At 9am everyone was outside with the bikes admiring the view of the distant mist rolling across the loch and savouring deep breaths of fresh Scottish air. The sun was bright, promising great things for our first day of cycling – so bright in fact that Carl fell off his bike whilst cycling around the fountain!

When I said ‘everyone’ was outside, I should have said ‘everyone except Brett’: he was sweeping his dormitory for the third time under the critical eye of a none-too-pleased warden. Fortunately another inspection revealed that he had at last managed to remove more than fifty per cent of the dust, and so he (and the rest of us) were allowed to leave.

Split-second timing has become a feature of Michael’s tours over the years. On this occasion a slightly hectic push along the eighteen-mile loch-side road brought us to Arrochar station just ten minutes before the only train of the day to Fort William was due to leave. The timing would not have been quite so tight had Daniel’s damaged mudguard not required urgent attention along the way.

The train journey to Fort William took nearly three hours, although fine scenery and good food seemed to make the time go more quickly. After a provision stop and a short ride to the youth hostel, thoughts turned to the main event of the day - the assault of Ben Nevis.

A few heavy showers persuaded the younger boys that the TV room was a better bet than the mountain. The nine remaining mountaineers made a bold start up the steep track from the hostel, set with huge steps that looked and felt as though they had been made for giants. Several bends and two hundred soggy metres later the part was down to five (Michael, Daniel, Ian and the two Damians) and the rain, at last, was showing signs of stopping.

There were many occasions when we almost turned back, such as the time we realised that with the hundreds of people walking the path we were the only ones going up, and the times when people coming down assured us that we were still on the foothills. After two hours however we had reached the top.

The sky had cleared for us and the sun now shone brightly on the desolate scree slopes of the summit, the white, fast-moving clouds below us, the green, rolling mountains opposite and the Scottish lochs and highlands in the distance. Here there was absolute silence: not even the sound of an insect broke the feeling of desolation. Hundreds of metres below us lay the huge lake that had marked the half-way point of our climb: now it seemed small and insignificant against this magnificent backdrop. Through the wispy clouds we could occasionally make out the youth hostel far below. For we five the tour had already provided us with our money’s worth.

The descent took only one and a half hours. It was 8.30 and time for showers, food and bed – in that order. Fortunately there was no shortage of milk: Michael had, as usual, ordered enough to bath in – 22 pints!

Andrew Billington was different. He had felt different since the start of the tour but hadn’t been able to pinpoint the exact reason. Did the other lads have more energy? Was their meaty diet affecting their behaviour? Was he just on a far higher spiritual plane?

Suddenly he saw. They were all wearing … Hi-Tec trainers! Such bright colours and flashy designs. This ‘concept footwear’ seemed to be revitalising their whole characters. He determined to buy a pair that very morning and set off early for a visit to Fort William.

The rest of the group rendezvoused with the new-look Andrew at Nevis Bridge and then proceeded at fair speed along the Road to the Isles (A830) as far as the Glenfinnan Monument, pausing only for provisions at Corpach and a delicate front-changer removal operation on Damian W’s bike beside the bank of Loch Eil.

There is a spiral staircase within the monument, at the top of which is a small trap door which leads out onto the parapet. A huge stone statue takes up much of the available space and the knee-high safety barrier did little to prevent Michael from feeling somewhat insecure (‘petrified’ was Andrew’s description, but he’s say anything for dramatic effect) as he surveyed the youngsters below playing games with a frisky dog in the tranquil waters of Loch Shiel.

When lunch had been devoured and Steve had been photographed standing on a stone in his monument pose we were off again, penetrating deeper and deeper into the Morar peninsula. Loch Eilt was the next stop when Andrew S decided to swim across to the nearby island. He chickened out when it came to ‘Ze Crunch’ but poor Brett was given no such opportunity!

At last we were nearing the sea. The sight of sheep nosing through the seaweed on the first beach near Polnish cured us of any idea that Scottish seascapes were even remotely similar to those in Devon. We surveyed the scenery from the comfort of a seaside café at Arisaig before covering the last few twisty miles to the hostel.

The welcoming notice at the reception did not exactly cheer us up: “Warden having supper – please wait”. Fortunately we anticipated that the delay might be considerable and used the time for showers and suppers.

Then came the highlight of the day – a walk to the fabulous silver-sand beaches at nearby Camusdarach. To his extreme disappointment (and everyone else’s amusement) Andrew’s new trainers failed to provide him with the courage necessary to leap off a high grassy bank onto the unseen sand below.

As the huge red sun set gracefully over the Sound of Sleat we played timelessly on the soft silvery sand dunes. If there is a paradise to be found on earth we had surely found it here in this remote and unspoilt haven.