Cuenca is a city that looks as though it grew out of a gorge by accident, and it did, more or less. The old town sits on a narrow ridge between two river valleys, the Huécar and the Júcar, and the medieval houses lean over the drop. The walled part, the recinto, is the upper town, a compact knot of steep lanes around the Plaza Mayor, with a cathedral whose Gothic design carries Anglo-Norman echoes thanks to the English-born wife of the king who reconquered the town in 1177.
Walking inside the walls means climbing, and the cobbles are rough, so this is not a place to ride in. Leave the bike in the lower town and use your feet. The reward is views: from the upper lanes you look across the Huécar gorge toward the hanging houses, and the light turns the limestone ochre in the evening. The streets are quiet at night once the day-trippers from Madrid have gone home, and a late stroll is one of the best things to do.
The roads around Cuenca are another matter, and good ones. The Serranía de Cuenca to the north-east is a high, forested limestone country, with pine woods, rock towers and the headwaters of both the Júcar and the Tagus, and the roads that wind through it are quiet and satisfying. A ride that begins here, heading out to a rock shelter on the way to Albarracín country, will pass through that kind of terrain. Check the weather, as at nearly a thousand metres of altitude you can have frost into May.
Cuenca has about fifty-six thousand people, so you will find fuel, supermarkets and many bars with no trouble. Ask for morteruelo, a rich game and liver paté served warm, or ajoarriero, a salt cod and garlic stew, and finish with resolí, the sweet local liqueur flavoured with coffee and spices. A sensible evening starts with a long walk and ends with a long dinner.