We thought today would be a breeze, but in fact there was a wild wind from the north all day and a never ending succession of switch back climbs.

The voyage reached its nadir some time during the afternoon, when the entire team was overtaken by a seven year old on a mountain bike.

Lunch was taken at Helmsdale, where men are men, grow gruff beards, fish for herring in mountainous seas, and build themselves pink shrines to Barbara Cartland. The latter took the form of "Le Mirage" restaurant:

Liberace would have felt at home in this temple to kitsch, and in fact he was - serving the sandwiches.

Blokes on bikes

Dave brandishes a rhubarb leaf.

As the day progressed, and our goal grew closer, the day took on an increasingly desperate air. A horse took a close interest in two of the members of the party (shrivelled though they were) and Simon laughed so much he fell off his bicycle.

And finally, we arrived in John O'Groats at 6.15 six abreast across the highway, with oncoming motorists giving us a cheerful toot on their horns.

One of the party has confessed to a sense of elation; the rest suspect substance abuse (possibly "High Five").