Written by By Jeanne Lepoix
For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved riding my bike alone. From the first explorations where I pedalled across the village to find my friends, to the great adventures that took me across France and Morocco, I never felt fear or social pressure. But when it came to taking a little one with me, it was a completely different story. Before we hit the road and during the journey, I had to expend considerable energy to reassure, justify, inform and educate.
Whether they are verbalised or not, whether they are conscious or not, deciding to travel solo by bike when you’re a woman means, first and foremost, coming face to face with your fears. These fears undoubtedly stem from the patriarchal world in which we live and from which, at least here in France, we are slowly moving away. For centuries we’ve been told to take safety precautions, and led to believe that to be a woman is to be worried about everything and capable of nothing. Why shouldn’t we be able to live our best life outside on a bike, in total autonomy? We often fear possible aggression, but we also have to confront the gaze of others. People tend to offer recommendations that are benevolent (most of the time), but that attempt to repress our desires: ‘Aren’t you afraid to travel alone?’, or ‘What if something happens to you?’ and ‘Now that you have a child, you’ll have to take a break.’ Before we’ve even put our hands on the handlebars, we’re assailed from all sides by remarks, questions and wide eyes that challenge our convictions and awaken our doubts. When a child comes along for the adventure, everything is multiplied, inevitably. We’re seen as irresponsible mothers.
I realise that some new riders might lack the know-how to put a tyre back on or loosen a pedal. Technical glitches happen, but with a bit of practise and patience, resourcefulness always wins out. Managing logistics, finding my way around, choosing my bivouac, organising my belongings and making the right decisions – this is the part of the trip that I love, because you really unplug your brain from everyday life, thinking of nothing and living in ‘survival-instinct’ mode. Risk is present in our everyday ‘comfortable’ lives, and it has absolutely nothing to do with travel – I feel much less safe on a subway train at rush hour than on a little road lost in the countryside. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever been afraid of not succeeding. I train regularly and know my body perfectly. I know how many miles and how much positive elevation change it can handle, how to dress if it’s too hot or too cold. I know my limits. I make sure I have my bike serviced and study my route before setting off, and I only take paths or small roads far from urban areas and traffic.
But when motherhood arrived, I faced the thorny dilemma of combining this formidable new venture with the visceral desire to continue pedalling alone. I quickly decided to listen only to my heart and my legs; the desire to show the world that it was possible to pursue one’s passion with one’s child was stronger than anything else. I took my daughter Zoé along with me during my pregnancy, then from her very first weeks, snugly wrapped up in her trailer behind my bike. She was there all on her own, like a grown-up, without asking anyone for anything. It was just the two of us, far from the daily routine and from constraints.
From the start, Wednesdays became our little ritual: we’d get on the bike and go for a ride in the forest. Even just for a couple of hours, we found our balance, all the while nurturing the foundations of our mother-daughter relationship. We were filling up a bank of memories and, at the same time, I was teaching my daughter to be active, adventurous and unafraid of the outside world. On our first big solo trip together, we stayed close to home – I wanted to keep things accessible and avoid too many connections. Going off on our own requires an enormous amount of energy and logistics. All the luggage for two people on a single bike is quite a load: two sleeping bags, two mattresses, clothes, a tent that’s not too small, the tools required to cook, wash, repair (the bike and us!), a few games, and also my daughter on a little saddle at the front of my bike (she weighed 15kg/33lb at the age of four).
After three days of testing, I decided to embark on a slightly longer journey, and we crossed the sea to England. Getting on a ferry with the bike was quite an experience for a little girl. We rode along narrow, wild trails with breathtaking views of the rugged coastline.
Zoé clung to her tiny handlebars on technical descents and squealed with delight. Well equipped with her flashy pink helmet and ‘speed goggles’ (as she likes to say), she encouraged me to go faster. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and I’ve got a daredevil on my hands! It amused her when we opened and closed cattle gates in the fields and picked wild blackberries along the overgrown paths. Between brambles and nettles, we tried to make our way. Progress was difficult, but Zoé wasn’t afraid of being stung and encouraged me with ‘Allez maman!’ (‘Let’s go mama!’) It touched me to the depths of my being to experience and share all these little pleasures with her.
Once on the road any worries quickly give way to the lightness and joy radiating from my daughter – watching her discover her surroundings is an extraordinary experience. She raves about everything, and so do I. I notice a thousand details that I wouldn’t have seen without her. We forge beautiful, shared memories, and together we’re more united in the face of adversity. These adventures give us time to experience the world together. While my daughter is at an age when she’s changing a lot, I’m lucky enough to have a front-row seat to watch her progress. It’s a new way of travelling, gentle and intense at the same time. Just when I think the breaks will allow me to recuperate from my efforts, Zoé is bursting with energy. The day is a clever mix between the great moments of sport in the saddle and play sessions, where you have to be creative to keep up.
While I’m busy with the logistics of our trips, I encourage her to build a wooden cabin, pick berries, or watch the sun go down. And if that’s not enough, there’s map reading or tent pitching to engage her in the daily life of a bike traveller. One of the things she really enjoys is making it her mission to find a nice, quiet place to spend the night and, even more so, the task of arranging the mattresses, pillows and sleeping bags in the tent. One evening when it was very hot outside, we set up the tent without the canvas, just the mosquito net, and it remains an incredible memory for her – falling asleep with just the starry sky above her head. On a trip the days are so long and there’s so much going on that she has to absorb a lot of information. As a result she systematically and rapidly falls into the arms of Morpheus.
She seems so sad when the trips come to an end and we have to go home. What a joy and pride it is to pass on one’s passion to one’s daughter. In my opinion there’s nothing like it and nothing stronger in life. Instilling in her the values of travel, the simplicity of making do with very little, is incredibly rewarding. What a joy to see her thrive close to nature, definitely one of the best allies in helping her grow. It stimulates her creativity, attention, sense of observation, sense of direction and coordination. I also invite her to discover all the wonders of the outdoors and to understand that we are simply tenants of the planet, which we must protect and cherish with all our heart.
Travelling as a solo mum has definitely changed me. Being alone with my daughter forced me to be 200% present for her. It has made me more patient, less selfish, more able to enjoy the moment. I’ve adapted to her rhythm, shortening distances to leave room for improvisation and skipping long days to avoid ending up with a little girl who doesn’t want to do anything. I don’t hesitate to shake things up if it helps her enjoy the road more (setting aside time for Zoé to play is essential, especially on a multi-day trip). I’ve also learned to take things in my stride and not get so angry. Kids are like sponges, and if you don’t want to aggravate the situation, it’s best to control your emotions and never let them get the better of you. But the most valuable skill I’ve developed is simply trusting myself and being more attentive to her feelings – and mine.
Being a woman on the road with her daughter also opens lots of opportunities to meet new people. I’ve always enjoyed talking to locals during my travels, but together, thanks to her presence, these interactions are even more fabulous. With my co-pilot it’s easier to connect with people, however short the exchange; little acts of kindness and helpful offers enrich our journey. These impromptu encounters are an enormous source of sociability for a child of her age. She learns not to fear other people, to assess them before talking to them, and to learn from them. Take a bike trip with a little kid – it’s the winning combo for being welcomed everywhere, trust me!
My Daughter’s Bike-Travel Essentials
- Little backpack just for her, with her teddy, water bottle and toys (even though she finds all her own treasures along the way: pine cones, pebbles, leaves and little sticks)
- Well-stocked first-aid kit for minor injuries
- Toiletries: toothbrush, toothpaste, washcloth, and a bar of soap (which will also be used for doing laundry)
- Magazines with activities
- Small notebook with coloured pencils
- Comfortable outdoor clothing
- Waterproof suit (jacket and trousers)
- Cap and sunglasses
- Small headlamp
- Some cakes and fruit for snacks
- Identity papers
- Photos of important pages from our health journal
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Reproduced with permission from Lonely Planet © 2025.
