“How many?”

“Twenty two. There shouldn’t be any problem – we had no difficulty with seventeen a few years ago!”

“I don’t know about that. I can’t see the guards agreeing to twenty two. Still, leave it with me and I’ll see what I can do.”

Thus went the conversation with the BR travel office. I suppose one could hardly blame them for being slightly taken aback. Even Michael was beginning to have doubts about the desirability of leading such a large group of youngsters on a five day tour. Ages of the twenty two ranged from ten to twenty six. Four of the boys were from Dawlish whilst three were coming down from Warwickshire (following their involvement in last year’s national tour to Snowdonia). There was certainly plenty of preparation work to be done.

The first day was eventful by any standards. The first problem was a familiar one: negotiating with the station manager. This time we needed his agreement to our attempting to get all the bikes on the 1124 train, space permitting, instead of splitting into two groups as previously arranged. Consent was finally given and the operation proceeded without difficulty when the train arrived.

The penalty was paid on disembarkation at Taunton – by Paul Palmer, whose new derailleur had been damaged beyond repair by careless loading. A visit to the local cycle shop was called for, but this highlighted another problem: it wasn’t physically possible for us to park all the bikes outside the shop without causing an obstruction! We were told off for stacking them in front of the cycle shop because it blocked the pavement, so we spread them out along two or three shops – and were told off by the chip shop proprietor for driving away his trade! He mellowed considerably, however, when a sizeable proportion of the group bought his chips as a way of passing the time it was taking to repair Paul’s bike.

Eventually everyone was ready to leave and the group did its best to get out of Taunton causing the least possible annoyance to local traffic.

Things were a lot quieter at Kingston; quieter in the sense of surroundings at least. One of Simon’s mudguard bolts had fallen out, but apart from that we had managed to get three miles out of Taunton with no loss of life.

A peaceful spot near Cothelstone was selected as being sufficiently spacious and remote for our lunch stop, after which we headed off to Crowcombe Park. We only stopped here because there was a hill – not an ordinary hill, but the kind that seems to go on for ever, getting steeper around every corner. Some stopped at the bottom and some stopped at the top, but everyone stopped somewhere.

When everyone had reached the top there was time for mad chases around the heath while Mark repaired his puncture. Then began the real adventure of the day – the track along the top of the Quantocks. We had only reached Hurley Beacon when Mark realised he had left Jonno’s pocket knife back at Crowcombe Park Gate. No-one really minded the delay as the views were panoramic in the clear afternoon sunshine.

The group was soon off again, making the most of the occasional muddy pools. Warren, who was keen to prove that he could cycle through all of them, came unstuck in a particularly deep one near Bicknoller Post, much to everyone’s amusement. He had wet, muddy feet but it didn’t seem to bother him.

The descent to Holford youth hostel was fraught with problems, not least of which was to choose the correct set of tracks; a wrong decision would result in an unnecessary climb to the hostel. We got it right, although I fear this was due more to good fortune than anything else, and arrived at the hostel with nothing more than a puncture to show for our ordeal.

The youngsters still had the energy for a walk after supper, down to the village and back, but on their return they were ready for bed. Only the sounds of sheep disturbed the silence of the Quantocks.

It is an irritating fact of CTC life that certain areas of England are rather poorly served by youth hostels. There is just such an area in North Devon which lies between the north coast and Dartmoor National Park, and this meant that after covering only twenty five miles per day, the thought of a fifty mile trip was understandably daunting for many of the younger members. It was so daunting that several of them agreed to set off earlier than the rest, led by the two Steves. They took their time climbing the long hill out of Lynton but still arrived at Blackmoor Gate a good thirty minutes before the others.

The warden, who had kindly agreed to take Ben to Barnstaple in his car, passed us near Arlington Court. A few seconds later Paul Willard discovered that his rear wheel spindle had broken, but the warden was now out of sight of course. And so it was that Paul, too, was forced to do his share of pushing as we covered the last few miles into Barnstaple.

Well, the cycle shops didn’t turn out to be quite the helpful places that everyone had imagined them to be. To cut a long story short, both Ben and Paul decided that, taking all things into account, they’d get there (home that is) quicker on the train. They waved farewell while the rest of us enjoyed lunch by the river, then we were off again, this time on the level A377 and heading towards Crediton.

We had plenty of time to get to Gidleigh hostel. Everything was running well within schedule despite the morning’s difficulties – until David did it again. Yes, this wonderful example of modern youth at its best chose this moment to break his rear derailleur and chain in spectacular fashion. The repairs involved complete removal of the offending part and on this particular occasion the shortened chain refused to sit properly on the selected sprocket!

The journey from Eggesford to Copplestone was painfully slow. As we climbed through the lanes at Hittisleigh the sun was setting behind the distant hill, and on arrival at Whiddon Down it was dark. Everyone was starving and David was still pushing up the hill. When he finally emerged from the darkness the best news he could muster was that his rear wheel was buckled. Torches and lamps were directed onto the poor machine as yet another operation was performed.

Eventually we hobbled off again, this time managing the mile to East Ash before Steve Hughes informed us of his puncture. The nightmare became more vivid was we tried to find our way through the maze of little lanes that would eventually lead us to the welcoming hostel. The task of counting the twenty members at every junction was no easy one in the dark.

It was 10.15. Somehow we had managed to get to Gidleigh. The warden had laid in a fabulous coal fire for us. She kindly allowed us extra time to eat our supper, drink a few of our nineteen pints of milk and chat around the fire before we finally settled into icy cold beds shortly after midnight.

No-one was in a great hurry to wake up on Saturday morning – except Luke, who had gone out at 7.30 in search of another Dartmoor letterbox. The first thing most people knew of the new day was when the warden’s beautiful young collie came into the dormitory and jumped excitedly on each bed in turn: it was as if to say “Come on, I’ve been up for ages and I haven’t had my walk yet!”

The two Steves, who had immediately fallen in love with the animal, wasted no time in getting dressed and setting about what must have been the most enjoyable hostel chore they had ever done.

It really was a lovely, lazy morning. Everyone helped to tidy up after a late breakfast and then there were numerous repairs to perform after the previous night’s escapade. A sudden change in the weather brought a temporary snow shower as we left the hostel (in April?) so we treated ourselves to lunch in one of the Chagford restaurants before setting off once more for the final trek across the now sun-soaked moor. David still managed one final breakdown when his freewheel block fell off near Bonehill, but somehow he got back to Buckfastleigh.

It was sad to see this memorable tour come to an end but there will be more tours, each with its own unique blend of participants. Here’s to Scotland ’86!