Those readers who have followed the stories of previous South Dartmoor tours will probably have been quietly surprised by the relative absence of major problems on the tour so far. Admittedly Stephen had turned out to be a mild problem, but things still seemed fairly well under control. You will no doubt be pleased to hear that the real nightmare was about to begin.

First, some good news. The group had been chatting with a bunch of cyclists at the hostel and had discovered that not only were they travelling with a support car (a Volvo estate) but they were also going to Achmelvich that night and Carbisdale Castle the next night. They called themselves Highland Cycle Tours or some such name. Stephen’s transport problems seemed to be solved at a stroke, so he packed himself into the Volvo while the others bought some provisions in the Ullapool shops.

A few minutes after a belated 11am departure, Michael H punctured. Most of the group had already climbed halfway up the hill so they waited there, patiently. Well David, being David, found it difficult to wait patiently so he looked around for someone to annoy. He saw Michael J. Shortly afterwards he found himself lying in a particularly prickly kind of Scottish gorse bush, unable to move without receiving agonising pain and with a number of cheeky cyclists taking photographs of the spectacle.

Mark, still suffering from his sickness, was not exactly pushing the pace. Nevertheless the cheerful gang eventually came within sight of the volcano-like Stac Pollaidh (313m) and paused briefly on the banks of Loch Lurgainn for lunch. It was here that Michael J’s extremely expensive pot of strawberry jam decided to roll down the bank and smash itself on a stone.

Andrew Billington, who still had happy memories of the last Scotland tour, was determined to climb Stac Pollaidh again. On this occasion he was only able to persuade Ian to join him, the rest of the group preferring to press on.

It was just after this that the real trouble began. Michael J and Brett both began to feel sick. By the time they had reached Loch na’Dail they were both completely incapacitated. Mark had also lost ground, so Michael sent Richard H on with the rest of the group asking them to call the Volvo back from the hostel to collect them. The three struggled to the top of the hill but could travel not a centimetre further: they all collapsed by the side of the desolate road, immobilised and feeling very sorry for themselves.

Time passed. Brett was convinced he was dying as he thought he was coughing up bile. Michael tried to attract the attentions of a passing motorist who had happened by, with eventual success. Sadly he was Dutch and could hardly speak English, but he kindly agreed to take Michael onward towards Lochinver’s public telephone, leaving Brett and Mark to look after the bikes and stop Andy and Ian when they had finished their climb.

But what was this? Close to Enard Bay Michael J and his Dutch chauffer came across the rest of the group, standing around and looking very dejected. Lying on the ground was Richard Van Looy, wrapped in a silver survival sheet and being tended to by Richard H.

What had happened? Richard VL had also felt ill during the afternoon and had asked Andrew for one of his Imodium tablets. Presumably the tablet had adversely affected his concentration as he had dozed off and cycled into a roadside cliff face. Now he looked in a poor state. Michael H and Damian C had cycled off to Lochinver to call the emergency services.

The ambulance, which came all the way from Ullapool as a result of the message being somewhat garbled, found Brett and Mark first and of course thought that this was the emergency they had been called for. Brett and Mark, being unaware of the trouble ahead, were equally convinced that this was their ambulance. Fortunately the driver decided to take them to the doctor at Lochinver and so ran into the other group on the way. They could hardly believe the trail of casualties which they were discovering along this usually quiet stretch of road.

Speedily the cycles were unloaded and Richard VL was carefully taken aboard along with Michael J. The Volvo turned up just as the ambulance was leaving, kindly agreeing to take all the bikes and luggage on to the hostel. Meanwhile the nurse made a great fuss of poor Brett who was definitely the worst affected by the sickness.

The doctor at Lochinver decided that the sickness was gastroenteritis and that it would clear with rest, so he authorised the ambulance to take the invalids on to the hostel. The rest of the group cycled past just as they set off. When, at the hostel, the three had been allocated to a special small ‘isolation dorm’ (the youngsters wanted to put a red cross on the door) the ambulance set off again to take Richard VL on the long journey to Inverness hospital where a more extensive examination could be made of his injuries.

What a day. The three lads lay quietly on their beds all evening, hardly daring to move in case they became sick again. Outside they heard the sounds of clinking metal which they later discovered to be the piece-by-piece dismantling of Richard VL’s bicycle. Apparently the Volvo group had decided that the frame was a write-off and that the components should be salvaged and packed as tightly as possible. Poor Richard!

About half the group were able to enjoy some dune-hopping on Achmelvich’s superb silver-sand beaches, so the extreme beauty of the area was not entirely wasted.

Our tour was nearing its conclusion. As we awoke we realised that we would soon be thinking of the technicalities of getting everyone home rather than the delights of the local scenery. But now it was breakfast time and breakfast in a real castle was not something to be missed.

Andrew, Stephen and Damian W were today’s train contingent, so they set off to catch the early train from Culrain to Inverness, taking the various pieces of Richard’s bike with them in a number of carrier bags. The rest of us had to cycle to Inverness over the hills of Easter Ross, but this prospect did not seem too distressing.

Well, we were about due for some rain I suppose. It came as drizzle as we reached the top of the A836 near Strath Rory. Michael J and a few others raced down the other side to Dalnavie so that telephone arrangements could be made with Inverness hospital for Richard’s release. They then waited in the café for the rest of the group.

Several cups of coffee and six chocolate cakes later they began to realise that something might be wrong. Michael J was not particularly keen on cycling all the way back to the top so he waited a little longer to see what would happen. He waited, and nothing happened at all, so eventually he had to set off in the drizzle. He met a couple of messengers part-way up who merely said that he had to go to the top as there were … problems!

On arrival he discovered two separate disasters. Firstly, Philip had punctured near the valve. He had no spare tube (readers may recall the reason for this from an earlier episode in the tour) and had tried in vain to repair the damage. The combination of rain and laughter had done little to ease his frustration so he was grateful for some assistance.

The second, more serious disaster was Richard Hopper’s rear spindle, which was now composed of two separate sections. The vision of the last train leaving Inverness as we raced into the station had already been conjured up in Michael J’s mind so there was no time to lose.

Richard started to walk the three miles down to the telephone box while Michael J and the others cycled there to telephone for a taxi (expensive I suppose, but we weren’t too far from Inverness and the cost of missing the train would have been much greater). Just as the arrangements were being made Richard pulled up in the back of a truck, informed us that he could be taken as far as the Torre roundabout (about five miles out of Inverness) and then disappeared in a cloud of damp dust. The taxi driver agreed to meet him there, so off we set, enjoying the last part of the descent before crossing the huge Kessock Bridge over Cromarty Firth.

Our delay, which amounted to 1.8 hours in total, meant that we missed the planned train by thirty minutes. To add to our problems there was no room for bikes on the 4.30 train, so we had to content ourselves with taking the 5.30 which would bring us to Perth at about 8pm. Michael J rang the hostel to delay supper and the group then used the available time wisely by purchasing gifts from the local shops. Readers who plan to visit Inverness station should remember not to use the male toilets on the station: they are undoubtedly the cleanest lavatories for miles around, but one is not allowed to use them until one has paid 10p to the attendant at the entrance!

Richard VL, who had re-joined us at the station, had made a good recovery. In fact he was just as cheeky as ever in his delightful East London accent. There was plenty of time for him to catch up with events on the train, and then there was a delicious home-baked supper waiting for us at Perth hostel. Scottish wardens really did make us welcome as we toured around their lovely land.

An early night was definitely the order of the day, but as Michael J took his bike around the back of the hostel to the bike shed he couldn’t help smiling at the note on the back door: ‘twenty extra pints please’.

A brisk ride along the main road next morning brought us to The Buttered Scone (a café) at Newton Poppleford which boasted some of the most delicious and generously-portioned cakes and puddings we have ever tasted – and all at a reasonable price too. Needless to say, we had to sample them all.

Lunch at Woodbury Castle was followed by an enjoyable descent to Topsham, an interesting ride along the canal path to Alphington and a not so enjoyable climb over Haldon. Still, everyone made it, including the relatively new youngsters who had expected to need parental assistance from Exeter.

Progress towards the Primrose cafe was impeded somewhat by the Bovey bypass roadworks which had cut across the old railway track, but eventually we arrived to enjoy a superb spread of tea and cakes.

When the 'exchange' (with Torbay Section) had taken place we set off up the steep wooded little lanes near Rudge for the thirty minutes journey to the destination. Colin was able to guide us to an interesting little cave up in the woods which boasted a boy-sized exit at the rear, providing endless opportunities for lunch-time amusements. One amusement which wasn't cave-related - covering Michael's bicycle with huge dead branches - did not amuse Michael at all!

The afternoon involved riding through North Bovey and Jay's Grave to Widecombe, the remaining snow providing fuel for occasional snowball fights along the way. There was, of course, time for a visit to the Wayside cafe before making our various ways homeward.

As far as we are aware, no report was ever written or published for this tour, and we are unable to find any detailed notes about what happened. We have filled in obvious details for each day, but if you were on the tour and would like to add your own comments - or if you actually have a full tour report by some miracle - please get in touch with us.

The pictures, however, are all complete and captioned, and these tell much of the story without the need for words!

Catherine met us at Totnes rail station and we all took the 0948 train for Plymouth. We planned to rake the Torpoint ferry to Saltash and then to ride along the south coast, through Downderry and to Looe, then on to the Bodinnick Ferry to Fowey.

Golant hostel is a large mansion set in its own grounds overlooking the river Fowey.