Solo cycle touring: freedom with a side of mum guilt

This time last year, I was cycle touring from my home in Glasgow to Istanbul – nearly 3,000 miles across a continent, alone, with just my tent, my bike, and the knowledge that my two young children were waiting for me at home. Carving out two months for a journey of that scale was more than a logistical challenge; it felt like a radical act of creation – of making room where there had been none.

In a culture that often expects mothers to shrink their lives around their children, I wanted to explore another way. To see whether having children could make you dream bigger, be bolder, and live more fully – without apology. To find if motherhood and freedom could ride side by side.

Sahir Permall is an experienced senior leader in the third sector, an adventurer and a writer. She currently leads a charity in Glasgow - Women on Wheels - that encourages women to get into cycling and was named one of Cycling UK's 100 Women in Cycling 2024. She has two children aged 6 and 8 and loves to get out on cycle adventures both with them and solo, whether that is day trips to Scottish islands or cycling across a continent to Istanbul, which she did last year. She is currently planning to cycle across Uzbekistan this summer as part of a 'reverse migration' to her ancestral homeland in Pakistan.

Freedom, with a side of guilt

The experience of being a mother of young children in our culture is characterised by feeling guilty. Guilty for working instead of being with the kids, or for not earning, or resting when the house is a mess – every choice is loaded with judgement and laced with shame.

Even when we know, rationally, that we can’t pour from an empty cup, doing anything for ourselves can feel like a transgression. 

This isn’t just personal neurosis – it’s cultural conditioning. From fairy tales to the absence of communal care, we’re taught that a good mother is selfless, carries the mental load, does the emotional labour, and is always cheerful about it.

So when I set off on my cycle across Europe, I wasn’t just battling headwinds and steep climbs (though there were plenty of those). I was pushing back against a lifetime of messaging that told me this kind of freedom wasn’t mine to claim.

In the early years of motherhood, I felt the full weight of that internal conflict. I adored my children – still do – but I was also, at times, disoriented, lonely, painfully bored and deeply disconnected from the person I used to be. I’d pore over outdoor magazines and write down race dates I knew I couldn’t enter, chasing a future version of myself I didn’t want to lose.

Only later did I learn there was a name for this: matrescence: the physical, psychological, and emotional transformation into motherhood.

It’s taken me years to find my way through it, to realise that guilt is not proof of love. Now that my youngest child is six, I finally feel like I’m coming back to myself – not a pre-children version, but fuller: more empathetic and connected. And I have motherhood to thank for that.

Making it happen

When other parents hear of my cycle touring adventure, the first question is usually: but how did you manage it with the kids? The truth is, I couldn’t have done it without their dad’s support.

Even before our divorce, we were used to parenting in shifts – his irregular hours, my occasional work travel – so the children were already familiar with spending time with each of us separately. In the months leading up to my departure, he frontloaded his antisocial shifts so he could be fully present while I was away while I solo-parented through that stretch.

In many ways, the logistical prep was the hardest part of the whole adventure.

Highs and lows on the road

The ride itself was undoubtedly one of the best things I’ve ever done. It was challenging and unforgettably beautiful. At times, it was euphoric. There were days I felt invincible: legs spinning, sun on my back, a whole continent unfolding in front of me.

And there were days I questioned what the hell I was doing here: diving into a Serbian petrol station after hours of aggressive overtaking just outside Belgrade, being chased by stray dogs for 50 miles, and finally pedalling furiously through a thunderstorm in the gathering dark, hyperventilating from the certainty that I was about to be struck by lightning. 

One of the unexpected gifts of life on the road was anonymity. People didn't respond to my title or status, just to what they saw: a woman on a bike, doing something unusual and bold. And that was exhilarating.

Being away from the kids was the hardest part. I missed them so much it sometimes felt like a physical ache: their smell, the warmth of their skin, the sound of their giggles. I missed my daughter’s fifth birthday, and the knowledge that it would never come around again floored me, as did the brave face that she put on when we had our video call that day.

There’s no sugar coating it: my cycle touring journey required sacrifice from both them and me. 

Transition to reality

Coming home was disorienting. I’d paused work to spend the summer with the kids, but the damp, grey weeks dragged on, and being indoors again - stationary, confined – proved unexpectedly difficult.

On the ride, I’d tasted two kinds of freedom: freedom from the monotony of daily life and freedom to follow my own rhythm and desires. I could stop when I pleased and moved when I felt like it, all without any negotiation.

Back home, both freedoms seemed to slip through my fingers. It took a few weeks to readjust to the rhythms – and perks - of sedentary life: a daily hot shower, a fully functioning kitchen, and a house that I didn’t have to dismantle every morning.

What's changed

The adventure didn’t return me to a pre-children version of myself, nor was that the goal. Instead, I came back from cycle touring stronger and more confident in my ability to carve out a good life for my family. I felt more at ease in my skin.

The journey opened doors I hadn’t imagined it would: unexpected friendships with like-minded souls, the chance to run a cycling charity, and invitations to speak at some cool events. 

Two months alone on the road taught me to be grateful for the little things, the quiet moments of joy that catch you by surprise. In the end, I’m convinced that these are the moments that endure and give life its meaning.

With one day to go of the ride, I attempted to write in my diary what I now knew for sure. Reading it back has brought a huge smile to my face a year later:

• I am very lucky. Being grateful is magic. I have so much! 
• I am supported – just knowing they are there, every message checking in, every smile wave or beep on the road is like a tailwind. I couldn’t have done this without other people.
• Loneliness is real and painful, but I am never really alone.
• Little things matter. A smile can change a person’s day. A moment of stillness in a beautiful place will be remembered for years.
• It’s good to be different from the crowd.
• Take the next step. Only think about that.

A message to mums

To any mum wondering whether it’s possible to take time for yourself and still be a good parent: it is.

It might make you a better one. Reclaiming time and space for adventure – if that’s what’s calling you – is an act of love towards your future self. It models courage to your children and shows them what it means to live a full and rich life.

You don’t have to cycle across a continent, or do any cycle touring at all. A solo walk. A weekend with friends. A night away. Whatever form it takes, it all counts.

Take up space in your own life. You’re allowed to want more. You don’t have to disappear to be a good mum. Showing up for yourself is part of showing up for your children.

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