Huesca is the capital of its province and the Pyrenees come as a promise on the northern horizon, a wall of blue ridges above a flat, farmed plain. It is not a tourist hotspot, and that is part of its charm: a real Aragonese town where people go about their day, with its old centre of narrow lanes and a cathedral whose Gothic facade hides a magnificent alabaster altarpiece carved by the sculptor Damián Forment in the early sixteenth century.
History is thick here. The town was Roman Osca, home to a school the rebel general Sertorius founded, and later a Moorish city before the Aragonese king Pedro I took it in 1096 after the battle of Alcoraz. For a couple of decades afterwards it was the capital of the kingdom. The Romanesque church of San Pedro el Viejo, with a lovely little cloister, is a calm place to visit if the sun is beating down.
For a rider, Huesca is where the plain ends and the fun begins. To the north-west the road runs to the pink conglomerate towers of the Mallos de Riglos, huge organ-pipe cliffs beloved of climbers and vultures, with a castle at Loarre on the way, perched at the mountain edge like a fortress for a fairy tale. Further north lie passes and valleys toward Jaca and the French border. South of town the landscape is the dry Monegros, with sunburned hills and rows of almond and olive; the heat there in July and August is no joke.
Spring and autumn are the best seasons. Summer afternoons are hot and wind funnels across the plain, so ride early and plan to be in the mountains by midday. In winter, the lower roads are fine but high passes may have snow or ice.
Fuel and food are straightforward in a town of fifty thousand. Order ternasco, the milk-fed Aragonese lamb, and a plate of local cured meats, then browse the tapas bars around the Coso. If you are heading into the high Pyrenees, fill the tank here rather than gamble on a village pump.