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.

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.

Wet and windy weather heralded the hardest day of the tour. Leaving late from the hostel (with Michael who had waited for him), Jeremy proceeded to turn left instead of right in his panic to get to the ferry, and rode up a steep hill before realising his mistake. Speeding back to the ferry it was humiliating to see it a hundred yards out from Raasay. An annoyed Michael (and Jeremy) caught the next ferry, which in fact arrived soon after, as the ferry had returned to Raasay straight after docking on Skye. A badly planned joke awaited them on Skye, as the driver of an immaculate Aston Martin greeted the duo with the question "Is one of you Michael?", and told them that the group had ridden on. Unfortunately several bikes were obviously visible, leaned against a telephone box, and so the joke backfired. The group proceeded in better weather to the Kyleakin-Kyle of Lochalsh ferry.

The very short crossing took the group to the meeting point where Steve Wilson rejoined the tour, and the group proceeded onwards to stop for lunch at Plockton, a picturesque village with a Mediterranean type climate because of a current that comes in by it from the ocean.

Several miles were pedalled away as the group neared their formidable hurdle before Applecross - Bealach na ba (the Pass of the Cattle). Rising from sea level to 2053 feet in about four miles, the sign at its beginning stated "Not advised for learner drivers or caravans". The plan was for everybody to climb at their own pace, and this was what happened, although the first arrivals soon realised that it was no fun standing around at the cold, wet and darkening summit.

Once all the group arrived the exhilarating descent began complete with frost-bitten fingers, and it only remained for groups to be assigned to their respective b&bs for a night of luxury. It seemed ridiculous that a 72-mile round trip could have been substituted by a two-mile boat trip to get from Raasay to Applecross - if only there had been a ferry.

Just as the group were ready to leave, much later than planned due to wheel truing, Michael spotted the laundry, hidden away in the foyer. Thus, he proceeded to empty the entire contents of his panniers and saddlebag (or so it seemed) to wash them, and by the time the machines were vacant and they had consequently finished their never-ending washing and drying cycles it was very late. Then further time was wasted at the shop down the road buying food, and then waiting around further up the road at a National Trust (for Scotland) building.

Finally the group began to ride up a lane for several miles, which being quiet and undulating meant that the miles went by with ease, but arriving in Kinlochewe, the inevitable prolonged cafe stop came around, and it was not until 1pm that the group got going. Further delay was created when Mark's rear axle gave up the ghost. Jason considerately gave up his bike and walked with Mark's bike towards Carn Dearg, whilst the group stopped at a hotel up the road to arrange for a taxi - phoning up almost every taxi firm in Scotland for the time it took.

However, with considerable expertise and overcoming of daunting logistics, it was also arranged for a cro-moly replacement rear axle to be transported by various means from Perth to Carn Dearg. Thus, after a comparatively normal ride to Carn Dearg, that evening Mark's bike received a major overhaul, whilst Steve's mechanical "expertise" was applied to Jason's wheels, with undesired results. The night was spent with Andrew's "Gingerbread Man", his own modernised version of the book that had provided the entertainment on the hospital on Skye, as well as much laughter over the female warden beckoning Michael into her little shop.