There’s a rhythm to long-distance cycling that has nothing to do with cadence or speed. It’s the slow accretion of miles, impressions, and small revelations — the way a place seeps into your bones through repetition, sweat, and breath. In my previous reflections on cycling the South Island of New Zealand, the Great Ocean Road, and Ireland’s Wild Atlantic Way, I traced that rhythm through landscapes shaped by wind and water, road and memory.
But the journey — the deeper one, the one that defines a life spent traveling by bicycle — continues. It loops and braids through entirely different cultures and geographies, without ever losing its center. These are not merely routes; they are narratives. And they deserve to be linked — not only for readers hungry for their next ride, but also for the organic traffic that finds its way to my site through shared search intent and thematic continuity.
Let me take you further now, to six destinations that appear distinct on the map but are bound by the same spirit: South Korea, Hokkaido, Bali, Andalucia, Taiwan, and Tuscany & Umbria.
South Korea: The Border, the Coast, and the Spine
South Korea’s Seoul-to-Busan and back to Seoul loop, via the borderlands and Baekdudaegan range, is a lesson in contrast. Here, a cyclist starts in a high-tech metropolis only to follow a thread of riverside bike paths into villages still anchored in old rhythms. The ride north skirts the fringes of geopolitics — few places are so safe and yet so charged as the area near the DMZ — before turning south along the East Sea. Fishing harbors, seafood markets, and quiet Buddhist temples line this coast.
The inland return is a test of legs and resolve. The Baekdudaegan is Korea’s spiritual and geological spine. Climbing here isn’t just about elevation gain; it’s about entering a dialogue with the country’s deeper self. For cyclists, it’s both revelation and reward.
Hokkaido: Japan’s Northern Frontier
Hokkaido is Japan, but not as you think you know it. The roads are long, empty, and open, cutting through volcanic landscapes and highland plateaus. Here, you chase light — early sunrises, long dusks, and sudden mists over caldera lakes. The “Northern Frontier” isn’t a boast; it’s a way of being. The foxes are real. So are the steaming onsens and soft-serve stands at the top of improbable climbs.
Cycling Hokkaido is about immersion in nature at its grandest scale. And yet the infrastructure — from road quality to campgrounds to local hospitality — is quietly excellent. The contrast between raw landscape and seamless human support is uniquely Japanese. Hokkaido is the perfect counterpoint to urban Japan, and the best introduction to its wilder cycling possibilities.
Bali: The Island of Gods (and Gears)
You wouldn’t think to come to Bali for a climbing tour — and yet, here you are. The island’s volcanic backbone offers a serious challenge, from Mount Batur’s rim to the misty climbs near Munduk. But the magic is in the descent: winding roads that drop through rice terraces and jungle, past temples and gamelan rehearsals. The phrase “climbing and freewheeling in paradise” isn’t marketing fluff — it’s a literal truth on two wheels.
But it’s not that simple! It’s a small island, but which way to ride?
What sets Bali apart is its synesthetic quality. You don’t just see the landscape; you hear and smell it. The scent of clove cigarettes, the sound of chanting, the sudden cool of rain on a banana leaf — they’re all part of the ride. This guidebook is as much about cultural immersion as route-finding, and for good reason.
Andalucia: Roundabout the South of Spain
To ride Andalucia is to orbit passion — the deep, historical kind. Through the provinces of Malaga, Cadiz, and Seville, the road takes on a rolling cadence of whitewashed villages, sunflower plains, and serrated sierras. There’s a visceral quality to these rides: the taste of salmorejo after a long day, the echo of flamenco in a tiled courtyard, the long shadow of a castle ruin on golden hills.
Here, cycling is less about distance and more about texture. The quality of light. The slow afternoon lull of a pueblo. The tangle of alleyways in Setenil de las Bodegas. It’s a route for the sensorially attuned, for those who want their kilometers served with a side of story.
Taiwan: Ride to Eat, Eat to Ride
Taiwan’s Cycling Route No. 1 might be the most perfect encapsulation of a national cycling identity. Well-signed, well-supported, and endlessly scenic, this route makes the case for cycling as a national pastime — and as a culinary pilgrimage. Few places offer such a tight loop of mountains, coastlines, and night markets.
“Ride to Eat, Eat to Ride” isn’t my motto; it’s a modus operandi. Every town offers a new dish, every climb a new view. Taiwan’s hospitality — from 7-Eleven’s cyclist-friendly offerings to guesthouse aunties pressing fruit into your hands — makes this circumnavigation feel like a festival of kindness.
Tuscany & Umbria: The Epic and the Intimate
To end in Central Italy is to ride through layers of human history. Chianti’s vineyards, Umbria’s hill towns, and the gravel glory of L’Eroica are not just destinations; they’re time machines. The climbs are punchy, the roads often rough, but the reward is constant. Morning espresso in a medieval square. A slow climb to Montepulciano. Sunset descending into a cypress-lined valley.
Here, cycling becomes almost devotional. These roads have hosted saints and soldiers, painters and pilgrims — and now, perhaps you. The balance of effort and elegance, grit and grace, is unmatched. Go for it ride out!
Why This Matters for the Journey — and for Discovery
This journey across six regions is not a greatest hits compilation; not my intention here — it’s a portfolio of the world’s cycling soul. The practical value is for you, my readers. It lies in the specificity: maps, cultural context, tested routes. But the experiential core is what binds them — each guidebook promises not just a ride, but a way to be in the world. It does not matter how much you ride as long as you ride. Do not over-plan, just go, somewhere, and ride!