A land for adventurers

Scores of expats have either set off to Dubai, returned home to Europe and Asia on embassy advice or simply brought forward summer vacation plans to avoid the recent unrest in Bahrain. Some might even have headed for the Spanish hills like Gemma Bowes who took to two wheels on a Vespa tour around the mountains north of Madrid.

LAST week I flew to Madrid. I didn't just see Goyas and palacios, hang out in Retiro park or the city's bars. Instead I saw snakes and vultures, mountain peaks and silent canyons. I tore up miles of empty road.

I got burnt, scratched and I even conquered 'The Great Wall of China'. I had, in short, a proper adventure. Oh yeah, and I fell in love too.

Most epic journeys - west coast America, Paris-Dakkar, the Trans Siberian Express - take months of planning, and a bulging budget. However, I managed to squeeze mine into a long weekend.

Tour operator Away From The Crowds specialises in ready-made miniature adventures in the Spanish heartland north of Madrid. Set up by Spanish brothers Javier and Jaime Bartolome, it features an original collection of cycling routes, hiking, treks with donkeys and their signature escapade, a four-day, peak-skirting circular lap by Vespa.

They call this area 'the real Spain' - which bit of Spain doesn't? But it's true that, though the landscapes are the calibre of the Alpujarras, Gulf expats rarely drop by. It's a sleepy, traditional region, where flocks of sheep are herded across the plains and some villages still don't have electricity.

Flowery meadows and crimped fields give way to the indigo barrier wall of the Guadarrama mountain range, which segments the region into the states of Segovia and Guadalajara, themselves veined by other smaller ranges - the Sierra de Ayllon and Sierra de Tejera Negra.

This is a personal operation, with all booking, transfers, driving and guiding currently done by the brothers. They grin with glee while describing the empty single-lane roads, winding mountain passes and a stretch they've nicknamed 'the Great Wall of China' for its terrifying steep paved zig-zags. We will be the first tourists to test this route. I grin too, disguising my fear.

The start point for our route lies one hour north-east of Madrid, in the terracotta village of Siguero, where Javier has a mid-renovation holiday home. We decant our belongings into sausage-shaped yellow waterproof bags, to be trussed to the back of the Vespas.

"Riding a Vespa is so easy, if you can ride a bike, it's just the same," promises Jaime (though you need a driving licence). My friend Anna and I want to believe him but neither of us has any experience.

Our shiny new rides are wheeled out; white for Anna, ladybird red for me. I fall instantly in love. Like iPods, Smeg fridges and Harleys they are a delectable piece of design. Infallibly cool. Even rubbish drivers can't diminish their iconic beauty.

However, we are rubbish, at least at first. Practising in a village square the size of a sheep pen, the Vespas feel unwieldy, even turning the handlebars is a challenge.

Despite these teething problems, this trip is a case of Easy Rider made easier. The route is already highlighted on the map in yellow marker pen, hotels are reserved, transport sorted. The guys (and a professional rescue service) will be on stand-by in case of emergency.

We're chaperoned along the first stage, where we're diverted on to dirt tracks to gain confidence off-road. My body is no longer rigid from terror, and I start to lean into the turns. Potholes lose their evil powers of fear. You can ride over them and not die, it transpires.

The luminous yellow ring on the map brings us to Navafria, a mountain village surrounded by pine forests. The instant we reach our manor house hotel, El Chorro, we crash out - who'd have thought riding a Vespa would be more exhausting than cycling?

We scoff thick hoops of calamari beneath a sky streaked the colour of raw meat, listening to the babbles of the brook. Javier calls. Are we happy to continue tomorrow? Confident about the mountain passes? Yes, we believe we are.

The next morning we head for a mountain pass through the Guadarrama from Segovia into Madrid province. Once we arrive, we start to climb the Sierra del Rincon, a biosphere reserve, taking the hairpin bends very slowly. At 2,000m above sea-level, these mountains aren't exactly Mont Blanc, more of a hefty ruffle in the landscape, but the air is cooler, the views across the plains and into Guadalajara stupendous.

Could that have been the 'Great Wall of China?', I wonder after sweating down the descent. Javier's leaflet is scant on detail, and none of the places we're riding through are in the guidebook.

However, there's no mistaking the 'Great Wall of China' when we do hit it. It's the sort of road they'd film from a helicopter for the motoring show Top Gear. Paved, with loose piles of slate forming not-very-safe-looking safety barriers, and steep as a death slide. But it's a right laugh. We have confidence now. In fact, we feel exhilarated, and pretty cool. Vespas do that to you.

The next day's scenery is the best yet. Rounding every corner is like diving into a painting. The tarmac loops like liquorice bootlaces through lurid fields of banana yellow and ivory flowers, butterflies everywhere, then we climb the Sierra de Ayllon. With altitude, the land becomes a rusty moonscape, sliced by giant slate shards.

After a lovely picnic tortilla on the daisy-speckled grass at 1,700m, we begin our descent into a pinnacle stack-filled canyon resembling Yosemite. We emerge from the mountains into Segovia province, at the medieval town of Riaza, built around a bullring and a clock tower with storks nesting on top, then push on to Villacorta, one of the region's famous 'Pueblos Rojos' (red villages) to Molino de la Ferreria, a beautiful hotel.

There's only a little bit of the map's yellow highlighted ring left, looping back west across the cereal plains of Castilla. At last some long straight roads.

Zipping through the winding cobbled streets of Sepulveda, a 3,000-year-old hilltop town with Arabic architecture, I think how fun and liberating a Vespa is. Unlike driving a car, you always feel part of the scenery, connected to the outside world, yet you can easily cover distances of 50-60km a day. I'm sure there's a Vespa shop on Budaiya Highway. I'll have to check it out.

We hook up with Jaime to visit the Duraton canyon, in a protected nature reserve. During the ride, I hit some sand and skid, crashing to the ground. Jaime leaps out to make sure I'm alright. "It's OK," he smiles, reassuringly, "No damage." Then he looks down and sees the damage. Grey scratches all over my, or his, Vespa. We politely pretend they're not there and stroll to the edge of the canyon.

It's a yawning gash with a ribbon of green water at the bottom, and a crumbling monastery clinging to the cliff face. Up the road there's a viewpoint with a car-park and tourists but here we're alone. It couldn't be a better place to finish.

Let the five million Madrilenos keep their city, out here, two hours away, is truly a land for adventurers.