Ten cycling holidays for completely normal legs

Cycling holidays have an image problem, and it is lycra-shaped. In reality most of the world's loveliest bike routes were designed for people whose relationship with hills is respectful avoidance: old railway lines, river towpaths and wine-country lanes where the daily distance is dictated by lunch rather than a training plan. Every trip here can be done on a hired bike — electric if you like, and nobody worth knowing will judge — with luggage carried ahead by someone else. Padded shorts remain, quietly, an excellent idea.

The Passau-to-Vienna stretch of the Danube cycle path is Europe's great beginner classic: 300 largely flat, car-free kilometres downstream past abbeys, vineyards and the apricot villages of the Wachau valley. A week covers it at pastry pace, and self-guided operators shuttle your bags between hotels so you carry nothing but snacks. Ride west to east — the wind and the river both agree with you. Dürnstein's wine terraces demand a long lunch; comply.

The Loire à Vélo route strings 900 signposted kilometres past the greatest hits of French château-building — Chambord's roofline alone justifies the ferry crossing — but the smart move is a gentle four-day sampler between Blois and Chinon. The valley floor is mercifully level, and every village supplies goat's cheese and a serviceable Sancerre. June and September dodge both crowds and heat. Trains carry bikes free, so you can bail or leapfrog a stage at will.

Yes, Mallorca is where the professionals train, but the island quietly caters to everyone else too: flat almond-blossom plains around Es Pla, the easy old-railway run out to Artà, and quiet coastal spins from Pollença for those leaving the Sa Calobra hairpins to the masochists. Rental fleets here are the best in Europe. Come in March, April or October — summer is for beaches, not saddles — and build every route around a mid-ride café stop, as the locals do.

Spain converted thousands of kilometres of disused railway into Vías Verdes — greenways with railway gradients, meaning effectively none. The Vía Verde de la Sierra in Andalusia is the show-stealer: 36 kilometres of tunnels and viaducts between white towns, with griffon vultures wheeling above the crag at Zaframagón. The tunnels are lit, but pack a backup light anyway. Spring paints the verges; hire bikes wait at the restored station in Olvera. Genuinely gentle, genuinely spectacular.

The Netherlands has more bikes than people and a national routing system — numbered knooppunten junctions — that reduces navigation to writing six digits on your hand. Base in Utrecht for canal-side pedalling, then take the train to the Veluwe, a surprising expanse of forest and heather where white bikes are free to borrow inside Hoge Veluwe park, with the Kröller-Müller's Van Goghs at its centre. Flat is guaranteed; headwind is the national mountain. August turns the heather purple.

Provence by bike is a scratch-and-sniff painting: lavender around Sault in July, vines and ochre cliffs near Roussillon, plane-tree avenues strobing overhead. The Luberon's waymarked loops link hilltop villages close enough that no day needs to exceed 40 kilometres, though the climbs into them are honest — this is the one trip where the e-bike upgrade earns its money. Mont Ventoux will loom on the horizon; you are under no obligation. Markets replace museums here, so shop accordingly.

The Parenzana is a dead railway resurrected as a 130-kilometre gravel trail wriggling from Trieste through Slovenia into Croatian Istria, via viaducts, tunnels and hilltop towns like Grožnjan and Motovun that appear to have been art-directed. Gradients stay railway-gentle, but the surface wants a hybrid or gravel bike with wide tyres — book one in Buje or Poreč. Ride in May or September, and time Motovun for a truffle-season lunch. Three unhurried days is exactly right.

Three countries, one lake, no hills that matter: the 260-kilometre Bodensee-Radweg circles Lake Constance past orchards, vineyard villages, the flower island of Mainau and Lindau's lion-guarded harbour, with the Alps posing across the water. A week is leisurely, and ferries let you shortcut any stage — which feels like cheating and is in fact the system working. The cycle paths are Swiss-grade throughout. Go in September for the harvest, when every second farm sells apple juice from a table.

Between the Vosges and the Rhine, quiet lanes thread a hundred kilometres of Riesling and Gewürztraminer vines, linking villages — Riquewihr, Eguisheim, Kaysersberg — so aggressively picturesque they appear to be competing. Base in Colmar and ride loops of 30 to 50 gentle kilometres, tasting as you go with appropriate restraint. The signposted véloroute du vignoble does the navigating. Come in early October, when the vines turn gold and the new-wine festivals begin; an e-bike forgives the tastings.

Japan built a cycling route across the Seto Inland Sea and made it a national treasure: 70 kilometres of dedicated, blue-lined lanes island-hopping from Onomichi to Imabari over six soaring bridges, with citrus groves, shrines and gelato stops between. The ramps onto the bridges are engineered for grandmothers, rental bikes can be dropped at the far end, and one energetic day or two gentle ones covers it. Spring and autumn are ideal. The lemon soft-serve on Ikuchijima is compulsory.