Pedal-powered Parenting

Adventure (/ədˈvɛn(t)ʃə/)

noun: an unusual and exciting or daring experience.

noun: often used to mean more extreme, longer, harder, higher, more remote. Write-ups are often accompanied by photos of high mountains, big rivers, remote locations, extremes of temperature and physical endurance.

noun: the word used to persuade our kids that errands might be exciting.

[Jo] I want to run through the snowy Cumbrian mountains with the dog at my heels and the world at my feet. Etta (two years old) wants to admire every slug and snail 300m into a walk. Even our dog is bored.

[Toby] I want to blast along the Essex lanes for hours, with gels in my jersey and the buzz of freehubs and loud chatter in my ears. Hero (three and a half years old) wants to cycle to the playpark with hummus and breadsticks.

We’d love to get up at dawn, hike a Munroe (a Scottish mountain of at least 3000ft) or two, camp out in the hills and finish the weekend in a pub with chips and a pint. The kids get up at dawn, labour over three bowls of porridge and don’t want to get out of their PJs.

Our versions of adventure are so different, and parenting is tough at the best of times. Can we manage a grown-up sized adventure that doesn't scare little people off the outdoors for life?

For reasons we either regret or forget, we cycled the first third of the North Coast 500 in August 2024. This was bookended with a festival in Inverness and a birthday gathering just short of Ullapool. The draw of self-powered adventure pulled us into this trip. We missed the joy of travelling by bike, the total immersion in the landscape and the independence of carrying our own kit. We sought out every waterfall, stony beach and midgie-infested forest walk, then refueled with coffee and cake or a Scottish heart-attack-in-a-roll. We each pulled a trailer – a Thule with two kids inside and a Veolo cargo with the tent and other kit – and travelled about 30km a day. A far cry from our fast and light bike trips of the past.

[Jo] The rain dripped and dribbled its way down my back. It leaked into the gap between my gloves and cuffs. It sprayed up from my four wheels, somehow getting past the mudguards to soak me with road water. I gave a sharp nod and laughed as water droplets fall, surprised off my helmet. When there is no choice, being outside in the wet is wonderful. Everything is running with water, the road pours with it, our tyres sssshhhhhhing over the surface, it runs over rocks, drops from foliage, every stream trying to rush into riverhood. The landscape is a complex tapestry of verdant textures and craggy shades with mountains marching out of sight, head and shoulders in the clouds, leading us on.

It was the fourth day of our trip, and amazingly, the first rain we’ve had. Three days of sunshine from Inverness to Loch Carron. Three evenings of wild camping, loch side suppers, outdoor baths and the steady thrum of wheels on dry tarmac. The weather had to break at some point, and it did with gusto. It rained from the moment we left Loch Carron, and continued as we cycled past the bottom of the Bealach-na-Ba (no, we didn’t even consider it!), up and over into Shieldaig, where we considered stopping but pressed on as the kids were asleep. Big Mistake. By the time we got to Torridon community campsite (read: midge infested marsh) we were soaked to the skin, utterly exhausted and the mood in the trailer had turned sour.

The kids’ trailer had three settings: good, bad and ugly. The good moments were a delight to behold, when the passengers were patient and creative, reading, singing and pointing out exciting things. Either being asleep also counted as a good moment. Bad moments were when boredom or tiredness would cause bickering and snatching, grumping and grouching. This could usually be fixed with snacks or a song. The ugly moments (when in a car you would reach back and intervene) were when the kids would get physical. There would be shouting, shoving, crying and a need to stop. Of course this inevitably happened when going uphill slowly and there was no safe space to pull over. Stopping in a field gate or driveway to placate the tiny fighters would then agitate the midges.

[Toby] The rain is what sculpts the land on the West Coast of Scotland. The volume of flowing water shapes the land and gives life to the flora and fauna. As we crawled up (yet another) surprise steep section, three soggy sheep bundled off the verge and trotted ahead of us, ungainly with their filthy coats bouncing, before disappearing back into the undergrowth. A reminder that we are all out here in the wilds, wet and en route to shelter. In Torridon at the bottom of the impressively steep Liathach, we did the usual dance of pitching the tent, trying to entertain the kids and not get eaten alive by midges. I realised that much of our kit was soggy, including both adult sleeping bags. As we tried to formulate a plan a fellow camper stepped in and lent us a spare sleeping bag and gave us some bin bags. A youth hostel worker let us take shelter and lent us a charging cable (solar is no use in this weather!). It is always at the lowest moments that the kindness of others is most apparent.

‘What did you enjoy today?’ I ask Hero. ‘Nothing. I didn’t enjoy anything today’.

I remembered him playing with the other kids in the campsite, and playing chase around the Kishorn restaurant garden, but it was disheartening that those moments didn’t outweigh the boring bits. We would have to change how we managed the setting and striking of camp, to ensure the kids were getting in some better mini-adventures when not in the trailer. 

Two days later a forecast of torrential rain and gale force winds pushed us to take a rest day at Gairloch. Big Sands campsite is a vast area carved out behind a huge sand dune, reclaimed and shaped into nooks and crannies to hide your tent away. We pitched up as close as we could to the dune’s wall, hoping for protection from the storm. The gale blew all through the night, the wind deafening on our canvas walls. 

[Jo] “To plan in hope of good weather in Scotland is to ensure the opposite,” goes the saying.

Heavy rain outside meant we had breakfast in the tent, long hot showers followed by coffee and cake in the café. Then there was a break in the weather. The wind still whipped around us, the skies were heavy, but it wasn’t raining, and the beach was almost empty. Within an hour, there was a ribbon of blue in the sky and by early afternoon it was a wide band and it was beautifully warm. Many of my childhood summers were spent on the beaches of North Uist, cowrie hunting, stacking stones and making mazes. There were no cowries to be found on Big Sands, but I couldn’t resist that bare sand canvas.Soon there was the steady, tick tch tch of stones being collected into arms followed by dufft dufft duft, dufft as we dropped them onto the sand. We placed them along lines we’d drawn, with only a little bickering about whose were whose. A while later, as we sat back to admire the completed maze and tower, Etta fell asleep in my arms. A child diverted from her parent and ran through the maze, reached the tower in the middle and then trotted on. Her ‘I love your maze’ thrown over her shoulder was as warming as the dense weight of a sleeping child in my arms.

There were still heavy clouds and rain as we looked south and north, but we had a perfect afternoon of swimming, paddling and digging in the sand. I call this a West Coast Special. It may have dramatically changeable weather, but to want anything different is to want to be elsewhere. When on the West Coast: ignore the forecast, get outside, hope the weather delivers something special.

The tide came in and washed over the stones and the pristine waters of the Atlantic cleared the beach of any evidence of humans. Except the maze of stones, nestled more comfortably in the sand, waiting to be found tomorrow. 

I take another deep breath and say to Hero ‘I know, the pump-track is such fun, and it is time to leave. Yes, I hear you, the trailer is a bit small for you. We are only going a short way, then we’ll stop for coffee and cake, but we do have to go now.’ Stop. Breathe. Wait for him to move. Then ‘Well done, I know, it is sad leaving somewhere that we’ve had such fun. Yes, the next campsite will be by a beach, and we can find somewhere for you to cycle, of course.’

[Toby] There is a simplicity in bike packing which belies the difficulties: the logistics of camping and looking after young kids, while making sure everyone is happy, safe and dry. Keeping clothes dry becomes paramount when we don’t have the means of drying them. There were several afternoons and evenings spent entertaining the kids inside a 2x5m canvas box, that was also our kitchen, our bedroom and kit room. Trying not to spill milk at breakfast or stick a pencil through the groundsheet in the afternoon and keep a calm and happy atmosphere for the kids to play in requires deep breaths. Two nights in Gairloch were the balm we needed. And now it’s time to go. I’m not sure if the deep breaths and pep talk are to help Hero, or us.

[Jo] I inch slowly up the hill from Gruinard Bay, heart pounding, legs pushing, the sound of blood pumping in my ears. My skin prickles with sweat under too many layers. I know the view behind is getting bigger and better with every push, but I can’t look back. This long slow climb is the kind that feels like it might go on forever, every bend reveals more uphill. The trailers exaggerate the incline, every pedal push feels like it might be my last before my legs give up. We are cheered on by the kids, who are buoyed up by a moment of good weather and Haribo. They call out ‘push push, you can do it, mama’. It lifts my heart and fills me with joy and strength, for a few seconds. Then, the encouragement turns to protest, the mood in the trailer turns bad and I have to sing them up the hill. Let’s be thankful no one else could hear and that the kids are not X Factor judges. As endurance athletes we know that there is always more you can give, but usually it is your own choice - when to slow, when push, when to sprint finish. With kids, they dictate that.

From our penultimate camp we can see our final destination in a small pool of sunshine across the water, and when the rain sweeps down of An Teallach again, it graces Badrallach with the end of its rainbow. Although we can see the bothy, it feels like a million pedals away. The mountain looming behind it is high, and the road goes most of the way up before it comes down to the lochside. Sheer grit will have to do the job, we left the last coffee stop behind two days ago. 

[Toby] The next morning we turn off the main road into a beautiful wood, still and quiet. The old stone bridge over the river, a relic of a bygone era. The logging lorry pulling out of the felled forest beside it in stark contrast. We refuel with bananas and oatcakes and move on at the first swat of midges. A right turn after a beautiful estate house and the cruising is over. Up we go. A very slow grind to get over 80kg of kids and kit up a 13% incline, but we do it. Once above the treeline it is magical. The landscape is big, with heather covered moorland and dark mountains surrounding the sea loch below us. A few cows graze right by the road. We’re thrilled that for the first time, the road is safe enough for Hero to cycle alongside us. He’s in heaven and we are too. Also, there is a decent breeze to keep the midges at bay. 

[Jo] There are many moments, as a parent, where I wonder if we’re doing it right. Is it fair to ask the kids to be in the trailer for two hours a day so we can have our grown-up adventure? Is it safe? What if they never want to be on a bike again? Then, I think about the joy we adults have found in throwing stones into lochs, watching the slow progress of a beetle walking or how many games we can make with two pencils and a notebook.

And then I think about their experience: two weeks car-free, many mini adventures, uninterrupted parent time, being part of the family peloton, napping on a beach, falling asleep to steady pedalling and waking up with a punnet of raspberries by their feet. And I think that maybe adventure is not about how far we’ve travelled, or hardships we’ve faced but it is the mindset we have and the love of being outdoors we have shown and shared with them.

[Toby] Over time we learn how to go further, for longer, climb higher, pack lighter, be faster and be safer but more importantly, we learn how to adventure. That anything can be an adventure. Even a trip to the playpark with a pot of hummus. If we can find adventure in and love what they love, maybe, they will love what we love: adventuring. 

This trip was made easier by the support from these fantastic companies. Many thanks!

• Universal Colours for all our on-bike kit, keeping us comfortable and dry. That rain jacket! @universal.colours

• Windover bikes for Jo’s a beautiful steel frame gravel bike. @windover_bikes

• Veolo for the cargo trailer and accompanying drybag with characteristically German engineering. @veolo.de

• Project Flock for the two biomotion rear lights, making us safer on some busy roads. @project_flock

• OTE for keeping us hydrated. @otesportsgb

Follow these adventures on Toby’s instagram and Strava and on Jo’s instagram and Strava.