Slow Routes
A day on a loaded bicycle is measured in wind and gradient
Distance is the least useful way to plan a cycling day, because load, surface, climbing and headwind change what a kilometre costs by a factor that is easy to underestimate.
By Clara Lindqvist4 min read
Kilometres are not a unit of effort
A flat, sheltered, paved eighty kilometres and a hilly, exposed, gravelled eighty kilometres are the same number and completely different days. This is the first thing that catches out anyone planning a tour from a map, because the map gives distance readily and gives everything else grudgingly if at all.
The variables that actually set the effort are gradient, surface, wind and weight, and they interact rather than adding up. A loaded bike on a rough surface into a headwind is not three separate difficulties; it is one difficulty that gets disproportionately worse as each factor is added.
Experienced tourers therefore plan in hours rather than kilometres, and treat the distance as an output of the day rather than the target of it. That single change removes most of the frustration of the first week.
Wind is the variable nobody photographs
A hill is visible on a profile and can be anticipated. Wind is invisible, arrives without warning and can persist for an entire day, which makes it the more demoralising of the two. Cyclists talk about headwind as a hill that never ends, and that is not a joke so much as an accurate description of how it feels to ride into one for six hours.
The physical reason is that air resistance rises steeply with the speed of the air moving past you, not with your speed over the ground. A moderate headwind therefore costs far more than the same wind helps you when it turns round, so a day out and back into a steady wind is a net loss rather than a wash.
The planning response is to look at prevailing directions before choosing which way round to ride a route. Long-distance riders crossing continents routinely choose their direction of travel for this reason alone, and on some coasts and plains the prevailing wind is consistent enough to make the choice obvious.
Load changes the bicycle more than it changes the rider
Weight matters least on the flat and most going uphill, which is intuitive, but the effect on handling is the part people underestimate. A loaded bike steers slower, brakes longer, and behaves differently in crosswinds, particularly if the load is high up or concentrated at the front.
Where you put the weight matters as much as how much there is. Low and split between both sides keeps the machine stable; everything piled on a rear rack makes the front light and the steering vague. This is why the arrangement of luggage is discussed among tourers with a seriousness that looks obsessive from outside.
There is an old and unresolved argument between carrying enough to be self-sufficient and carrying little enough to enjoy the riding. Camping gear buys freedom about where the day ends and costs you on every climb. Neither answer is wrong; they are different trips.
Surface decides the day quietly
Route planning software will happily send you along a track that is a road on paper and loose stone in practice, and on a loaded touring bike that difference can halve your speed and multiply the fatigue. Gravel, sand, cobbles and broken tarmac each punish differently, and cobbles in particular are far harder work than their smooth appearance suggests.
Dedicated cycle routes are usually the better surface but not always the faster line, since they often follow rivers and canals, take a longer way round, and give way constantly at junctions. A parallel quiet road can be less scenic and considerably quicker.
The most useful preparation is to find out what the surface actually is rather than what the map calls it. Photographs, local cycling forums, and route descriptions written by people who have ridden it are worth more than the classification on any map layer.
What a realistic touring day looks like
Most people riding a loaded bike day after day settle somewhere well below what they could manage once, because the constraint is recovery rather than peak capacity. The first three days are also not representative: fitness improves, the body adapts, and the setup gets sorted, so early days should be short by design.
Time off the bike consumes far more of the day than beginners expect. Shopping, water, repairs, photographs, wrong turns, ferries and the search for somewhere to sleep are all real and cumulative, which is why a day that contains six hours of riding takes ten hours to complete.
The reward for planning in hours is that the trip stops being a performance against a number. You ride until the day is done, stop where you are, and the distance is whatever it turns out to be — which is, more or less, the entire point of travelling this way.
Common questions
How far should a first tour be per day?
Considerably less than your longest unloaded day ride, and short enough that arriving early is normal. The exact figure depends on terrain and fitness, so the better rule is to plan the first few days at a distance you are certain of and lengthen them only once the routine works.
Is it worth taking a bicycle on a train rather than riding the whole route?
Often yes, and it is a standard tactic rather than cheating, particularly for crossing dull industrial approaches to cities. Carriage rules vary widely by operator and country, and some fast services require a reservation for the bike or forbid it entirely, so check the specific train.
Are dedicated long-distance cycle routes worth following?
They are usually safer and better surfaced than the alternatives and they solve navigation, which is a real benefit on a long day. The trade is that they can be indirect, busy near cities, and occasionally take you away from the places you would rather see.
Staff writer, The Next Postcard
Clara joined to cover cities, slow routes, rail & road and stayed for the awkward questions and reads the small print so you do not have to.
