Three key things you need to do to survive on a family cycle tour

It’s gone a bit quiet on here lately - though not on Twitter (do you follow us on Twitter yet?) since Rhoda’s surprise rise to fame, which has abated now but continues to keep us busy with spinoff projects and requests to use the film! We’ve got all sorts of things lined up over the next couple of months but it’s robbed us of time to write so much about them. Indeed, the rest of the footage from our Borders training camp has yet to be edited, and has only just been viewed for the first time!

Anyway, in a brief lull at forest school today, I was talking with a couple of the other parents about the read-across between what we do as a cycle-touring family, and other family activities which may not necessarily include bikes! It got me thinking about the three things you need for a succesful bike tour - two of which apply in many respects to any family adventure in the outdoors. 

Round-the-World record holder Mark Beaumont taught us in his films that the three key ingredients are...

1. You need to eat and drink
2. You need to sleep
3. You need to do the miles

Eat, sleep, cycle, repeat. So much more in that than a T-shirt slogan, especially with children. Let's have a look at those three elements, what they mean for us, and how the knowledge and kit we've accrued can be applied to things other than cycle touring! We're going to explore each of the three in a separate post in the coming days, in more detail.

Eat

I've lost count of the number of times I've been for a petrol station lunch whilst on my bike (food of champions, often consumed in the cyclist's dining room, the humble bus shelter!) and upon dumping a pile of overpriced packets often amounting to a 'what not to eat' of cycling nutrition on the counter, I've been asked "any fuel?" - "yes," I say, pointing to the crisps, jelly babies, and Thomas Ivor's usual scotch egg - "this is it!".

Eating is a major part of riding your bike for long distances, day after day. It's something that we have to get right for the adults, and the children, sometimes with different strategies - or, more often than not, we sort the children out and supplement that as the grownups find necessary. You wouldn't set out for an expedition in the car without fuelling it first (ok, we've all tried...) but the human body, particularly in child form, needs careful and adequate fuelling in order to perform.

In order to do that we need to choose and source the fuel, but we also need to store it, carry it, prepare and perhaps cook it, we need something to eat it off, and to dispose of the remains afterwards.

So, two things to sort out - what you're eating, and what you're eating it with/off/cooked by. Is this so much different for us on a non-cycling day out? Not really - except sometimes for portion control! We'll have a look at what we fuel with on the road, and in a separate post, how we carry it, cook it, eat it and dispose of it.

Sleep

A day trip isn't a bike tour any more than a trip that doesn't involve visiting an island isn't a holiday. That latter bit may just apply to our family, in fairness. You get my point, though? A tour is only a tour if you actually go somewhere, and then on to somewhere else another day - unless you're Peter Kay.

Sleeping whilst travelling light as a family has some issues specific to cycle touring, when it comes to packing, but whether in a bivvy bag, a tent, a bothy or a hotel, staying out overnight as a family poses challenges most commonly peculiar to the children, rather than the bikes. You might have a baby who’s still up in the night. Toddlers who refuse to accept it’s night time at all. Perhaps your children are a little older and it’s time for them to sleep in their own room - or move out and leave you to it - after all, Mummy and Daddy are on holiday, too!

Getting the sleep you need, for the whole tribe, is critical to the success of your adventure. It can be a major source of expense and stress in inverse proportion, or at worst, both together! Some people thrive on getting up in the morning and having no idea where they’ll sleep that night; others cannot function without everything being booked weeks in advance. We’ll have a look at different planning and sleeping options - particularly our criteria for family tents you don’t need a car to carry. Sleeping bags and mats. How, where, when and with whom to sleep, with or without a tent. When to bail out and use a Premier Inn, and a bit about the kindness of strangers.

Do the miles

If you’ve eaten and slept well, it’s time to get on with the adventure you wanted to have in the first place! That food, and sleeping kit, is going to want putting somewhere while you do it. We’ve adapted our packing for cycling, hillwalking, canoeing, and even the occasional trip, heaven forfend, with the car! The common theme is finding and using kit you can trust, packing it efficiently and adapting the outfit as your family (and the adventure) changes.

There we go, then. A little series that will be of particular relevance as we get nearer to our big summer challenge for this year - and inspiration for you, our readers, too, we trust! There’s your planning mantra to get started. Apply it to all your ideas to test them…How will we nail down each part?

Eat. Sleep. Ride...  Repeat.

Bothying at Cadderlie - When cycle touring becomes night hiking!

I have never before stayed the night somewhere without having any idea where I was. Our trip to Cadderlie was therefore a first in more ways than one!

We did our research before we set off: we had the map, the GPS co-ordinates and a reliable account that the run in to the bothy was a 3.5 mile path that we would be fine to cycle along to get in, once past the loose stuff round the back of the quarry.

Unloading the car as darkness closed in, I was reminded of why we had stayed the previous night in a Premier Inn (me: dear husband, I do not want to arrive after a six hour drive in the pitch dark to a derelict hut dragging tired children and all our sleeping and cooking gear with me, especially when eldest daughter is still recovering from the illness that saw her have a ride in an ambulance to A&E just a few days previously!)

It was raining, but the book suggested a walk in of only an hour or so. Cycling three and a half miles, we thought, even with a hilly route, we could do in half an hour, but despite best efforts to arrive before dark, we were to be thwarted, and we successfully missed all of the scenery that we had been planning to enjoy as we walked in.

Shortcut to two hours later. We are standing on the path, in the rain, wondering just how much further the bothy is. Ruth is taking our picture, for which I at least manage to smile gamely:

There has been very little "cycling" in - this was a slog - dragging loaded, heavy, recalcitrant bikes along loose, wet, steep gravel paths (and on some stints, hanging on for dear life to make sure that the bikes didn't hurtle down the loose, wet, steep paths without us!). We have therefore made much slower progress than the expected timings for walking in, instead of cruising along on our bikes.

After three miles of trekking along the path, we began looking around expectantly. Are we nearly there? Tom decides it's time to consult the GPS to see where we are relative to the co-ordinates we need for the bothy.

What a blow - the co-ordinates confirm our fears. We still have a mile to go and Rhoda is on the verge of nodding off in her seat and falling off. The jelly baby rations make their first appearance of the trip to keep morale up! What could be better encouragement to a three year old to stay awake than the promise of sugar?

Nearly three quarters of a mile further on, we come across a large gate, closed across the path. The head torches and our bike lights reflect back at us from eyes belonging to unseen creatures. Just 400 yards short of the bothy, we encounter an entire herd of rather large 'heeland coos'. The sign on the gate informs us that this is a working farm and asks walkers using the path to keep the gate closed.

Flashing our head torches in one another's eyes now, Tom and I have a brief exchange of glances. Too late to go back (no way my aching back and shoulders would cope with the return journey without a rest). Do we pitch the tent right here on the path and just crawl into it and admit defeat? Farmers don't leave bulls in fields with public paths across them without warnings, do they? Those coos have mighty big horns. Could we even pitch the tent here? The ground is very compacted - we'd never peg it out. We could probably see the blasted bothy from here if it weren't well after bedtime.

We elect to do what any responsible parent would do. "Ruth, can you go and open the gate please?" Ha! That will sort it. A herd of heifers is no match for a toddler who's not had her tea yet.

Ever the gentleman, Tom ventures first into the field, Rhoda back on the bike for the last push. Ruth slams the gate shut, jumps on her bike and I set off gamely behind Tom. "Are there any lions, Mummy?", ponders Ruth aloud. I stifle the urge to giggle. The indistinct shapes around us start moving. And mooing. I reassure Ruth that there are no wild lions in Scotland. No, darling, no tigers either. Ruth is satisfied. Mummy and Daddy hold our breath - what will a field full of cows make of a family of cycle tourists turning up in the pitch dark and tramping across their field?

Not a lot, as it turns out. They moo, and they bravely run away.

Next problem - how do we see where to turn off for the bothy? We peer off to our right, looking out for any posts, waymarkers, or paths. The torches don't illuminate very far. We recalled the description of the walk in - cross the burn, over a wooden bridge...

We hear running water. It has to be close! Is that it? We pause by a stream and scour the area for any sign of a path or a roof (or a welcoming gleam of light from anyone already there!). Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Naff all.

Tom looks again at the GPS. It should be 100m to the North and 300m to the east. We press on. Louder sounds of flowing water, and , is that the bridge? This one is bigger. Much bigger. There's a post... We stop. Nope, that's just a post. Wait, there's another one! Sensing he is the only one with a shred of hope left, Tom sets off on a solo reconnaissance mission.

WE FOUND IT! Mummy cannot see it. Mummy is sceptical. Ruth is hungry. Rhoda is nodding off again. HONEST, IT'S RIGHT THERE! Tom shines everything we own in the direction he is pointing. I can finally make out the shape of a building in the gloom.

There is a path. It is wet, muddy and rather squelchy. Remembering that the last time Daddy offered Mummy help navigating boggy ground, she ended up thigh deep in mud, whilst Daddy kept his feet dry, Mummy is more than happy to let Daddy go first.

We find the door, and open it (when we later look back at our arrival footage, this bit is vaguely reminiscent of the 'Blair Witch Project'). We have shelter. And we have it to ourselves. We bring in our gear and have a quick look around. Tom sets about trying to get a fire lit to warm us through, as our coats are sodden. We peel off wet layers and hang them to dry on the hooks on the wall.

Time to crack out a celebratory stroopwafel each for two tired little adventurers. Rhoda gets a second wind and wakes up. Ruth watches the fire lighting with interest. There is disappointing news on the fire front. There are stacks of kindling, newspaper and copious supplies of toilet roll, but a sad couple of logs and no coal.

This was the first bothy I have arrived at where the previous visitors had apparently made no effort to leave any fuel for those following them. Dead wood lying everywhere, there turns out to be nothing to cut it with.

We cook a hasty meal of pasta on the Jetboil (thank God for the speed of the big Jetboil) and get the girls' bedding set up.

When I turn around triumphantly with a hot meal, I find Ruth curled up and asleep in front of the fire. We rouse her and persuade her to eat a little before we tuck her into her sleeping bag. We hear nothing from either Ruth or Rhoda until morning - they sleep the sound sleep of little girls who have had a big adventure.

Tom and I sit in the living area and look out the bothy book, before we go to bed. There are some very "inventive" entries, and a couple of recent ones warning of less-than-timid mice. We are therefore extra careful to put away all of our food and cooking gear, and to hang up all of our bags well away from the floor.

I then spend a fitful night imagining marauding hordes of mice gnawing through packaging and mice crawling across my face. None actually do, there is no sign of any mice anywhere the next morning. On the other hand, one creature that surely has had a midnight feast is the tiny but fearsome midge. Rhoda's face is covered, Tom has been bitten liberally around his hands, ears and back of his neck and I am sporting a few too. Ruth hasn't a single one.

Daylight reveals to us for the first time where we actually are. It is still raining, and the views across the loch are less expansive for the rolling cloud over the mountain tops, but still pretty breathtaking. Out of the window, we can see the herd of coos that we encountered last night meandering around the bothy, and a fairly well trodden route shows their habitual track to the water's edge.

Tom goes out to look for more firewood, and to refill our water bottles from the burn using our new water filter. That should be enough to keep us healthy, but for good measure we also give the water a blast from the Steripen to give any bacteria a neutering. It doesn't taste bad.

We all put on our waterproofs and head out for a walk. Exploring, we discover that we are in fact, somewhere really rather beautiful. The views out from the bothy are stunning (even in the rain). The burn next to the bothy is also very beautiful, and is an internationally recognised and rare geological feature. The sound of the cascading water is glorious.

The midges by the water, however, are pure evil, and are unperturbed by the Jungle Formula repellent. We retreat to the bothy to decide what to do next.

Having undertaken such an effort to get to the bothy, and comfortable within it, we debate the merits of trying to stretch out our stay to another day. Water is no problem, but we only brought food rations for an overnight stay. We have (as always) a stash of extras, but not a huge amount, and there is no fuel. Any wood we collect now will be sodden and not really ready to burn immediately. We contemplate sending Tom out on a solo mission toting empty panniers to bring back food and fuel, but it is a decent ride to the nearest place, and he will be gone for several hours if we take this option. With the rain falling, the girls will soon be fed up of being cooped up. The bothy is equipped with a library, but the titles it stocks are a little mature for a 3 and a 4 year old.

We therefore pack up our things, and decide to head back to the car. The journey back takes nowhere near as long in daylight as it did last night - we make quicker progress across the loose sections with the confidence that daylight brings (especially the downhill parts!) and pause to enjoy the views out.

We encounter only one person during the whole of our trip, and he turns out to be a certifiable nutter. I say encounter because he was hidden in the undergrowth (we didn't ask what he was doing) and proceeded to offer (unbidden) a detailed account of his entire life and the plot of a self-published book he was writing, set in the future after we have colonised Mars, invaded the Netherlands but seceded from Scotland, and involving various members of the Royal family in acts of unspeakable perversion and debauchery (working title, "Good f***ing, my liege, Good f***ing", naturally). I ended this particular encounter (having blundered into it only after Tom and Rhoda had been captive for some minutes already) by saying "Girls, close your ears. Nice to meet you, but we're leaving now. Goodbye!" We may have just missed out on first reading the of next literary blockbuster to come out of Bonawe - we will never know (but I'm ok with that!).

Racing another incoming shower, we return triumphantly to the car, and mobile signal, to find a text message received late last night offering us a bed with a friend nearby - the whole expedition had been undertaken when we had an offer of a warm, dry, midge free bed for the night! Our first adventure of the trip under our belts, we bravely decide to see if said offer still stands, 24 hours on...

7 great reasons to take your family bothying

It's been a long time coming but following the girls' foray into bikepacking, we broke new ground at the weekend with a trip to a bothy in Mid-Wales with our girls Ruth (4) and Rhoda (2). What an experience! It's something we want to share.

What's a bothy?

The term originates in Gaelic and these days a bothy is generally taken to refer to a shelter (often in the way of old crofters' cottages or estate huts) in a wild place, which is available for the use of passing travellers. The vast majority are in Scotland but there are a few in Northern England and in Wales, lots of which are cared for by the Mountain Bothy Association. We visited one of two belonging to the Elan Valley Trust.

A bothy isn't likely to impress Lenny Henry. You're going to have to bring your own sleeping gear. And cooking gear. And lighting. And make a fire. Oh, and you'll probably need to take water with you, and a trip to the toilet may involve a spade and a bit of a walk...

Hold on, though, - that's wild camping with the benefit of four walls, a roof and guaranteed permission! Here's why we think any adventure-loving family should give 'bothying' a shot:

1. It's free!

So many opportunities to do things in the wilds actually come at a cost. Even campsite prices seem to be rising steadily, often calculated in such a way as to penalise families travelling light and bright, who aren't turning up with a Chelsea tractor, a tent the size of Belgium, more Christmas lights than Oxford Street and a shrunk down, folding and ultimately dismal version of every appliance and item of furniture found in their home. 

You've got to get to your chosen bothy, but that goes for any outing. You've got to eat and keep warm, but you'd have to do that at home. Fundamentally, using a bothy needn't cost you anything. How many forms of under cover accommodation can claim that?

2. They're always open

Not only are bothies free to use, they're a reliable place to stay the night - particularly at a time of year when campsites are closed and the weather even less dependable than normal. Just be prepared to share with whoever has had the same idea as you! We had the bothy to ourselves on a Saturday night, and judging by entries in the 'bothy book' it looked like most visitors had enjoyed a similar stay, but we reckon you could have slept twenty in the bothy we visited, without trouble. Of course, you might find a bothy equally welcoming and useful as a lunch stop during a day in the wild.

3. The adventure begins at home

I've always reckoned that the best adventures begin with map sheets spread across the lounge floor, or multiple browser tabs open on the computer, at least one of which is Google maps telling you the distance from your home to somewhere exciting.

A very distinct part of bothying is that the onus is on you to find them, not only when you go, but beforehand! Locations used to be protected by almost masonic-like secrecy, but no longer! Nevertheless there's still a school of thought that says that these wonderful places should be kept for those who will cherish them. If you want to try this bothying lark badly enough, and take the trouble to do some basic research online, you'll find all the information you need for a wonderful adventure. Then, you just need to decide how you're going to get there! For a first trip, we would recommend choosing somewhere relatively low-risk - some bothies are surprisingly close to public roads - and be sure before you set out that you have the tools and skills to navigate to your destination.

4. There's less to pack - and you already have the gear

It's always great to discover a new activity for which you (not to mention the children) don't need to go out and buy a load of stuff up front. The great news is, if you camp as a family, you already have what you need - you just leave the tent at home and throw in a few candles instead. Boom. For us, that's a significant weight saving on our bikes. Ruth and Rhoda took the opportunity to test out their new Alpkit 'Cloud Covers' which reduced the bulk still further. There are a few consumables to consider, but the equipment you'll want, you are sure to already own and be familiar with if you camp as a family, with or without bikes.

With a bit of research you can get an idea as to whether you will want to take fuel with you for heat. Some bothies have a ready supply of wood nearby, but by no means all. We chose a bothy which we could get relatively close to with the car, so took in a 10kg bag of coal as insurance. It turned out we didn't need it and as a result, subsequent visitors will get a pleasant surprise and a warm night, too!

5. The weather doesn't matter (so much!)

We can't promise that the bothy you visit won't be draughty. We won't tell you that the night won't be a cold one, and getting there will be an adventure in itself, and subject to the great outdoors, but four walls and a roof is a major game-changer when the weather is marginal - or downright awful.  We went all-out to test this theory by going to Wales in February, in the back end of the mighty storm 'Doris', with a forecast for it to blow a hoolie and persist with rain. Camping would have been miserable. Anything else would have been too urban and too expensive. The bothy was brilliant.

6. Peace and quiet - remember that?

Mrs Large (the elephant) should have visited a bothy - although the book might well have ended up being called 'We're going on a bothy hunt'. If you want solitude, you will find it in the back end of nowhere, especially at times when others are dissuaded from going there. One of the main rewards for the schlep to a remote bothy is getting away from it all. To step outside your front door at a time when the world is still busy, and to see - and hear - absolutely nothing artificial, is priceless to us.  We put the girls to bed and sat with a roaring fire on, totally undisturbed, before retiring for the night without having to lock up.

7. Have a unique adventure

How often do you stay somewhere that is a destination in itself? Every bothy is different, not just in setting and geographical location, but the structures themselves, the rudimentary facilities they offer, and indeed the fellow travellers you may meet there. There is a bothy to suit every taste - some are little more than a hut, a few have toilets and running water. Some are many miles from the nearest road, set in rugged mountains or on desolate moorland; others enjoy their own beach and view of the coast, and a good few are accessible to adventurous families.

Where to find your first bothy, then? Well, that's easier than it used to be. The Mountain Bothy Association decided not so long ago to start publishing the locations of their bothies, and some super books have emerged in recent times. We really like "The Scottish Bothy Bible" by Geoff Allan (review coming up!), and an enchanting film from Alastair Humphreys which our children have loved for some time.

We're already looking for an opportunity to go bothying again, with our bikes and Ruth's new bikepacking setup. We've been tipped off about one or two interesting options in Scotland. Be sure to bookmark our blog and follow us on social media to find out more, and if you've got a question, or you've got a bothying story to share, please do so in the comments below!