Ian and a few others had ordered hostel breakfasts today despite the high cost of £2.30 and the necessity of washing up afterwards. This fact, coupled with the problem of two people having to redo their duvet-folding and sweeping jobs, meant that it was quite late when we finally gathered in the hostel car park to share out the surplus milk and bread. While we were waiting, a BT van pulled up and an engineer began to install a members' telephone in the hostel!

First stop this morning was the duckpond and church at East Quantoxhead. There were plenty of willing hands to feed the ducks, but Arthur was less than generous with the distribution of surplus bread: he reckoned the bread was for his lunch and shouldn't be wasted on ducks.

When Michael asked Seb to lead the group on as far as West Quantoxhead church, he didn't expect him to lead them down the cul-de-sac to the church gate! There were a few groans when everyone had to climb back up the hill again.

Several members went 'over the top' at the cafe in the quiet fishing village of Watchet, ordering Knickerbocker Glories and other extravagant desserts. By the time they were served everyone else had finished and returned to the bikes: the forecast was for rain and Michael didn't want to hang around any longer than necessary. Roger had to eat his chocolate nut sundae rather more quickly than he would have liked.

After leading the group past Blue Anchor Bay and Dunster Castle to a delicatessen in Minehead, Michael gave everyone 25 minutes to buy lunch. Predictably, they all trooped straight past the delicatessen and headed for the supermarkets. When the allotted time was up, Nicholas and Anthony were found wandering around near the bakery saying they hadn't been able to find a single food shop! Actually they'd been looking for gift shops and had run out of time. We waited for them while they visited the bakery and then set about climbing the famous North Hill.

We stopped for lunch and a well-earned rest on a grassy area near the top, overlooking the town and several miles of coastline. The threat of rain was still in the air, however, so we wasted no time in pressing on to the steep, rough track that leads to the National Trust village of Selworthy. In fact the track was so rough in the early stages that Ian's pannier finally gave up the ghost and had to be tied down with bungey straps.

Sadly, ice-creams were no longer sold in the village, so we made use of the gift shop and lavatories and then proceeded along some more interesting tracks to Allerford.

Allerford is a picture-postcard hamlet famous for its delightful ford and cobbled bridge. Given the choice, most sensible people would ride the bridge, but Zachary, being Zachary, and Rufus, being quite unlike Rufus, decided to take the ford and prove that they could ride where many others had fallen in. Amazingly they both succeeded, but the depth of water ensured that they were still drenched to the skin.

The rain had still not arrived by the time we reached Horner cafe, near West Luccombe, so we allowed ourselves the luxury of a refreshment stop. Besides, Seb and Tom needed a rest after crashing into each other a few minutes earlier: the following driver had been a nurse, but there was no serious injury. A sign in the cafe garden advised people to ring the hand bell and wait for service. Seb was determined to follow the instructions to the letter and waited there patiently, despite the fact that everyone else was being served at their tables. In the end he was the last to be served, which just goes to show that stubbornness is never rewarded.

The final seven miles to the hostel was always going to be tough. The first long climb, to Cloutsham Ball, was tackled bravely by Arthur, who won the Yellow Jersey for his efforts. Neil spent a lot of time going up and down the hill, showing just how much surplus energy he had and keeping us informed of how far back the youngest riders were.

Cloutsham ford didn't manage to claim a single casualty today. As we commenced the next climb, however, we realised that Sam's knee problems were slowing him down a lot, and several of the other youngsters were getting very tired. We devised a team game to help them which was rather like a relay race. The fitter riders went a hundred metres or so up the hill. Three of them then dropped their bikes, walked back and pushed the youngsters' three bikes up the hill for them. When they had reached their own bikes, three more people were waiting to take over, having just walked 100 metres back from their bikes. There were several variations: some tried to ride the bikes up instead of pushing them, although they were frequently the wrong size, and Jon Burgess even gave Sam a ride on the back of his bike at one point. The system really worked well, and we surprised at how quickly we managed to get everyone to the top.

By now the weather was windy, grey and cold. We were glad of the final descent and arrived at the luxurious hostel just thirty minutes before supper. We hurried into the three showers and crawled into the recently refurbished dining area just as supper was being served, some of us still dripping from the shower. Apparently the new conservatory-style extension to the dining area cost £100 000: one can understand the jealousy of other hostel wardens!

It quickly became obvious that the warden didn't like children. He swore at two youngsters in Michael's absence, was tetchy with many others and showed obvious distaste as he switched from serving an adult hosteller to one of our children at the reception desk. We discovered later that the warden was short-staffed, and he apologised to us in writing after the tour.

The forecast rain finally came after dark, and continued falling throughout the night.

Zach's job this morning was to clean out the showers, and absolutely everybody knew about it: apparently he objected to cleaning up all the hairs! Ian's job was to clean the mirrors with an aerosol, but more seemed to end up on the rest of us than reached the mirrors. When we'd left everything spotless and the warden thought we had gone, he was overhead grumbling to his assistant that it wasn't good enough. There's just no pleasing some people!

Sam's leg was worse this morning. He hadn't got far up the hill towards Simonsbath before it became obvious he needed a complete rest from cycling. Michael found a taxi driver in Simonsbath who agreed to transport Sam and his bike to the Lynton hostel for £11. The warden agreed to look after him when he arrived, which left the rest of us free to continue with the planned ride.

Lunch today was purchased at Challacombe. The shopkeeper remembered Michael from previous tours to the area, and also recognised 'Young Slatter' (yes, he does seem to be getting a lot of mentions, doesn't he?). Apparently, Zachary used to have a holiday home in the hamlet several years ago, and obviously hadn't changed too much since then.

The range of food in this little store was quite extensive considering its tiny size. Nevertheless, Jono could find nothing better to eat than a bottle of cold cockles and a whole Swiss role, while Michael resorted to his old favourite - cold baked beans, straight from the tin.

A brisk climb to Blackmoor Gate was followed by one of Michael's short-cuts: dropping 2000 metres into Parracombe and climbing out the other side instead of going around the edge. Well, that was how the youngsters saw it anyway. In reality, the drop was just a few hundred metres and the edge route was three times the length.

The descent to Hunters Inn is steep, twisty and dangerous, especially when the road has recently been covered with gravel. Michael, as usual, tried to protect everyone by leading down the hill at a sensible pace, but some thought it was clever to wait at the top until Michael had gone so they could ride at their own breakneck speed. On this occasion, Dan paid the price by coming off on a gravely corner. Fortunately he was not badly hurt, but it took Seb half an hour to get his bike ready for the road again.

We purchased gifts and enjoyed ice creams and peacocks at the Inn, then set off along the coastal footpath to Woody Bay. The dramatic cliffs dropping to the sea made a magnificent sight for those who weren't cycling too fast to notice them. Needless to say, Nicholas wasn't missing any of it. We paused briefly along the way to speak to a woman who was admiring the view from a seat. Apparently she had also been eyeing up the lads as they went past, and announced that David was definitely the most handsome member of the crew - much to our amusement. When she discovered he was from Devon, she put it down to local confidence.

As we descended the long and hairy descent to Lee Bay, the steep climb past Lee Abbey became visible through the trees, provoking comparisons with Parracombe. It wasn't as bad as expected, however, and we were soon at the Valley of the Rocks, scrambling up the rocks just to say we'd done it. During the descent Michael tried to outrun Arthur, lost his footing on a rock concealed under the grass and sprained his ankle. It wasn't so painful that he couldn't complete the tour, but he had weakened it semi-permanently.

To conclude the afternoon we took the scenic coastal footpath to Lynton, rode on the cliff railway from Lynton to Lynmouth and bought some final gifts in the Lynmouth shops - Devon fudge seemed the best gift available. When we arrived at the hostel, Sam was waiting patiently for us, memorising the lines for his starring role as Oliver Twist in his school play.

The home-made supper was definitely the best of the tour. Dan was quite put out when he saw the warden give Michael a larger portion of pizza than anyone else, and kept on about it for the next half an hour. He was able to get seconds of the fruit sponge and sauce, however, which cooled him off a little. Another group of adults, who shared the dining area with us, spent much of the mealtime passing rude comments about the behaviour of our youngsters. In fact they were very well behaved, except when some disappeared to the dormitories before everyone had finished and had to be called back to the tables.

Once again the only telephone was in the village. After a long walk down and back we concluded the evening with a general chat, partly ruined by Ian and friends who were more interested in finishing their game in the adjacent dormitory.

Our attempts to make an early start failed miserably. Somehow we managed the long, hilly road over Burn Moor to Clapham and up to White Scar caves in time for a late lunch at 1315. Matthew P broke his rear derailleur along the way, pushed the last two miles up to the caves and then had to race back to retrieve his helmet from the site of the mishap.

We put this trifling matter to one side for the next eighty minutes and enjoyed a discounted tour of the caves. They really are quite impressive, with real streams running through most of their length and an enormous cavern as large as a small cathedral at the innermost point of the tour.

Michael remembered the last time he led a tour to this area, in 1987. On that occasion, one of the participants broke a crank at Clapham and had to push the twelve miles to the bike shop at Settle. Today it was Matthew's turn, ably assisted by Paul and Neil who pushed him from either side up the hills. They had a fifteen minute start on the rest of us, and we did have a few minor mechanical problems along the way, but we were still amazed when they actually got there first!

Michael was so impressed with Settle Cycles at his last visit that he had ordered many items from them during the subsequent years. Now they had new premises adjacent to the station, so we appreciated Mark's local knowledge in locating it. Michael bought a new cycle meter cable to replace the one Neil had broken when he unpacked the bikes at Newton Abbot, and Matthew bought and fitted an expensive Shimano derailleur, thanks to some financial assistance from Michael and some technical assistance from Paul.

Some long climbs awaited us on the last leg to the hostel. We eventually arrived (as usual) just as the meals were being served, having forfeited our right to a menu selection. Richard S, who is on a gluten-free diet, was quick to voice his displeasure at the fruit juice, salad and yoghurt that the warden had selected for him: he wanted something hot, and he did his best to make sure that nobody else enjoyed their soup, pizza or sponge pudding!

When everyone had showered we completed the Whist League. The victor on this occasion was Lukas Wooller Esquire - sheer luck of course!

There are lots of interesting limestone features around Malham, so when Michael had fitted his new cycle meter cable we set about inspecting Malham Cove, where a river emerges from the base of an 80m cliff face. The feature was originally formed by the river when it flowed over the top and dissolved away the valley back as far as the present cliff, but then the river found a way through the rock itself, carving out a system of caverns deep underground.

Next stop was Gordale Scar, formed by rapid waterfall retreat during the ice age. There should have been some water left there today, but it was bone dry. When Paul reached for his camera he remembered with horror that he had asked Andy to look after it at the cove. Did Andy have it now? No, he'd left it on the grass by the river. So Paul had to go back for his camera while the rest of us enjoyed some rock climbing.

Mastiles Lane was a long, steep climb. The ford that Michael remembered at the top had dried up completely, an indication perhaps of the general drought in the area this summer. The top seemed like a good place for lunch: the long, stone walls which lined the lane offered a little protection from the chill wind that was blowing across Kilnsey Moor. There wasn't much to eat, just the bread left over from breakfast and a few other items that we'd managed to buy from Malham post Office that morning.

There was an equally steep but rocky descent on the other side of the moor, which tempted Robert to demonstrate his mountain-biking expertise to the rest of the group. His breakneck descent ended abruptly when his pannier hook became entangled with his wheel. Nick had lost a mudguard bolt, so the ride was temporarily suspended while repairs were effected.

At last the sun was emerging. A mobile cafe by the road near Kilnsey Crag looked quite tempting, although Robert was nearly knocked flat by two speeding motorcyclists as he blindly followed Michael across the road. Closer inspection revealed that the cafe sold nothing but soggy white sandwiches and fizzy drinks, so we pressed on to the cafe and ice-cream parlour in Kettlewell.

The final leg of the journey to Aysgarth along the B6160 was all flat according to Michael. It was certainly flat through Starbottom and Buckden, but he'd forgotten the little bump called Cragdale Moor. He wasn't too popular for a while, so he tried to change the subject by pointing out the dried-up stream beds and waterfalls, and a miniature version of Malham Cove.

Aysgarth hostel is a comfortable four-storey mansion situated in the centre of the small village, boasting hot showers, an enormous dining room and good food. We made the most of the dry evening by walking around Aysgarth Falls, famous in recent times as the location of an incident in the film Robin Hood - Prince of Thieves. A few enthusiasts walked the half mile or so down stream to view the middle and lower falls, thinking up rhyming nick-names for other members of the group: Tristan won easily with his slanderous jingle about his brother!

Michael woke up to a pleasant surprise this morning. Another hosteller, who had been observing the group the previous evening and during the preparation of breakfast, went out of her way to say how impressed she was with the youngsters' good behaviour! This was definitely going to be a good day.

First stop was to be the Information Centre, just around the corner from the falls. As we rounded the corner Richard S realised he had left his water bottle at the hostel, so he and Paul dropped off the back to fetch it. Sadly they didn't inform Michael, and they didn't see the rest of us turn into the Information Centre. It was ten minutes later when Michael realised they weren't there, and guessed that they were probably hurtling along the road at top speed trying to catch us.

We set off in leisurely pursuit, confident that they would have stopped at the first junction. But they hadn't. It was Askrigg before we found them, bewildered and exhausted.

Mark (the fountain of local knowledge) pointed out that the nearby house was called Skeldale House - the same Skeldale used in All Creatures Great and Small. While we were taking photographs, the owner opened the door and asked us if we'd like to look inside. He didn't tell us that the only part of the inside we'd be allowed to see was the entrance hall, and he didn't tell us about the large, eye-catching donation box: clearly this was a well-rehearsed routine.

The CTC-recommended cafe situated just down the road from Skeldale was a real treat. It was laid out like a village farmhouse and offered a small range of delicious home-baked scones, cakes and fruit pies. Service was slow, but the delicious smell wafting out of the kitchen held us firmly in our seats until the orders had been delivered. While we were waiting, Lukas spent ten minutes trying to follow the simple directions to the lavatory: "...the sliding door on the right at the top of the stairs".

The weather deteriorated quickly as we sped on to Hawes. Here we discovered that Andy had no money left: it seemed that he had spent £30 on sweets and Kendal Mint Cake! We bought lunch (mainly from the nearby chip shop) and then tried to decide where to eat it. Mark suggested a grassy riverside meadow on the outskirts of the village (this boy seems to know everything about the Dales), so that's where we headed.

We had a good deal of fun despite the rain. Michael showed Robert the Triffid-like plants that grew thickly in the river bed and told him, in the straightest voice he could muster, that they were dangerous and would grab hold of anything that touched them. Robert then proceeded to test the theory by gingerly prodding the plants with a long stick - to Michael's extreme delight!

Now the rain was falling in earnest, so we began the long climb through Widdale to the deserted houses near the top. One didn't look quite as deserted as Michael remembered it: the windows were still boarded up, but there was a notice on the padlocked door about junk mail! Paul E was all for enticing them out but we managed to restrain him and made a hasty departure before he had any more bright ideas.

It would have been very obliging if a steam train had decided to use the viaduct at the head of Dentdale while we waited there. This is part of the famous Settle-Carlisle railway, and very popular with train enthusiasts. We gave up after ten minutes in the rain, and set off down the hill for the final mile to the hostel. As we arrived we heard a train cross the viaduct.

We were over an hour early, and fully prepared to set off again for an hour-long detour. The wardens were in the grounds, however, and took pity on us. Thus began a very comfortable evening of luxury in this secluded country house. There were hot showers, comfortable dormitories, and the warmest, cosiest common room you could wish to find. The rain beating against the windows made it all the more welcome.

Every hostel has to have its bad points I suppose, and the problem at Dentdale was the meals. The other problem on this particular night was the small group of adults who shared the second dorm with our older teenagers: they insisted on having lights out at 10.30 (which of course they have no right to do) and even had the cheek to complain to Dorm 1 at 1045 for making too much noise! Michael was ready for them if they came back again, but they didn't - which was rather a shame really!

The day began with a ride to the picturesque village of Dent, about five miles down the dale. Here we were surprised to receive another compliment, this time from the local shopkeeper who thought we were "a lovely, well-behaved bunch of lads" or something to that effect. There was time for refreshments in the local restaurant before we had to leave the cobbled streets and cycle back towards the hostel on the other side of the river.

Our road out of Dentdale started a couple of miles before the hostel. Paul and Nick had kindly volunteered to speed ahead to the hostel and collect the bread and margarine that we'd left on the tree stump. Now we met up with them again near the station at Garsdale Head. Here was another opportunity to see a steam train, but the timetable outside the station informed us that we'd have to wait two hours for the next train. There was a strong, chilly wind, so we left as soon as we'd finished our lunch.

When we had reached the top of the hill and were just ready to set off, young Tristan fell off his bike and cut the palm of his hand rather badly. It was clear that it would need stitching, but getting NHS treatment seemed rather difficult. The ambulance service suggested ringing the doctor at Sedburgh, and the best he could suggest was that Tristan cycle the 9 miles to Sedburgh health centre to meet him. Michael tried to get a taxi from the town, but he and Tristan had cycled all the way into Sedburgh before it even left.

The doctor was very good: he provided Tristan with a knotted handkerchief for his mouth and tied him to the table while the operation was performed. Actually that wasn't quite true, but Tristan did find it rather painful. While we were there, Tristan's parents just happened to drive past the health centre and just happened to spot their son's bike - quite a coincidence.

Meanwhile the rest of the group had cycled back to Hawes, looked at the waterfall and climbed the long, hard ascent to Buttertubs. They waited there for a while, but set off for Keld at the agreed time. Michael and Tristan caught them up at the hostel after taking a taxi as far as Buttertubs.

The main feature of this hostel used to be an incredibly cuddly long-haired rabbit called Henry who wandered around the dining room, cat-style, during the consumption of meals. The hostel now has new wardens. When asked about the rabbit they related the story of the Public Health inspector who reputedly had Henry shot for leaving dung on the dining room floor.

The evening was spent with everyone engaged in various debates and water fights - the "watching Star Trek Videos" option which Michael had offered seemed to be a non-starter in the absence of a VTR.

This was destined to be a long ride, so we set off early for the first leg to Muker, along the beautiful Swaledale. Along the way, Lukas managed to fall off (not to be outdone by his brother), and Ben broke his pannier rack.

We climbed over Reeth Moor, enjoyed the descent into Arkengarthdale and then set about another strenuous climb to Hope Moor. Here was the end of the Dales national park, although the scenery didn't change that much as we crossed the line.

After a few more miles of exhilarating downhill and flat roads we found ourselves in Barnard Castle for what should have been a brief lunch stop. By the time we had visited the bike shop, purchased a new rack for Ben and fitted it to his bike, however, it was late afternoon and we were well behind schedule.

Next stop was High Force waterfall, situated in Teesdale. It was well worth the short walk, although several opted to wait by the bikes and missed the whole spectacle.

We crawled into Langdon Beck hostel, high up the valley, just as the delicious evening meal was being served. The hostel was just as comfortable as Dentdale with even better dormitories. Our second debate continued into the hours of darkness.

A headwind can be a major problem if it is strong enough, and this morning we had a real beauty all the way to Alston. The first six miles to the head of the valley took more than two hours and left some of our younger riders rather demoralised. Even strong and experienced riders were being blown off the road or stopped in their tracks. A telephone box and numerous grassy ditches by the road offered brief respites from the elements, but it was lunch time before we found ourselves in Alston village square eating hot food from the nearby Chip shop.

The going was a good deal easier after lunch as we veered northwards in the shelter of the valley of the river South Tyne. Paul E went so fast at one point that he fell off and grazed his knee. Once he had been patched we made good progress, and soon found ourselves looking at the sections of Hadrian's Wall near Haltwhistle. Conditions were still grey, windy and cold, so we quickly headed westwards to Greenhead, the location of our last hostel.

Greenhead is unlike many other simple hostels in that it is unappealing. The dormitories are dismal as a result of the poor lighting, and the common room / dining room is just too large to be cosy. Neil thought the overall effect was that of a cell block! We wouldn't have stayed here if we'd had a choice, but we needed to be within easy reach of Carlisle for tomorrow's train, and Greenhead was in the best position.

After an unexciting meal (particularly unexciting for Michael whose specially-ordered vegetarian pie had been taken by another hosteller) we managed to squeeze everyone into the largest of the dorms for the traditional end-of-tour chat.