What a day! I got up early as planned, had a nice cooked breakfast to get me going, packed my now dry clothes (what luxury!) and rigged up Mercury ready for a solid day's riding. My only real problem was that I had removed Mercury's seat webbing in order to dry it, but had not paid attention to how it was actually attached. A little experimentation finally found what appeared to be the best way, and I was off. The sun was shining and there was hardly a cloud in the sky. So much for the Boscastle weather forecast! I was off and away at 9.30, a new record for me up to this point by quite a long way.

There was a bit of a climb up out of Bude, back along the road I had come down the day before. A short descent after the A39 got me to the pleasant village of Stratton, and then I randomly chose a country lane to head up - it looked to be roughly the one I had planned to take. The route was glorious, though there was a wee bit too much climbing involved for my liking. Still, I seemed to be following something of a ridge, giving me fabulous views over the beautiful local countryside.

This really is fantastic cycling country. Just leave you luggage behind…The only dampener on the whole thing was navigation. As mentioned before, using Travelmasters to navigate wee lanes which signpost places too small to feature on said maps is a little tricky. Needless to say, I took some wrong turns and added the odd mile here or there as I zig-zagged along some lanes to try to find my route. In the end, I headed for the A road. It was Sunday morning - how busy could this road really be? Nice as villages such as Sutcombe, Haytown and Bulkworthy may be, I had no intention of spending the rest of June in them. Anyway, I was past the point on the A388 marked with a 1 in 7 chevron. Besides, only about a mile after I got onto the A388 I had to leave it again to take the B3227 to great Torrington. Too late did I notice the chevron on that road just outside Torrington…mind you, I never did work out exactly which of the small hills near Torrington was supposed to be the vicious one, they all were relatively harmless.

My only glitch on this stretch happened at Langtree. The clamp securing the rear mudguard to the frame sheered off, leaving the mudguard wobbling around and fouling on the tyre. This was fixed by tying it in place with a few bits of string. A crude repair perhaps, but an effective one. I'd be coming past a decent bike shop before too long anyway - probably the following day in Bridgwater, as I planned to stop at St John Street Cycles to get a Megarange cassette fitted - I desperately needed a lower bottom gear, so a move from a 30t to a 34t sprocket was definitely a good idea (better and cheaper than fitting a smaller chainring at the front, for certain).

The descent towards Torrington was pleasant, passing through dense woodland. But the climb into the town at the other end was horrid. It was a long, steep climb up a residential street where the pavement rose high above the road level - to about car roof height or beyond. This meant that I was very much stuck on the road, no matter how much traffic (fortunately light at the time) decided to come up that way. Once at the top, I popped into a Londis for some bonk food (nuts and a Yorkie bar) and my first and last ever bottle of Sunny Delight. It's neither sunny nor delightful. Still, after a short eating stop I headed off.

Eric had warned me that the Torrington to South Molton road would be the toughest stretch of the day. The way it started out, I was reluctant to believe him. The first few miles were along a gently undulating plateau. What was he talking about? But then it hit me. A non-stop succession of steep ups and downs without respite. I became quite expert at dismounting on steep slopes, and at steering the bike by the seatback. And there were plenty more slow slogs where I could only manage 4mph or less. Usually I dismounted when I sank to 3.5mph.

And then came the killer. Just short of Atherington, the road goes down a 1 in 4, and back up a 1 in 5. And the buggers at OS don't even bother to mark it. As I saw the sign, I started applying my brakes. But as I saw the rise on the other side, I released them slightly again, though never fully. Even so, I reached 48mph on that stretch. Fortunately I did not find this out till I was back up the other side, or I might have crashed in shock. Despite my high speed at the bottom, I doubt I made more than 30m up the other side before grinding to a halt. And then I was all but stuck. The road was so steep that the front wheel just wouldn't grip. I honestly don't know how I managed to get off, but in the end I did, and crawled painfully slowly up the other side.

A short while later, as I crawled out of Umberleigh, a frightfully well-spoken old biddy in a clapped out Renault 16 stopped to ask me for directions to Rosemoor, some gardens of the Royal Horticultural Society, apparently. Well, I had never heard of the place, and it wasn't marked on my map, so though I wanted to help her, I just couldn't. But she was adamant that I mush know the place. In the end she drove off, looking exasperated. I next saw her coming the other way about 10 minutes later. I do hope she found it though. I did, years later, looking it up on the Web. Poor old thing, she was miles away when she stopped me for directions!

Note to non-cyclists:

Cyclists can have quite a long range. Indeed, some cover the entire length of the country on their tours. So please stop assuming that just because someone is on a bike they must be locals, OK? Oh, and while I'm at it, do try not to stop cyclists who are struggling up a hill just to ask them directions. Wait for them at the top instead, as stopping and restarting on a hill can be a right pain. This would be very much appreciated.

Well, the good weather could only last so long. It had been clouding over quite steadily all day, but the threatening lot only arrived as I got to South Molton. Time for the rain gear. Well, it had been my best run so far - 40 miles without a drop of rain. South Molton looked a very pleasant little town, though overflowing with local yoofs in their souped-up Vauxhall Novas, but I had no time to explore, as time was flying by and I still had 20 miles to cover. And it had just started raining. Shortly after South Molton I had to take the A361 for a short stretch. This was truly vile. Uphill and busy, with cars really not going to great lengths to give me much room. Bastards. I wished every conceivable traffic jam on them as I reached the pleasant, quiet B3227 once more. Pleasant, as the road appears to follow a ridge, so while it does undulate a fair bit, it is not the constant up and down of that road from hell, the Torrington to South Molton road.

Despite this, I hit what was probably my lowest point of the entire End to End here. I was slogging up the one long uphill stretch, my knees were screaming at me in pain, I was cold and wet, and my limbs had turned to lead. Why was I doing this? What had possessed me? I told myself all manner of lies, that this was the hardest bit, it was downhill all the way from here, etc, just to keep myself from abandoning the moment I reached Bampton. I guess I had just not eaten enough, my blood sugar was probably going through the floor at that very moment.

But the lies were unnecessary. The moment passed. The descent towards Bampton, past Oakford, blew away any doubts I had been harbouring. About 2 miles of constant freewheeling at 27mph through a stunningly beautiful forest (Oaks? Who knows - it was all a blur anyway at that speed!) was all that was required to pacify my mind. How fickle a cyclist's mind can be! At the bottom the sign pointed straight ahead for Bampton. Quick map check. Er, no, what the sign should say is Bampton via the summit of Mount Ararat, straight on; slightly longer route to Bampton along a river valley, turn right. I turned right.

Finding Chris and Jenny's house was a doddle, and the welcome fantastic. One hot shower, some clean clothes and a couple of gin and tonics later I felt very much refreshed, and after a fabulous Sunday roast the pain and suffering of this day were all but forgotten. After dinner I took their younger son Alex out to give him a spin on Mercury. I had to move the boom out a little anyway (as I had relaxed further into the seat, so I was feeling a bit cramped), so there was no harm in pulling it in for him first. I have to say, once I left him to his own devices rather than hold onto the seat, he was very good at it. He didn't fall off once, largely because his reactions were remarkably quick. In no time he was doing laps of the car park, then figures of eight too. He had just got himself a new tractor, which looked very impressive, though I don't know much about MTBs. Maybe he wants a 'bent now too. Well, I told him about the local 'bent shop in Taunton, not very far away…

Afterwards we decamped to the sitting room, where I was plied with coffee and Armagnac. And then to bed - a wonderfully comfortable one at that. What a civilised way to end a tough day on the bike!