Monday was the day when I was to display my hitherto undiscovered prowess, or otherwise, as leader and route finder, and after the standard hostel breakfast of a vaguely sub-standard fry-up followed by cold cardboard toast we set off on our merry way.

The sun shone brightly, echoing our mood. After a brief look at the small and sleepy coastal village of Portholland, the first stop was Veryan, famed for its unusual round cottages which we stopped to admire in true grockle (or should I say emmet) fashion. Then we left the winding and undulating lanes to follow the A3078 to St. Just-in-Roseland, which boasted a church set in sub-tropical gardens.

We continued to St. Mawes, from where we took a ferry to Falmouth, during which journey we decided to consume our hostel packed lunches. This turned out to be a mistake. If you have ever sampled one of these culinary masterpieces you'll know that they invariably contain soggy white chocolate spread sandwiches, a chocolate biscuit and a packet of nasty yellowish things called "Martian Spaceships", or something like that, and are roughly equivalent nutritionally to the paper bag that they come in. This one was no exception, its only edible component being a rather wizened apple.

Reaching Falmouth, Mike took Jamie to the hospital for a professional dressing to his leg while the rest of us found out what the town had to offer in the way of decent food - not much as it turned out!

We found our way out of Falmouth and then Mawnan Smith by a road attractively canopied with trees. Less than a mile further on and we were at Glendurgan Gardens, a National Trust property which was our next scheduled stop. We all paid our slightly extortionate entrance fee, except for Martin and Duncan who claimed they couldn’t afford it but in reality, I suspect, were bored stiff at the prospect of looking around gardens. However the lady at the entrance took pity on them and let them in for nothing, doubtless to their deep dismay. She must have taken a fancy to us because her generosity extended to giving us a pound to buy us all an ice-cream. The fact that there was nowhere in the gardens to buy ice-cream had obviously escaped her, and we searched in vain until Michael remembered that confectionery is never sold on National Trust Properties!

After spending an enjoyable hour or so on the beach that adjoined the gardens it was time to make a move, so we did, and headed for the ferry which would take us across the Helford river. Unfortunately, in my enthusiasm, I missed the turning and led my dumb trusting flock about a mile past it, downhill at that, necessitating a gruelling climb back up. Things were made worse by the fact that time was getting on and the ferry would be shutting down imminently. We made it in time though and crossed the river in two groups because the boat was so small.

After the crossing, a small tearoom perched on a cliff overlooking the mouth of the river gave us a chance to relax after the anxiety of nearly missing the ferry. When our pulses had returned to normal, we carried our bikes up to the road and continued to Coverack hostel via four miles of wiggly lanes.

True to form, we arrived just as dinner was being served, and very excellent it was too; fish and chips with peas, lettuce, parsley and lemon. The hostel was populated almost exclusively by Trendy Young Things, presumably because the warden ran a windsurfing course, but apart from this was quite acceptable. During the night a violent thunderstorm blew Martin’s shorts and towel from the window ledge onto the roof, causing predictable hilarity in the morning.

(Andrew Billington)

The rain considerately ceased before we set off, so we remained dry as we followed the road to Helson, past Goonhilly Station with its impressive collection of huge satellite dishes pointing at the sky. Reaching Helston, we stopped for coffee while Duncan took advantage of the opportunity and had his hair cut.

Three miles further and we were at Porthleven in time for lunch. Mike and I gave our packed lunches a cursory examination before giving then away and heading for the nearest decent restaurant!

Hunger satisfied, we set off once more and joined an A-road at Ashton, which we stayed with for a few miles of flat fast riding, ending by St Michael’s Mount where an ice-cream stop seemed in order. Then on to Penzance, and out again as quickly as possible before Martin and Dunc headed for Lands End for a prearranged meeting with a friend while the rest of us took the coast road. After commiserating with a flock of avian invalids at Mousehole bird hospital we headed straight for the hostel as time was getting short.

Re-joining Martin and Duncan, who had failed to locate their friend, we soon covered the last few miles to Lands End hostel, where the warden kindly made extra chips for us on the grounds of our extreme hunger.

(Andrew Billington)

Next morning’s start at eleven was late even by our standards and left us with little time for stops during the day as we had a fair way to go. Saying goodbye to the coast we set off along narrow twisty lanes through tiny villages and hamlets, while the weather made up for yesterday’s tantrum by shining brightly on us.

We stopped briefly at Lappa Valley Railway, and reached St Columb Major in time for lunch, which we ate on a roadside bank just outside the town. Suitably refreshed, we blasted off up the A-road to Wadebridge, where a stop for tea was required to allow us to get out breath back. We chose the right tea shop to stop at, because the propietress generously filled our water bottles with lemon or orangeade free.

To save time we stuck to the main road until St Teath, then continued through Westdowns to Tintagel, where the youth hostel materialised at the end of a long pebbly track. Simon, who had been finding the pace a bit tough, phoned for his parents to come and fetch him, and I can’t say I blame him.

The hostel was perched on the edge of a cliff, and the view was amazing. To top it off, nature saw fit to provide a magnificent sunset that evening, and Michael and I spent almost the whole time perched on a cliff behind the hostel, soaking it in.

(Andrew Billington)