Algarve: adventure, laughter and challenges
Hillsides dressed in eucalyptus and cork oak, dry riverbeds suddenly brought back to life, and a trail winding upwards towards a sky that is raining yet still feels generously vast. Behind me, I hear the engines of the other women — nine of us, from different walks of life, with varying miles in the saddle — and ahead, a landscape unfolds that looks as though it was painted by someone who could never quite make up their mind. Endless hills, trails and roads as far as the eye can see.
I am in the Algarve for a few days of off-road riding. And it is exactly as good as it sounds. The gentle rain fills the air with the scent of eucalyptus and yellow Portuguese broom.
A British setup in Portuguese terrain
The organiser behind the adventure is Desert Rose Riding Academy — ett brittiskt gäng med hjärtat på rätt ställe och eBehind it all was a close-knit team: Holly and Ali guiding us girls out on the trails, Gary leading the training in the playground, and Reg and Paul making sure everything around it all ran smoothly. Our lovely jerseys came courtesy of Ina from Motogirl, who had created them especially for the occasion.
The team had already spent six weeks in Portugal, guiding several groups through one of Europe’s most varied off-road landscapes. Now it was time for nine women, three days, and endless trails. What could possibly go wrong?
The Desert Rose crew, based in East Sussex in southern England where they guide and train riders, had transported their fleet of Beta motorcycles for us to use.
To my great delight, I had the chance to ride a Beta 390 XPRO — a bike I had been curious about for some time. It was also a real pleasure to ride a four-stroke, as I usually ride a two-stroke.
Monchique as our base
The plan was simple: three days of riding — Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Thursday became a natural arrival day. Monchique Hotel & Spa, , our base, is nestled in the mountains above the more tourist-heavy coastline.
The area is known for its thermal springs and its history as a spa destination — a place people have come to for rest and recovery. We didn’t get much of that kind of relaxation, but we certainly had our fair share of mud baths — just not quite the traditional kind.
Thursday evening wasn’t officially planned, but one of the hotel bars gradually filled with us as everyone arrived and introductions were made. There’s something special about that first evening in a new group. A little tentative curiosity, plenty of laughter, and that shared feeling of not quite knowing what lies ahead.
The meaning of faff
Friday began in what the organising team called a playground — an area where we could familiarise ourselves with both the bikes and the Algarvian terrain. Because if there’s one thing the Algarve doesn’t lack, it’s hills.
Up and down. Steep, loose, beautiful, and occasionally a little intimidating.
Before we even got there, I learned a new English word: faff. Roughly speaking, it means fiddling about or forgetting something crucial at the last minute. I think most of us can recognise a little bit of ourselves in that. Paul King, one of the organisers, had — with a certain good-natured resignation — prepared for a fair amount of faff on the first day.
There’s always someone — and that’s always okay.
From practice to reality
In the playground we practised riding up and down slopes, braking techniques on inclines, different surfaces, and water crossings. The latter turned out to be far from a side note: spring had brought plenty of rain, and there was no shortage of water to deal with.
After lunch and a shorter session in the playground, we split into two groups and headed out. That’s when the rain arrived. Not the apologetic kind. This was proper rain — steady, determined, and entirely uninterested in our plans. According to the forecast, it was meant to rain all day, so we were already pleased we had made it this far dry. But we were prepared. Waterproofs on.
We turned back towards the hotel. Or at least, that was the plan.
That’s one of the charms of off-road riding: you never quite know what’s coming. Trails change in the rain. Water crossings that seemed manageable in the morning can become impassable by afternoon. At one point, we had to turn back where the track had simply collapsed. At another crossing, the water was high enough that we had to walk the bikes across. Any hope of keeping our feet dry disappeared quickly.
But we made it back. Tired, happy, and wetter than ever, just before darkness fell. Dinner was pushed back by half an hour so we could change before heading to a cosy local restaurant within walking distance. Good food, good wine, and a table full of laughter and shared stories. We slept well that night.
A day in perfect flow
The next morning we woke to blue skies and sunshine. Everything from the day before was still wet, so I felt rather pleased with myself for packing spare layers. I put on a vest under a bright yellow rain jacket — a decision that felt wise after the previous day’s chilly finish. The vest stayed. The jacket came off fairly quickly. By lunchtime, even the vest felt like too much. The Algarve pays little attention to your layering strategy.
The trails revealed another side of the landscape — sweeping views opening up at every crest, just the right level of challenge, and that satisfying feeling of starting to truly connect with the bike. Holly and Ali gave us options along the way: if a climb felt too steep, there was always a workaround — an alternative route on your own terms. No pressure.
Lunch was at the same lovely spot as the day before — this time, sitting outside in the sun. In the afternoon, fatigue began to set in for the group, and most chose an easier route back. That opened up an opportunity to ride the same section again — this time in reverse. The morning’s descents became climbs. I took the opportunity.
Together with Holly and Ali, I headed back out. It became one of the highlights of the trip. Just the three of us, a good flow, and nothing but trails and views all around us. Magical. I was meant to film Ali up front — but she was far too quick, slowing down just to stay within frame.
“Magical” is a big word. But it’s the right one.
The final day — everything at once
Saturday evening was unplanned. As the bar we had used on the first night was booked, we gathered one floor down instead. Someone ordered a drink, the day’s adventures were recounted, and suddenly we were all there.
We squeezed together, ordered food, and had dinner right where we were sitting. The kind of evening you don’t plan, but always remember.
On the final day, the groups were reshuffled. We were now three riders and three guides — a small, tight, perfectly balanced group.
It was the warmest morning yet. I skipped the vest and rode in just a jersey, which felt like the obvious choice as we set off in the sunshine. But the Algarve always has the final say. At lunch — a busy Sunday meal at a restaurant full of locals, serving rustic, honest food exactly as it should be — I noticed dark clouds gathering. I weighed it up, looked at the sky, and decided to leave my jacket in the support vehicle. It was a poor decision.
Not long after we set off again, the weather turned. The temperature dropped, the rain came, and I sat there shivering. The jacket was in the support vehicle, of course — but going back for it would have meant a certain amount of faffing about, and that was hard to admit I needed.
Luckily, Paul was there. One borrowed jacket later, all was well again. And as if to apologise, the sky cleared, and we finished the afternoon in sunshine.
It was also the day we rode the best terrain of the trip. Steeper climbs, more technical trails, and a highlight section — a winding series of switchbacks climbing towards a ridge — exactly the kind of riding you come here for.
Turn after turn, view after view, with valleys and mountains stretching endlessly around us.
Our guides led us through it all with a level of skill and care that should never be taken for granted. They understood what each rider needed, adapted without making a point of it, and always put the group first. It’s a craft in itself.
The evening ended with a truly excellent three-course dinner and plenty of laughter. What a group we had become.
Trails not yet finished
There’s a reason breakfast the next morning felt a little subdued. Three days is short. Short enough that you barely settle into the rhythm before it’s over, yet long enough to truly get to know the people you’ve shared trails, rain, and laughter with.
Saying goodbye to both the riders and the Desert Rose team was harder than expected back on that Thursday evening, when everything was still unwritten.
But that’s the thing about trips like this. You go home with muddy memories, a new word in your vocabulary, and a strong sense that the trails of the Algarve are far from finished.
Not by a long shot.
Anna Haglund