Sure, you zoom through stunning views in record time, you pull over, grab a pic, and move on. It’s efficient, fun, and way better than cramming yourself into sweaty public transport or selling a kidney to afford a 3-minute taxi ride. In one day, you can explore more than most tourists manage in a week, without smelling like you’ve been slow-roasted on the metro.
But just like with the buffet food, this experience is also lacking the first-class taste of a proper restaurant. When you’re riding in a tourist city, there are those other tourists, who have a different idea: to move slowly, block your path, make sure your riding experience is horrible, and you can’t actually do anything more than they will. I’m talking about those armed with selfie sticks, shopping bags, and blind optimism. The ones who are everywhere, all the time, seemingly with no peripheral vision or survival instincts.
So, in the interest of keeping your blood pressure under control and your ride from turning into a slalom through humanity, here’s your survival guide to cycling around tourists.
1. Avoid tourist hotspots
Let’s get one thing straight: complaining about mass tourism while actively being part of it is the highest form of hypocrisy… and I fully endorse it. It’s out of control. Every city centre now feels like it’s been overrun by a mix of Instagram pilgrims, flip-flop gladiators, and people who think using a paper map in 2025 is a power move.
Yes, technically, you’re a tourist too. But let’s not pretend we’re the same species. You came to ride, to explore, to feel the breeze in your hair, preferably through a helmet, not to shuffle in a zombie queue toward a fountain that’s been dry since 2011. We’re here for the ride, not the refrigerator magnets. That’s why, if you’re cycling through places like Rome, Prague or Paris, you need to resist the urge to pedal directly into the belly of the beast. Let your bike do what it does best – get you around the chaos. Use it to glide through side streets, chase sunsets, and find that one café nobody’s tagged on Instagram yet.
When you get near the actual tourist magnets like the Trevi, the Duomo, the whatever-landmarks, ditch the saddle, lock your bike up somewhere semi-reasonable, and walk. Yes, with your feet. You’ll still get your photo, your history, and probably a slice of pizza. But you’ll avoid becoming the cyclist who tried to bunny-hop through 200 people taking selfies with a pigeon. Cycling tourism isn’t about checking boxes on a postcard. It’s about seeing the whole city, not just elbowing through the same five square blocks as everyone else wearing an “I ❤️ [Insert City]” T-shirt.
2. Tourists are unpredictable
There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just do it: tourists behave like single-celled organisms with zero pattern recognition and absolutely no spatial awareness. It’s not even an insult. It’s more like a scientific observation. You can see it in the wild. They stop without warning, change direction with the grace of a startled chicken, and spin in slow circles while trying to decide if they’re on the right street or just accidentally wandered into a 14th-century historic street.
And let’s not even start on the selfie sticks. One minute you’re cruising down a scenic lane, the next you’re jousting with someone trying to line up the cathedral in their sunglasses reflection. Their arms flail. Their hats blow off. Their children zigzag like squirrels on Red Bull. There is no line, no flow, no logic. Just pure, unfiltered entropy wearing sandals with socks.
You can’t anticipate them. You can’t predict their next move. Honestly, they can’t either. The moment you try to guess whether they’ll step left or right, they’ll invent a third, more chaotic option – like sitting down in the middle of the bike lane to check on TripAdvisor, whether the bike lane is comfortable enough for sitting. The best you can do is keep your distance and prepare to brake like your life depends on it. Because in these moments? It kind of does.
3. Ride like a vampire
If there’s one thing tourists value more than postcards and queueing, it’s sleeping in. And this is where you, my caffeinated, Lycra-clad friend, gain the upper hand. The hours before 8 a.m. and after 1 a.m. are the golden hours of cycling in tourist-heavy cities. The streets are empty, the air is calm, the light is perfect, and the only people awake are bakers, cats, and weirdly intense joggers who make too much eye contact. In short, it’s heaven.
You’ll see cities the way no influencer ever will – quiet, magical, like they’ve taken a breath for the first time in centuries. Want to ride across Charles Bridge without dodging 1,400 phones on sticks? Do it before breakfast. Want to loop around Florence’s Piazza della Signoria without knocking over a mime? Wait until sunset.
There is one exception: Trevi Fountain. There is always someone there. At 4 a.m., at 2 p.m., in a thunderstorm, during a lunar eclipse. For some obscure reason, this fountain has a constant queue of tourists waiting to take a picture that everyone else has. I’m not sure if they don’t let you leave Rome without one (yes, I took one myself at 3 a.m.), but definitely skip going through that place with your bike.
4. Don’t count on cycling paths or your bell
You know those lovely painted bike lanes cities put in to make you think they care about cyclists? The ones on the maps, marked in green, sometimes even with cute little bike symbols? Yeah, forget them.
In a tourist-heavy city, a cycling path is nothing more than a slightly wider sidewalk with a higher chance of being turned into a photo backdrop. And yes, technically, it’s your lane. But try explaining that to someone who’s dragging a wheeled suitcase the size of a fridge while looking up at a building they can’t name. They won’t hear you. They won’t see you. They won’t care. As for your bell, well, that’s adorable. Ring it all you want. Give it a little polite ding. Then a louder one. Then just hold it down like a war horn. Nothing will happen. Because tourists operate on a different frequency. One that filters out the sound of reason, common sense, and tiny bells trying to warn them they’re standing in the middle of traffic.
Even worse, if the place you’re riding through is remotely scenic, trendy or, god forbid, mentioned in a top ten list on TikTok, you can be absolutely certain that your lovely cycling route is now ground zero for flip-flop-wearing, gelato-licking, camera-wielding chaos. Bonus points if they decide to hold a group meeting right at the entrance to the trail.
So no, you can’t rely on infrastructure. You can’t rely on warnings. And you certainly can’t rely on people getting out of your way just because you’re moving at 25 km/h with a brake system older than some of their children. What you can rely on is your own ability to stay calm, dodge creatively, and mutter things under your breath that you’ll later deny saying.
5. Don’t help the tourists
I know, I know. It’s rude. But hear me out. If you stop to help everyone who looks vaguely confused, your lovely cycling trip will transform into an unpaid internship at the local tourist information centre. It starts small. Someone asks for directions. You point. Then someone else hands you their phone. You show them the way. Suddenly, you’re explaining public transport zones to a couple from Denmark, taking a family photo for some lost Canadians, and holding someone’s purse while they fix their sunhat. Congratulations! You’re now a tour guide.
The truth is, if you’re riding through tourist-packed cities and you look remotely local (not holding a city map upside down is a dead giveaway), you become a beacon of hope. They will flock to you. They will stop you mid-climb to ask where the toilets are. They will shout “Excuse me!” just as you’re about to cross a six-lane roundabout with the intensity of a Tour de France finish.
You can be polite. You can smile. But don’t get sucked in. Say you’re in a hurry. Pretend you don’t speak the language – even if it’s your native one. Just nod vaguely and roll away like the wind. It’s not mean; it’s survival.
Keep calm! You won’t win this battle
So yeah, ride early, dodge the hotspots, and accept that nobody on vacation knows how to walk like a normal human being. Do all of that. Try every clever route. Swerve, slow down, ring your bell like you’re trying to warn the dead. Hope, pray, yell internally.
And still some guy in cargo shorts will step in front of you to take a photo of a drain cover he thinks is “charming”. A group of six will stop in a perfect formation across the entire street to argue about lunch. Someone will ask you for directions mid-sprint. You’ll brake. You’ll mutter. You’ll survive. But you won’t win.
Because this isn’t a battle of fitness or finesse or who has the lighter bike. This is a war of numbers. And they’ve got millions. You’ve got a bike and a slowly cracking sense of patience.
So just… keep calm. Take a deep breath. Sip your coffee. Then get back in the saddle and accept the truth: You won’t win this war. But you might just enjoy losing it in style.
