Our final day in the New Forest was blessed with glorious sunshine right from the start. Having visited the Post Office (and seen the Burley policeman) Budgie purchased a Dorset Dumpling (cute fluffy ball with two eyes) and we were off once again, this time taking the tracks past Naked Man. This little attraction, supposedly the remnants of a gallows where a highwayman once hung until his bones were laid bare, turned out to be a particularly rotten tree stump held together with wooden frames. I guess it is remarkable that it survives at all.

Sway Tower, built by an enthusiast to prove the strength and attractiveness of Portland Cement, was a little too far away for a visit on this occasion, so we skirted back through Brockenhurst and yet more squirrel-infested woodland to reach Beaulieau, the so-called capital of the New Forest, for lunch. The lake may have been beautiful, and the gardens may have been lovely, but a village without a bakery does pose a few problems when you're trying to find lunch. Fortunately the local Spar did a range of prepackaged pies and sandwiches which were duly consumed beside the ancient abbey overlooking the estuary.

Exbury Gardens was the next stopping point. Mark is training to be a flower and gardening expert with Torbay Borough Council, and so the visit was mainly for his benefit. The rest of us, ever money-conscious, decided to enjoy the view of the gardens available from the attached cafe, although they were undoubtedly very well kept and probably worth the entrance charge. As Brett said, "It's difficult for kids like me to get worked up over flowers!"

Returning to Beaulieau we decided to try the scenic route to Lymington via Bucklers Hard, a village once famed for its shipbuilding. On arrival, however, we were confronted by an officious gentleman who was charging everyone to go into the village! Apparently the whole village was privately owned.

We were about to cycle off in disgust when Paul noticed a footpath sign which pointed towards the village. Thinking that there must be some catch Michael went up to the attendant again and was told that the charge was for parking, per person, and that pedestrians were not charged for entry. We left our bikes round the corner and spent some time wandering around the village.

Travelling via St. Leonards and Sowley Pond, we arrived at Lymington just in time to catch the 4.15 ferry to Yarmouth. Now actually there were a few more things to see on the mainland, like the brass rubbing centre and the salt marshes, but a few individuals wanted to try to get to Alum Bay before 5.30 to see the glass-making (there is no glass-making at weekends). So against my advice we squeezed onto the already packed ferry and waved goodbye to the mainland.

The old railway track to Freshwater was covered at a faster pace than normal, a factor which may have had something to do with Graham's untimely mudguard breakage, delaying everyone by a crucial fifteen minutes. We needn't have worried though. The glass shop closed five minutes early at 5.25, just as we arrived. The lady was not at all apologetic, and said that glass-making had stopped at 3pm on that particular day as they had run out of glass! Michael suggested that she be more careful about her advertising in future, but was secretly not surprised by her attitude.

We made the most of our visit by looking at the Needles in the evening sunshine, and wandering around the very commercialised (closed) shops and chairlift which now make Alum Bay so famous. We hoped that the Island would not all be spoilt in this way.

Then we returned to Totland for our only superior hostel of the tour. The luxury of spacious dorms and duvets was enough for most, but others found the television room of greater interest, deciding to spend most of the evening there. A few of us walked down to the beach, but were disappointed to discover that it, too, was very commercialised, looking rather like a miniature Brighton. Come back New Forest - all is forgiven.

Rain had to come eventually. We spent most of the morning playing games of cards, chess and scrabble in the hostel common room and then transferred to the cafe and shops of Alum Bay for an expensive lunch. The beach lies at the base of steep cliffs of multicoloured sand, accessible either by steps (283) or chairlift (more money of course). We used the chairlift down and steps back, enjoying the experience despite the adverse weather conditions.

When Warren had filled his glass bottle with numerous layers of coloured sand at the sand shop, the rain had diminished sufficiently for us to consider pursuing our original route as planned. And so we cycled through Freshwater Bay (again, rather commercialized) and on to the high ridge of East Afton Down along the track called the Tennyson Trail.

This track first climbs steeply through the chalky golf course and then continues along the ridge offering panoramic views right around the western half of the island. At last we could see its true size - much larger than we had imagined. The cold wind did not invite us to linger long, however, and we were soon descending to the B3399 ready for the next stage of the trail. It was during the descent that Graham and Gary discovered just how slippery wet chalk can be, and Warren discovered just how easily a steel wheel can buckle.

We continued up into the forest, managing to find our way through despite the existence of at least two more tracks than mentioned in the CTC route guide. Final spectacular views to the south and east of the island were available from Limerstone Down, from where we descended to rejoin the road network at Shorwell.

The water wheel at Yafford Mill was fortunately adjacent to a lane passing to the rear of the property, and so we were able to save ourselves one more extortionate entrance fee. At least we now know why the owners built a long entrance road across fields to the front of the property out to the B3399.

Continuing through Little Atherington we began to realise just how many paths and bridleways there were on the island. At almost every corner there was a sign marked with a special code number pointing to yet another track route. We even saw one sign pointing over the top of a two metre high hedgerow.

Now at last the sun was with us again, reflecting magnificently off the calm sea of Chale Bay. We were at Blackgang Chine, one of the most popular attractions on the island. It was now closed of course, the time being well past 6pm, but a short reconnaissance around the perimeter fences convinced everyone that a return visit next morning would be well worth the effort.

The hostel at Whitwell is a carefully converted chapel set in lovely wooded gardens. Like all chapels it was quite cold inside, with the single exception of the common room which contained an open fire. The only other real complaint was the tiny size of the kitchen, which could only cope with five people at a time, but at least it was cosy and very homely. We spent our evening talking with an old CTC gentleman from Portsmouth and grappling with a hostel telephone that accepted incoming calls but wouldn't ring.

Imagine waking up on the most beautiful spring morning you can imagine. Outside in your wooded grounds, daffodils and primroses make the garden look clean and fresh. A Silky chicken wanders briskly from one tuft of grass to the next. And bird song descends from the trees all around you.

It was like that on this April morning at Whitwell. Breakfast was consequently not a hurried affair, and it was nearly 10am before we could tear ourselves away from the hostel grounds.

Blackgang Chine is the site of a truly magical theme park, sawmill and Quay, all situated on the cliff-side overlooking Chale Bay. The theme park, intended primarily for children, includes such wonderful features as Frontier-land, Adventure-land, Smuggler-land, Nursery-land, Dinosaur-land, Jungle-land, Water-gardens, Model village, Fairy castle, Maze and Funny Mirrors. It was in Frontier-land that Jimmy Saville recently 'fixed it' for a girl to throw a gunman through the window of a saloon bar in Buffalo Creek! Today, a coach load of adult cowboys complete with ten-gallon hats and cap pistols were playing in the Creek (in addition to ourselves of course).

After preparation of a makeshift lunch from the leftover bread we spent a further hour wandering around St. Catherine's Quay and Blackgang Sawmill, packed with working steam engines and numerous displays. The best engine of all was taken from a steamer that used to sail between Totnes and Dartmouth - the power in those pistons was quite something to witness.

When we were finally ready to leave in the early afternoon we all felt satisfied that our money had been well spent, even if we had been forced to endure endless repetitions of a recorded message being played near the entrance: " .. Lots to see and do ... We recommend buying our combined ticket at a special inclusive price to get the most from your visit to Blackgang .. ". The message faded into oblivion as we headed up the hill.

Our holiday was nearing its end. But here there was sunshine and we intended to make the most of it. Returning to Whitwell we continued through picturesque Godshill, just wishing that we had enough money left to enjoy a cream tea in the outdoor tea gardens which surrounded the lovely thatched cottages. It was then that we came across two CTC islanders out for a Sunday excursion from their home at St. Helens.

They were very patient. Shortly after meeting us Gary's foot slipped onto his front mudguard, which buckled up around the wheel, which jammed the wheel, which threw him off ... and he ended up with a buckled frame and forks as well as a broken mudguard. And our two friends stayed with us until his bike was ridable again.

At Alverstone we went our separate ways again, our group choosing to explore the riverside path towards Newchurch, then following it in the other direction towards Sandown. There was then just time for a visit to Brading and the famous waxworks before heading for the hostel. In the event, only Budgie and Warren could afford to see the waxworks. The rest of us searched for a cheap cafe, and were rewarded with the discovery of Gilly's Tearooms. Here the prices were very low - just 20p for a cup of tea, and 25p for delicious slices of Devon Apple Cake. And when the lady heard how disappointed we had been with the high prices charged everywhere else, she gave us all a cream cake each in the hope that we would take home a better impression of island hospitality. Needless to say, we did.

We hadn't really wanted to stay at Sandown hostel, being in one of the main tourist areas on the island. There was nowhere else to go, however, so we made the most of what turned out to be a large barn of a hostel, purpose made for the bucket-and-spade brigade. The only redeeming feature was the enormous common/dining room which hosted our evening Charades entertainment.

The end was nigh. The warmest, sunniest morning of the tour saw us off to an early start, returning past the Isle of Wight zoo (sadly closed until 10am, but we could see quite a lot through the slits in the fence). Huge fields of yellow rape set behind avenues of trees made the Ryde-bound lanes a delight to cycle through.

The only remaining event of any note was the ferry crossing to Portsmouth Harbour. At the end of Ryde's long pier we were getting a little concerned when the ferry hadn't arrived by the stated time. The lady in the ticket office had mentioned that the ferry was fast, but we had not been expecting a hydrofoil. The crossing took just nine minutes flat, the feeling of power being more akin to a speedboat than a ferry.

The long rail journey home gave us time to consider all the sights we had seen along the way. Everyone had enjoyed the tour. There was a consensus, however, that the New Forest was more idyllic than the island with all its contrived tourist attractions. Will we be returning? Probably, yes, to the New Forest, but next time in summer to catch the full glory of the ancient oaks.

This weekend got off to a good start despite BR's inability to arrange transport to Plymouth. Twelve cycled from the three starting points, met at the Avonwick pick-up and then continued to Plympton along the fast A38. There was then time to explore the section of the Plym Valley cycle path that leads into Plymouth's Laira Bridge - it certainly turned out to be the quietest, safest and most scenic route into Plymouth as far as the cyclist is concerned! The remaining five members arranged car transé port to Plymouth and met us at the station at midday, exactly as planned.

In bright sunshine we took the ferry to Torpoint, climbed the hill to Antony and pushed onwards to Portwrinkle before stopping for lunch. At last we had reached the south Cornish coast, today looking at its magnificent best.

The steep climb out of Portwrinkle was the price we had to pay for lunch by the sea, but the next descent into delightful Downderry more than made up for it. There were just a few minutes to spare at Seaton to buy ice-creams and watch the children paddling their canoes along the river before we had to tackle the next major climb - which got rather hot and humid towards the top.

Descending again along the track beyond the monkey sanctuary we arrived eventually at Millendreath to find a particularly inviting sandy beach. There may have been lots of tourists their, but that wasn't going to stop Nonie, Craig, Mark and Warren from going for a swim. The weather was simply too hot to miss this opportunity for physical refreshment.

The steps to Looe caused some amusement (if that is the right word), but eventually we found our way through the narrow streets to one of West Looe's cafes. It was here that a number of people sampled the strawberry flan: it must be said that the quality and flavour of this delicacy was unrivalled, even by the Primrose cafe!

It was now past 5pm, and we still had a fair distance to ride. First came the next steep hill out of Looe, and then came Philip's spectacular blowout, just when we didn't need it. A speedy repair brought us to the Bodinnick ferry by 6.45 and eventually to the hostel by 7.30, where supper was waiting on the table for those who had ordered it.

Golant is a huge hostel set in quiet and magnificent grounds, with views over the river Fowey. It afforded plenty of opportunity for football and frisbee throwing, and even boasted its own woodland for those who fancied a walk. Those who chose the latter option ended up scrambling down a 4-metre bank to the railway line by the river in their efforts to make a circular route back to the hostel!

Sadly the peace in one of our dormitories was shattered at 11.15 by a group of thoughtless louts from London who called themselves students. The noise continued well past the 11.30 'lights out' time despite many appeals to consider our younger members who needed the sleep. I registered my complaints to the warden next morning, but it seems that YHA's policy of dropping restrictions will mean that this is likely to happen more and more at the larger hostels in peak season.

Today was the first day of decent weather on the tour. However, before leaving the hostel, Jeremy had another brief bout of illness, as did Stephen. However, the group proceeded to cycle through Fort William, where Steve decided to stay with his Aunt and Uncle for an indefinite period. The group then, having stopped for further provisions, cycling towards Glenfinnan for lunch.

To add a cultural note, Glenfinnan was the site at which Bonnie Prince Charlie raised the standard to begin the Jacobite Rebellion of 1745. It now boasts the famous tower with the statue on the top, and a visitors' centre, both of which cost 20p to visit. It was a pleasant lunch stop, though some of the group became upset at the prospect of being forced by Michael to pay up. However, this was soon sorted out, and the group set off for Garramore Youth Hostel, pausing on the way only to sort out minor mechanical mishaps on Brett's bike and for a cafe stop at Arisaig, just outside of which was the seemingly unpublicised "Prince's Cairn" - the supposed spot from which the Prince left for France after the Jacobite Rebellion had failed. Following many idyllic descents, we finally arrived at the pleasant hostel of Garramore, complete with shower and washbasin in each dormitory (plus optional German guests who don't stop talking).

A pleasant evening was spent dune-hopping - the timeless custom of this tour of jumping down the large drop down to the sandy dunes of the beach below. The scene that evolved was so picturesque that it could have been taken from a calendar, the evening being spent talking, or being threatened with a shotgun in Andrew's case.