A RaceFace Trio embarked on a bikepacking epic from Alicante Airport to Málaga, returning via Ireland West Airport. This initiative highlights the exceptional connectivity and infrastructure provided by Ireland West Airport — a vital amenity for adventure tourism and cycling enthusiasts across Connacht.
It all started, as these things often do, with a few WhatsApp messages, two half-baked spreadsheets, a handful of YouTube scouting videos, and one frantic night on RideWithGPS. A few short weeks later, the Raceface Trio — armed with gravel bikes, enthusiasm, and limited Spanish — took flight from Ireland West Airport to Alicante, with one simple goal: cycle 530 km to Málaga Airport in five days. if you believe the distance total you are more naïve than i thought !
The Preparation Phase: The Great Overpacking Denial
We promised to travel light. Minimalism, we said. “Just the essentials.”
In reality, the pannier bag bulged like a turkey before Christmas:
- Clothes: Two of everything (except sense).
- Electronics: Enough cables to wire a small office.
- Bike spares: Everything except the part we’d actually need later.
- Snacks: A few bars “in case there are no shops” — which was a fine joke in café-happy Spain.
The rig looked part Tour de France, part tinker’s cart.
Day 1: The Mutiny
I was already in Alicante as we travelled 5 days earlier with Mary and Kyle for some down time after a few very turbulent months.. Days of doing nothing except sun worshipping was needed and we really enjoyed it. On the morning of our journey I dropped Kyle and Mary of at the airport, parked the rented car, the flight was early, being at the airport at 5am in the pitch black of night is no fun on your own. With hours to kill before Noel and Trevor’s flight landed, I did what any rational cyclist would do — bolted into the sunrise. The gravel called, and I answered.
The route quickly turned into a game of “find the road that doesn’t exist.” Through cornfields, farmyards, and one moment of pure panic as a train blasted past while I was about to hop the tracks — adventure had begun early.
Breakfast was a tostada and a mystery coffee ordered in pigeon Spanish at a roadside café where English was extinct. Calories might have been a problem, I thought — until I caught my reflection. Problem solved.
By midday I was 100 km in and half-cooked when a message came through — the lads had landed. I rang Noel and explained I’d “gone ahead to check the route.” Silence. You could hear the disbelief travel down the line. I knew they would panic if I told them earlier, best to leave these things to the death… I received a few texts and videos from Trevor, he seemed excited that Noel was in bother until he too had problems. Received another text at 8.30pm, we are 12k out, I thought to myself they will be here in 20 or 30minutes to my surprise they took 2hrs to make it to the hotel, they ended up on a new unfinished motorway in the black on night and couldn’t find a way of it, all they could do was back track to an exit ramp which put them completely off track….
They eventually arrived at the hotel after punctures, cornfield detours, and motorway fiascos at 10.30pm. When they finally appeared, sweat-soaked and grinning, I knew Marrey Adventures had officially begun.
Day 2: Murcia to Almería (205 km of What Were We Thinking)
A 9 a.m. start turned into 10:30 after a wild goose chase for tyre sealant. Two kilometres later, Trevor’s electronic gears died, and we spent another half-hour rebooting his Sram system like it was Windows 95.
The “off-road” section turned into a lunar landscape — dust, ditches, and one field so muddy we nearly needed shovels. Local farmhands laughed as we slid by, caked in clay. After an hour of this madness, we bailed to the tarmac — longer, hillier, but actually passable. We rolled into Almería at 9 p.m. again in the pitch black, sunburned, shattered and starving.
Day 3: The Badlands Bonus
Our “rest day” involved a casual 90 km spin through The Badlands, Spain’s legendary gravel inferno. Sand, searing heat, and climbs that mocked our gearing choices. We met the crew at Eolo Bike Shop — the Badlands’ official shop — swapped stories, and somehow got talked into doing the real thing in 2026. Madness confirmed. The Badlands route is savage, the dessert drains your fluids and the sand kills your bike.. what a combination to look forward to.
Day 4: Almería to Salobreña (135 km of Coastal Comedy)
A beautiful seaside spin — until Trevor ordered what turned out to be over priced dodgy croquettes. He was not impressed. Later, we ended up along the seashore on a causeway when we spotted a few scuba divers finishing there session, we asked if the rocky track ahead was rideable. His answer: “No… but possible.” Naturally, we took that as a challenge.
Hike-a-bike, curse-a-bit, and sweat-a-lot later, we emerged victorious, rewarded with the best hotel yet — perched above the coastline, sunset painting the sea red. A few beers and buffet grub later, all was forgiven.
Day 5: Salobreña to Málaga – The Grand Finale
We hit the road early,it was down as a handy 90k day, we started of by hammering up a few nasty climbs before finding rhythm along the coast. Spotting a few local club cyclists ahead, we did what any self-respecting Irish lads would — attacked them at 40 kph. Carnage ensued. One e-biker and a local champ managed to catch us, but the bragging rights were ours.
Closer to Málaga, we met a French cyclist who’d ridden solo from Brittany to where we were and was enroute to Morocco. He made our trip look like a Sunday spin to the shops. Spirit slightly dented, we pressed on.
Then came the bike box saga: a wild goose chase across Málaga’s rivers, motorways, and shopping centres before finally sweet-talking a Decathlon worker into slipping us three boxes out the back door. Never give up, small victories are like winning the lotto.
Day 6: The Airport Dash
Alarm at 3:30 a.m. The hotel room looked like a bike exploded. Trevor was pacing up and down the corridor, Noel was in slow motion, and I was just praying the boxes were still where we’d ditched them in the bushes.
They were. Cue a pre-dawn cycle through Málaga’s suburbs — three lads, try and find the three rolled up bike boxes, what a ridiculous plan. Skirting across gravel paths over motorway walker overs we made the airport at 4:40 a.m. Flight at 6:15. Plenty of time… until the boxes were rejected at the over sized scanning for containing power banks. Chaos erupted. Trevor tore open his box like a bear raiding a picnic, flinging cling film everywhere. Somehow, it got the bike box all wrapped up, I say the baggage handlers were having some laugh when them seen those boxes… but it worked.
We rolled onto the plane battered, blistered, and deliriously proud.
Reflections from the Road
From cornfields to coastlines, punctures to pastries, it was everything an adventure should be — unpredictable, chaotic, and full of laughter.
Because at the end of the day, an adventure’s only an adventure when there’s a bit of adversity.
And as we like to say in Raceface… don’t sweat the small stuff.
