Cycling

“We’re racing,” she calls. “You’re losing.”

I spit in a ditch. She drops me in the next 30 seconds and flies toward Port Medway, a charming fishing village about 30 kilometres from White Point Beach. I can’t keep up, but my goal is endurance rather than speed. It was another very brief sleep, with Silas rising at 3 a.m., but today I’m determined not to whip out my cellphone and call for a van ride, as I did yesterday and the day before. I have begun to accept the fatigue, to move through it. Parenting is, in large part, about endurance, going the distance, finding moments of joy and beauty along the way.

I was born and raised in Nova Scotia but have spent very little time on the South Shore. Before we’d left on our trip, a friend told me that she regards the South Shore as the “authentic Nova Scotia.” I wasn’t sure what to make of this, thinking the Annapolis Valley, where I live, is pretty authentic too. But there is something about the lovely old wooden homes perched on the winding coastline, the sun dazzling on the waves, the small wharves and islands and sailboats and seagulls, the breeze that smells of ocean, seagrass and wildflowers that beguile and entrance. I finally catch up to James and Anna, only because James’ handlebars have come loose. A kindly man who lives by the road pops out with a tool box, and we are back on our bikes within minutes, our helpful new friend waving us off.

On our last full day, we drive to the Seaside Adjunct, a coastal addition to Kejimkujik National Park. The views are supposed to be magnificent, but the park is socked in with fog when we arrive. It feels otherworldly, but that could be the four espressos I had for breakfast.

“OK,” says James. “Let’s do this hike.” He is studying a map. I point to where it says the park is 22 square kilometres. We pass on the hike and, instead, meander along the boardwalk.

Katie and Tyler are preparing lunch nearby. I take Silas to the washroom and return to find Mary and Anna sporting avocado-chocolate-mousse moustaches. Our guides have whipped up a banquet. There is gazpacho and cheese and bread and even waffles served with fruit coulis and the avocado- chocolate-mousse face paint.

As our curious luxurious-rustic adventure winds down, we feast and say farewell to the South Shore. Mary puts her head on my shoulder. “I’m going to miss Katie and Tyler.” She is on the verge of tears. I’m going to miss them too, especially Tyler’s early-morning roadside espressos.

That night, we sit around a fire and then snuggle down in our cozy cabin. I lie awake, enthralled by the sound of the waves, which finally draws me to the beach. I will be tired in the morning, as we pack our bags and the little pink suitcase and make our way home, but it’s a small price to pay for the sight of silver moonlight sparkling on the waves.

Christy Ann Conlin is the author of the novel Heave. She lives in Berwick, N.S. Photographer Dan Doucette is based in Halifax.