Four of us met at Crofters at 8am to load the bikes and luggage into the car on a fine sunny morning. After collecting Lawrence from Newton Abbot we set off on the long and tortuous drive to the New Forest, stopping only at East End near Poole for refreshments - John and George couldn’t resist the temptation to order bacon baps, but Dillan and Lawrence were very happy with buttered toast and teacakes.

We finally arrived at our selected parking place, Millyford Bridge, at around 1pm and were soon riding through the most delightful woodland scenery you could ever hope to find. The Portuguese Fireplace, situated in a roadside glade, attracted the attention of the youngsters: it is a First World War memorial to the Portuguese army unit that was based there to help with forestry work.

The Deer Park at Bolderwood failed to provide the hot snacks and drinks we had been hoping for but it did offer an ice cream van and a wide range of New Forest ponies to accompany the consumption of our packed lunches. One of the ponies sniffed out Michael's crisps and helped himself to them! We were told the deer would appear soon for feeding time but sadly we didn’t get to see any of them before we set off once again.

The Bolderwood Ornamental Drive showcases some of the most magnificent trees in the forest, including the 500-year-old Knightwood Oak. Everyone in the group immediately fell in love with the New Forest as multiple shafts of dappled sunlight filtered their way through the ancient canopy of leaves. The road continued into the Rhinefield Ornamental Drive where some downhill sections made the route even more enjoyable.

But everyone was looking forward to some off-road riding now, and it came when we arrived at Blackwater. The track was wide and peaceful, taking us deep into the unspoiled forest. The opportunity to ride a ford was irresistible, although today the water level was not high enough to make the task especially difficult. It was not too long before we had re-joined the ornamental drive and continued along our planned route to Brockenhurst, pausing only at a clearing for some Frisbee and rocket fun across the Ober Water.

Brockenhurst was a delightful village: it was amusing to see the ponies grazing right into the housing estates, stopped only where owners had taken the trouble to build a cattle grid. We bought provisions from the local supermarket and then headed south to join the old railway track near Lymington Junction. This took us along an interesting route to Burley where we found the hostel off a rough track soon after 6pm.

Once Dillan had been acquainted with the hostel routine of making beds, having showers and preparing food in the rather cramped Members’ Kitchen we spent the remainder of the evening playing Bomberman on Michael’s laptop – poor Lawrence just couldn’t seem to find his usual form this evening.

Breakfast at Burley hostel was a delight: sitting in the conservatory-style dining room to eat it on such a perfect morning was pleasant enough, but then the warden kindly allowed us to help ourselves to bread and cereal (for those who had arrived ill-prepared for preparing their own breakfasts).

Perhaps the biggest mistake of the morning was not to stop at the café in Burley: it had been 10.15 when we had left the hostel, and it just seemed a little premature to stop so soon. We followed the route through Burley Street to the Vereley Hill car park and then took the grassy track across the heath to Picket Post where there was a track-style underpass to get us safely across the busy A31. We then followed tracks to Linford, ably assisted by Michael’s sat-nav, where quiet lanes and tracks took us over Rockford Common to Rockford.

A sign to a garden centre gave us hope of refreshments, but it was several miles along the road, at South Gorley, that the garden centre finally materialised. There was no proper café there, but there was a sheltered sitting area outside with access to a coffee machine, so we made the most of the opportunity for a break and chatted with a fellow cyclist from Bath. Lawrence somehow managed to arrange for the staff to bring his hot chocolate to his table much to everyone’s annoyance.

The marked change of scenery near Stuckton told us that we had now left the National Park: the ponies disappeared and suddenly it felt just like ordinary England. The town of Fordingbridge, however, was a different story. Here the River Avon widened to offer the perfect location for lunch and recreation, with large numbers of waterfowl adding significantly to the entertainments. To complete the perfection the busy local bakery offered the tastiest filled rolls, pasties and cakes we had seen in a long time, and at such low prices that we could afford to stock up for the rest of the day!

Arriving at the picturesque village of Whitsbury Michael noticed a well in a garden near the road. An elderly gentleman was in the garden picking fruit from a tree but took the time to come over to explain that the well was no longer operational. He said he was “scrumping”, but it was a very pleasant surprise when he came out of his gate and offered us each a juicy ripe plum from his box.

There was a wealthy-looking stud farm at the place on marked on the map as the location of Whistbury Fort, so we proceeded quickly to the start of the track to Odstock and set out to cross the heathland towards Salisbury. Things went a bit wrong however when we came to a fork in the path that was not apparent from the map, both travelling in broadly similar directions and both just marked with the sign “Byway”. We tried the left-hand fork which took us down a gentle incline: whilst the tracks were not marked on the sat-nav, Michael could see that we were heading at right-angles to the Odstock road we were heading for so advised that we returned and took the other fork. Lawrence didn’t like the idea of going back however and decided to ride on a little way to see if the track made a right turn.

Sadly he didn’t stop and carried on until he was out of sight, even though he didn’t have a phone on him. We waited .. and waited … but eventually had no choice but to follow him. When we reached a wooded area a few hundred metres along the track we found him walking back towards us with blood on his hands – he had tried a sharp turn on the way back, had come off his bike on the gravel and grazed the palms of his hands. Michael patched him up with plasters and bandages so that he looked like a leper and we then returned to the fork, delayed a little when we met a man with two pugs that seemed to love the attentions of our younger members.

The new track was definitely heading in the right direction. The middle section turned out to be riddled with muddy lakes and the final section was covered with rough flint stones, so when John finally arrived at tarmac he was very relieved. The route into Salisbury involved one or two short climbs but was otherwise uneventful.

Salisbury cathedral is notable for having the tallest medieval spire in Europe, the tallest church spire in the UK, the world’s oldest working clock and the best of the four original copies of Magna Carta. We were impressed by the new font in the cathedral, with water flowing off each of the four corners, and checked out the models of the cathedral that was built in 1220.

Next stop was the Costa cafe in Old George Mall, offering a welcome warm refreshment break before we visited the local Tesco Metro for provisions and then rode the short distance to the youth hostel. This was twice the size of Burley, again set in its own grounds, and we spent a very enjoyable evening there. Bomberman once again formed the main entertainment, and everyone did much better than the previous evening. Dillan just snatched victory over the other three at the last minute.

After John had persuaded everyone except Michael to sample his bacon baps we returned to the Tesco Metro to get some new plasters for Lawrence’s hands. We had around twenty miles between us and the car, but after careful consideration everyone voted for a detour to see Old Sarum, the old centre of Salisbury three miles north of the city dating back 5000 years.

The excursion proved rewarding. The fortress had outer and inner dry moats, the foundations of the original Salisbury cathedral and the ruins of the old palace and King’s Tower at the top. We had to pay for access to the latter, and the only drinks available were from a machine, but the whole visit was very interesting. The volunteers who dressed in period clothing and armour helped in no small way to bring the past to life.

We stayed longer than we had intended, so by the time we returned to Salisbury via the cycle paths we were ready to buy lunch from a busy and well-stocked bakery near the Guildhall. George, however, had decided he wanted pizza, so we had to wait another fifteen minutes until his Pizza Hut order had been prepared and consumed on the Guildhall steps.

It was 1.30 when we finally set off on our return route through Alderbury. The route roughly followed the river but was not as flat as we might have expected. At Downton George got his handlebars adjusted by John while the rest of us checked out the village: the newsagents and Spar had both closed down and the Post Office was having a Closing Down sale, so things looked a bit bleak for Downton. We did find a fish and chip shop and a pharmacy however.

A lane short-cut led us to Woodfalls where a local shop conveniently provided the refreshments that George was asking for and the rest of us had quietly hoped for. Conscious of the time we then pressed on again and soon passed over the cattle grid that brought us immediately back to the New Forest scenery that we had enjoyed so much at the start of the tour.

Michael’s plans for some more off-road riding were scuppered by a sign on the path to Frithham announcing that the path was closed. While he was trying to decide an alternative route Dillan thought he needed his rear tyre pumped. It was actually quite firm but Michael humoured him and pumped it up anyway. The result of this was a puncture near the valve and a rapid change of tube, so I guess the moral of the story is not to fix something that isn’t broken.

On the road to the Rufus Stone we came across a troop of ponies. The younger riders were amused to note that after the first one dropped its manure, the second one came along, smelled it, walked a little further and then left its own mark. They watched intently as a third appeared to be doing the same, but in the end it walked on.

We passed the Sir Walter Tyrrell inn (reminding some of a family in Game of Thrones) and then at the Rufus Stone itself we discovered that Sir Walter accidentally killed the King William II with an arrow aimed at a stag that accidentally hit an oak tree and glanced off in the general direction of the King! This happened in the year 1100.

We had only five miles to go to the car now, but the satnav led us to the extremely busy A31 and seemed to be advising us to turn right along the side nearest to us, riding against the flow. We looked carefully and could only see a slip road, so it appeared that the sat-nav had got it all wrong. This was a problem, as it was now well past 5pm.

We backtracked a hundred metres and took a cycle path that ran parallel to the dual carriageway, bringing us eventually to another crossing. This was even worse however: we could see the road we wanted on the other side, but there were crash barriers in the middle of the road and hardly any breaks in the traffic. We selected a further five-mile detour in preference to certain death, leading us eventually to an underpass that brought us past the deer park and back to the car for around 7pm. Everyone was tired now, but at least we had upped the mileage to over 30 miles.

The journey home included a stop at the Subway restaurant near Winterborne Zelston – the youngsters had seen it on the way out and were not going to miss it on the way back. When everyone had had their fill of rolls and cookies we set off for home again with everyone except Michael falling asleep. We were already late, so when we came across a “Police: Accident . .Road Closed” sign in the middle of the A35 near Axminster with no obvious diversion signs we realised we were going to be very late indeed. By the time we had found our way to the A3052 and meandered our way slowly back to Exeter it was clear we would need to drop Lawrence at his home in Newton Abbot, adding further to our delay. Road works on the M5 near Exeter made things even worse, so it was 11.45 when we finally arrived back at Buckfastleigh.

We had certainly crammed a lot into this three-day adventure, and everyone had come back with very positive views of the New Forest national park. Congratulations to all our youngsters for riding so well, and especially to Dillan who was taking part in his first tour.