A day in the cycle touring life

Today we hit the 300km mark in our cycling. We are most proud of ourselves, though it does seem that we are accruing kilometres at a much slower rate than others who have done similar trips. I try to remind myself that it's about the exploration, not the distance, but still, I'd love to be able to report an impressively big figure to you. For some reason, we are just a group of slow movers. Dawdlers, a friend once called us. I took offence but am beginning to wonder.

Typically we awake at 8am as it gets light and we chat and snuggle in the cosines of the tent for a while. Here, Lox will say something cute like "I love Drew. Because he is my family. I think he feels my love 'cause it comes from my body and goes in a straight line to him. Well, I hope he does. 'Cause it is a long way." Adelaide will ramp up any gentle horseplay into WWF wrestling and will invariably get yelled at. 

First lost teeth


Mountain Dad scrounged this pallet furniture from behind the ablutions block and fell in love



From wake up to departure on our noble steeds, it's never less than two hours. Honestly, I don't know where we fritter the time to. It's not as if we're doing anything other than packing and eating and preparing to leave. Mountain Dad wishes we could explore more along the way but most days, by the time we get going, we need to cycle pretty directly to our next stop if we're to be done by nightfall. We stop along the way for lunch. For taking jackets off. For putting jackets on. For getting a spider web off someone's sunnies. For taking jackets off. For a cuddle after a crash. For a candy to keep us going. For a photo. For putting jackets on...

The days are getting shorter here but the rain has let up so we're loving the sunny cycling. I even shaved my legs (Lox stroked them the other day and said in awe "SO hairy!") in anticipation of some short-wearing action, but it has not quite appeared. There have been less crashes by the Mountain Kids, and they chat away happily as we cycle along the Canal du Garonne, moving from Agen to Toulouse. The canal offers some exciting moments, like when it flows over a bridge that is built over a river, or like when it leads us to meet with Yukon friends in a small town, but on the whole, it's pretty unchanging. We can cycle and not think about the route at all; a state of affairs that suits me well but has Mountain Dad a bit restless.

Tonight is our last night on this canal as we meet with old friends of my folks for some rest time in a real house. The kids are looking forward to You-Tubing all the songs we've been singing as we've cycled. I'm looking forward to washing some clothes and a shower that doesn't time out and is not located in a cavernous hall of frigidity. 

When cycling we usually end the day in a campground, though many on the route are now closed for the season. Those that are still open are quiet and we're always the only brave souls in a tent. We shower in cavernous ablutions blocks that are chilly but clean. Lox has been known to call out from his shower stall across the hall to me in mine, "Mama! Don't forget to do your boob exercises!" Adelaide has been known to drop something in the dirt on the way back to the tent and will invariably get yelled at. She still claims that we're better than previously reported parents, despite it all. 

Shea's nail is half falling off and he is perplexed as to how to deal with it. It looks gross but doesn't hurt him anymore. 

We keep on rollin'.

 Look! We did meet up with them, Amelia and Isaac!

 Our first flat tire. On the chariot.

She’s been asked twice already to help clear up lunch. We all packed up around her and literally about to bike away. Le sigh...

Mountain Dad fits all this on four bikes and one chariot.