800 Miles Later, Ronda Hit Different

Day 12 of cycling through southern Spain. My legs were screaming, my shorts had permanent salt stains, and I'd eaten nothing but gas station sandwiches for three days straight. Then I rolled into Ronda. Not the Instagram version where influencers pose by the bridge. The version where you're too tired to care about perfect angles, where you just sit on a bench and stare at that impossible gorge cutting through ancient rock. Eight hundred miles teaches you things about Spain—and yourself—that a weekend city break never could. The hills that break you. The villages with no English signs. The way distance strips away everything except what actually matters. Ronda wasn't my destination. It was just where I happened to stop. Sometimes that's when places hit hardest. #Travel #BikeTourReality #SlowTravel