The bikes roll into town in tight formation and come to a stop in a diner’s dusty parking lot. Like a good henchman, Mike goes in to case the joint and see if it’s big enough for our gang and a good place for the bosses to take their meal.
Heads turn to watch our entrance. The server takes a deep breath and approaches cautiously. She can see there is a power struggle going on and that things could get ugly. Luckily, when the bosses sit down, there is no kicking, biting, or screaming.
Our gang includes a four-month-old infant, a 20-month-old toddler, a one-year-old and three newly initiated parents. We had rolled out of Kingston, Ontario, that morning to do a four-day September bike tour to Sandbanks Provincial Park in Prince Edward County.
You have to travel a little differently when under the ever-vigilant eyes of the bosses. There can only be so much time spent looking for picturesque wineries and beautiful picnic lunch spots. In- stead, they have us on constant lookout for farms, big trucks, playgrounds, even a supermarket on a rainy day to run around in. One of the keys is constant movement, which makes a slow-rolling vacation perfect for a young family.
And rolling slowly is the best way to travel in a convoy such as ours. Pedaling is noticeably harder on bikes burdened with panniers full of camping gear and the extra weight of the space-age pods we are towing. Today’s decked-out bike trailers, with their inflatable tires, sensitive suspension systems, infant slings, bug meshing and wind screens decrease the top speed we can maintain, but they ensconce the kids in comfort and as new parents we know that when the bosses are happy, we are happy.
Riding on any of the three routes from Picton to Sandbanks Provincial Park is normally quiet and safe outside July and August, but today, in no hurry, we choose an even more scenic long-cut. The motion lulls the kids into a peaceful reverie as they gaze at the ever-changing countryside, pointing out cows, horses, houses, more cows and lakes. On the practically car-free Ridge Road, we ride three bikes abreast and chat, daydreaming about our next bike tour and planning a swim by the dunes at the park’s warm West Lake.
Four-month-old Sacha, however, soon begins to squawk and we are forced to reconsider the kids’ needs and the flow of the day. If we stop here to feed Sacha, the other kids may wake up and demand a snack and a play now. Since we still have dinner, tents and dark- ness to contend with, we opt to pass the dunes and take our swim at camp, in the cooler Lake Ontario. With an adult to kid ratio of one to one, we devise a plan. Beth stops to service Sacha while Geoff and Mike continue on slowly, concentrating on pedaling just hard enough to maintain the magically calming motion.
When we escort the bosses into Sandbanks Provincial Park, we see there is no intimidation effort necessary to secure a gorgeous site on the beach—the park is nearly empty. The bosses are stripped of their clothes and get down to the serious work of ingesting sand and watching the waves roll in. We sip wine at sunset as the bosses run up and down the beach shrieking at seagulls.
“Our children have blessed us, we suppose, with the sight of many sunrises.”
Nighttime routines unfold as they do at home: the favourite blankey, the beloved teddy bear, a familiar book—only this time the snuggling takes place on sleeping bags and the reading is illuminated by headlamp.
The sand we discover when we finally slip ourselves into our sleeping bags is a gritty reminder of the fort-building that went on in the tent earlier—and of our shifting priorities. There was a time when we fastidiously kept sand away from our food, tent and toothbrushes. Now we smile fondly at the thought of our kids and roll over to an immediate sleep, one that will last at least an hour if we are lucky.
Two years ago we would have slept until the sun baked us out of the tent, but our children have blessed us, we suppose, with the sight of many sunrises. Coffees firm in hand, we watch the girls make sandcastles and beckon them to the picnic table for breakfast.
Today we’ll visit the dunes for a few hours of risk-free exploration before hitting the road in search of a winery to sample a few bottles that don’t come with nipples.
After four days on the road our gang will return to the clubhouse, satisfied to have successfully expanded our ever-growing home turf.
Beth Rubenstein and Mike Payne cycled across Holland and Belgium with their daughter Zoe when she was seven months old.
This article first appeared in the Spring 2007 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.
