Had I taken the picture above forty years ago, which is of the Montgo through an orange grove in the foreground, I’d have been risking an untimely demise. I was smack bang in the middle of where the train tracks connecting Dénia with El Verger once lay. But the line was shut down and the rails ripped up in 1974, and I came away unscathed. It’s a bit of a shame in a way, despite me being glad to survive, because I snapped the view yesterday, Friday the 13th, which would have been the perfect day for a mishap.

After a long period of abandonment and neglect the route has since had new life breathed into it and today, Saturday, I returned with a rented bike for a ride along what is now La Via Verde (the green way). It’s a lovely route (almost – see below). As Denia’s ever present view of the Montgo slips away behind you it passes orange and almond groves, Aleppo pines, Valencian oaks, and crosses the Alberca River. The grand finale is a closer view of the majestic Sierra de Segària, pictured further down

In the first few hundred metres, passing orange and almond groves, you immediately see examples of how the landscape has been transformed over the years. Various Mediterranean trees now grace the former trackside, although perhaps these palms were there before. Whatever the case, to me they look vaguely comical, like something from a pantomime. An army of camouflaged adversaries advancing a few millimetres every time you turn your back, grass skirts rustling as they tiptoe forwards. “They’re behind you!” I’ve no idea what they’re called. Hairy palms?

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La Via Verde’s about four miles long, so an eight mile round trip, and dead straight. Prior to going I’d read various descriptions, all encouraging. But although the route’s described as wheelchair accessible, and is mostly, there is a lengthy section that’s a bone shakingly rough ride and would only be suited to someone with leg-like arms or a powered chair with fat wheels. So much so that I came back along a road that runs parallel, a bit scarier as cars whizzed by at speed, but better for bone and bum health.

It’s also plagued to a certain extent, as is much of Denia, if not the world, by Lycra-clad cyclists. They cycle like missiles, as if programmed to reach their targets at maximum speed, in as straight a line as possible and with minimal regard for whatever’s in the way. Most aren’t like that but a good few are. They seem to think they rule the road and ride accordingly, shouting the cyclist’s equivalent of the lumberjack’s cry of ‘timber!’ as they hurtle up behind you.

I’d really like to see them do it naked, without the facility to tuck any flab they might have into their super hero body suits, like you might stuff a duvet into a bag that’s too small. It might deflate their confidence and/or arrogance to have it jelly rolling loosely, minus the shiny corsetry. I wouldn’t want to be there though.

But apart from them, and the bumpy ride, it’s a pleasant trip to make. Most people are there to enjoy the scenery and smile at fellow walkers and cyclists with a cheery camaraderie at being in such a beautiful place.

I didn’t take too many pictures because it was a bit of a faff to keep interrupting progress along the bumpy track, taking off my helmet, propping up the bike, getting phone out of bag and dodging the Lycra missiles etc., but here are a few, mostly of orange groves. They were everywhere.

(On a phone the detail of most of these pics is lost, so they’re better viewed on a bigger screen)

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On oranges

I learnt the next day that, some time in the 18th century, a Valencian man acquired some orange seeds from the far east and planted them in his garden. Something about the soil, climate, his growing skills etc. meant that they flourished and, before long, his neighbours and friends, who loved the fruits of his labours so much, started to grow them too. Today they’re grown all over Valencia and are considered to be the best oranges in the world.

Update

The info above maybe wrong. There seem to be many accounts of their origins. One maintains that the Moors introduced them having brought the fruit with them from China, and cultivation started as early as the 10th century. Who knows? I’ll miss them though.