Into Europe’s Wild West

The Bikepack

We are The Bikepack, a small two–rider crew from Gothenburg with a deep and slightly obsessive love for cycling. For us, the bike is more than transport or sport—it’s a way to explore landscapes, test limits, and discover what happens when curiosity outweighs comfort.

Bikepacking sits right at that intersection. You travel light, rely on yourself, and move through landscapes at the perfect speed—fast enough to cover distance, slow enough to notice everything.

BADLANDS seemed like the ultimate expression of that idea.

Part 2 – Chasing the Horizon

Dawn broke slowly over the Andalusian mountains, ending our first 24 hours in the Badlands. We had already crossed nearly 300 kilometres of desert, gravel, and relentless climbs, and the fatigue sat deep in our legs. Yet as the first light spilled across the empty landscape, something shifted. The cool air carried the quiet sounds of morning — distant birds, wind moving across the dry hills — and the brutal heat of the previous day finally loosened its grip. Ahead of us lay a new chapter of the route: long mountain passes, forgotten desert towns, and somewhere far in the distance, the promise of the Mediterranean Sea.

Exhausted but determined, we clipped back in and rolled forward into another day in the wild heart of Badlands.

The Climb to Velefique

The route lifted us higher again, winding into a vast landscape of dry mountains and empty valleys. Ahead lay the climb toward Velefique, a place that feels almost otherworldly.

The road twisted upward through an endless series of switchbacks carved into the hillsides. From a distance the climb looked impossible—thin lines of gravel zigzagging across bare rock.

Up close it was even more impressive.

There were no cars, no villages, no sound except the soft crunch of gravel beneath our tyres and the steady rhythm of breathing. The terrain felt lunar: pale rock, open sky, and silence stretching in every direction.

Our legs were tired from the long night, but eventually we found a rhythm. Not fast, not powerful—just steady. One pedal stroke at a time. Upward.

At the top we stopped.

Wind brushed across the ridge. The view stretched endlessly across desert valleys and distant mountains fading into heat haze. For a few quiet minutes we simply stood there, breathing, letting the moment settle.

This is why we do this.

Letting It Go

The descent that followed was pure adrenaline.

The track dropped sharply, snaking down the mountainside in fast gravel bends. The kind of terrain where you need to stay completely focused—one mistake here could end your BADLANDS in seconds.

Dust trailed behind our wheels as we let the bikes run.

Speed, wind, wide smiles.

Somehow, we made it safely to the valley floor.

Tabernas – Europe´s Wild West

The road eventually carried us into Tabernas, a small desert town famous for something unexpected: Western movies.

For decades filmmakers have used the surrounding desert as a stand-in for the American frontier. Old movie sets still sit scattered across the landscape, and as we rolled into town it almost felt like we had cycled straight into a dusty film scene.

The quiet beauties of BADLANDS

We stopped at a small hostel restaurant.

Inside, the shade and cool air felt like luxury. We ordered ice-cold Coca-Cola, Fanta Lemon, and a plate of lasagna that tasted far better than any lasagna probably should after two days on the bike.

Before leaving we carefully refilled every bottle. The heat was already building again, and we knew the next stretch would be another test.

A few other riders sat nearby. Some looked shattered, shoulders slumped over their plates. Others seemed surprisingly fresh.

But everyone wore the same tired smile.

That’s one of the quiet beauties of BADLANDS: no matter where you come from, everyone is fighting the same battle—against the mountains, the sun, and the small voice in your head that occasionally whispers that stopping might be easier.

Outside, we found a patch of shade beneath a cluster of olive trees.

It was time for a short desert nap before pushing deeper into the landscape.

Lucainena de las Torres – A Small Revival

The road to Lucainena de las Torres stretched long and relentless across rolling terrain. The afternoon heat rose again, shimmering above the pale roads.

But slowly the scenery began to change.

The harsh desert rock softened into patches of green. Small plants appeared beside the road. Even a few wildflowers broke through the dry soil—a small reminder that life persists here, even in the most unlikely places.

At one point we discovered a small fountain.

Without hesitation we soaked our heads and jerseys, letting the cold water run down our necks and arms. The sensation felt almost unreal after hours in the heat.

When Lucainena finally appeared ahead, it felt like a small but meaningful victory.

We rolled into town covered in dust, salt, and sunscreen, looking more like miners than cyclists. But we were still moving forward.

The GPS ticked past 400 kilometres.

More than halfway.

Yet the reality of BADLANDS is simple: halfway rarely feels like halfway.

There was still a long road ahead.

Riding Toward the Sea

The sun was beginning to sink again when we sat down at a small local restaurant and ordered food. As the light softened, we made a plan for the next stage.

The goal was simple:

Reach the Mediterranean before sunrise.

The idea felt both slightly insane and deeply motivating. After days in the desert, the thought of seeing the sea carried a kind of magnetic pull.

We checked our lights. Tightened the bikepacking bags. Looked at each other. Then rolled quietly out of town and into the gathering darkness. Headlamps flicked on. Night shift started again. Somewhere ahead, beyond the hills and gravel roads, the Mediterranean waited.

Time to go find the magic.

The Coast Dream

We left Lucainena just as the sun sank behind the mountains, painting the desert sky in bruised oranges and deep purples. After another scorching day, the air finally carried a hint of coolness. Our headlamps carved narrow tunnels of light through the dark, the gravel beneath our tires whispering and crunching with every pedal stroke. There was a stillness out here — a kind of quiet that only comes in the middle of nowhere, deep into a challenge like this, when the world has narrowed down to nothing but bike, body, and night.

We had planned to take a longer nap during the night, maybe an hour, but the universe had other ideas. The scratchy blanket, caffeine still coursing through our veins, and the constant awareness of bugs crawling unseen made real sleep impossible. Yet somehow, even with eyes half-closed, we felt a faint rest settle into our limbs — a pause that made the endless night just a little more bearable.

The Mediterranean

As the sky lightened toward dawn, we began descending toward Agua Amarga. The first thing that hit us was the smell of the sea — salty, bracing, completely unlike the dust-choked air of the desert. And then it appeared: the Mediterranean, blue and calm, stretching endlessly ahead. We didn’t stop, yet our minds celebrated. For a few minutes, we forgot about sore legs, sunburned arms, and the gnawing fatigue of two days in the saddle. We were just two tired cyclists, smiling like children, pedals turning, energy gels in hand, riding beside the waves.

Riding the Coastal Trails

We didn’t stop, yet our minds celebrated. For a few minutes, we forgot about sore legs, sunburned arms, and the gnawing fatigue of two days in the saddle. We were just two tired cyclists, smiling like children, pedals turning, energy gels in hand, riding beside the waves.

From Agua Amarga, the route climbed again — of course — but the climb felt different now. The air was salt-laden, the breeze softer, the ocean spread wide to our right. As we wound through Rodalquilar, Playa de los Escullos, and San José, the trails became a delicate dance between cliffs and sea. Whitewashed villages clung to the hillsides, and beneath us, waves broke softly against the rocks. The crunch of gravel was softer here, the rhythm of pedaling slower but somehow lighter. The coast gave a new energy, one that bypassed tired muscles and spoke directly to the mind.

Cabo de Gata – The Edge of the Land

By early morning, we reached Cabo de Gata, the southernmost point of the route. A small sanctuary of dark sand, flamingos wading in hidden lagoons, and the endless Mediterranean pressing against the horizon. The terrain was unforgiving, sand stubbornly creeping into shoes and spokes alike. Even walking was a workout. But this gave us time to pause, reflect, and marvel at the distance we had covered — the nights, climbs, heat, and every pedal stroke that had led here. Despite the exhaustion, we felt incredibly alive.

We paused to take a few photos, emptied our shoes of sand, and mounted the bikes again. Ahead: Almería, then the demanding climbs into the Sierra de Gádor. The sun climbed high, relentless as ever, and the road ahead promised more pain. But there was no turning back.

As we rolled away from the coast, we glanced behind us one last time. Waves lapped gently against the rocks, villages waking to a new day, oblivious to the miles we had conquered.

No words were exchanged, but the feeling was mutual:

This will be brutal. Let’s do it!

Don’t miss the final part!!!