It wasn’t meant to be a training camp. Far from it. This was a family holiday on Spain’s southern coast — a chance to unwind, slow the pace, and simply soak in the sun-soaked days. The plan was rest, not reps. Beach walks, not bike routes. But then, during the handover of the apartment keys, the owner casually dropped a line that changed everything: “By the way, my road bike’s in the storage room — feel free to use it.”

That was all it took. A simple gesture, and suddenly the idea of a long solo ride began to take root — quietly at first, then with growing insistence. I tried to brush it off. This is family time, I reminded myself. Mornings were for lazy coffees, afternoons for walks and swims. But the thought lingered, tugging at me like a half-packed bag in the hallway. One morning, with my wife’s blessing — “Go, take your time” — I finally gave in. I mapped out a 100-kilometer loop with 1,750 meters of climbing, heading inland from Motril toward Granada. No winter layers, no overshoes, just short sleeves and the simple joy of riding light, fast, and free. I left early, quietly, while the others still slept.

ECHOES OF THE MOORS

As the road climbed higher, the landscape began to shift — starker, wilder, yet no less beautiful. To my right lay the Alpujarras, their rugged slopes layered in mist and legend, a place that once served as the last stronghold of the Moors in Spain. Names like Órgiva, Lanjarón, and Trevélez echoed the blend of cultures that had shaped this land over centuries. To the north, the Sierra Nevada loomed, and beyond it, the city of Granada — its Alhambra palace still standing as a quiet monument to a vanished era. And to the south, always the Mediterranean, glittering under the rising sun, never far from view.


A KIND OF MAGIC

It was as if I were riding along a seam where stories and geography stitched together — past and present, land and sea. There was something humbling about it. The bike moved forward, but the place seemed timeless. The descent into Guájar Faragüit was nothing short of spectacular. Long, straight stretches with soft, forgiving gradients, gentle curves, and flawless tarmac — it was cycling at its most pure and exhilarating. It instantly reminded me of the descent from Orient, Mallorca which I’ve ridden every time we’ve visited Mallorca. That climb has always been a favourite — short, not too steep, and perfect for a friendly race where no one’s left waiting at the top for ages. And the descent? A hidden gem of a road, winding through a quieter, almost secret side of the island. This stretch in Andalusia felt just the same. A rare kind of magic.

EFFORT WITHOUT URGENCY

The road wound through sleepy whitewashed villages and into the hills, where fields of blossoming almond trees stretched along the roadside, their pink-white petals catching the morning sun like confetti. Lemon and orange trees lined the route too, the citrus scent hanging sweetly in the air.

With each climb, each curve, each moment of stillness on the descents, I felt more alive. Not in the intense, performance-driven way — but in a quieter, fuller sense. There was effort, of course, but no urgency. Just flow. Just presence. And with that came gratitude. Not just for the ride itself, but for what made it possible — the freedom, the solitude, the sun on my back.

And perhaps most of all, the patient understanding of those back at the apartment. I wasn’t riding to escape them. I was riding so I could return to them a little more centered, a little more whole.

BODY & SOUL

Back home in Denmark, I ride all year — commuting, training, racing. I live and breathe GripGrab’s Ride All Year ethos. But even with the best gear and mindset, winter can wear on you. The cold settles into your bones, the rain hitting your face, and the darkness wraps around your days You keep pedalling, but som times the joy hides behind the effort. This ride was different. It wasn’t about watts or segments. It was about sunlight on my skin and the rhythm of breath and pedal. A reminder of why I fell in love with cycling in the first place — how it nourishes not just the body, but the soul. It was a reset. A gift. I rolled back into Motril not exhausted but energized. The kind of energy that lingers long after the bike is put away. Because sometimes, all it takes is one perfect ride to remind you why you never stop.

By Martin Krøyer
© GripGrab 2025