madrid's Barajas airport certainly helps when planning a bike-centric trip to Spain. It's one thing to book Airbnbs and rental cars ahead of time from the comfort of your desk, but once you're on the ground with all the crap one schlepps around it certainly is nice to have a friend like Howard show up curbside and shuttle you to his home of many years. After our pandemic-driven hiatus of seeing one another it was great to catch up with him and his family, and the extra buffer day I had built in before picking up my rental car came in handy to assemble the Ritchey, go for a ride, and even tick off a couple of new micro-breweries.

About a week ago, last Friday, Howard and I set off on the motorway heading north. You see, Howard had retired earlier this year, and with our friendship now in its 47th year we both thought that a few extra days together would be good for us. As a newly minted abuelito Howard doesn't get to run off much, and I could tell that he was really looking forward to a few days on the road.

San Asensio, home for a week

By mid-afternoon we had reached the location of the Airbnb that I had booked for six days in the tiny hamlet of San Asensio, about 20 miles or so mostly west of the Rioja's major city, Logroño. Thanks to modern GPS technology we found the house in the Calle Jesús Caballos, opened the lockbox with the provided code, and made ourselves at home. Thick stone walls (and shutters) keep the house comfortably cool, and the interior is modern and lacks very little—except a small detail that in today's world isn't trivial: There was no internet connection, despite what the listing had said. Long story short, my host, Victoria, was extremely apologetic and sorry that Airbnb had not removed this amenity from its list after she had told them that she had issues with her internet provider. Well, bummer, but we made do: While Howard stuck around for the first couple of days I could piggyback onto his unlimited data plan via his hotspot, and after that I used my daily post-ride drinks at the Bar del Castillo to use their wifi.

Sweet home life in the Airbnb

Howard spent three nights in San Asensio, and it was a wonderful time! We went together to one of the many local bodegas, Lecea, to stock up on wine (the bottle that Victoria had left for us evaporated far too quickly, and the first night we had to buy some extra stash from the Castillo bar). It didn't take us long to figure out what shops there were (a bakery, a butcher, and a fishmonger, all within less than a minute from our front door, plus a tiny supermarket, about three minutes away) or what their very limited opening times were. And while I went for bike rides Howard—harking back to his British upbringing—went for long walks.

The butcher didn't have much inventory in the small refrigerated showcase (and the butcherette's right hand was seriously bandaged up and wrapped in Seran wrap, which necessitated her calling over the bakery chick from just across the street to cut our steaks), but Howard, who used to work for an Irish company in the meat industry, chose a few cuts for our first two nights of grilling. Never mind that the grill and the charcoal worked in mysterious ways, but somehow we managed to concoct two excellent paleo-centric dinners. I'm usually the first one to acknowledge the shortcomings of my attempts at playing chef, but Howard—ever the gentleman or the fool—was just gushing how exceptionally tasty the meat had come out, how perfect the meal had been. Even the baked potatoes—with a distinct think-outside-the-box theme to them—floored my dear friend. After Howard's eventual departure I tried my hand at grilling a fresh dorada, and that was a fine meal, too.

Nothing like a good meal after a long ride!

On the way taking Howard to the Logroño rail station for his train back to Madrid we detoured to the hill-top city of Laguardia. Howard had visited this walled, medieval city once before but had not been able to visit the (locked) church, one of his ways to check off a place. Well, why would his luck have been different this time and the church be open for visits? I didn't feel much of a loss since the day before we had visited the unbelievably ornate church in Fuenmayor, with Howie donating a euro to switch on the lights so all the gold would really glitter! So, Laguardia's narrow streets and quaint shops had to do.

Fuenmayor's opulent church offered enough gold ornamentation for one trip

Laguardia's closed church and the town's spectacular setting

With Howard back on his way to Madrid it was time for me to get serious about my bike riding. Altogether, I rode 207 miles in the Rioja. Actually, that's not entirely accurate because I did dip into the Basque region of Spain (Euskadi) on a few occasions when my routes took me north. Most of my miles were covered on asphalted roads, but about 30 to 40 miles were on gravel. My choice of the Ritchey Outback gravel bike (and gravel tires) was spot on. Navigation, as usual, was provided via one of my handlebar-mounted phones with a Locus map showing me the route that I'd plan out the night before while sipping wine at the Bar del Castillo (remember, free wifi?). Finding one's way couldn't be any easier!

I was amazed by the lack of traffic even on some of the more major roads. Sometimes 10 or 15 minutes would go by between two cars passing me, in either direction. Essentially, I had the roads to myself. All of the major roads featured wide, well-paved shoulders, free of glass or debris. And even the smaller roads were generally paved with smooth asphalt, without potholes or dangerous speed-bumps. Spain has not found out about the joys of chip'n seal pavement!

Can you spell "spacious, smooth shoulders"?

However, every town or village I passed through had the type of very moderate paso de peatones sobreelevado that you may have seen in Tour de France footage, the type that a bike easily rolls over (especially if you lift your butt slightly) but that forces a car to slow down. Most of these reductores de velocidad are painted in red and have white arrows, so you really can't miss them. And right, I didn't take a photo—but you will find one in my next blogpost from Burgos.

A few roads of course didn't fit the pattern of being in perfect condition. I recall a few off-the-beaten-path stretches that consisted of bumpy patches held together with even bumpier asphalt. Those weren't potholes, per se, but rather a quilt of differently colored types of asphalt that had taken years to get to this state. Especially riding the downhill sections was a bit uncomfortable because one always expects an actual pothole to open up, but everything remained just bumpy.

All these stretches (three different rides) were rather bumpy, but I also do
not recall encountering any cars on them 

My rides varied in length from 30 to 55 miles, and elevation gain was usually around 1,500 to 3,000 feet. Whoever engineered the roads must have kept cyclists (or maybe ox-carts) in mind as pretty much all of the grades were benign and extremely rideable, often winding at 4% to 6% up or around a hill when the obvious shorter route would have gone straight up. The steepest incline I saw on my Garmin was 10%; of course, that didn't include short ramps in tiny hamlets where the streets had organically grown with the stone houses.

Yes, there was ample climbing—and some descending as well!

Riding through these towns and villages presents a special treat in that one feels pulled back in time. The streets are narrow, at times barely the width of a tiny vehicle, a lá  Smart car. Often they are cobbled, and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out which calle to take to get to the church and the main square. Since I was always riding mid-day, the streets were mostly deserted and shutters were closed to keep the warmth (I can't call 80 degrees heat) out of the dwellings. Once in a while an old man would sit on a bench or on a chair in front of his house, gazing at me but hardly ever returning the wave and the friendly hola. Maybe I should sit more in front of my house and wait for cyclists in Lycra to come by.

The absence of dogs was refreshing. Despite certain similarities to riding in some of the rural areas of Mexico, there are no canines that make half-hearted attempts at giving chase. Actually, it was as if the entire Rioja was in a type of trance (or long-lasting midday stupor?), waiting for a prince to come by to provide a kiss of revival. Wonderful! Even the small bars that in most towns are located close to or on the square were often shuttered when I came through; after all, why be open when nobody is driving by?

Hanging in the bar, on the square

The few drivers that I encountered were extremely cautious and courteous in the way they passed me. Howard had told me that Spanish traffic laws are very strict when it comes to car / pedestrian / cyclist encounters. The minimum distance to pass a cyclist is two meters, or about six feet, and both cars and trucks take great pains to make sure to observe this rule. Pedestrians entering a crosswalk (or simply appearing to do so) will stop any traffic from proceeding. Riding certainly didn't feel like the dangerous Russian Roulette that it presents in Texas.

As I mentioned, I also spent a fair amount of time on gravel paths, which in the Rioja are numerous as the locals need to access their vineyards. Some of them took me across hills to connect two asphalted roads; others took me along irrigation channels close to the river Ebro, often shaded by cottonwoods that were shedding their white, fuzzy stuff to create the impression that the path was snow covered. It was delightful riding!

I took rides into all four directions from San Asensio, and in this way the town presented a perfect home base for the week. The Rioja is bordered by mid-sized mountains both toward the north and the south, crossed from west to east by the river Ebro, which has created the gentle hills and plains over the eons. Sometimes I was able to see 40 miles into every direction! By far the most important crop is grapes, obviously. But I also crossed through extensive orchards and other fields, from forage to grains to legumes. The region is fertile, has abundant sunshine, apparently has enough water for irrigation, and can be accessed with relative ease by farm implements. It doesn't get much better.

I did not notice any pastures for cattle. Actually, I didn't see any fences anywhere except small gardening plots close to villages, of course. Husbandry doesn't seem to play any significant role en la Rioja, but I did see the occasional flock of sheep tended to by a shepherd and his dog. On one occasion, on a tiny road, the oncoming flock shuffled and pressed by me, snorting and farting while their little bells made the most beautiful sound. I'll try to embed a short video clip (it will take you to YouTube) of that encounter in addition to the pic.

Please click here for the video and give it a few secs: https://youtu.be/3zgpIrGqphY

Speaking of animals: I do need to mention both the inordinate number of snakes, either flattened by cars or frantically trying to cross the road ahead of me, and the storks that roost in big nests atop chimneys and churches' bell towers. I wish I could add some info to the snakes, except that they were green and at least two feet long and pretty fat. The storks, on the other hand, were definitely the type that are black and white, have yellow beaks, and deliver babies!

Despite all my riding it seemed that from day to day I gained more weight! But it is so hard not to eat well and have a couple of glasses of white wine in the bar when returning from a long ride, watching the denizens of small San Asensio wake up from their siesta and slowly venture back out into the square. After our initial stock-up session with Howard I bought more wine from another bodega, Señorío de Villarrica, and it just kept evaporating. Honestly! Oh well, fat management has never been my forté.

The week in la Rioja went by much too fast. It would be easy to spend a month here and get to know more of the local bodegas. According to one source on Google there are 673 wineries, and the region has a total of almost 16,500 distinct vineyards! That compares to about 800 wineries in Napa and Sonoma combined, a much larger area, so it is obvious how much time one could spend here. I am thrilled that I made the decision to visit the region, and the fact that I had a companion in Howard for the first few days was a definite plus. A cycling partner would have been nice—my trips to Tuscany and Provence certainly were on my mind the entire time, but sometimes life throws some curveballs.

My suggestion for anybody looking for a region in Spain worth a visit, go to la Rioja. I may have to come back sometime during harvest. Madrid is just an overnight flight away, and you can be in the heart of the wine country in less than three hours by car. Do I sense the beginnings of another trip?

Jürgen