South Dartmoor Section's first excursion into Dorset got off to a wet and miserable start. The rain, which was falling even as we arrived at Newton Abbot station, lashed the side of the train all the way to Axminster. As we disembarked at 1145 the prospect of a dry afternoon appeared remote to say the least.

Our worst fears were realised. Having consumed our lunch under the frontage of an Axminster supermarket we settled into the only cafe for a prolonged refreshment stop. When we could stay there no longer we browsed through the shops. There was some amusement here: we watched in amazement as Phillip Harler purchased a £3.50 Dandy Annual in the newsagents and then asked Mark Moxham to carry it for the rest of the weekend. Even more amusing was the fact that Mark agreed!

Decision time had, unfortunately, arrived. We needed to allow 3½ hours for the 18-mile journey to Litton Cheney. The rain was forecast to stop during the afternoon, but at 1330 we could wait no longer. Steven and Mark, who knew the way without checking the map, set off when no-one was looking, and the rest of us spent the next twenty minutes riding around Axminster trying to second guess where they might have gone. When we finally found the right road we were nicely wetted. The weekend was not looking promising!

We didn't find Mark and Steven until we had climbed an interestingly steep hill to the B3165, followed the latter along the ridge and descended into Marshwood. Fortunately we had agreed a route on the train, and this was the spot where they felt sure they would meet us.

The lane route through Broadoak to Bradpole was, thankfully, mainly flat or downhill. Progress was hindered only by the presence of some unusually deep and wide lakes on the road, but as we were already wet these just presented opportunities for entertainment - provided mainly by the mountain bikers of course. Neil wasn't quiet so amused when his "puncture-resistant" tyre went flat after riding through the lake near Shave Cross. Neither was Michael, as he had to repair it! An elderly gentleman looked on as the repair proceeded, and finally suggested an alternative route which would avoid the lake. Michael thanked him kindly, informing him that his advice was a little too late.

Steven got the next puncture, near Bradpole, but decided it was slow enough to pump. However, after passing the pretty village of Loders and the strange fortress ridges of Uploders, Mark Moxham picked up two punctures at once - a large piece of flint and a thorn - just when we didn't need them.

Darkness fell as repairs were effected. Taking the level, southern route to the hostel through Shipton Gorge we proceeded at maximum warp. And just as we arrived, the rain finally stopped! Still, we didn't mind. We were wet through, but the thought of a warm, dry hostel, hot showers, comfortable beds and good meals had kept us going.

We were about to be disappointed. The dormitories were cramped, cold and poorly lit (just two dim bulbs, the light of which didn't extend far beyond the bunks immediately beneath them). There was no hot water in the taps or showers. The toilets were in a shed across the back yard. And to complete the disillusionment, the bike shed was full of building materials so our precious machines had to spend the night under the stars (or rather, clouds). This was a very basic hostel. On the positive side, there was some warmth in the common room: two pieces of glowing coal were huddled together in the open fireplace. Unfortunately, there was already a crowd of hostellers around the fire, so even this luxury was denied to us.

Once we were in dry clothes things began to look a little better. There was a good drying room, even if it was a little on the small side. Many of us spent happy periods in this little room, just enjoying the luxury of warmth. And the meals were home made and first rate, with as many helpings as you needed. The rest of the evening was spent playing table football, monopoly and Philip's role-playing adventure game, book-style. Simple hostels nearly always have the best atmosphere (and this one is no exception), but we'd recommend Litton Cheney for summer visits only.

Next morning was bright and sunny as forecast, although the sky looked a bit watery. We could now see that the hostel (which was originally a dutch barn and later a cheese and milk factory) was located in a delightful setting, just outside the equally delightful village of Litton Cheney.

We made the most of the conditions by setting off early, as we were expecting further rain by late morning. The easy lanes brought us to Burton Bradstock and West Bay, where we stopped briefly to buy refreshments. We then skirted Bridport, tackled the big hill out of Chideock and eventually reached our planned lunch spot - the coastal track high between Morcombelake and Charmouth. Here there was plenty of grassy space for the younger members to practice jumps and other stunts.

Following the steep descent to Charmouth it was Simon's turn for a puncture. Eventually we set off again through the pretty lanes near Wootton Fitzpaine, hoping that the additional delay wouldn't result in us getting wet again. Today, however, the forecast was wrong in our favour. We even had time to fix Steven's puncture whilst waiting for Simon's gang to return (they had gone past the selected turning). We had a 1½ hour wait at Axminster station for the train, but at least we didn't get wet again.

And so, the end of an interesting weekend. Some people don't like the idea of winter hostelling, but it can certainly be an adventure.