No Garmin today. The previous three days’ routes had been plotted on the web and downloaded onto the Edge 800 but, for some reason that even DA could not fathom, day four’s was missing. No problem; throughout the tour I had been keeping my eye on proceedings with the help of a 1:190,000 road map attached old-school audax-style to my handlebars using a holder cobbled together from a lamp bracket and piece of plastic card. Today was its big day.

Inevitably, progress was a little slower than with the wonders of satellite navigation, mainly because complex junctions – of which there are quite a few on the UK’s minor roads – require careful assessment. Soon enough we broke clear of tree cover and could see ahead the course of yet another evil little ascent, which finished adjacent to Walbury Hill fort. Highclere Castle Magnificat sportive riders may remember it.

Whereas the sportive heads down into the Test valley, we veered off eastwards, finding two more excessively steep climbs, before coming across the treat of the day in the form of a lane running downhill from Crux Easton to the outskirts of Whitchurch. Grass grew down the middle, trees arched overhead and for miles nothing moved but us and rabbits.

Back in prosperous Home Counties country, we pootled along through undemanding terrain to our lunch stop in the Golden Pot at, er, Golden Pot. From inside, we had a great view of the numerous road cyclists crossing the junction outside and were able to award points for style and effort.

Leaving the pub, Andy, DA and I agreed that Simon’s bike was far too light. He was still inside. Looking around, I found a small log, which fitted very nicely under the flap of his Carradice saddlebag. He didn’t notice the log but did notice the extra weight, attributing it to the effect of the ales he had sampled.

With “The Equaliser” doing its job nicely, we enjoyed a steady ride along the south side of the Hogs Back and though the outskirts of Godalming, joining the A25 at Shere. The climb away from Abinger towards Wotton proved an irresistible launch pad for one last attack and it was only on arrival in Dorking, as we stopped for a breather, that Simon noticed the stowaway in his saddlebag.

“I say, chaps, that’s hardly straight riding” was a fair reproach. But, then, nor is turning up for the tour once the real climbing is done and on a bike with insufficient weight on board, eh?