Basquedada Gathering: A Rainy Spring Rendezvous

Words and photos by Ana Zamorano Ruiz

I’ve had the fortune to participate in several bike meetups here in Spain, and all of them have shared the spirit of seeing new places, creating new experiences, and, above all, further expanding our beautiful local bikepacking community. At these gatherings, places become part of us, incredible memories are created, and lifetime friendships are made.

After attending gatherings in Tereul, Soria, and elsewhere, I felt motivated to finally act on my idea of creating a similar event in the Basque Country—something I’d been dreaming of for some time. I wanted a chance to show off our land to anyone who was interested in getting to know the region, and I also wanted to create a space for people with similar tastes in cycling to come together. I first shared the idea on a bikepacking group ride around Bilbao, and one fellow participant, Ibai, voiced support for helping out. We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into.

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Four of us—Ibai, Txelu, Diego, and I—agreed to split the work of organizing everything. This included deciding on a destination, designing the routes, booking a campsite, making a list of guests, calculating the weekend’s costs, and many other things we didn’t know to think of at the beginning. Bringing together around 30 people presented many unforeseen issues.

To help us plan and prepare, we had around five video calls before the event to discuss everything. During the first one, Txelu had a brilliant idea about ​​how to go about recruiting guests. We didn’t want to exceed a group size of more than 25 or so people, and there were already tons of names floating around in the air. We each created a list of everyone we’d like to invite, and then we filtered them down to 10 people we followed online and wanted to meet in person, five people we already knew but wanted to know better, plus a handful of area friends we knew were eager to join. This process helped make the group size more manageable and excited us all to see and meet everyone in person.

We decided that the event should be held in Urbasa, even if all of us are from Bizkaia and had hopes of holding it there. Ultimately, Urbasa was a more central location and would help cut down travel time for attendees coming from Valencia, Madrid, and the central part of Spain. Looking back, it’s clear that people were more than motivated enough to drive an extra hour and a half to the gathering if we’d held it in Bizkaia instead.

As wild camping is forbidden and unsustainable for almost 30 people, we rented four bungalows for our base camp. We arrived at different times on Friday afternoon, and those four roofs protected us from the pouring rain until well into Saturday morning. We were happily indoors enjoying a great variety of foods from different corners of Spain. There were desserts from Valencia, pintxos (a kind of tapas) from the Basque Country, vegetables from the garden of Juan from Álava, different cheeses Jimbo brought from Switzerland, and goodies from Soria that Silvia carried along with the best homemade brownie I have ever had in my life.

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The idea was to have a “cena de traje,” which literally means “suit dinner,” but it has a double meaning in Spanish as “traje” is “to carry” as well as “suit.” The idea was to take something typical from your area for yourself and two others. We were also aware that vegans, veggies, and celiacs were in the group. As such, we decided that 80% of the food should be savory and the rest sweet. Being hungry was mandatory, but a cyclist is always in this state, so it would never be a problem. We shared stories around the table and chatted away until it was time to get some sleep.

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The weekend’s weather forecast wasn’t very encouraging, but we’d put a lot of effort into making the gathering as good as possible, and we were determined not to let the rain ruin it. Still, nobody likes to cycle and see a new place in the pouring rain. Diego, our forecast guy, suggested waiting a bit on Saturday morning because the rain was slowly beginning to recede. It took a full two hours to show clear signs of improvement, so a group of us sat around having coffee and obsessively checking the weather.

We were still wearing pajamas when the Valencians came and suggested that we should move, telling us, “We knew where we were coming, so we came prepared. We have waterproof clothing and want to get out there!” Northern Spain—from Galicia to the Basque, including Navarre—is characterized by a humid climate, with high rainfall throughout the year. The rest of the country gets much less precipitation and suffers from a lack of this precious necessity.

Thanks to their push, we finally decided and got ready, and I can’t thank them enough. We all left the campsite with our waterproof gear on, and the first part of the route was on pavement. We soon rolled onto a stretch of gravel, and it was great seeing this dream of making a gathering around my home actually happen. All the effort the four of us had put in had finally paid off—even more so when the rain began to subside.

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As we approached the first highlight of the trip, the humid and misty ambiance was palpable, but the rain was gone. The larger group was divided into different sub-groups according to rhythms, friendships, and new connections, with some cycling together at the front and others at the back.

Urbasa-Andía was our playground for Saturday. The Urbasa-Andía Natural Park is located in the northwest of Navarre and marks a natural border with the Basque Country. Covered by beech forests and other species such as yews, junipers, and pines, this place offers a vast diversity of trails and terrain. Although it’s known for its famous pool of turquoise water, Urederra, which means “beautiful water” in the Basque language, we wanted to give our friends a broader picture of the diversity our land offers. At an average altitude of about 1,000 meters (3,300 feet), the great elevated plateau of the karstic range awaited us with its misty and magical landscape.

We followed the edge of the Sierra within the Burunda area. The goal was to visit some interesting points along the route until the Venta de Lizarraga, where we could grab food by the roadside. When we emerged from one of the beech forests, the road opened up and was clear on both sides; suddenly, there was no vegetation around. We continued cycling on a perfect gravel road with bright green grass on either side. Horses and cows chewed grass, and the sound of their bells echoed. The mares, with their foals, ran to a safer refuge while the cows observed us as we passed.

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Our group gathered and regrouped a few kilometers later, recharging our energy with some snacks. The views were alright, too. Leaving the bikes on the ground while the group chatted, I walked around the typical limestone surface and found Alex taking photos and enjoying the views of the area beyond the national park. We could see Aizkorri—in the Basque Country—and the summits around it all wrapped in mist.

Rain alternated with sun and wind during the last few kilometers until the venta, located by the main road at the gate of Mount Beriain. I had the bad luck of a mechanical that required repairing my wheel, but Alex and Bob were there to help. I appreciate their patience and handiness, especially on the side of the road on what felt like the windiest hill in all of Urbasa. Spirits were lifted when the only open bar gave us some delicious food and coffee and a chance to reunite the whole group.

When organizing an event like this one, you should always make everyone aware of the sections requiring extra effort. We knew the next bit of the track was going to be among the most challenging of the weekend, so after coffee and food, we split the group into two: those who would climb to the top of Beriain and those who would take a detour to skip it. Clouds moved in and covered the surrounding peaks as we split up.

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Beriain, a 1,493-meter (4,900-foot) peak and part of the Basque Mountains, stole the hearts of everyone who accepted the challenge. I have nothing but respect for those who reached the small church atop the steep and rocky mountain. I always enjoy a bit of bike pushing, but I skipped it this time, perhaps because I knew that what came after wouldn’t be easy either. The rainy spring and recent rainfall had made for challenging conditions, and the long singletrack sections were especially slippery. For a time, it felt more like a cyclocross circuit than a friendly gathering. Puddles and mud covered the track, making for exceptionally challenging conditions.

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Txelu meticulously designed both routes and various alternates in case of any setbacks. Unfortunately, the terrain was even less forgiving than we’d imagined, and both groups ended up making various adaptations and creating shortcuts. After a long and muddy track between bushes that took us through the middle of nowhere, we entered an area full of grazing cattle. The cows blocked our path, and Txelu almost got hit by one of them.

Clearly, it was not an area frequented by humans. This impression was confirmed when, a few meters later, trying to find a way to get out of there, we came across the skins of three sheep. Wolves had also entered this area, endangering not only the lives of cattle but also the economy of the local farmers. This topic provides plenty of opinions because the wolf also has the right to live. Eventually, we made it back to our base camp. We were a bit muddy and battered but had formed bonds and seen some truly spectacular corners of the region.

Sunday was fun as the group was more united, and the sun brought the extra energy we needed. Sierra de Entzia was the playground we chose for this day, opposite from where we were the day before. Located in the western continuation of the Sierra de Urbasa, we crossed the natural border with the Southern Basque Country through a beautiful forest. Even though this route was not demanding in terms of kilometers, we still went into it with some concerns based on the day before.

We didn’t know what condition the paths were going to be in, and we were under some pressure since we all had to get back home later. For some, it would take up to eight hours to get to their destination. We followed one of Txelu’s route options but kept bail-out options in mind. Thankfully, the gravel trails were in better shape than expected, and the bits of road and singletrack mixed in made for a joyful mix of peaceful rolling and adrenaline-filled moments.

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The worst thing about saying goodbye to the people you have connected with is not knowing when you’ll see them again. Urbasa and the Basquedada, as we called the gathering, are now a beautiful memory built by people who put effort, desire, and good vibes into it. The name Urbasa means “humid forest” (from ur “water” and basa “forest”) in Basque. This might help explain why we got saturated not only with rain but also with good vibes.

This gathering’s goal was not only to cycle the less traveled paths around Urbasa-Andia but to unite an eclectic mix of people the four of us wanted to meet in person, and I’d say it was a resounding success. We can’t thank the Valencians enough for bringing the sun with them in every conceivable way, the great crew from the central part of the country for their warm hugs, and the rest for the love and connections we have created. If you’ve been wanting to get a group together in your area, do it! With a little planning, I’m confident your experience will be as rewarding as ours was.

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