A pleasant little ride, the outward route being via Hembury Woods. The only people to be seen at Spitchwick were a father and his two sons, who were busy cooking a meal on their portable barbecue. They were pleased to chat with us, but the swarming gnats soon persuaded us to set off for home.

It was still raining at Totnes, and surprisingly Philip didn't want to continue with the ride, preferring instead to take up Nonie and Mike's offer of coffee in Totnes. We returned in continuing rain at lunchtime for a game of the inevitable Risk at Crofters.

Having taken the usual route along Colston lane and now finding ourselves at Staverton Bridge, questions were voiced about the local playground. These were best answered by visiting the said playground, our arrival coinciding exactly with the completion of a women's football match. The swings and fort were thus fully available for the use of our members.

The ride then continued to Landscove playground, contained safely within a gated paddock. In view of the descending dusk, it was felt that no more playgrounds could be visited on this particular evening, but there was time to try a new return route through Lower Combe and the steep climb to High Beara.

Perhaps it would be pessimistic to suggest that the tour started in a bad way, but it certainly looked that way as Michael arrived literally with seconds to spare at Newton Abbot station. A quick sprint down the platform as the whistle blew got us into the guard's van just as the train pulled away.

The train journey was uninterrupted until Graham Beever joined the group at Bristol Temple Meads and produced a bunch of grapes (surely an inappropriate setting). These were, of course, duly consumed by everyone else.

Next to embark were Darrel Gough and Andrew Brush at Gloucester, and later Philip Mills at Cheltenham Spa. However, by this time it became obvious that Michael was beginning to apply class distinctions in the group as several supposedly superior members of the group were given the honour of sitting in a first class compartment, which brought much dispute amongst the "inferiors" in the second class coach (complete with non-existent ventilation). Then Michael and Chris Hall were soon to arrive in a rainy Preston, with the final member Stephen Wilson joining at Glasgow Central.

A quick sprint through wet Glasgow led us to Queen Street, where the bikes were expertly placed onto the train (albeit in different carriages) despite some obvious glances from Glasgow commuters.

Arriving at Balloch Central, we departed for Loch Lomond Youth Hostel, but didn't proceed very far before the tour's first mechanical mishap occurred, when Graham's gear lever snapped. Once at the hostel, it was almost immediately time for our prepared meal - complete with Michael's suspect vegetarian meal, and Jeremy's levitating peas (in the soup).

Endless amusement was provided by the hoist to take washing up to the warden's kitchen (one floor below). Cultural discussion was provided in the games room by two girls "from up north" about musical taste, and comedy by Michael's dramatized fall off his bunk bed in the top floor dormitory, which resulted in a good deal more pain than originally envisaged.

The ****** left the Youth Hostel in obligatory rain (or so it seemed), heading for Arrochar to catch the train which was eventually to take us to Fort William, with the overnight stop at Loch Ossian hostel. The road was unfortunately littered with roadworks, which had strewn grit and mud, mixed with rain, in many places. Arriving at Arrochar the group voiced their discontent at Michael passing several shops near to the station and proceeding down a long hill to a shop at the bottom. Provisions were duly bought for that night and next morning at Loch Ossian.

On returning to the station, the bane of all visitors to the Highlands were sighted for the first time - the notorious Scottish midge. However, the train arrived conveniently before they could do us much harm. The subsequent journey, thought to be one of this country's most scenic, was marred by the permanent rain.

On arriving at the station at Corrour the rain had not really receded, and so a quick sprint was necessitated to the spartan Loch Ossian hostel. After the location of the dormitory (easy for all but the most idiotic imbecile in a hostel this size), some of the group proceeded to cycle around the Loch's 7-mile track, whilst the more foolhardy attempted a climb of the nearby hill, through midge-infested heather, deer fences and bog. Hence everyone later arrived at the hostel wet (the rain was as persistent as ever). Meanwhile Jason, Andrew and Philip Mills had gone to their supposed luxury accommodation near the station (a small building between the two railway lines although no-one warned them about the 23:50 train).

Michael, using his (debatable) charm, thought he was on to a winner when two young German females asked him to swap their large carton of pasteurised milk for two of the group's smaller cartons. Michael was aghast to discover that they had cruelly deceived him into accepting a two litre carton of UHT milk! Perhaps this was the reason for his dubious "ghost" story in the dormitory.

Despite the enthusiasm of many of the group to participate in the Loch Ossian run the previous night, only two from the hostel left with Tom the warden, a speedy Dutchman and couple of German athletes, that is to say on foot. Most of the group followed on bikes. Unfortunately Jason and Andrew arrived at the hostel late, and so did not benefit from Tom's pacemaking (the 7-mile run is to be completed in under an hour - Tom, the warden, does it in around 59 minutes every day) and regular time/distance checks. The run was eventually completed in time by Jeremy, with Daryl, Andrew and Jason just missing out.

The train was duly caught from Corrour to take us to Fort William, and despite Jeremy's brief bout of illness, the trip was quickly over.

Passing the concrete bin that damaged Michael's bike's top tube on a previous tour the group stopped in Fort William for a while to look around, buy Graham a new pair of levers (he's been hobbling around in third gear) and provisions.

Following a quick ride to Glen Nevis, we looked in, found our dormitory, and prepared for our assault on Ben Nevis.

Having stocked up with chocolate at the hostel store the "assault" began. It was eventually curtailed about halfway up, as we met more and more walkers descending, and telling us how awful it was at the summit. Thus our only consolation was Michael telling us how good it would have been if the weather had been kinder. Unfortunately for the members of the party who arrived back last at the hostel, the showers had been used by quite a few people, and hence turned out to be very cold. Nevertheless, as Michael cooked his meal that evening, you couldn't help noticing the smile on his face, as he realised that the German hostellers from Loch Ossian were also staying here.

Nobody else waiting at the station when Gnome popped in to check, so straight off to meet Budgie by his favourite RAC box, then on to Gappah for the rendezvous. Only Max out from the seaside megalopolis, so, pleasantries having been exchanged, off again towards the destination, smirking at oil in a jam.

Early lunch, followed by prolonged perusal of the panoramic vista and a chance meeting with Masters senior, then over towards Lawrence Castle and down to the Teign Valley via Trusham. Nice homeward route via Teigngrace and Seale Hayne college and back lanes to Ashburton. Road closed due to Bed Race (s'truth!) so back to the reserve via Holne. And nobody got a puncture.

Surprisingly, we were again treated to a sunny start and set off to catch the Skye ferry at Mallaig, where we stocked up with provisions. Then we waited, watching the ferry load up with its complicated side-loading system. Being one of the first groups on we sat waiting, as the ferry loaded, in the lounge.

The crossing was surprisingly quick, and the group all managed to get off quickly. Stopping at a "grockle shop" next to the quay where the ferry had docked, we set off to then stop at the Post Office, virtually a tin shed. Then a few miles later the lunch stop was reached, albeit isolated. The next stop was to be the main town of Broadford where provisions were bought at the co-op. Jeremy was somewhat bemused at the lady in front of him in the checkout queue talking to the assistant in Gaelic. Unfortunately Andrew had a brief bout of illness (of which he had complained during the day). Thus it was decided to visit the local hospital, both for Andrew's and Graham's sake, the latter of which had shut his finger in a window at Garramore.

Whilst sitting in the waiting area a certain literary masterpiece was soon found by the group, namely Ladybird's very own version of the "Gingerbread Man". It was this that was to inspire Andrew's modernised version later in the tour.

As Michael waited for Andrew and Graham to be seen to, the rest of the group set off to a cafe further along the route to Glenbrittle.

The rain had become heavier, and coupled with the road running along the coast, it was to dampen almost everyone's spirit. When the cafe was reached a further blow came with the proprietor telling the group that all the space in the (small) cafe was booked for a coach party, and so popcorn had to do. However, the group stood bemused as a horse casually wandered down the road, turning into the cafe as if it were a normal occurrence. Perhaps it's not so unusual on Dartmoor to see horses wandering along roads, but nevertheless it seemed strangely out of place here. Packets of popcorn were consumed by the horse, as Philip jokingly led it (with popcorn bait) towards the door of the cafe.

By now the group was becoming a little concerned as to why this horse was where it was, but reassurance came from the cafe owner who informed us that "Starsky" (the horse) was a regular visitor. Once Michael, Graham and Andrew arrived (and the coach party left) drinks were consumed in the cafe and then the group reluctantly proceeded to ride to Glenbrittle, gazing at hoards of rabbits running up and down the hillside as they passed.

The rain seemed more persistent as we neared the hostel, only having to negotiate a steep downhill with hairpin bends before the hostel was reached. Andrew B had the misfortune to discover that his bike's brakes were not as good as he thought, and illustrated the fact by veering off the road at an alarming speed. However, he stopped (ruining his expensive Sidi shoes and overshoes in the process), and the hostel was finally reached. Having placed bikes in the bike shed and wet clothes in the vastly overstocked drying room the group settled down for the evening, with the only action being Michael cutting his finger whilst preparing his meal.