Jeremy Ford won an award from the members today when he asked whether there was any water at the destination. Luke Hatherly explained (rather sarcastically) that a single drop of rain landed there a few millenia ago and caused a splash, hence the name Ponsworthy Splash.

Our route took us through Hembury Woods, New Bridge and Spitchwick, where the river Dart flowed strongly with an abundance of clean, fresh water. Unfortunately many people were swarming in the sunshine like bees around a honey pot, so we quickly set off for the peace of the Leusdon lane - too narrow for the vehicles to follow. We were greeted along the way by the friendly gaggle of ducks that reside in the pond, and by three pet goats tethered to a wooded verge.

Arriving at Leusdon Lodge, the venue for our annual Christmas Lunch, we were greeted by the proprietor's son James, who interrupted his painting to supply us with various items of confectionery. We also had to see his new bike, of course.

Ponsworthy Splash, now renamed Forder Bridge for some strange reason, was as green and wet as ever, but nobody slipped on this occasion. Alex and Zoe both did well on their first rides, but Zoe learned a hard lesson at Buckland when she ran out of road on a sharp bend and found herself with a few cuts and grazes. Brother Luke stayed with her until father came to the rescue, while Michael escorted the other members home, arriving at Buckfastleigh rather late at 6pm.

Richard and Ken were unable to attend at the last minute, but Dave Robinson saved the day, and Martin and Dayle helped out by assisting the younger riders with their mechanical problems.

We played our usual energetic games at Maypool on the Saturday evening.

On Sunday we rode through Paignton and Torquay to Babbacombe, where we enjoyed lunch. Remembering that the Old Bakery would now be open we decided to enjoy the refreshments we had been denied last year. On arriving at Stoke-in-Teignhead, however, we were told that we could not be accommodated because they needed the tables for Mothers Day meals within the hour. I explained that we had come a long way to visit his café for the second time in six months, but he wasn't interested. We have to advise cyclists that they are unlikely to get a warm welcome at this particular establishment at any time of the year.

Martin and Richard faced a strong headwind as they made their way over the moor. By Two Bridges the threatening rain had become steady, and several heavy bursts were quite dampening, of both body and spirit. The adverse weather didn't deter some clay pigeon shooters from peppering the moorland with pellets, and Tavistock Wheelers bowled down the hill the other way looking quite happy. What a difference a tailwind makes. We had a brief chat with a tandeming family on the descent from Merrivale, and Martin then scoured Tavistock looking for acceptable food.

With the rain cleared and lunch eaten in a field gateway we turned down to Denham Bridge. A sign warns that the water is 40 feet deep by the rocks, and it certainly swirled menacingly under the bridge. There's a choice of routes up from the bridge to Buckland Monachorum, both exhaustingly steep, but neither is as bad as the road down to the bridge, a twisting 1 in 4. We opted for the Plym Valley cycle path, as Martin had only ridden it once before, and that was at night: he wanted to see what it looked like. He was puzzled in the tunnel that his front light seemed dim, and then realised that he still had his sunglasses on. The wind was now on our backs, and we made a quick return home on an afternoon when cyclists seemed to be out in force.

Riding the short track to Didworthy made a pleasant variation on our usual Avon Dam ride, but we didn't want to vary the Abbotts Way route to Cross Furzes.

Michael forgot the table tennis balls and bats so he had to return home for them before some of the games could commence. The final evening of the social season then continued in true South Dartmoor style with card games, pool, table tennis and computer games.

We welcomed John Stuart, Simon Hopper and Andrew Simmons back to the fold, home for the Easter Holiday. We certainly made an impressive sight at the Bovey Tracey pick-up. Those who went into the Primrose café at Lustleigh were rewarded with a special menu offering 50% discount on many items - see the noticeboard in this newsletter for details.

There was some competition amongst the older teenagers to see who could ride the fastest along the narrow lanes, despite Michael's attempts to encourage self-discipline. Today's casualty was Roger Johnson, who came off on a gravelly bend and damaged his elbow: his parents collected him and took him to the local hospital for treatment, and he then had to return to Totnes hospital regularly for a few weeks before the wound was fully healed. Next time the damage could be even more serious, so please try to put safety first!

The ride continued up to Manaton, and thence to Whooping Rock itself along a short track. After enjoying lunch in the sun we left the tranquil setting and returned home via Jay's Grave.

After an uneventful journey by car, past much holiday traffic going the other way, we arrived in Cranbourne at about three o'clock. Having set off, Richard B found his speedo wasn't working and then realised he'd got his front wheel in the wrong way round.

The first part was back up the hill we had just descended, and this was signposted to '6D Handley'. Hazel and Richard H instantly recognised it as meaning Sixpenny Handley - a result of their advanced age, as Julian put it. Or education, as Hazel replied. The next few miles took us along the line of the ridge, along the Ox Drove, overlooking the River Ebble. Although this track was generally level there were several small lakes on the way that caused us to walk gingerly around the side. We were relieved that it had been relatively dry recently. In places it was very lumpy, giving all our gear a good shaking down into the panniers. It also became increasingly muddy, and very sticky. Richard H won the muddy bike competition.

The last part of this track took us down Throope Hill, a lovely descent. The quickest down to the bottom missed the sight of a hot air balloon hedge-hopping over the track, dropping down into the steep valley beside us as if it was going to land, and then rising off again with the occasional whoosh from its gas burners. It's not often you look down from a bicycle onto a hot air balloon in flight.

We reached Salisbury hostel just before dusk. Although large, it was full that night. The good news about the kitchen: it now has two fridges; the bad news: there were hardly any saucepans.

Richard H had packed his suntan lotion; would he need it today? A clear night had left a frost on the grass when we got up, but it had all the signs of being a good day. We ambled down into Salisbury after Richard B had adjusted his front cones, and spent the morning enjoying this bustling centre. Newton Abbot hides its market away, but here it was in full swing and provided a natural focus for commercial activity. Leslie Thomas was at one of the bookshops, signing copies of his new book. The cathedral spire, the tallest in England, was smothered in scaffolding, and the nearby notice announced that they still needed £2.4 million to finish the restoration work and take it down.

We gathered again at midday, and by this time the sun had taken off the early chill. It was 100% shorts. We backtracked past the hostel and our route took us down the valley of the Avon. This was cycling at its best: gently downhill with the fall of the river to make you think you are fit, and a couple of minor hills to pre-empt any monotony. The most enjoyable feature of the hills in this part of the world is that, unlike Devon's twisty and turny roads, the downhill sides don't have awkward bends in the way: you get the full benefit of your climb, with little erosion of the brake blocks. The architecture used a pleasing variety of local building materials - patterned brick, brick and flint, stone and flint, and some just stone. Like the river, the road meandered through little villages with their greens, New Forest ponies chewing the grass, Volvos, large houses called 'Thatch Cottage', 'For Sale' signs from the estate agent called 'Out of Town' and a restaurant called the 'Mirabelle'. The road and river met at four different fords, but only one of them had water in it.

The entire New Forest appears to be a 40mph zone, which is good news for cyclists. The presence of the ponies, however, means that there are more cattle grids than on Dartmoor. The ponies caused us no problems, but as we rode through Burley three donkeys wandered across the road in front of us. On the track to the hostel Julian lost a rack bolt; presumably the shaking of the previous day had at last taken its toll. Since we were early at the hostel Richard B took the opportunity to replace a gear lever with one he had bought in Salisbury, and Julian caught the juggling bug off Richard H.