It's been 6 days since I started my month long trip to Valkenburg and Zeeland from Groningen. Here's how today turned out. I had to include the cool fungus 🍄‍🟫

i'm soon to embark on a tour down the cali coast and not seeing many accommodations (well. . . there are plenty of spas and resorts). wondering where people stay when doing this route? i have camping gear, but like to mix it up with warmshowers, hotels, camping, etc. recommendations?

Hi everybody, I am from Australia and am looking for some recommendations as to where to go during my university semester break from the middle of June to late July next year. I would do this with at least one of my mates, potentially up to 4.

I really want to explore Eastern/Central Europe but I am somewhat open to other suggestions. I would prefer to camp for most of the trip ideally mixing campsites with wild camping to keep costs down. I want to see the scenery and smaller towns/villages.

I am pretty clueless about bicycle touring but I do ride my bike a lot day-to-day, as well as do a lot of camping.

What countries/routes would you recommend for this time of year and for that length of time?

Another option for time of year would be anytime from November to February, but I assume weather would make much of Europe very difficult. If I was to do it during that time period, I would be open to do a longer trip (~10 weeks)

Thanks in advance!

Hi everyone!

If you're interested in an amazing seasonal job leading biking trips around the world, check out this opportunity with Backroads!

https://www.backroads.com/jobs/leaders

Applications for next season have just opened! Feel free to reach out to me if you're interested, I'd be happy to refer you and help boost your chances of getting hired! 🚴‍♀️🌍

Hello everyone. I wanted to share a brief look at the current leg of my journey through Peru.

I am currently heading toward Machu Picchu via the Santa Teresa route. According to the map, it is not a straight shot, but rather a brutal, endless series of rolling ups and downs. By the time I clear this section, the elevation profile estimates a cumulative total of 2,600 meters of climbing into the thin air, followed by a cumulative 3,400-meter descent down toward the high jungle.

It is undoubtedly going to be a demanding test of endurance for both my legs and my loaded bike, but the sheer scale of the Andean landscape makes every single kilometer worth it. I am looking forward to the challenge.

Wishing you all safe travels！

Hi,

I'm thinking of doing the Southern tier with Timberline Bike Tours next year but am having trouble finding many reviews on this company. Has anyone here ever ridden with them (especially on a longer tour) and what were your impressions? Thanks!

Flat or tilted towards the saddle or tail?

I am touring along western ghats, India. For the parts where I don't mean to cycle like highways, I plan to use bus service. Bus operators request me to dismantle and pack it in a box. Most of these carton boxes are huge and heavy in weight. After reaching the destination, how do I carry the box with me? Is there a lighter box available for such situations? Or is there a better way to deal with this situation? I have travelled before with just dismantling the bicycle forewheel, pedals and handle bars and adding the bicycle to the luggage space. But some operators don't allow it these days. Would love to hear from anyone who has experienced this, or has a solution to this. Cheers :)

I was given this plastic piece to protect my derailleur when flying my bike. However, I have no idea the right way to put this on. Does anyone know?

I've been interested in how the Aniioki A8 Ultra performs on longer rides, especially when it comes to battery range, comfort, and carrying extra gear. A large battery can be appealing for touring, but the bike's weight, access to charging points, and the added load from luggage are also worth considering when planning a multi-day trip. I'd be interested in hearing about the practical side of touring with an e-bike rather than relying on advertised specifications alone.

For those who've taken an e-bike on overnight or multi-day tours, how do you plan your daily distances around charging stops? How do you manage a heavier bike with touring gear, and what would you recommend checking before setting off on a longer journey?

Earlier this year, at age 62, I completed a 3,000-mile cross-country bicycle ride from San Diego, California, to St. Augustine, Florida.

The journey took 44 days, crossing mountains, deserts, endless stretches of Texas, and some pretty unforgiving headwinds.

But this wasn't just another cycling adventure.

My younger sister, Katie, was killed in the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. With the 25th anniversary approaching, I decided to honor her memory by riding across America and raising money for the Tunnel to Towers Foundation.

I called it Ride to Remember 2026.

I rode with a small group on a supported tour, averaging roughly 70–90 miles on riding days. Along the way, I experienced the physical challenges that many long-distance cyclists know well: fatigue, difficult weather, sore muscles, and mornings when getting back on the saddle required a little extra determination.

But something unexpected happened along those 3,000 miles.

The bicycle became more than a means of transportation. It gave me time to reflect on loss, family, friendship, and the importance of continuing to move forward, even when life throws some pretty strong headwinds your way.

That experience became the final chapter of a much longer personal journey, one I've written about in my memoir, Headwinds, being published October 27.

I'm sharing this here because I suspect many of you understand something that noncyclists sometimes don't: A long bicycle journey can change you in ways that have very little to do with cycling.

For those who have completed a long-distance tour, did you find that the experience changed your perspective on life?

I'd really enjoy hearing your stories.

Does anyone have any experience with the new Schwalbe Almotion or Mondial in the wired version?

Until now, the general opinion was that the Mondial was only worth getting as a folding tire, and now the folding version is tubeless-only.

The Almotion used to be folding only (for tube and tubeless), and now there's only a wire version for tubes.

Have you tried it or seen some reviews?

I picked this up for 75.00. Its going to be delivered tomorrow. Im trying to estimate the year and model on it.

Hi everyone ! First off, thank you for being an awesome and reactive community :D you really helped me a lot during an SE Asia 6 month trip.

I am currently building my around the world bicycle, and am wondering about appropriate wheel choice. I am a 70kg rider with what will be a ~20kg bike and 20-40kg luggage. I will be riding on sometimes very rough terrain. My bike will have a Rohloff rear hub and a Son 28 front hub, and I plan on running 45-60mm tires. Which rim choices and spoke count would you recommend considering my needs ?
I am shopping from EU.

Thank you ahead :)

Buenas! Estoy planeando un nuevo viaje en bicicleta. Ya hice uno por Asia y ahora la idea es hacer Argentina-México.

Pero me gustaría mucho poder llevar una guitarra, no sólo como entretenimiento sino para poder hacer algunos pesos durante el viaje con la música.

Alguna idea de cómo transportarla??

Lo primero que se me ocurre es cruzada en el portaequipajes trasero. También armar una especie de soporte para que vaya vertical detrás.

Alguno viajó con guitarra? Conocen alguien que lo haya hecho? Se les ocurren ideas/sugerencias?

p.d.: no es una opción cambiar la guitarra por un UKELELE (?

I’d like to give back to the community with this little trip report on my trip in September of 2026.
- We have been doing folding bike tours in Japan for the past three years and decided to ride Korea this year instead.
- The tour was split into two parts - the East Coast bike path and then around Jeju Island.
- A friend of a friend completed most of the bike paths in Korea and highly recommended the East Coast route and it did not disappoint.
- I took a fast KTX train (with bike folded) from Seoul to Gyeungju (totally worth exploring) for the start and then we took a bus back to Seoul from Sokcho after finishing the East Coast route.
- The stops on the East Coast were Gyeungju > Ganggu > Uljin > Jangho > Gangneung > Sokcho
- This was quite a hilly route and we were unlucky with two days of major headwind but the East Coast route had lots of rugged beauty and there was a plethora of public art dotted all along the route.
- A highlight was the rose garden in Samcheook and the many beach and surf towns along the route.
- The lowlight was the aggressiveness of some Korean drivers. When I researched riding in Korea, many bicycle tourists mentioned that Korea had some of worst drivers in terms of interactions with cyclists and riding here for a few days, I would tend to agree. The majority of drivers gave us lots of room and were patient but the bad ones were really really bad. We had close passes, sudden u-turns in front of us, drivers that accelerate to overtake only to turn right in front of us, and a few drivers on the other side of the road swerving dangerously into our lane. Thankfully the East Coast Bike Path has been pretty quiet for traffic and had a wide shoulder most of the time.
- Even with the crappy drivers I would wholeheartedly recommend riding in Korea because the people were so warm, kind, and friendly ! And the hearty food was great fuel for hungry cyclists.
- We flew from Seoul to Jeju Island for the second part of our tour and the stops on Jeju Island were Jeju City > Daejeong > Seogwipo > Jeju City
- Jeju Island feels very different than mainland Korea and is often called the Hawaii of Korea. - - The bike path around the island has some pretty crappy bits with lots of riding on narrow pothole strewn sidewalks but it also is on quiet windy roads with almost no traffic and amazing views.
- The highlight on Jeju Island was a short side trip to Udo Island which had amazing views, great cafes, and a quiet vide.

1,000 kilometers, just under 6,000 meters of elevation gain, four and a half days. Two Booking.com dramas, a circulatory system that briefly wanted to clock out, a hotel room the size of a broom closet — and at the very end, a race against a Carabiniere coming off the night shift.

The trip report for this planned tour.

Structured and proofread by an LLM

Die nackten Zahlen vorweg

Five days, five changes of scenery: from the Bavarian foothills across the Brenner, down the Adige Valley, straight across the Po Plain to the Adriatic, into the Apennines, and finally down into the geographic navel of Italy. Almost entirely on bike paths or very quiet roads — I only took the main road where there was genuinely no alternative.

Day 1 — Over the Brenner, the whole long way

The plan was to start in Rosenheim. What actually happened was a small village near Lake Chiemsee, because Deutsche Bahn did what Deutsche Bahn does — I’d seen it coming the day before. So: on the bike at 6:30 a.m., in a delightfully crisp 17 degrees (maybe less), and off I went.

The first roughly 170 kilometers were surprisingly relaxed. Very gently uphill until about kilometer 70, then an easy roll through the Inn Valley. The weather was perfect; over the course of the day it climbed to 28 degrees — still perfectly manageable. Things only got serious between Wattens and the Brenner. Because the Brenner didn’t come until kilometer 210 for me. By that point I already had over 2,100 meters of climbing in my legs, and I could feel every one of them.

Still, I pushed on to kilometer 250, to a hotel right on the bike route between Sterzing and Brixen where I’d stayed before. And here begins the first of two curious accommodation stories from this tour:

I was given a room — which, at the time, I didn’t know — that had actually already been promised to another guest over the phone. That guest had called in the afternoon to reserve, and after the innkeeper gave me the room in the evening and I’d already showered, it apparently came back to him. Visibly annoyed — probably more with himself than with me — he picked up the phone, called the other guest, who of course hadn’t arrived yet, and told him something along the lines of: Don’t bother showing up, the room is taken, someone booked it out from under his — the guest’s — nose on Booking, he — the innkeeper — had only just realized, and he — the guest — should try his luck somewhere else. Blunt? Yes. Rude? I wouldn’t say so. Professional? Not exactly, either. Whether it earned a bad Google review is beyond my knowledge.

What the legs had to say: Day 1 was tough but doable. Average heart rate 132 — measured with a chest strap, not the watch. Normalized Power was 154 watts; my gut said 160, the cold calculator says 154, we’ll settle on “respectable,” at least by my standards. Over 5,300 calories, all on the bike, with only about 45 minutes of standing time — I tried to eat while riding whenever possible. Apart from the Brenner climb and the Germany–Austria border crossing, it was almost entirely bike paths or low-traffic back roads.

Curiously, that evening I was neither particularly hungry nor completely wrecked. That came back to bite me the very next day.

Day 2 — Down the Adige Valley, and a circulatory system that wanted to call it a day

Second day, late start: not until quarter past eight. Reason: I wanted to take advantage of the hotel breakfast. In hindsight, a pretty dumb idea — it cost me at least an hour and a half of riding time. The calculus was a mix of stinginess and convenience: I’m paying for the room with breakfast included anyway, I can eat as much as I want, I save money on the road — so why not just eat here? Problem: breakfast wasn’t served until around 7:30 a.m. (weekend), and late August in Italy means: the later you set off, the more merciless the heat. So I traded an hour and a half of cool morning kilometers for a buffet.

Lesson learned — thoroughly: on all the following days I preferred to start very early and skip the hotel breakfast. Kilometers at pleasant temperatures are worth more than a second bread roll.

The route itself: from north of Brixen down the Pista Ciclabile della Valle dell’Adige — Bolzano, Trento, Rovereto, and then on and on and on to Verona. Scenically, honestly rather boring, because it was my 6th time there, and practically all downhill: 629 meters of climbing, 1,163 down. And yet, after the previous day’s exertion, it was grueling. Where I’d still been pushing almost 160 watts Normalized Power on Day 1, it was now 123 — partly logical, since it was all downhill, but partly simply because my legs were completely dead. Heart rate, though, was nice and relaxed: 122 beats per minute on average.

Ten hours of riding, but eleven and a half hours in total — so about 1½ hours of stopping, significantly more than planned. Out of exhaustion, I kept taking little 5-to-10-minute breaks, on the theory that “it can’t hurt.” It adds up, though. And honestly: those mini-breaks do nothing for recovery. Next time: don’t overdo Day 1 — then I won’t need the crawl breaks in the first place.

And then the moment that briefly gave me pause. Around 6:30 p.m., by now completely overheated despite drinking liters of water (Italy has wonderfully many drinking fountains — I refilled my three and a half liters at every one), I stopped for a very brief break to call some friends. Both feet on the ground, just standing — and I got dizzy. Not a little, but properly dizzy. My kitchen-table theory on this: while pedaling, the pressure on the soles of the feet helps pump blood upward; the moment I stand still, the heart has to manage on its own and briefly can’t keep up. Whether that’s medically accurate, I don’t know, but in that moment it sounded plausible. So back on the bike, keep riding — and sure enough, it got better. It still didn’t feel safe, though. I didn’t know whether I’d keel over again in two minutes. So I headed into the next village, found a nice shady spot, got off the bike, sat down on the ground, ten minutes’ rest, drank properly, ate properly. That was exactly the right call. Probably a combination of heat, exertion, too little drinking, and too little eating — which factor exactly, I can’t say; probably all of them together. After that, everything was fine again.

Arrived in Verona around 7:30 p.m., staying with friends — really kind, centrally located. Shower, and then the question: “Fancy some pizza?” Sure, always a good idea — I’ll make up the calories right away. What I overlooked in my tiredness: first, dinner wasn’t until quarter to nine, and I actually wanted to go to bed early. Second, we drove to a suburb — the pizza was truly excellent, but the trip there and back dragged on. Result: in bed around midnight. And the next morning, awake and on my feet at 7:30. Sleep: limited.

Day 3 — Straight across the Po Plain to the Adriatic (and the fastest day that nobody registered as fast)

Start in Verona at 7:30 a.m., no breakfast, but relaxed, at a pleasant 21 degrees. With every kilometer south, you could tell: it was getting hotter. The elevation profile, though, was easy — a small climb out of Verona, then practically flat the rest of the way: a grand total of 243 meters of elevation over 230 kilometers. A retiree’s route, if you ignore the distance.

The route: from Verona to Ostiglia, then a stretch along the Po (yes, Italy’s longest river really is just called “Po”) to roughly Bondeno. Only about 40 kilometers along the river, but really beautiful: the bike path wide, superbly maintained, obviously fairly new, and on a Monday virtually deserted. Then off the river route to Ferrara, on to Ravenna, and finally to Cesenatico on the Adriatic, right between Ravenna and Rimini. I would have loved to ride into Comacchio — 30 kilometers of detour, and in my condition I had exactly zero motivation for that.

Now for the speed paradox, because the Wahoo data and my perception seem to contradict each other here: it felt like a slow day — headwind all day long (that classic wind pushing south into the Adige Valley was a real nuisance on the Po Plain), the exhaustion from Day 1 still in my legs, not even 23.0 km/h — and yet it was my fastest day of the whole tour. Felt like retirement pace, in reality quite alright.

Heart rate? No data for the first half — my chest strap didn’t start measuring until the seventh hour. What it delivered after that was relaxed (roughly 120–125), but not really reliable. Normalized Power 122 watts — again the exhaustion from Day 1, which I dragged along for the rest of the tour.

The accommodation that didn’t deserve the name: €37 including tourist tax. I hadn’t looked at any photos beforehand and was pleased — bargain! Well. Room plus bathroom together felt like four square meters: a room with a bed, a tiny table, and a minuscule window; the “bathroom” was one and a half square meters — toilet, shower head directly above it, a washbasin, no shower curtain. After showering, everything was consequently wet and correspondingly disgusting. It remained a bargain, but now I knew why.

From this day on, I actually had the heat under control — with a method I’m still proud of: I’d brought arm warmers, and from Day 3 onward I wore them continuously. Against the heat they didn’t help one bit (quite the opposite), and on the inside of both elbows I had a nasty sunburn (my legs only mildly — they were already tan). So the trade-off: protect the skin and sweat a few degrees more, or ride cooler and risk sunburn on top of sunburn. I chose the cooler option — and at every fountain took off my jersey, soaked it, wrung it out, put it back on, head under the water. From Day 3 onward I had zero heat problems. Wonderful.

Ten hours in the saddle — roughly the limit of what I can still sit through with tired legs and a battered rear end. Under my sit bones, or more precisely just below them on my inner thighs, I now had friction blisters. Uncomfortable, but rideable.

Day 4 — Into the Apennines: the Gole del Furlo and a door behind which there were tears

Because the room was so uncomfortable, I slept with the window open — on the Adriatic coast, right in the tourist zone. Germans, Italians, French, English, and a few other not readily identifiable nationalities strolled past below my window at night. Not excessively loud, but with my light sleep it was enough. On the upside: awake early, and so on Day 4 I was on the bike by 6:40 a.m.

The first roughly 35–40 kilometers right along the sea — almost continuously with a view of the water, pretty cool. Surprising how many people were already out despite the early hour, most of them unfortunately at a leisurely dawdling pace, and the bike paths partly cobblestoned, so anything but pleasant. A rather gentle start to the day — probably not a bad thing.

At Cattolica I headed inland, and with that began the climbing. I would have actually liked to ride up to San Marino, from Rimini heading southwest — same distance, but significantly more elevation. After all the complaining about my exhaustion, it goes without saying: every meter of climbing I didn’t strictly need, I gratefully skipped.

Because the Apennines, which run through Italy from north to south, may not be as high as the Alps, but they reliably get in your way when you want to cross from one coast to the other. Well distributed, but by the end there were still 1,797 meters of climbing on the clock for my tired legs.

The highlight of the day — and perhaps of the entire tour: the Gole del Furlo, almost exactly at kilometer 90 of 180. A narrow, spectacular gorge through which the river Candigliano flows (not “Furlo,” as I thought while riding — Furlo is the gorge, not the river). The ancient Via Flaminia runs through it, and the Roman tunnel you still ride through today was carved into the rock under Emperor Vespasian. The old panoramic road along the river has long been “declassified,” because there’s now a newer road through tunnels — but that’s precisely why the old one is so quiet and so beautiful. Scenically stunning: narrow rock walls, plenty to see, hardly any traffic. Fantastic.

One mountain formation conquered, on to the next. Continuing to Gubbio, then briefly flat, then climbing again — roughly from between Rimini and Pesaro heading toward Perugia. I didn’t actually ride into Perugia itself, but headed toward Bastia Umbra and from there a stretch further toward Foligno. This valley, where Assisi, Bastia, and Foligno lie, is the Valle Umbra.

And then the second, this time genuinely sad, accommodation story. After the near-chaos of Day 1, this time I’d booked in advance through Booking.com, received confirmation, and simply rode there half an hour before arrival. I’m standing in front of the house, see the B&B sign, ring the bell — and out comes a woman, certainly over 70. Me: “Hello, I booked through Booking, I’m your guest for today.” Her eyes fill with tears. Unfortunately, that wasn’t possible. Her son had run the B&B; he’d been in his early fifties and had died two months earlier. She had only helped him, had no access to the Booking account, had even sent them the death certificate with a request to take the listing offline and stop sending guests. Apparently it hadn’t worked. I was the third person in those two months she’d had to turn away.

I offered my condolences and looked for a new place to stay. At the same time, I wanted to call Booking to sort out the situation and get my already-charged money back. Spoiler: three days later, after a total of roughly four hours on hold and in service calls, I had my money back — and even a few euros on top. Measured against the time spent on the phone, it probably wasn’t worth it.

At least I found another place to stay just a kilometer further on, a bit more expensive, but fine. I didn’t get there until 8:15 p.m., by which time it was already dark — two downsides: first, I could have ridden that lost hour (didn’t want to, but could have). Second, after showering on this Tuesday evening, I found nothing still open for dinner. So I actually went to bed without dinner — with over 3,700 calories burned and not a single one replaced. I didn’t even feel like having one of my carb bars. Surprisingly well tolerated: hungry, yes, but not can’t-sleep hungry. Probably I was simply too tired.

Day’s data: 182 km, 1,797 m of elevation gain, Normalized Power 133 watts, average heart rate 118 (the strap worked reliably that day), a good 9 hours of moving time — but over 12 hours total, thanks to Furlo-gazing, Booking drama, and the search for accommodation.

Day 5 — Over the mountain to Rieti, right into the navel of Italy

Last day, and only half of one: from Bastia Umbra / Assisi toward Rieti. In retrospect, I’m not sure it was smart to bypass Foligno — I rode along the southwestern edge of the Valle Umbra instead of through the city. Going through Foligno, I could have seen the town and would probably have had plenty of options for breakfast. Next time I’ll at least ride through.

From Spoleto to Terni, it was over a properly demanding mountain — the Somma Pass (Valico della Somma) on the old Via Flaminia, a good 600 meters high; my day’s highest point according to the Wahoo was 670 m. It was demanding mainly because I already had nearly 900 kilometers in my legs. In itself, though, a nice stretch: the road section was short, a shady back road, and that was pure gold in the morning, because it was already extremely hot early on — when I reached the top, the thermometer was already showing the low 30s.

Annoying: several drinking fountains I’d marked as points of interest on the Wahoo were dry. Not a drop. On this fifth day I rode — because I’d counted on water and found none — longer stretches completely without water. Not a big deal since it was only half a day. But a “fountain out of service” feature would be nice.

I didn’t go all the way down to Terni but headed toward Marmore — because Terni sits quite low compared to Rieti, and I had no desire to make up the elevation afterward. At the transition from the Terni valley to the Rieti valley, I managed to get so thoroughly lost that I pushed my bike through an olive grove for roughly 20 to 25 minutes. Once again I thought I was smarter than Komoot: “It’s shorter this way!” Distance-wise, it may even have been — but it still cost me a quarter of an hour. Beautiful, though.

Then past the Cascata delle Marmore with its famous waterfall. A small correction to what I assumed while riding: it’s not the tallest waterfall in Europe — but at 165 meters (over three tiers) it is the tallest man-made waterfall in the world. The Romans created it back in 271 BC by diverting the river Velino into the Nera. Artificial, ancient, and impressive all the same.

On the plain of Rieti, I then met a road cyclist who overtook me — which of course immediately challenged me. It was the last 20 kilometers, so I could still manage that. So off after him, rode together for about ten minutes, then chatted for a bit. He’d just come off the night shift — police or Carabinieri — and was wrapping up his workday with a bike ride. Very likeable; that’s one way to do it. He rode fast, and you can see that on my power meter: suddenly, despite flat terrain, an average power of an estimated 180–190 watts — with all the peaks in the graph it’s hard to read precisely, but I was putting in serious effort.

Destination reached: the Piazza San Rufo in Rieti, with its ugly roundabout that supposedly marks the geographic center of Italy — the Umbilicus Italiae, the navel of Italy. “Supposedly” is the key word here: what counts as the “geographic center” depends on whether you include the islands, the twelve-mile zone, the mainland only … Italians have been arguing about this forever. Doesn’t matter. For me, after 1,000 kilometers, it was exactly the right spot to get off the bike.

Day’s data: 113 km, a good 900 m of elevation gain, just under 6 hours of moving time, Normalized Power 140 watts (higher than you’d expect for half a day — thanks to the Carabiniere). The heart rate that day, by the way, was officially useless: according to the Wahoo, my heart beat an average of 28 times per minute, which medically puts me somewhere between “hibernation” and “zombie.” The sensor had simply given up.

Conclusion — what stays, what I’ll do differently next time

After arriving, I didn’t look at a bike from above for two weeks — first the friction blisters under my backside had to heal. Muscles nicely massaged, but I walked the daily 10,000 steps to keep moving. I would actually have loved to go for a run during that time — nothing big, just half an hour or so. It just didn’t make sense to buy running gear only to then haul it back home on the bike.

What I’m taking away:

Don’t overdo Day 1. 250 kilometers and 2,200 meters of climbing on the first day was a mistake — I dragged the exhaustion along for four days. Hindsight is 20/20.

Start early, sacrifice the hotel breakfast. Cool morning kilometers beat any buffet.

No mini-breaks. They do nothing for recovery and add up badly. Better to train the backside so it can handle days like these without complaint.

Drink and eat before the circulatory system rebels. The dizzy spell on Day 2 was a clear warning.

And yet — or precisely because of all that: it was a really beautiful tour. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Maybe not exactly the same one; next time the west coast tempts me, along the Tyrrhenian Sea, with Lucca and Florence. But the basic idea — once across the Alps and through half of Italy, on quiet bike paths, with drinking fountains, wet jerseys, and quirky innkeepers — that stands.

1,000 kilometers, just under 6,000 meters of elevation gain, four and a half days, a few kilos lighter. From Bavaria to the navel of Italy.

I have started planning a September 2027 tour starting in The Hague and ending in Berlin. Please consider my route and offer suggestions and feedback. You are welcome to join me. Planning 2027 Cycling Tour-The Hague to Berlin – getmytravelingshoes