Ian and a few others had ordered hostel breakfasts today despite the high cost of £2.30 and the necessity of washing up afterwards.  This fact, coupled with the problem of two people having to redo their duvet-folding and sweeping jobs, meant that it was quite late when we finally gathered in the hostel car park to share out the surplus milk and bread.  While we were waiting, a BT van pulled up and an engineer began to install a members' telephone in the hostel! 

First stop this morning was the duckpond and church at East Quantoxhead.  There were plenty of willing hands to feed the ducks, but Arthur was less than generous with the distribution of surplus bread: he reckoned the bread was for his lunch and shouldn't be wasted on ducks.

When Michael asked Seb to lead the group on as far as West Quantoxhead church, he didn't expect him to lead them down the cul-de-sac to the church gate!  There were a few groans when everyone had to climb back up the hill again.

Several members went 'over the top' at the cafe in the quiet fishing village of Watchet, ordering Knickerbocker Glories and other extravagant desserts.  By the time they were served everyone else had finished and returned to the bikes: the forecast was for rain and Michael didn't want to hang around any longer than necessary.  Roger had to eat his chocolate nut sundae rather more quickly than he would have liked.

After leading the group past Blue Anchor Bay and Dunster Castle to a delicatessen in Minehead, Michael gave everyone 25 minutes to buy lunch.  Predictably, they all trooped straight past the delicatessen and headed for the supermarkets.  When the allotted time was up, Nicholas and Anthony were found wandering around near the bakery saying they hadn't been able to find a single food shop!  Actually they'd been looking for gift shops and had run out of time.  We waited for them while they visited the bakery and then set about climbing the famous North Hill.

We stopped for lunch and a well-earned rest on a grassy area near the top, overlooking the town and several miles of coastline.  The threat of rain was still in the air, however, so we wasted no time in pressing on to the steep, rough track that leads to the National Trust village of Selworthy.  In fact the track was so rough in the early stages that Ian's pannier finally gave up the ghost and had to be tied down with bungey straps.

Sadly, ice-creams were no longer sold in the village, so we made use of the gift shop and lavatories and then proceeded along some more interesting tracks to Allerford.

Allerford is a picture-postcard hamlet famous for its delightful ford and cobbled bridge.  Given the choice, most sensible people would ride the bridge, but Zachary, being Zachary, and Rufus, being quite unlike Rufus, decided to take the ford and prove that they could ride where many others had fallen in.  Amazingly they both succeeded, but the depth of water ensured that they were still drenched to the skin.

The rain had still not arrived by the time we reached Horner cafe, near West Luccombe, so we allowed ourselves the luxury of a refreshment stop.  Besides, Seb and Tom needed a rest after crashing into each other a few minutes earlier:  the following driver had been a nurse, but there was no serious injury.  A sign in the cafe garden advised people to ring the hand bell and wait for service.  Seb was determined to follow the instructions to the letter and waited there patiently, despite the fact that everyone else was being served at their tables.  In the end he was the last to be served, which just goes to show that stubbornness is never rewarded.

The final seven miles to the hostel was always going to be tough.  The first long climb, to Cloutsham Ball, was tackled bravely by Arthur, who won the Yellow Jersey for his efforts.  Neil spent a lot of time going up and down the hill, showing just how much surplus energy he had and keeping us informed of how far back the youngest riders were. 

Cloutsham ford didn't manage to claim a single casualty today.  As we commenced the next climb, however, we realised that Sam's knee problems were slowing him down a lot, and several of the other youngsters were getting very tired.  We devised a team game to help them which was rather like a relay race.  The fitter riders went a hundred metres or so up the hill.  Three of them then dropped their bikes, walked back and pushed the youngsters' three bikes up the hill for them.  When they had reached their own bikes, three more people were waiting to take over, having just walked 100 metres back from their bikes.  There were several variations: some tried to ride the bikes up instead of pushing them, although they were frequently the wrong size, and Jon Burgess even gave Sam a ride on the back of his bike at one point.  The system really worked well, and we surprised at how quickly we managed to get everyone to the top.

By now the weather was windy, grey and cold.  We were glad of the final descent and arrived at the luxurious hostel just thirty minutes before supper.  We hurried into the three showers and crawled into the recently refurbished dining area just as supper was being served, some of us still dripping from the shower.  Apparently the new conservatory-style extension to the dining area cost £100 000: one can understand the jealousy of other hostel wardens!

It quickly became obvious that the warden didn't like children.  He swore at two youngsters in Michael's absence, was tetchy with many others and showed obvious distaste as he switched from serving an adult hosteller to one of our children at the reception desk.  We discovered later that the warden was short-staffed, and he apologised to us in writing after the tour.

The forecast rain finally came after dark, and continued falling throughout the night.

Zach's job this morning was to clean out the showers, and absolutely everybody knew about it: apparently he objected to cleaning up all the hairs!  Ian's job was to clean the mirrors with an aerosol, but more seemed to end up on the rest of us than reached the mirrors.  When we'd left everything spotless and the warden thought we had gone, he was overhead grumbling to his assistant that it wasn't good enough.  There's just no pleasing some people!

Sam's leg was worse this morning.  He hadn't got far up the hill towards Simonsbath before it became obvious he needed a complete rest from cycling.  Michael found a taxi driver in Simonsbath who agreed to transport Sam and his bike to the Lynton hostel for £11.  The warden agreed to look after him when he arrived, which left the rest of us free to continue with the planned ride.

Lunch today was purchased at Challacombe.  The shopkeeper remembered Michael from previous tours to the area, and also recognised 'Young Slatter' (yes, he does seem to be getting a lot of mentions, doesn't he?).  Apparently, Zachary used to have a holiday home in the hamlet several years ago, and obviously hadn't changed too much since then.

The range of food in this little store was quite extensive considering its tiny size.  Nevertheless, Jono could find nothing better to eat than a bottle of cold cockles and a whole Swiss role, while Michael resorted to his old favourite - cold baked beans, straight from the tin.

A brisk climb to Blackmoor Gate was followed by one of Michael's short-cuts: dropping 2000 metres into Parracombe and climbing out the other side instead of going around the edge.  Well, that was how the youngsters saw it anyway.  In reality, the drop was just a few hundred metres and the edge route was three times the length.

The descent to Hunters Inn is steep, twisty and dangerous, especially when the road has recently been covered with gravel.  Michael, as usual, tried to protect everyone by leading down the hill at a sensible pace, but some thought it was clever to wait at the top until Michael had gone so they could ride at their own breakneck speed.  On this occasion, Dan paid the price by coming off on a gravely corner.  Fortunately he was not badly hurt, but it took Seb half an hour to get his bike ready for the road again.

We purchased gifts and enjoyed ice creams and peacocks at the Inn, then set off along the coastal footpath to Woody Bay.  The dramatic cliffs dropping to the sea made a magnificent sight for those who weren't cycling too fast to notice them.  Needless to say, Nicholas wasn't missing any of it.  We paused briefly along the way to speak to a woman who was admiring the view from a seat.  Apparently she had also been eyeing up the lads as they went past, and announced that David was definitely the most handsome member of the crew - much to our amusement.  When she discovered he was from Devon, she put it down to local confidence.

As we descended the long and hairy descent to Lee Bay, the steep climb past Lee Abbey became visible through the trees, provoking comparisons with Parracombe.  It wasn't as bad as expected, however, and we were soon at the Valley of the Rocks, scrambling up the rocks just to say we'd done it.  During the descent Michael tried to outrun Arthur, lost his footing on a rock concealed under the grass and sprained his ankle.  It wasn't so painful that he couldn't complete the tour, but he had weakened it semi-permanently.

To conclude the afternoon we took the scenic coastal footpath to Lynton, rode on the cliff railway from Lynton to Lynmouth and bought some final gifts in the Lynmouth shops - Devon fudge seemed the best gift available.  When we arrived at the hostel, Sam was waiting patiently for us, memorising the lines for his starring role as Oliver Twist in his school play.

The home-made supper was definitely the best of the tour.  Dan was quite put out when he saw the warden give Michael a larger portion of pizza than anyone else, and kept on about it for the next half an hour.  He was able to get seconds of the fruit sponge and sauce, however, which cooled him off a little.  Another group of adults, who shared the dining area with us, spent much of the mealtime passing rude comments about the behaviour of our youngsters.  In fact they were very well behaved, except when some disappeared to the dormitories before everyone had finished and had to be called back to the tables.

Once again the only telephone was in the village.  After a long walk down and back we concluded the evening with a general chat, partly ruined by Ian and friends who were more interested in finishing their game in the adjacent dormitory.