On Tuesday we set off early for the long ride north. The road signs here reflected the limited number of roads and road users in the area, one sign saying simply "The North". We followed that road as far as Drumrunie and then forked left onto a minor road that took us past a very distinctive mountain called Stac Pollaidh. Many of us couldn't resist the challenge of climbing to the top, which introduced a delay of an hour or two.

Continuing along the road we then forked right onto a road known locally as "The Mad Little Road to Wester Ross" - mad because it twists and turns all the way to Lochinver. From there it was just a short ride the hostel making a total of around 35 cycling miles.

It was Tuesday night when we experienced one of the finest moments of the tour. The hostel at Achmelvich, near Lochinver, is located near another silver sand beach. Once again we had a glorious sunset, but this setting was simply out of this world. It really isn't possible to convey the beauty and solitude of this place - you will just have to go there with us in 1992!

Recent snowfall over the south-west had meant that the final decision about whether or not the weekend should proceed as planned could not be made until the Saturday morning. The forecast was good and the wardens assured us that all main roads were clear, so we decided to go ahead.

The weekend began early for the Walker family: we were using a Luton van to transport the bikes, and the lot fell to the Walkers to collect it from the hire firm. Ken was bringing his personal mini-bus for the passengers, so when the Paignton contingent had loaded up, the strange convoy set off for Buckfastleigh and Heathfield to collect the other participants. The loading was not straightforward because Charlie took great care to secure the bikes with blankets and ropes, but the whole operation still proceeded right on schedule - much to the surprise of David and Jamie, who are used to waiting for an hour or more for the South Dartmoor brigade, especially on cold mornings!

The van's engine had only just warmed up when the crew in the mini-bus decided it was time for a pit-stop and promptly rolled into the Happy Eater on Haldon Hill. The youngsters definitely wanted a café stop, and this seemed like the only place we could be certain of getting it, but Charlie was not a happy eater today!

The closer we got to Crowcombe Heathfield the whiter the fields became, but the main roads remained clear and safe as the wardens had predicted. The half-mile lane from the main road to the hostel, having recently been salted, was covered with various textures of snow and slush, but Ken decided it was too white for the vans. We parked opposite a nearby garage and coasted precariously down to the youth hostel, only to find that the warden's 'opening after lunch' was actually going to be 4.30pm! We shivered on the doorstep as the warden walked off and left us - his heart must have been made of stone.

A short ride was attempted in order to keep warm, covering a roughly circular route around the hostel. The lanes we used were thick with snow, which offered plenty of scope for amusement. One of the amusements was the sight of Matthew riding over a snowy mound and discovering a steep drop on the other side which ended in a gully. He somehow managed to avoid serious injury, but ruined his front forks. Meanwhile, Ken decided to risk bringing the vans into the hostel grounds: they offered welcome comfort when we returned, keeping us warm until we were eventually allowed into the hostel.

The warden gave us a belated 'warm' welcome. We all clamoured round a glowing Parkray fire in the common room - except for one illustrious member, initials KT, who was doing his 'Scott of the Antarctic' routine as the snow fell. Apparently, where there's no sense there's no feeling! He finally returned as darkness fell to find everyone enjoying board games, magazines and quiet conversation in the cosy common room.

The dormitories were very cold, but that didn't stop the inevitable blanket fights from taking place. Perhaps the most memorable sight of the evening was that of David Waldron consuming vast quantities of food after supper!

After a comfy night's sleep we arose to a little confusion in the dining room: apparently Michael had ordered a 'veggie' breakfast even though he was self-catering. He returned to the members' kitchen to finish off the remainder of Ken's porridge - not one of his better concoctions.

We were greeted by a fine but cold day and decided to make the most of it by cycling to the sleepy fishing village of Watchet for refreshments, exhausting all the 'watch-it' jokes along the way. On arrival we descended upon the unsuspecting proprietor of a local tearoom who, when he had pulled himself together, provided us with excellent fare. As we were preparing to leave for Dunster, David Platt, clearly disappointed at the lack of tracks on the ride so far, decided to wallow in the mud of Watchet harbour! There was considerable delay while he changed his attire.

After a steep pull out of Blue Anchor there was much high jinks in the deep, drifted snow by the roadside: several people received snowy missiles from their 'friends'. When we finally reached Dunster we had to agree that it was picturesque, but all the tearooms were closed so we gathered under the famous yarn market and dug deeper into our remaining provisions.

We made a swift return back to Crowcombe via the main roads, quickly learning (after two close encounters with four-wheeled vehicles) that high jinks and main road cycling don't mix. We packed the bikes into the van and returned to Devon, all agreeing that we couldn't have had a better mid-winter weekend.