Cycling Europe
We crossed the river to the cobblestone island of old Salzburg, the Austrian city made famous by “The Sound of Music” and by the sounds of its favorite son, Mozart.
Elbowed along the narrow streets by hordes of other English-yelling tourists, I caught quick glimpses of attractions related, in one way or another, to Salzburg’s homegrown musical genius.
Men and women dressed as Mozart patrolled the crowd, hawking “authentic” Mozart chocolate in violin-shaped boxes. Shops with names like “Mostly Mozart” overflowed with more chocolates and more Americans. Above the din of the whole scene, I could faintly make out the melody of a street musician’s cello – Mozart, maybe.
Overwhelmed and just about broke – having succumbed to a giant, chocolate-drizzled pretzel from a persistent she-Mozart – we decided to make a break for it. Within a half hour, we had traded in swarming Salzburg for a quiet riverside path and two bicycles, our traveling homes-away-from-home.
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The idea of backpacking through Europe initially had a certain appeal to me. After all, hauling a patch-encrusted North Face bag onto trains destined for one historic capital – and one hip, bohemian youth hostel – after another was the once-in-a-lifetime experience of choice for my post-college friends who could spare the time and cash.
But when my girlfriend Megan and I found two months between jobs to see the Old World, we opted to do it a little differently.
Bicycle touring can be a satisfying alternative to standard travel, at least for those who aren’t afraid to take their vacations at a more relaxed and less predictable pace. Our journey would take us beyond the well-worn tourist channels, to corners of Europe that couldn’t be seen from the windows of a high-speed train.
By riding through villages where residents are not jaded by daily tourist encounters, we would get a closer look at the “real” face of 21st century Europe. At least that was the plan.
The journey kicked off with our own leisurely Tour d’ France. From the western city of Angers, we pedaled past the storybook chateaux of the Loire River, stopping for picnic lunches on the lawns of these royal castles. Quiet roads took us in and out of perfectly quaint villages, and each day we found ourselves praising a new favorite bakery for its croissants.
Leaving the popular cycling route along the Loire, we made our way to the grand palace of Fontainebleau, the famous gothic cathedral of Chartres, and through the beloved vineyards of Champagne, where we paid homage to a life-size statue of Dom Perignon himself.
Although it surprises friends whose impressions of the French come from brusque Parisian waiters or American movies, the people of the French countryside were some of the friendliest we met in our travels. While pedaling uphill through town, we were frequently greeted by appreciative shouts of “bon courage!”
Even though we spoke no French at all, we found locals eager to help us, with water or directions. One memorable afternoon, a cheerful, middle-aged woman bicycled miles out of her way to guide us over unmarked country roads. Her rusty one-speed, laden with fresh baguettes, nearly left our brand-new bikes in the dust.
After France, the tiny-yet-Grand Duchy of Luxembourg brought miles of cool forest, alarmingly fast drivers, and the opportunity I”d been waiting for to propose to Megan. She said yes, I’m happy to say, on a riverside walking path 100 feet below the ancient fortified cliffs of Luxembourg City.
Moving into northern Germany near the city of Trier, we reaped fantastic rewards for very little effort along the winding Moselle and Rhine Rivers. Well-marked paths led us in and out of picturesque towns, each with a colorful plaza ringed by half-timbered buildings. Castle ruins looked down on us from vine-covered hillsides as we stopped to sample excellent local wines.
After about three weeks on the road, we were comfortable with our routine. We would ride about 50 or 60 miles during the day, stop for a picnic lunch somewhere scenic at midday, visit whichever interesting sites or winding streets we chose and, toward evening, pull into one of the many campgrounds marked on our map. There we met fellow travelers who traded adventure stories with us until long after dark.
Unfortunately, we left the land of cheap campgrounds behind in France, and after hopping a train to Switzerland, prices seemed to match the rising mountain peaks.
Not far from Lake Geneva in western Switzerland, we started a new segment of our trip in more ways than one. We were setting off into the highly anticipated Alps, headed for legendary places like Interlaken, Lucerne, Innsbruck and at least a few mountain passes of unknown difficulty.
On top of that, we decided to try camping for free as often as possible in order to maintain our shoestring budget. Immediately, “free camping” opened doors for us, quite literally.
Stopping at a farmhouse one night, we introduced ourselves and asked if we could pitch our tent in their field. Absolutely. And how would we like to come inside for tea and cake?
Our days of cycling in the valleys of the Swiss and Austrian Alps were stunning, with brilliant blue alpine lakes beside us and jagged peaks above.
At night, we would sometimes enjoy a quiet night with cows, horses or a friendly dog as company. Even more often, our hosts would invite us in for a shower, beer, tea, breakfast the next morning, or just a little conversation.
The best part of our day quickly became the new friends we were making – from a young auto mechanic preparing to leave his parents’ farm to a retired United Nations forester with a lifetime’s worth of stories from throughout the developing world.
Although our newfound boldness was a key icebreaker, it was not unusual for kind people to seek us out instead. Our most unforgettable encounter came along the Austria-Germany border, as we traveled north along the Salzach River toward the Danube.
We were pushing our bikes through an open-air market when a cheese vendor – a Pakistani named Umair – called out to us. He was closing up shop for the day; wouldn’t we like some of the samples he had cut of organic mountain cheese from Switzerland? As we had already discovered, Swiss mountain cheese is something altogether more delicious than the hole-riddled slices we’d known in the States.
As we joined Umair to munch and chat, he would repeatedly dig into his van to give us small items – a hunk of cheese for our lunch, dried pineapple slices, and a box of what was either wheat germ or some other energy powder, which he insisted we would need. He told us about the bicycle route ahead, which passed very close to his house, and insisted that we take his phone number in case we ran into any trouble.
About an hour later, still smiling about our lucky encounter, we rounded a bend to see Umair standing by the hot roadside, waiting to wave us in the direction of his house. Before we knew it, we were sitting on his couch, enjoying freshly baked pizza and cold glasses of juice.
Refusing to take no for an answer, he sent us onward with many pounds of cheese, an assortment of chocolates, fresh peaches, a bottle of wine and the names of cities along our route where we should stay with his friends. We left in happy disbelief, our load heavier and our faith in humanity stronger than ever.
We capped off our trip by riding along the Danube River to the cafe-rich city of Vienna and finally to Budapest, Hungary.
I imagine that a backpacking trip through Europe might have included a stopover in one or both of these cities. But I know that it would not have taken us to the Hungarian countryside in between, where we watched thousands of floating candles drift down the Danube during a nighttime festival and where we sat under the stars with the Szabo family, who told us about life before and after the fall of Communism.
Although we did not see as many of the big cities of Europe as we would have in two months of train hopping – we even chose to avoid Paris! – we had exactly the kind of European journey we wanted.
Bicycle touring is not for everyone, but I always recommend it to those who express interest. With a few training rides, most physically fit people can enjoy a bicycle tour. Moreover, we found that Europe offers opportunities for cyclists of all types, from the self-reliant campers to those who prefer unburdened bikes and luxury accommodations.
Bike travel is fairly popular among Europeans, and we had company on many stretches of the trip. Villages along the Moselle, Rhine and Danube rivers, in particular, cater to the needs of their many two-wheeled tourists, offering guesthouses and beer gardens specifically for cyclists.
We rarely had trouble finding safe and practical bicycle routes, from quiet roads to clearly signed paths and even designated bike lanes in most cities. Of course, just a few miles off the well-ridden paths are countless miles for those who want new adventures.
Thoughts of those adventures around every corner made it hard to see our tour of Europe end. We had experienced so much more than we would ever be able to remember; yet there were so many other villages, cities, and countries to see.
For me, as with many of my friends, the biggest surprise of seeing Europe for the first time was its deceptive size – the simultaneous vastness and smallness of a continent full of so many different cultures, seemingly all just a stone’s throw away from one another. Maybe it is this tricky sense of scale, then, that makes Europe an ideal place to get to know at your own pace and by your own steam.
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Hours after leaving Mozart’s Salzburg behind us, with the sun dropping low on the far side of the river, we continued slowly north along the tranquil bicycle path that we had all to ourselves. A few houses came into view ahead, earthy colors enhanced by the yellowing sunlight.
A sign pointed in the direction of a “Stille Nacht Kapelle.” Although already contemplating where we would spend the night, we decided that we might as well stop and check out what we figured, from our minimal familiarity with German, was a historic chapel.
Leaning our bikes against a pair of trees, we approached the unremarkable little building. We entered a room decorated with beautiful simplicity and lit by flickering candles. On this site, we read, the song “Silent Night” had been performed for the first time. Accompanying the story of the song’s local composers were the original lyrics.
We stood for a brief minute in the quiet, and I guessed that the same song played through both of our heads, wholly inappropriate for a July evening but still a perfect end to the day.