Rolling on the Rhine River (part one)

700C Bike Wheels Keep On Turning

Last year, I pedaled through the heart of Europe, cycling the length of the Rhine River. I wrote about it for one of my favorite publications, but by the time I finished the piece, the publication had killed its travel section. I’m going to serialize it here instead.

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One of the most noted travel stories of 2024 was the growing and noisy pushback against Americans from popular tourist destinations around the world. “We spit in your beer” has become a perverse rallying cry across Europe as locals make it clear that they've had enough of overcrowded bars, rude tourists, and congested roads.

As a somewhat misanthropic American tourist, I’m sympathetic. If I could, I’d like to stand alongside the Polizia on the Spanish Steps of Rome as they tell all the Americans taking selfies that they can't sit there and must move along.

Take that Bucket List and Shove it

Much of the issue is the “bucket-list tourism” that pervades the American psyche. For one to be considered a true citizen of the world, one must visit historic sites, get selfies with artistic masterpieces, and eat Michelin-starred meals.

And while the Montmorency-style pigeon supremes at Paris’s L’Ambroisie might be a life-changing meal, navigating your way to the front of a Louvre crowd for a selfie with the Mona Lisa isn’t going to bring you anything more than a couple of likes on Instagram and the ire of Parisians who have had it with Americans.

I wanted to take on another type of trip, one that would let me see the every day of Europe, that would challenge me and would leave behind the places crowded by my fellow Americans. I would cycle the Rhine from its headwaters in the Swiss Alps to its delta at Rotterdam.

Eurovelo 15, or How to Avoid Belgium Altogether.

Eurovelo 15 is an official European cycling trail sanctioned by the EU that follows the river through the heart of Europe for 850 miles, wending through six countries on its way to the North Sea. The river and the trail pass fairy-tale castles but is also based on a vital trade route, with factories lining its banks and cargo ships churning its waters.

When you tour on a bike, every pedal stroke counts and miles accrete slowly. You don’t get to skip the industrial parks and the construction sites. It means you might miss the Louvre, but you can find yourself alone in the pews of a small and ancient medieval church while the choir practices hymns for this week’s service.

I’ve done a few cycling tours before—across New York state on the Erie Canal trail and along the Pacific Coast Highway. But those were organized rides with support vehicles carrying luggage and volunteers ready to help with a flat or a broken chain. For this ride, I’d strap everything onto the back of my 1982 Trek and haul it from place to place. I convinced my wife to take on the first week of the ride with me, mostly coinciding with the Swiss portion. After that, I’d be on my own.

Switzerland Lives Up to Its Reputation

Technically, the Rhine has two sources—the Hinterrhein and the Vorderrhein. Those two rivers flow together in Rechenau, outside Chur, Switzerland, but for the European Cycling Federation’s purposes, the river starts with the Hinterrhein at Lake Toma, above Andermatt, Switzerland.

As a cyclist, the easiest way to get to Andermatt is by train. One can pay exorbitant prices for the tourist-favorite Glacier Express, a legendary line that whisks you through the Alps with white-tablecloth fine dining, panoramic windows that stretch overhead to the train car’s ceiling, and exorbitant prices. The same views, with more pedestrian seating and dining options, are available much more cheaply on standard lines.

Swiss rail is much like a fine Swiss timepiece—quiet, efficient, beautiful, and complicated. You must have a ticket, and your bike must have a ticket. During peak times, your bike must have a separate reservation. Spending some time with the SBB app in advance can help make your trip stress-free.

Andermatt is something of a sports town—It spends its winters entertaining rich skiers and its summers putting up cyclists of all sorts--mountain, touring, and racers. The mountain town is surrounded by mountain trails and eight Alpine passes with steep, switchback descents into the surrounding valleys. Its landmark hotel, The Chedi, can run well into the thousands per night.

Not your average hotel lobby artwork. I found out that pictures were prohibited after I took this.

It justifies the cost somewhat with the Picassos adorning its lobby walls. The Sonne Andermatt, on the other hand, is reasonable, clean, and has some nice local photographs. The dining room is excellent. A twenty-minute train ride gets you from Andermatt to Switzerland’s only lighthouse and Oberalp Pass, the official mile zero of the Eurovelo 15. It's high enough that there are still patches of snow visible in early June.

Most of the 850 miles of the trail are flat, but the ride on the first day is completely different. With a descent of three thousand feet over just ten kilometers, the beginning of the trail feels like the first downslope of a rollercoaster ride. The downhill makes for low-effort pedaling, but controlling one's speed on that steep of a grade for that long can be nerve-wracking for all but the most experienced riders. It is also exhilarating. The views are spectacular and even with all the downhill, the ride takes all morning as one can’t help but stop and take it in.

At the bottom, the trail heads back up for a climb of a couple hundred feet. Although it’s not of the same scale as the ride down, the twenty pounds of luggage does not make it shorter.

Hungry, thirsty, and tired, we rode in Cavardiras, at the top of that uphill in the late afternoon. We planned to eat at Chesa Prema, the tiny village’s only restaurant. The beautiful little inn bustled with customers, but one of them told us that the restaurant was closed for a private event involving seniors touring the region's historic pipe organs.

There were no other options for miles. We stood there forlorn until someone came to us and said, “I can get you something to drink. Just wait here.”

We were grateful for that and stood for a minute or two, waiting, until the owner came, and said, “If you can wait, I can make you some pasta.”

A small table and two chairs materialized, and we waited, staring at the Alpine peaks bathed in midday sun.

And that is how we came to have the finest meal of the 850-mile ride: two bowls of perfectly cooked pasta with fresh tomatoes and grape-sized capers. Cavardiras, Switzerland, has less than twenty permanent residents, and two of them run this perfect hotel/restaurant/wine bar that makes you fantasize about selling all you own and moving to a hilltop village in the Swiss Alps.

Switzerland is not known for its culinary style. Rosti, a type of potato pancake and the national dish of Switzerland, and its second runner-up, fondue, can ordered up as a smothered and covered side dish at Waffle House. However, the region's foodways are driven by an almost religious devotion to traditional agriculture.

In the summer months, roadsides and bicycle paths are dotted with unstaffed produce stands where you can drop a few euros in an honor box and ride away with fresh strawberries or cherries. Other fruits and vegetables show up as the harvest season progresses. And with the Italian border a relatively short distance away, there's a good amount of overlap.

The Swiss make very fine wine, but they are happy to keep it all for themselves. Less than two percent is exported, and that is only to neighboring Germany. Although there are many fine varietals, visitors often should seek out a Fendant. It would taste great even if one were not sitting in the sun on a Swiss mountainside.

The tour group became very interested in the odd American tourists and soon invited us to join them for a performance of Erik Satie's music that afternoon. Alas, the venue was twenty miles in the wrong direction.

The Song of The Week

Willie gets the honors this week. Near the end of this Rhine ride, I stopped in a small German town for a bite. It was a Sunday afternoon, and the town was quiet. I was weary and not looking forward to the final thirty miles I had scheduled for the day. After a sandwich, I pedaled reluctantly back onto the path. There was some kind of gathering in an adjacent family’s backyard—kids playing, parents chatting, and flipping sausages on a grill. As I passed, this cut came on the hi-fi, powering me for the rest of the day. Thanks, Willie, I’m sure I’m not the only traveler you helped along the last few miles.