They begin when you leave home carrying only the essentials.
A bike, a few bags, some spare clothes, the desire to experience something different… and that strange urge to find out what’s waiting on the other side.

'El Mito' began in Ronda. Seven in the morning. Still dark outside. The Puente Nuevo and El Tajo standing silently above us while a small group of madmen prepared our bikes to ride towards another continent.

The BH GravelXR rested against the stone wall. No drama. No big statements. Just ready to do what it does best: take you far away.

And it truly did.

The first light of day found us somewhere between Ronda and Benaoján. Sunrise slowly spilling through the mountains. The cold. The damp morning air. The silence of those opening kilometers when nobody really speaks because everyone is still trying to understand where they are.

Corte de la Frontera. El Colmenar station. First checkpoint.

Then southbound. Sierra de Ojén. Fast gravel roads. Broken tracks. Wind in your face. The feeling that Europe was slowly coming to an end while Tarifa appeared in the distance like a promise.

And there, at the southernmost edge. The end of the route… and the beginning of something else. Because 'El Mito' isn’t called that by accident.

Because 'El Mito' isn’t only about crossing from one continent to another. It’s about connecting them. About discovering that only a few kilometers of sea separate two completely different worlds. Two cultures. Two landscapes. Two ways of seeing life.

But also realizing that, deep down, we’re not that far apart.

Because 'El Mito' didn’t end in Tarifa. There, everyone checked their watches, searched for their ferry, managed their own time. Like everything in this adventure: no support crews, no fixed schedules, no help beyond whatever strength you could find within yourself.

Boarding the ferry with your bike beside you. Watching the coastline disappear. Crossing the Strait. And suddenly — Tangier. Africa. Another continent.

Sleeping there. Hearing another language. Smelling another city. Feeling impossibly far away… even though you had only crossed a narrow stretch of sea.

Day two belonged to Morocco. Almost one hundred kilometers between Tangier and Tetouan. A route without a single flat meter. Climbing. Descending. Climbing again. Impossible gravel tracks. Tiny roads. Valleys. Villages. Not one moment to recover. Not one view that didn’t deserve a stop.

But we kept riding.

And the BH GravelXR was still there. Quiet. Comfortable. Dependable. The bikepacking bags swaying gently against the frame. The handlebars absorbing endless hours. The saddle carrying fatigue. The tires searching for grip through dirt, rocks, and dust. Three days. Not a single issue. Not a noise. Not a doubt.

And that day, Morocco gave us something that wasn’t on the route. A Moroccan lunch on a terrace overlooking Tetouan. A long table. Tagines. The city unfolding beneath us. Three hundred and sixty degrees of a place suspended between mountains and sea.

And then you understand this was never a race.

It was something else entirely.

The third day began before sunrise. We left Tetouan heading toward the border. Thirty-one kilometers to Ceuta. Morocco stayed behind us — but not completely. Because places don’t leave you when you leave them. They stay with you.

Ceuta. Breakfast by the harbor. Another ferry. This time to Algeciras. And once we landed, the hardest part arrived. Europe again. But home was still far away.

Los Barrios. San Roque. Guadiaro. El Secadero. And from there, the real punishment began. Every meter of climbing still left in the route seemed to arrive all at once. Gaucín. Algatocín. Atajate. Puerto del Espino.

The legs no longer felt the same. The body started asking for mercy. The mind began to doubt. But the bike kept moving. And so did you. Until, nearly sixty hours after leaving, Ronda finally appeared once again. The archway into the old city.

The same city you had departed from two continents earlier. And then you smile. Not because you finished. But because you know you lived something real.

The people you meet. The conversations. The landscapes. The silence. The places you never knew existed. Discovering you’re still capable of things that once felt far too big.

And maybe that’s why one of the most beautiful stories of these three days belonged to Albert.

Albert won BH’s giveaway to experience 'El Mito'. He arrived without really knowing what he was about to face. And he left carrying something that will probably stay with him forever.

In his own words, it was “hard… but unforgettable.”

And that’s exactly what 'El Mito' is.

Because in the end, life is really about that.
Challenges. Places. People. Experiences.
Some journeys end when you return home.
Others begin right there. And 'El Mito', I’m sure, is here to stay.