The European bike trail that hits three countries in a day

BBC News

16-07-2025

Forty years after a tiny Luxembourgish village paved the way for border-free European travel, a series of scenic bike paths whisk travellers through the area's vineyard-studded landscape.
I pedal faster and faster until the bike glides over the wet tarmac. Vineyards rise up on my left, curving inward like the belly of a giant wave. On my right, the river trembles in the downpour. A sudden hiss from a brown-bodied goose leads me to nervously clench my handlebars, but bird aside, I'm all alone on the cycle path, and so I do something I haven't done since I was a child: I stand on my pedals, open my mouth and look up to catch the raindrops on my tongue.
I didn't come to Luxembourg to cycle. I came to look after two cats in Grevenmacher, a small town on the banks of the Moselle River. But with a few days to spare before my cat-sitting duties begin, I'm following my local hosts' advice and exploring the region by bike.
The Moselle River twists and turns for 545km from its source in eastern France's Vosges Mountains, flowing north to form a watery border between Luxembourg and Germany before joining the Rhine in Koblenz. On either side, beginner-friendly bike paths let travellers dip in and out of three countries without ever showing a passport – a freedom made possible by the Schengen Agreement, which abolished internal border checks and allowed for passport-free movement across participating European countries.
"I don't go to France as much, but I go to Germany to shop for cosmetics… and cheap strawberries," smiles my Schengen guide, Tessy Klopp Sowa, pointing out a yellow buoy in the Moselle River – a rather nondescript marker showing where Luxembourg, Germany and France meet.
This summer, the small Luxembourgish village of Schengen marks 40 years since European representatives signed the treaty in 1985 that paved the way for borders to open across the continent a decade later. Today, the agreement affects some 450 million people, including citizens of the 29 nations within the Schengen Area, as well as non-EU nationals who live there. But as border controls begin to quietly creep back into Europe, it's interesting to think about how the continent's borderless travel all started in this quiet, picturesque, 680-person village – and it's here that I begin my cycle.
"On the Luxembourg side, you'll pass more small villages [on the bike paths], but on the German side, it's quieter – at least for the first 10km. Of course, if you change your mind, you can just cross over one of the bridges," Klopp Sowa suggests, as I wonder which direction to start pedalling.
The Moselle region's cycle network is a choose-your-own-adventure dream. National routes, such as Luxembourg's PC 3 and Germany's Mosel-Radweg, link up with regional, themed and mountain biking trails, allowing you to choose sections, skip hills and stitch together your own customised route. In Luxembourg, cyclists can rent and return bikes (including e-bikes) at various points along the river. Services such as luggage transport, charging stations and free roadside assistance (April-October) make the whole experience surprisingly straightforward.
From Schengen, I cross the bridge into Germany and turn right towards France, taking a brief 5km detour along La Voie Bleue, a 700km route connecting Luxembourg with Lyon. As someone of average athleticism who hasn't cycled much since I was a child, I'm grateful the riverside routes are mostly flat, well-marked and car-free. Wobbly on my new wheels and busy trying to remember how to change gears, I hadn't realised I'd crossed another border until a text lit up my phone: "Welcome to France."
The town of Sierck-les-Bains is unmistakably French. Warm-hued buildings huddle together beneath the fortress of Château des Ducs de Lorraine, their closed, white, weathered shutters hiding any signs of life. I can't stay long – I plan to cycle back to Schengen and continue north, crisscrossing between Luxembourg and Germany to tick off three countries by sunset. But I do have one essential stop on my French itinerary: pastries.
Three gloriously overfilled éclairs later, I cross back into Schengen and stick to the Luxembourgish side of the river, cycling giddily through bursts of rain towards the so-called "Pearl of the Moselle", Remich, about 13km away. This section of the PC 3 traces the country's marathon-long wine region, home to grape varieties such as Riesling, Auxerrois and the indigenous Elbling. Much of Luxembourg's wine isn't widely exported, making a glass here all the more rewarding.
"We cross the borders every day as if they're not there," shrugs Corinne Kox, kneeling on the grass beside me at her family-run winery, Domaine Laurent & Rita Kox, in Remich. A few hours of sunshine have drawn wine lovers to the estate's garden, where I lounge barefoot under the dappled shade of an old tree. "We are neighbours," she adds, as she lines up the fresh, complex wines I've just blind tasted, now unmasked on the iron table.
That sense of connection is something the Kox family has bottled – literally. Cuvée M ("M" for Moselle) is the first French-German-Luxembourgish sparkling wine, made with grapes grown in all three countries and launched in 2016. "It was my father's idea," she says. "We're very open and always ready to innovate."
In the decades since the Schengen Agreement went into effect, other signs of that cross-border collaborative spirit are everywhere in the Moselle. Each summer, wine festivals on opposite sides of the river – one in Luxembourg, one in Germany – run simultaneously, with a free boat shuttling visitors between the two. In autumn, a Hiking Without Borders 33km tri-country trek takes place, with regional specialties served up along the way. And Via Mosel', the first cross-border wine and architecture tour, links villages and estates across all three countries, encouraging travellers to experience the valley as a single, shared region all year round.
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"I always tell tourists to do the cycling on the German side," says Kox. "I think Luxembourg's landscape is more beautiful, and you see it much better from Germany."
I'd have to agree.
Crossing the bridge from Remich into Nennig, I continue north through Germany, following the trail as it carves through tunnels of poplar, sycamore and Norway maple trees. From the opposite bank, Luxembourg's grapevines cling to every contour, dotting the hillside in neat, obsessive rows. I pedal alongside railway tracks, through campsites filled with barbecuing families and past elderly couples on foot and young joggers. There are curly-haired pups in bike baskets and a rollerskating mother and daughter duo. Groups of cyclists occasionally flash past in a blur of neon Lycra, shouting over one another like a squabble of seaside gulls.
After a day of country-hopping and barely a sign to mark the change, I've lost track of where I am as I walk triumphantly into my guesthouse in Nittel an der Mosel, Germany. "I cheerily greet the receptionist in Luxembourgish: " Moien!". " Guten Tag, he replies in German. "In Germany, they can understand Luxembourgish because they are so used to it," says Julie Leruth, tourism coordinator for Visit Moselle.
On the other side of the river in Luxembourg, children are raised in a trilingual education system, juggling Luxembourgish, German and French from an early age. Since the Schengen Agreement made it easier to live in one country and work in another, more than 200,000 cross-border workers – or frontaliers, as they're known in French – work in Luxembourg, making multilingualism essential. "I hope we never lose this intercultural thing," Leruth tells me. "And that we always remember that we can learn from one another."
My accommodation, like many along the Moselle, is cyclist-friendly, with a lockable bike garage, e-bike charging stations and packed lunches available to fuel future journeys. Before gorging on the guesthouse's seasonal asparagus menu, I muster enough energy to cycle a short-but-steep trail into their vineyards. At the top, a selection of chilled whites awaits in their 24/7 wine vending machine.
Emma Truscott
I flop onto a wooden bench with a thump of relief. Across the river, silhouettes of cyclists trace the outline of Luxembourg, their shapes flickering in and out of view like frames from an old film. The bordering country is so close, I can hear its church bells. I think back to where I started that morning, in Schengen, standing at the border triangle with three countries at my feet. Tomorrow, I'll keep riding towards Trier, Germany's oldest city. Perhaps I'll switch from wine to beer – Bofferding on the left bank, Bitburger on the right. Seems only fair to try both.
Borders are often markers of difference – places of restriction, control and tension. While some internal borders in Europe have returned temporarily, it's hard to imagine that happening here. In the Moselle, open borders have opened minds, creating a region so closely tied it feels indivisible. As Klopp Sowa had told me earlier: "Here in the Moselle, we are one."
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