Cycling the Danube by Daniel Scott

Early afternoon, late European summer time. I'm cycling softly down an asphalt track. The air is thick with heat, a tiny motion-created breeze cooling me. Below the track to my right, a barge sporting a red, white and blue flag is pushing upstream against a fast-flowing muddy-green river. On either side of me stand scrawny vines abundant with blackish grapes. Ahead of me, a moustachioed middle-aged man is peddling toward me.

I'm preparing a greeting of genuinely warm proportions ( "Bonjour, comment ca va ?" ) when the man- travelling at twice my speed- pre-empts me. " Grus Gott " comes his sing-song salutation. I scarcely have time to offer an uncertain smile before he slips swiftly by.

Returning to reality from my day-dream of a heady adolescent summer sojorn in southern France, I struggle for a moment to recall where exactly I am. Where is this cyclist's heaven?

That's right, I'm in Austria. Two-thirds of the way through a bicycle-borne journey from the German border to Vienna. The river whose banks my bike has been hugging these last five days is the Danube, the flag on that barge is that of nearby Croatia and the location of those tantalising grapes, the prime wine-growing region of Austria: the Wachau.

Cycling the Danube makes one prone to the occasional day-dream. If peddling through some of Austria's most beautiful scenery doesn't set you off, then the powerful sense of the country's chequered history will do. After all, the track follows in the hoofprints of horses, which for hundreds of years pulled barges upstream along these same, now asphalted, riverside towpaths.

Open in the 1980s, the Danube cycle path is as yet relatively undiscovered, other than by the Austrians themselves, the Germans and a handful of other Europeans. What they have been keeping to themselves is one of the most user-friendly cycle routes around. It is excellently signposted and largely traffic-free, making it ideal for family holidays. Along the route, I spotted children as young as two on baby-seats on the back of their parents bikes as well as adults up to the age of eighty on their own. Also, paradoxically for a country renowned for its fine Alpine skiing, the Danube cycle path is almost entirely flat- the only puffing up hills required is to reach the magnificent monasteries and castles which periodically overlook the river.

The route is teutonically well organised. It's possible to start the trip at any point by hiring a bike at any number of train stations or Hotels along the way. And since they also act as drop-off points, if you're feeling lazy, you can always cruise down the remainder of the route by boat.

The likelihood though is that you'll want to go all the way by bike. That possibility is made all the easier on your legs by booking a tour which includes luggage transfer from one port of call to the next as well as overnight accommodation in a variety of excellent hotels along the way which cater specifically for cyclists.

Typically, the journey to Vienna begins in the small border town of Schaerding (by the river Inn) before joining the Danube for the first time at Passau in Germany. From Schaerding, depending on your fitness and inclination, it takes between five and ten days to reach the Austrian capital.

Being reasonably experienced cyclists my travelling companion and I gave ourselves seven days in all to peddle the 300 kilometres or so. Most days, after a hefty buffet breakfast, we were on the road by 9am and we never cycled further than 70 kilometres in a day, averaging around 15ks an hour on the flat. Even including off-the-track excursions we were usually at our destination, happily sipping a huge mug of beer in the square, by late afternoon.

There's so much to see along the way that it would be tragic to hurry. The starting point of Schaerding provides a good introduction to what is to come. Like much of the route itself it is picturesque, richly historical and frighteningly quiet. Sitting in the town's main square, facing the " Silver Row " of narrow, exuberantly coloured Baroque facades ( each colour denoting the type of shop housed therein i.e blue for bakery ) is like being in an elaborate toytown. But legend has it that the different facades were once used by local men for a serious purpose: as a sort of A-Z of the town on the stumble home from the pub.

The early part of the track is perhaps the most spectacular. Here the Danube carves its way through heavily forested hills creating sheer cliffs on either side of the river. Linz, which we reached at the end of our second day, is the capital of Upper Austria and the country's third biggest city. It's worth a visit, despite its ugly industrial surrounds, for its deeply impressive cathedral ( the largest in Austria ), its musical heritage ( it was home to the underrated composer Anton Brueckner ) and for a taste of its famous Linzer Torte, a sweet pie baked to resemble an open gem.

Of the many that line the way, Grein, where we spent our third night, was my favourite Baroque village. It was probably the sight of it perched invitingly on a slight bend in the river at the end of our longest day's cycling which did it. But a stiff amble around its cobbled streets, taking in the fierce castle and the quaint medieval Baroque theatre installed in a former granary in the square, confirmed my good first impressions.

The following day we left the banks of the Danube to delve into Austria's Habsburg history at Artstetten Castle. The former country residence of Franz Ferdinand, this elegant, green-onion domed building has a palpable feel of the Emperor's life about it. One room is dedicated to artefacts from an epic round-the-world voyage in the early 1890s including Koori spears and boomerangs from his visit to Australia. Another details his assassination at Sarajevo in June 1914- which precipitated the First World War- including ghoulishly exhibiting the blood-stained shirt he was wearing at the time.

Further along the route, the enormous Melk Abbey, high above the river, is unmissable. Walking into its gilt-adorned library actually caused me to draw breath in wonder and that still didn't prepare me for the even greater splendour of the abbey's chapel and altar.

Soon we were among the vineyards of the Wachau valley, so suggestive of southern France. Many villages here invite you to climb down from your bike, awash as they are with balconies and flower boxes festooned with geraniums and roses. We stopped in Duernstein, where Richard the Lionheart was once held up for much longer, imprisoned, on his way to the crusades. Charmingly full of old stone walls and awkwardly-constructed medieval houses, Duernstein's still a hard place to leave behind.

Just over 75 kilometres and two days more cycling from Vienna and the Danube grows glassy, fine-flowing and mirror-like. It's now, in its reflection of the summer sky that I can guess what Johan Strauss was referring to in the " Blue Danube ". As we near Vienna, towns are growing in size and their stores becoming more glitzy. Riverside marinas are proliferating and greetings from other cyclists are less regular. Our last night on the road is spent in Tulln, known as the birthplace and the first capital of Austria. Interestingly, it's also where two of Austria's most infamous sons were born- the Nazi politician Kurt Waldheim and the painter Egon Schiele. The latter's life is disdainfully recorded here in the former county jail in which he was imprisoned for "corrupting " minors.

Our final day's cycling into Vienna is a doddle- just two hours into the city in the early morning racing the odd two-wheeled commuter. Our sense of achievement at making it to the capital is matched only by the shock of having to deal with traffic once more. But then, as we soon discover, Vienna also has a labyrinth of cycle paths hundreds of miles long, so it's perfectly possible to explore the city's many sights by bike.

Only when we lock up our bikes outside the awesome St. Stephen's cathedral do we allow ourselves to admit we have truly arrived. By now we're reluctant to relinquish them, so like a part of our bodies have they become. We're equally loath to say goodbye to the Danube itself.

At the end of the journey, I feel as if I've reached a sort of Velocipede's nirvana. Images of the river, similar to that which so reminded me of southern France, keep reappearing in my mind, my bike moving inexorably forward beside it. Cycling the Danube has been like being let in on a big Austrian secret: a journey that is healthy, peaceful, fascinating, fun but above all, ultra-environmentally friendly.