It’s the Simple Things

“A disfrutar de la Sierra” is what they say in a little-known village, which lies deep inside a natural park that holds the keys to this story. You may not know about the Sierras de Cazorla, Segura y Las Villas, but it’s the biggest protected area in all of Spain, and it just so happens to be laced with dirt tracks seemingly designed for bikepackers. On a mountain map of the country, you can see it stand out, neatly positioned between Granada and Murcia, unpretentious, just like the settlements around it and the people who inhabit them. Nature here is quiet and doesn’t ask for attention, like a whisper inviting silence.

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Hidden at the heart of the park, connected by a narrow road going either east or west, lies Pontones, or Pontón Bajo, the village in question. I overheard the saying in one of the very few restaurants, but it caught my attention in an unusual way. I’ve learned a lot of Spanish over the years and can keep up in most conversations, but this was so brilliantly simple and summed up so much. Disfrutar, in a poetic sense, means “enjoy the fruits of.” Combined with a place, you get the gist. I’d been riding through the park for two days by that point, eagerly trying to understand its significance and finding out what makes it special. Those few words did just that.

This natural park holds both Natura 2000 and UNESCO biosphere reserve status, and is home to wild mammals such as wolves, foxes, javalí, and Spanish ibex, as well as a variety of bird species and a wide range of flora that embellish this landscape of rock, water, and dirt. And yet, this park is entirely and freely accessible to the public, with sendurismo and bikepacking as the more sustainable ways to discover it. I’d been a few years earlier, when riding Logan’s Bosques del Sur route, quickly falling for the flow I felt there. The GR247 is the main route used to attract riding visitors, and its tracks are perhaps comparable to Ernesto’s Montañas Vacías, but slightly farther north and a little harder in terms of elevation gain.

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Late this April, I found myself there again at the invitation of the Jaén tourism office, who’d asked me if I wanted to take part in their regeneration plan for the area. The objective was simple: come visit, soak it all in, and report back. On a whim, I planned a route and flew out to Granada, where I was welcomed by the towering Sierra Nevada mountains and the historic Alhambra fortress, representing the late Islamic influence in this part of Spain. In Andalucía, a beer comes with tapas, and churros y chocolate are served at noon, while everything—animals, humans, trees, and towns—murmurs under the sun.

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Some of you may be familiar with the Gorafe Desert—arid badlands just north of Granada, serving as my backdrop for the ride out to the natural park. It was remarkably easy to adjust to southern Spain, as the heat was still mild and spring had only just begun to blossom. There’s a saying in Spanish, “Marzo ventoso, Abril lluvioso, hacen a Mayo florido y hermoso,” and this year it held true, with a windy March and a rainy April making way for a beautifully flower-filled May. The weather varied heavily throughout my ride, but heavens me, did it turn the countryside into a colorful canvas. I’m convinced that spring is by far the most fitting season for riding bikes here. Water flows off the mountains like butter off a hot knife’s edge, the shade still brings relief from the sometimes scorching heat, pines pop their pollen, and flowers burst out of the ground like fireworks. It’s an absolute awakening, and even the dry mountains can’t ignore it.

My route followed the tracks of previous travelers, on wide, crunchy lanes in a variety of gray and brown hues, always accompanied by fertile pines at lower elevations and the wind up high. These sierras all have distinct biomes—Cazorla, Segura, Las Villas—they each bring something to the table. Sierra de Segura comprises the larger part, a plateau sitting high and dry above a thousand meters, with limestone peaks rising far above it. It’s called Campos de Hernan Perea, and its landscape is dotted with features that make this park so unique. Refugios are common across European mountain chains, but here they are unmanned, simply set up to offer a basic, safe refuge from the challenging conditions.

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When sharing about one of them on Instagram the other day, I learned that they’re meant exclusively for cyclists and hikers, that one is allowed to stay just for the night, and that all visitors should intend to leave the place clean and tidy. From what I saw, my impression was that everybody here respects these rules, as each of them appeared to be looked after. I’ve always found that “mountain people” function differently, being more connected with nature and understanding the significance of simplicity. Up here, there are no unnecessary luxuries. Resources are precious, and what you bring along should be carefully planned. A bikepacking mentality lends itself well to this type of environment, carrying only what you need and pushing it up the climbs with just your legs.

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I’m probably echoing this a little too much, but the limitations of a bicycle really do create a precious balance between the self and the environment. I find it humbling to remember that I’m not so important and that my actions affect those around me. A wild deer that has to run away, a bird on a fence that’s forced to fly off, both exerting valuable energy they’ll have to find more food for in order to recharge, all because I found it necessary to be present. A fox coming far too close to me because it is accustomed to receiving bread from strangers, forgetting it was wired to hunt rabbits. Riding also offers a way not to intervene too much, to be relatively quiet, for I’m not running an engine. It’s a way to work my body enough to pay a similar price as the other beings inhabiting the natural space I ride through, though the survival stakes are obviously lower.

Come to think of it, I love bikepacking exactly for these reasons. I arrive by my own effort, I pay my dues, and I relish the reward. There are few better ways to confront yourself so viscerally, yet somehow always redeem yourself in the smallest, simplest little details. But enough romanticizing!

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Much like Montañas Vacías—and many other regions in Spain’s empty donut (geography fan deep dive recommendation)—Jaén’s economy leans a lot on the outdoor sector, and I believe they have a shot at doing things a little differently. Some 80,000 people live here, yet I had days when I only met three. Village dwellers create precious communities that understand where they live and why their environment is worth protecting, all while still welcoming forms of recreation that don’t further damage it. Of course, it’s probably best not to enter at all in order for it to truly be protected, but we’re humans, flawed in our capacity to correct the effects we are the very reason for.

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Overall, the Sierras de Cazorla, Segura y Las Villas surprised me terrifically. My visit was far too short, yet it offered exactly what I didn’t know I needed to be reassured of: that it’s okay to taste the fruits of a protected place, as long as, in return, its needs are recognized, looked after, and ideally, exceeded. And I have no doubt we can all do our part to make sure of that. Que disfrutes de la sierra!

The Route

Further Reading

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