A Loop Through Spain’s Desert Trails
Where the Silence Smells Like Dust
It was still dark when I unzipped the tent and stepped into the chill. My boots sank slightly into the dry earth, the kind that holds yesterday’s stories in the cracks. The smell of dust, cold and clean, clung to everything. No sounds. Just wind and the occasional rustle from the thorny scrub nearby. Somewhere out there, something alive. Or maybe it was just my nerves. I breathed in, deep. This silence only lives out here, where the road runs quiet.
The Husqvarna 450 FE stood ready, its profile just visible under the pre-dawn light. Bags strapped, tank full, tires still carrying the mud from yesterday. I wasn’t looking for anyone, or anything in particular. Just a path that begins and ends in the same place, but somehow takes you far.
That’s how this ride began. Fraga to Fraga. A circle through the wild bones of Aragón, in northern Spain. The cracked, ochre trails of Monegros and the surreal silence of Bardenas Reales. 400 miles (650 kilometers) off-road, over two or three days depending on how fast you want the solitude to slip away.
The Rider Behind the Dust
We first noticed Egidijus through his photos. Dust hanging in the air, hard light over dry tracks, and a silence you could almost feel. Then came his words. Quiet, steady, shaped by time on the trail. He was born in Lithuania and has been living in Spain since 2006. His way of riding speaks of distance, solitude, and the kind of calm that only open space can offer.
Egidijus rides mostly in the northeast of Spain, far from the tourist maps. His latest solo trip took place across the Monegros Desert and the Bardenas Reales. This is a remote, arid region in northern Spain, stretching between Aragón and Navarra, not far from the Pyrenees and the French border.
He prefers to stay out of the spotlight. So here, we let him take the lead.
“Who I Am, When I Ride”
My name is Egidijus Pudziuvelis. I’m 45 years old, born and raised in Lithuania, but I’ve been living in Spain since 2006. What drew me here was the light, and the way people live with it. There’s warmth in the land, but also in the way strangers greet you like you’re already halfway to being a friend.
I’ve been riding motorcycles for fifteen years now. I don’t ride to prove anything, or to chase records. I ride because I need silence, space, and that feeling of moving with the land—fully present, fully aware. I travel mostly alone. It suits me.
For this trip I chose my Husqvarna 450 FE. It’s light, fast, and knows how to stay on its feet when the ground turns tricky. It’s a bike that reads the terrain without resistance. It moves as if it understands. You can find bits of my journeys on Instagram under Solitario___117. I like that name. It fits the way I ride
Monegros and Bardenas. A Loop Through the Spanish Dustlands
The trail starts and ends in Fraga, a small town in the Aragón region of northeast Spain. From there, the land opens into something that feels far removed from the tourist map. I followed a route that runs through the Monegros desert, into the edges of the Sierra de Alcubierre, then down toward the Montes de Castejón. Rocks, dry ridges, tracks that crack under your tires. The terrain speaks in textures.
After crossing that mountain stretch, the second half of the trip takes a different rhythm. Flat, fast tracks heading toward La Loteta Reservoir and then back through the Belchite area. In total, I covered around 404 miles (650 kilometers) off-road. It took me three days, but if the weather plays nice and you ride early, you could do it in two.
There are several route variations, and I found mine through the Wikiloc app. You can go harder, with more rocks and technical climbs, or take an easier trail suited for big adventure bikes. I’ve done parts of this land on different motorcycles over the years. Each ride brings something new, depending on the season and the weather.
In February, the days are short, the light is soft, and the land feels untouched. On my first day, the skies held back. But that night it rained, and by morning, the terrain had changed. Mud everywhere. That’s when I was glad to be riding something light, with good tires. Motoz Enduro 6. In Spain, most off-road trails turn to thick mud when it rains. In summer, you’ll ride under 104°F (40°C), but the ground stays dry. That’s the tradeoff.
Off the Map, Off the Noise
Riding this route feels like stepping out of time. You don’t hear highways. You don’t cross cities. Just a few scattered villages, quiet places where life moves slow and the only sound is the wind pushing through abandoned stone houses.
Gas stations are rare out here, and not always open. When you find one, fill up. Don’t wait for the next. Same goes for water and food. I always carry enough to keep me going, even if something goes wrong. Between some of these towns, there’s nothing but long stretches of open land. Not every part has cell service.
I’ve learned to ride with that in mind. To prepare, but not overpack. A light bike helps when the ground turns to mud, or when the climb gets sharp. There’s beauty in that simplicity. The fewer things you carry, the more space you leave for the landscape.
It’s not dangerous. Still, you have to approach it with respect. The trail is raw. It offers no signs, no comforts, and no clear path ahead. You follow the terrain, adjust as you go, and read the silence like a map. And that’s exactly what makes it special.
People, Pueblos and Chorizo
Small towns always slow you down. You stop to refuel, get a coffee, maybe just stretch your legs. But more often than not, someone starts talking. Sometimes it’s a man with a dusty hat and two dogs. Sometimes it’s the woman behind the bar who asks where you’re coming from before she even takes your order. They don’t see many travelers out here. That makes every conversation feel like a small event.
Knowing a bit of Spanish helps. Most locals don’t speak anything else. But even a few words go a long way. Once, I ran into a shepherd in the middle of nowhere. He was old, probably retired long ago but still walking with his flock. We talked for almost half an hour. I didn’t understand every word, but I understood the story.
Food in these villages is real. No brands, no fuss. Good bread, jamón, a bit of cheese, maybe a bottle of wine if you’re staying the night. If you find a café with a weekend menu, ask for ternasco. Roasted lamb, rich and tender, meant to be enjoyed slowly, with no distractions. It only shows up on weekends, and it’s worth planning for.
Gas stations can feel like living rooms. You stop for five minutes, and suddenly it’s been an hour. People ask about the bike, where you’re going, what you’ve seen. Out here, they still take time to talk. Especially in places where tourists rarely stop.
Sleeping Under Stars
I set up my tent near Lagunazo de Moncayuelo. It was already dark, the sky clear and full of stars. I lit a small fire and sat quietly with the silence. In Spain, wild camping isn’t allowed, at least not officially. But if you stay low, set up at sunset, and leave at sunrise, no one will bother you. Just don’t make fires in summer.
There are fines, and the risk is real.
That night, the temperature dropped close to freezing. By day it climbed back up to 68°F (20°C). In winter, the contrast hits hard. If you’re not prepared, the night can get uncomfortable fast. But if you’re ready for it, there’s something honest about sleeping like that. You feel the land. You hear everything.
There are plenty of hotels around Bardenas Reales, but if you’re staying more than a night, I recommend looking for a small house or cabin. Simple places with no traffic, no noise, and sometimes no internet. The kind where you wake up with the sun and make coffee before anyone knows you’re there.
Don’t ever set up your tent inside the actual Bardenas park. The fines are steep, and they do patrol. It’s better to camp before entering the area. It’s quieter, safer, and more relaxed.
Desert Lessons
I like deserts. Maybe it’s the stillness, or the way light stretches the land until you lose sense of time. That’s what draws me to the Monegros. It’s a quiet place, but not empty. You start to hear things differently when nothing interrupts.
This trip lasted only a couple of days, but there’s enough here to keep you riding for a week. The ground is full of paths, all leading somewhere. Some are smooth, others feel like hard enduro. In winter, the challenge is the cold and the short days. In summer, the heat can hit 113°F (45°C). Both demand your full attention.
For those thinking about Morocco, this is a good warm-up. Rocky, dry, and raw. A place that reminds you what it means to move slow, to pay attention, and to pack well.
One evening, before crawling into the tent, I picked up some good wine, jamón, and cheese. I sat with it, watched the stars come out, and let the silence do the talking. There were no messages, no alerts, no signal.
Just the sky, the bike, and enough time to enjoy them both.
Follow the Rider
For more stunning visuals and quiet stories from the trail, follow Egidijus Pudziuvelis on Instagram at @Solitario___117.
Words by: Egidijus Pudziuvelis – Photo Credits: Egidijus Pudziuvelis
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