Europe - a few cycling impressions

My wife and I have been in Europe for the past three months. In that time, we've cycled a number of iconic bike routes including the Canal du Midi; Canal du Garonne and the Danube Cycleway between Ulm in Germany and Linz in Austria. I've also cycled up a number of Pyrenean mountains. What follows below is an admittedly ad-hoc and impressionistic 'review' of our experiences, in no particular order. I apologise in advance for the petty generalisations and inane conclusions... they were all fully intended!
1) Firstly, the obvious. Australia, my home country, is so far behind Europe in terms of cycling infrastructure and bicycle 'awareness' that it sometimes feels like another country. Oh, wait. Change that to feels like another universe. A universe where the car is King, where a lack of awareness of cyclists is often worn as a badge of honour by motorists and where cyclists are viewed as either law-breakers or freeloaders who don't deserve an inch of road space.
I'll stop there. I've written about it previously, here. Needless to say, I've greatly enjoyed my time in Europe. I'm writing this in a cafe in Paris. There's a bike path a few metres away. I can count five bikes within my (limited) vision at present. 
2) The Germans, bless them, have a penchant for bike signs and bike paths. Despite not carrying maps, we found it almost impossible to get lost while cycling on the Danube Cycleway.

In Germany, there were ferries, primarily for cyclists and walkers

There were signs every kilometre informing us of local villages, distances to the next destination along the pathway and tourist sights. When we did get lost due to deliberately wandering off the pathway, there seemed to be always a sign to lead us back to a village where there'd be another sign and so on... 
3) German drivers in cities appear to be keenly aware of cyclists. On many occasions, at intersections or roundabouts, we were regularly amazed to be given right-of-way, even when the motorist could have continued through the intersection before we got there. It was the same for cars pulling out of driveways and private roads. They always expected that there might be a cyclist nearby. 
I can't tell you how much it increased the simple pleasure of cycling. In Australia, I'm constantly on-guard, expecting the motorist to not know I'm around. In Germany, I relaxed. 
4) A negative, I'm afraid. The Canal du Midi is often regarded as one of the great cycling routes in Europe. It is not. To be sure, the scenery is beautiful, the villages lovely, the canal itself a two-hundred and fifty kilometre work of art, but... the cycle path for many many kilometres is a joke. 

A 'good' section of the Canal du Midi

It's narrow, wrinkled with huge tree roots, in turn muddy or rocky, overgrown with long grass and in places simply does not exist. For half of the route, I was watching the path immediately ahead to dodge rocks and tree roots rather than taking in the sublime beauty of the canal shaded by the magical plane trees. It baffles me that the authorities haven't bothered to invest money into the pathway. I'm sure it would pay for itself with increased patronage many times over. By comparison, the Canal du Garonne, which links with Canal du Midi in Toulouse, is well-surfaced and an easy pleasure. 
5) Finally, the mountains. I could happily spend the rest of my cycling days climbing the French Alps or the Pyrenees. These narrow mountain roads are where I go to meditate. I know, what a wanker. But there's something calming and other-worldy about slowly riding uphill for hours, with nothing to do but gaze at the snow-capped peaks and follow the (inevitably) winding road. Apart from my own breathing, the only sounds I hear are birdsong and cowbells. Traffic is usually minimal. I don't climb these cols to test myself, nothing as macho as that. I'm not interested in bettering my previous time or maintaining a certain heart rate. 

I'm there for the views and that indescribable satisfaction I get when I look down from the summit, at all those hairpin bends below me, and know that me and my bike climbed that far and that high. Usually, I linger as long as possible at the summit. Sure, the downhill is fun, but sometimes it's too fast for me to enjoy the view. I want to be connected to the mountain, I can do that at 10 kph. Not so much at 40 kph with my nervous fingers gripping the brakes. The two mountains I'd climb every day of my life if I could?
Col d'Aspin in the Pyrenees
and 
Col de la Croix de Fer in the Alps.
6) In 2012, I cycled from the Atlantic Coast of France in Brittany to Ulm in Germany. This year, as previously mentioned, my wife and I continued from Ulm to Linz. In 2014, we'll hopefully cycle from Linz to Belgrade, along the Danube.
Ask me how many cycle tours I've done in my own beautiful country? Sorry, I prefer to spend my hard-earned where I'm appreciated. There's a lesson somewhere in that for town-planners and local governments.