The Benicadell is the mountain that tells you where you are in this part of Valencia. Its long, sharp limestone ridge, topped by a distinctive rocky tooth, separates the Vall d'Albaida from the valleys of Alcoy and Cocentaina, and on clear days it is visible from the coast. The Cova Llarga, the long cave, sits on the southern side of this world, in the folded hills near Beniarrés, Terrateig and Planes, and it belongs to the scatter of small sites that record people living, painting and sheltering in these hills since prehistory.
The local geography is all ridges and pockets. Terrateig, with fewer than four hundred inhabitants, looks north over the Vall d'Albaida, a broad valley of vineyards, orange groves and old textile towns like Albaida and Ontinyent, which once made blankets for half of Spain. To the south, the Beniarrés reservoir holds the waters of the Serpis. Agriculture still shapes everything: terraces built by generations of hand labour, irrigation channels that go back to Moorish times, and stone huts in the fields where farmers once spent the night at harvest.
The roads here are made for unhurried riding. The climb over the shoulder of the Benicadell links the valleys with a string of tight bends and wide views, and the descents into the Vall d'Albaida flow nicely between the vines. Expect narrow lanes, rough edges, the occasional tractor and plenty of cyclists at weekends. Spring and autumn bring the best conditions; in summer, ride early and hide from the midday sun in a village bar. Watch for wind on the exposed passes and gravel washed out of field tracks after storms.
The small villages around the cave do not reliably have fuel, so plan on Muro de Alcoy, Albaida or Ontinyent. For food, the Vall d'Albaida is known for its hearty cooking, from rice baked in the oven to stews of beans and turnip, and for its sweets and pastries. A village bar will often have just one or two dishes of the day, which is usually a good sign. If you go looking for the cave on foot, take water, sturdy shoes and a sense of humour about paths that fork without signs. When you get back to the bike, look up at the Benicadell ridge, now familiar, and you will have a fixed point for the rest of the ride.