mountains

Traditional local councils, the Regole di Comunità, still manage the land and forests collectively here, sustaining artisans and alpine farmers in scattered hamlets shaped by shared work and resilience. Pastìn (a minced, seasoned blend of pork and beef), malga cheeses and polenta, once staples for long days in the mountains, are still shared over grappa at the end of the day. Beyond the hamlets, paths lead towards Monte Pelmo or drift into the beech woods of Cansiglio, where deer call at dusk. It’s a fine place to experience mountain culture, and these are some of my favourite places.

Alpine lakes and pools

The Val del Mis lies west of Belluno, where the narrow SP2 road follows the shore of Lago del Mis. The lake is worth half a day on its own – paddle north by canoe or kayak towards the Cascata della Soffia waterfall, or explore the side gorge of Falcina, where you can swim in still, deep pools of crystalline water under the Passerella del Peron suspension bridge, just off the SR203 past Ponte Mas. Alternatively, from the car park at the northern end of the lake, it’s a 10-minute walk to the Cadini del Brenton – a series of turquoise pools carved into white rock cascading from one basin to the next, some more than four metres deep. A wooden bridge trail leads between them, but bathing here is forbidden.

From the Val del Mis, head north-west towards San Martino di Castrozza, then south through Fiera di Primiero, following signs for the Val Vanoi on the SP79, then climb the road to the spectacular Lago di Calaita, at an altitude of 1,621 metres beneath the ramparts of the Pale di San Martino. At dawn, the rock above is grey; by sunset, the whole massif turns gold. Open meadows line the shore, and Rifugio Miralago serves canederli (bread dumplings) and polenta with tosèla di primiero, the local cheese. In winter, the lake freezes, and the meadows are used for snowshoeing. A two-hour uphill walk leads to the darker Lago Pisorno, said to be haunted.

Mountain viewpoints

Head for Agordino – the group of valleys along the Cordevole river, south of Cortina d’Ampezzo – for the highest viewpoints. You’ll experience the same massive Dolomite walls but without the crowds. Park near Rifugio Staulanza and take CAI trail 472. In a couple of hours, climbing gently through sparse larch and open grass, you’ll reach the slopes of Monte Penna and look straight at Monte Pelmo’s immense north-west wall – sheer pale rock rising from the valley floor. You’re standing on gentle grass; across the valley, the mountain is vertical stone. The central basin – the Trono di Dio (Throne of God) – is visible in full. To the west is the jagged profile of Monte Civetta.

For a closer look at Civetta, take the old mule track from the hamlet of Piaia, through woods dotted with tabià, the traditional wooden barns used for storing hay at altitude. After a two-hour climb, the trail opens on to the broad pasture of Sasso Bianco, looking directly at Civetta’s sheer face. Note that the road to Piaia is very narrow; parking at the end is limited.

To the south-east, the Alpago basin opens out. From the small Malga Pian Grant farm, the Costa Schienon ridge leads to the rocky peak of Cima delle Vacche at 2,058 metres. It makes for a fine full day’s hike, with the view widening at every step – Lago di Santa Croce shimmers below, and the Dolomites tower beyond.

Farther north, the Campanile di Val Montanaia rises some 300 metres from the floor of its glacial valley. The walk from Rifugio Pordenone takes about three hours over scree and is suited to experienced hikers. The Perugini bivouac beneath the spire offers overnight accommodation – when climbers reach the summit during the day, they ring a small bell, which peals across the valley below.

Restaurants

The isolation that once made these valleys hard to reach has also kept their culinary customs intact. Near Lentia in the Valbelluna, Agriturismo Bon Tajer has hundreds of hand-painted wooden plates and chopping boards hanging from the ceilings and walls. Four generations of farmers have run the kitchen where the dishes are made with local herbs and valley produce – egg custards arrive cooked in their own shells, starters come on beds of moss with foraged flowers. Finish with the farm’s own idromele, a fermented honey drink. The mountains glow purple at sunset from the terrace. It’s a 30-minute drive up from Belluno.

Higher up, above Feltre, Malga Campon sits on the summit plateau of Monte Avena. It’s a stone-and-wood hut surrounded by cattle, horses and donkeys grazing freely, with views across the Vette Feltrine peaks, the Lagorai chain and the Monte Grappa massif. In early spring, the meadows fill with white and purple crocuses. The food is homemade – thick slices of bread with pastìn and malga cheese, best eaten under a tree with the animals grazing nearby. Malga Campon is also a starting point for hikes across the plateau. It’s a 30-minute drive from Feltre.

Rifugios and farm stays

In the north of the region, above Domegge di Cadore, the road ends at Rifugio Padova. But hike on up through the woods and meadows surrounding the Casera Vedorcia dairy under the jagged limestone peaks of Spalti di Toro, to Rifugio Tita Barba di Pieve (open June-Sept but book ahead, €50-80 a night including dinner), a gorgeous alpine log cabin. The hike takes about two and a half hours on the CAI 342 and 352 trails, but the rifugio serves delicious meals and has comfy beds. From the nearby viewpoint on Monte Vedorcia, the panorama stretches over the Centro Cadore lake to the Antelao and Marmarole peaks.

For something even wilder, Bivacco dei Loff, which perches beneath the cliff of Crodón del Gevero, is a cosy stone bothy with a fireplace, a loft for sleeping and a table at the window overlooking the Valle del Rujo – on clear days, the view reaches the Venetian lagoon. Below, the Via dell’Acqua follows the stream past ruined mills and washhouses down to Cison di Valmarino. It’s about a 90-minute hike from Passo San Boldo on trail 991. You can’t book and it’s free to stay, so bring a tent in the event it’s full.

In the far eastern edges of the region, the Cansiglio plateau rises into a forested tableland. Agriturismo Filippon is just a 30-minute drive from the A27, hidden in an alpine meadow ringed by fir and beech. Mountain cattle graze the clearing and wild deer also visit. Meals are prepared with farm-fresh goods and there is a barrel sauna and open-air bathtub. The old Gran Bosco de Reme di San Marco, where Venice once sourced timber for boats’ oars, beckons above, and you could walk for days here, lost in mountain air.

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Most of my cycling experience is limited to a flat five-mile commute through London, or long-distance road touring holidays. I love sailing across smooth asphalt, and have always been slightly snobby about the rough stuff. Why bump along when you can glide?

My trepidation levels rise further when it becomes clear my companions are all veteran gravel and mountain bikers who have been training for this tour. They are mostly medical professionals – doctors, dentists and physiotherapists – which will be good news if something goes wrong, but also means they are all fitter than I am. I can see I have bitten off more than I can chew.

We are deposited on the northern edge of the Sierra Nevada mountain range, where our tour guides, Tim and Jenny, greet us with beers and booklets showing what’s in store. The headline figures: about 60km a day with a daunting 1,400 metres of climbing and descending.

The bike I’m borrowing is much lighter than my own, with tyres twice the width, and drop handlebars splayed out to the sides for extra control. The gearing goes much lower than I am used to, meaning even the steepest slopes should be – eventually – surmountable.

The next morning we ride out north towards the Sierra de Baza national park on what my companions refer to as “champagne gravel” – essentially a firm, flat road with a scattering of small stones across it. We breeze across the arid terrain, and past the derelict film set that played the town of Flagstone in Once Upon a Time in the West. The dramatic empty landscape has drawn countless location scouts to the area, and has appeared in Sergio Leone’s Dollars trilogy, Dr Zhivago and a KLF music video.

As we begin to climb through almond groves and into the first proper mountains of the week, the group strings out, with Tim leading the keenest and fastest at the front, and Jenny on an ebike with the stragglers – including me – to make sure nobody gets lost. We regroup every time there’s an unsigned turn, and to refuel with muesli bars and dried fruit.

As we climb, Jenny and the others offer me advice before my first ever gravel descent: hands on the drops so they don’t get knocked off if I hit a bump; weight as far back as possible; heels angled down on my pedals and hips balanced just above the saddle; don’t ride too close to the person in front; use both brakes at the same time; don’t look at the views in case I miss a turn; remember to breathe. It turns out there are a lot of ways to lose control.

Although I am nobody’s idea of fast, I make it down in one piece, but by the time we reach our next hotel, I am sore in muscles I didn’t know I had.

It is notable how empty this part of Spain is; the only cars we saw were when we stopped for a coffee in Gor, one of the main villages visited in the notoriously brutal annual 800km Badlands gravel race. But unlike the teeming beach towns on the Costa del Sol that have seen anti-tourist protests, this quiet part of Andalucía is desperately trying to attract more people, and we feel very welcome. One sign reads: “¡Macrogranjas no, turismo sí!“ (“Megafarms no, tourism yes!”)

Day two is even quieter, with not a single car seen all day. This is just as well, as the day starts with a climb of 1,000 metres up El Chullo, the tallest peak in the Almería region. We wind along a single track path past piles of rocks and holes dug by rootling wild boar before stopping near the summit for a lunch of ham and cheese bocadillos. Today’s descent is easier, and I begin to relax, watching the other riders to follow their lines, although I still find myself forgetting to breathe because I am concentrating so hard.

Day three also begins with a 1,000-metre climb, with glorious views unfolding as we make our way round switchback after switchback and up past the treeline to a plateau. I am beginning to relax – I could do this every day. But what I haven’t banked on is the descent on bone-shuddering roads so bumpy they drew complaints from the professionals in the 2023 World Gravel Series. By the end of the day, my wrists ache. One of my doctor companions tells me it’s because I’m still too tense, but I don’t think I was the only one quietly relieved to hit the asphalt road back to the hotel.

Our final day turns out to be the most dramatic. We ride along dry ramblas, or riverbeds, which provide a new challenge with jungle-like foliage hanging above us and muddy stretches that feel like riding through porridge.

The clouds, which have been menacing us all day, suddenly break and start to soak us. As we grind our way up through the mud, we suddenly see water come round a corner upstream. As the trickle turns into a gush and spreads across the riverbed, turning the porridge to soup, we keep riding. My wheels spin in the sand at points, but I have learned to keep pedalling through it and use my balance to stay upright, rather than to brake or turn.

Tim takes charge and marshals us, giving directions by radio and guiding people uphill until everyone is safely out of the way of the rising waters, and one soggy climb later we are greeted at our final hotel by Jenny with a van full of cava. As we drink, one of the Irish doctors jokes: “Was this what you signed up for?”

I look down at my drenched shoes, filthy bike and sore hands. My face is caked with mud. I have ended up looking silly, but it doesn’t matter. I can see that my snobbery about gravel biking was stupid – I have ridden routes a road bike could never have handled, and had adventures that would never have happened on asphalt. There were plenty of literal bumps in the road on the way to my gravel conversion, but it turns out they’re part of the appeal. Why glide along when the bumps are so fun?

The five-night Sierra Nevada gravel bike tour was provided by Pure Mountains, which provides self-guided tours from £870pp and guided tours from £1,090pp