The shelter lies a little over four kilometres from Albarracín, among the red rock and pines of the Rodeno, and it holds paintings of the Levantine type in the same tradition as the rest of the region, protected by UNESCO since 1998. The bishops in question are real enough, because Albarracín was an episcopal see for centuries, and it is still linked to Segorbe in the diocese's name.
The cathedral, in the old town, is a modest building for a bishop's seat, a sixteenth-century church with a tapestry collection, and its position at the top of a flight of steps tells you much about the town's pride. Albarracín was once an independent Muslim taifa kingdom ruled by the Banu Razin family, and its name comes from them. Later it passed to a Christian lordship, and then to the crown of Aragon in the thirteenth century. The result is a tight, sloping town in which each wall and balcony has its own story.
Riding in the area is a reminder that Spain is not all sun and heat. At that altitude the nights are cold even in summer, and a morning start in June can mean a visible breath. The roads are quiet and well kept, but bends come quickly as the gorge narrows, and you should pay attention to livestock, especially in the evening. Autumn is a favourite time for locals, who come to hunt mushrooms, and the forest road is lined with parked cars on good weekends.
Services in the town are limited, so fill the tank in Teruel, twenty-five kilometres away, before you set off. In Albarracín the cafés on the Plaza Mayor are fine for a coffee and a slice of tortilla, but the real feast is the view from the wall at dusk. If you go to the shelter on foot, bring water, because the forest is dry and the sun reflects off the sandstone.