Here's a video from our 1-day safari in Addo Elephant National Park, South Africa.

The Rhymney Valley Ridgeway Walk is a circular 44km route around the town of Caerphilly (kire-filly), just north of Cardiff.

We walked it in two days, starting from the Rose & Crown pub on the western edge of the circle.

The people of the city of Bristol love the city of Bristol. This shouldn't be all that special but it's my belief that this phenomenon is fairly unique.

I live in Eastleigh. I'm not living in Eastleigh because I love Eastleigh. I'm here primarily because of work, friends and family as well as other smaller factors such as good rail links, access to supermarkets and where I can afford to live.

I work in Southampton. I don't work there because I love it. I work there because of the company and the commutable distance.

The people of Bristol love Bristol. So why is this? Bristol has a lot to love, but then again so does Southampton, so does Eastleigh. What makes Bristol special is that the people of Bristol have chosen to be here; it's a destination; and they're constantly reminded to love their city: it's printed on the sides of their buses.

Are there things to love about the places we all live and work? Absolutely. We just need to put the effort in to identify them. And then we need to tell the world. A communal love for our homes is far stronger than an individual's love.

From ominous sky
Soft wisps reach out, comforting
Soothed patchwork bundles.

Today I attended a workshop on writing poetry about landscapes, or places in general. We were asked to go outside into the Iveragh countryside and write a haiku about what we saw. It was a gloomy, grey day and I was particularly inspired by the mist being blown delicately across the contours of the hills. It reminded me of a loving caress or a mother comforting and protecting a baby.

It was only last week that my friend Ollie said to me "flights to Ireland are only £20... Want to go?". Naturally, I responded positively and here we are. We flew into Kerry last night, hired a car and drove an hour or so to the seaside village of Waterville. Our friend Louise had arranged some free accomodation for us and we settled in making plans for a mountain climb the following day.

Carrauntoohil is the highest mountain in Ireland standing at 1038m it's just 46m shorter than Snowdon in Wales. What makes this Irish Giant different, however, was soon to be discovered.

Unlike the steps and perfect paths of Snowdon, the only help you get climbing this particular mountain is three bridges at the very start followed by a set of stepping stones and then you're on your own. Carrauntoohil is an intense, varied and immensely fun climb. We took the Devil's Ladder route up, which I'd highly recommend although not for the feint hearted. It involves a near vertical ascent up a waterfall.

I ran out of water less than half way up the Ladder, so refilled my bottle from the crystal clear water that shared our path. This was my first drink from a mountain stream and the water was delicious.

The view from the summit was absolutely breathtaking, stretching from sea to sea. We couldn't have asked for better weather, especially considering how miserable it had been the day before. We tested here a while, taking in the scenery, before heading back down the route we'd come.

When we finally arrived back to the house, we tucked into a cheesy pasta bake that we'd made - some well earned comfort food!

Last night I attended my friend's wedding a little way from home and, as is so easily done when there's free wine on the table, drank a little too much. I got a lift back home from a friend and decided (with a mind only slightly altered by wine) to walk to collect my car the following day.

Today came and an expedition to collect the car still sounded like a good plan so I marked out a route. It turns out, the car was 8.5 miles away, mostly along beautiful footpaths and country roads.

A slightly more exciting and cheaper method of retrieving a car after a night out than getting a taxi.

This is probably less of an adventure than I'd usually write about but it was great fun and I have some pieces to say about it, so here we are...

My friend Beckie messaged me recently keen to go surfing. We looked at the Magicseaweed forecast and the Sunday that week looked good. How wrong it was.

We set off to the beach and, after an hour in the car, arrived to the most beautiful, blue, perfectly flat ocean. Having sat, eaten our picnic and resigned ourselves to the fact that today's excursion would end up being land based and by foot.

Not 2 minutes in to our wander along the seafront, we spotted a surf hire shop. Having decided the advertised prices were too steep at the shop up the road, we'd ruled out paddleboarding. Oh a whim I asked the woman sweeping out the front how much it'd set us back, fully prepared to make our excuses and continue on our way. However, at £10 for the first hour and just £5 per hour after that, the rates were pretty reasonable!

Changed, after heaving the boards down to the shoreline, we clambered onto them and began to paddle.

I'm in a weird situation where my British Canoeing coaching award allows me to coach all paddlesport - including paddleboarding - while I, until this point, had less than 5 minutes experience on a paddle board.

I think I picked it up fairly quickly, although I can't be sure; I'll have to validate the techniques I applied against some form of reliable source before my next outing. I even managed to give Beckie some pointers.

It was Bonfire Night. I'd had a lazy morning at home and figured I ought to do something about it. My dad had popped by for a cup of tea and so we made plans for a little adventure inspired by seeing New Year fireworks from a plane.

Stuffing a camping stove, pots and a couple of flasks of hot drink into our backpacks we set off to walk towards Winchester before the sun set.

It began to get gloomy as we climbed the steep steps up St Catherine's Hill. We found a spot to sit overlooking Winchester city centre, lit the burner and began to heat up our dinner.

Fireworks sprung up across the city from around 6pm onwards. Some were just hundreds of metres away while others flashed just above the horizon miles away followed much later by their respective whizzes and bangs.

Filled with chilli, hot chocolate and now a mug of freshly brewed tea we waited until the main event. A huge bonfire in the centre of town leapt over the treetops and licked at the sky. Our spot was far less quiet than the empty hilltop we started on: apparently I wasn't the only one with this plan.

Fireworks from the big show erupted from their base near the bonfire. They competed for our attention with other large displays nearby, not something you'd ordinarily get to experience if you were actually at the display.

The display came to a close and everyone on the hilltop cheered and applauded before making their way down the slippery slope back to the city centre.

The experience was surreal and magical and I got the coldest I think I've ever been. Totally worth it.

I write to you huddled beneath a leaking pub-garden parasol in Exton. It's been chucking it down for the past few hours. Relenting only to remind you how pleasant a walk on a dry day can be before continuing its downpour.

Nonetheless, I have thoroughly enjoyed the last 18 hours: I've been on an adventure!

The 13 miles from Winchester to Exton is easily achievable in a day - but where's the fun in that? I set off straight from the office at 4:30pm, through the city centre looking thoroughly out of place with my hiking boots and a pack on my back.

After crossing a bridge over the dual carriageway, just 45 minutes after I had set off from work, I got my first view of the countryside.

The South Downs Way starts somewhere in the centre of Winchester although I can't seem to find any real consensus of where exactly. For the purposes of this, we'll start it by The Bishop on the Bridge pub, opposite the old mill. Between the pub and the bridge its named after there's a small footpath that takes us towards The Black Boy, a fantastically quirky establishment. After crossing the road here sign posting becomes more prominent.

Saddening as it is, considering how close I live and work to the South Downs, I've only very recently began to explore the nation's newest National Park and this was my first time ever by foot.

I knew the trail up to Cheesefoot Head¹ from bike rides with work but by foot you can appreciate the route in much more detail.

Boomtown festival takes place in the valleys around Cheesefoot Head towards the end of August and the South Downs Way directs you straight through the aftermath: little pieces of plastic; cardboard; a stray tent; and even someone's entire wardrobe were strewn in the fields and trees around me. The landscapes, however, were still beautiful despite the littering. A totem pole, presumably another leftover from the Fair, stood proud in an otherwise plain field, brightening the dullness brought on by dusk.

Sunset was at 6pm, so I was keen to find a place to sleep before 7. I looked in every patch of woodland and at every field border before settling for a small hollow in a hedgerow alongside the bridleway. I slung my hammock between two trunks and settled down for the 11 hours of darkness ahead of me.

My hammock wasn't quite taught enough for a comfortable nights sleep² so I woke every few hours. Wildlife here seems to be limited to pheasants³ so it was eerily quiet with not even an owl's hoot to sing me back to sleep.

By 6am I was awake again and keen to set off. The sun hadn't risen by that point but I knew the first light wasnt far off. By the time I'd packed away I could see quite well without a torch and began the day's journey with the morning mist filling the gaps between the trees lining the hilltops.

As the morning brightened I stumbled across a fantastic view over a valley filled with pheasants and the sun rising behind. I set up my portable stove and cooked my breakfast of porridge.

That was when it started to rain. Lightly and in showers as predicted by the forecast... at first. I looked at the forecast again. What had been numerous light showers was now a morning of solid, heavy rain. I checked how far I had left to go. Only 7 miles remaining - I'd be done before midday. So, I arranged a lift home for 11am from the village of Exton so I could get out the elements and dry off.

Walkers were sparse on the trail, but there were a few groups of cyclists out for the day who provided friendly greetings and mutual sympathy for the weather.

The countryside was more beautiful on this half of the journey thanks, presumerably, to being further from the city. Larger, more industrial farms turned into quaint little fenced fields and there was no sign of festival debris anywhere.

Beacon Hill is a beautiful little nature reserve and the walk is especially picturesque down from there into Exton, even in the rain. Walking along the rather permanent-looking "temporary South Downs Way route", I stopped to pick blackberries at the field boundaries, a serious advantage of walking this time of year!

Which brings us back to me huddling under a pub umbrella in Exton. It's a small village and the only thing in it is a pub which, unfortunately for me doesn't open until 11am. Still, not long until my lift arrives and it's home for a hot shower!

Today's ride was based around a series of errands I had to run while I had no money to spend. As a result, I decided to cycle between my destinations.

First of all, I had to volunteer selling tickets for the production of Alice by Arcade Youth Theatre at a coffee morning run by the church. Pots of tea at this coffee morning cost just 50p! I cycled the 10 minutes or so, settled down with my tea and got to work promoting the show.

My next destination was a garden centre about 30 minutes away. I had been given a voucher for a free lunch there (I'd have to buy the tea).

Although mostly along roads I knew well, the ride was enjoyable thanks to the beautiful scenery and winding country roads towards the end of it.

Tea was a little more expensive here at £1.95 but still certainly affordable. My voucher entitled me to the most expensive thing on the menu - an impressive portion of fish and chips!

As I queued for my lunch, the heavens quite unexpectedly opened. I sheltered until the sun returned and then set off again. My next stop was to be John Lewis in the centre of Southampton where I had a free pot of tea and a slice of cake awaiting me (thanks to a very generous voucher)!

The route I was planning to take, I knew. The way back to the start, however, I did not. My sat-nav took me off the road sooner than I expected onto a gravel bridleway. The track continued through a small patch of forest I was unaware existed. Stoke Park Wood is a beautiful patch of woodland with bike trails made quite technical by the recent downpour - and right on my doorstep too!

The mud and gravel tracks gave way to tarmac as I entered civilisation again. It's an unfortunate inevitability, adventuring near to home. But the roads didn't last for long before I was back on a tiny track alongside the Itchen. The path is always overgrown. I remember it being so the last time I cycled it too - it made it a challenge. This time, however, it was far closer to a slog than a challenge. The plants had crept so far over the path, I'm not sure I could describe it as such - simply a continuation of the bushes.

There comes a point where a path becomes so narrow, there isn't enough space to fit you and your bike side-by-side and it becomes easier to stop pushing and ride it instead.

Nettle stings, in fact, are far less painful than you probably remember from your childhood and are nothing particularly to be afraid of; the worst simply warrant a quick expletive and a mild on-and-off irritation for the rest of the day. In fact, I've caused myself more harm trying to avoid nettles than simply ignoring them and getting on my way.

The above was vital for today's ride. Especially when you're confronted with nettles on one side and a river or barbed wire on the other.

Eventually the narrow trail opened out onto a dirt road and that was when I noticed my flat tyre; the ominous black cloud; and the thunder.

Thankfully I had some tyre patches and tyre levers with me, so I hastily repaired and reinflated my inner tube and reluctantly set off in along the road in the direction from which I had come. Depending how the weather and my tyre faired, I'd either head to my destination by road or cut back home. I couldn't continue along the footpath - I could see it getting even more overgrown ahead and I'd already punctured one tyre!

You know the rain you see in films and on TV that just looks fake? Well, that's what happened next. I sheltered beneath a large tree but it made no difference, the rain fell straight through the leaves and flowed around the branches and beneath them. So I turned on my bike lights and braved it.

Home was only minutes away but by the time I got there, I was soaked to the skin. I stepped straight into the shower, helmet, shoes, mits and all. I was wet enough that the shower made me no wetter but did warm me through. Removing warm wet clothes is far more pleasant than cold ones.

So, a failure in the sense that I never completed what I set out to do. But a success in that I had an adventure: I'd enjoyed it, warn myself out, discovered places new and been out in rain so intense I actually "whooped" as I peddled through it.

Not a bad day for £2.45.

Organising your own Tea Round

Plan a cheap day out by having cups of tea near where you live. Think of it as a pub crawl... that's doesn't inhibit your ability to cycle.

You can do this as a walk or a bike ride; it can be as easy or as hard as you like: just vary the distance between and frequency of your pitstops.

Cheap teas and coffees are available in all sorts of places.

IKEA gives free teas and coffees to IKEA Family members on weekdays.

John Lewis gives My John Lewis members vouchers for free tea and cake every once in a while.

Being a MyWaitrose member entitles you to a free hot drink every day at Waitrose - some even have cafés.

Wetherspoon's pubs have unlimited refills on their filter coffees until 2pm.

Your local garden centre is a good place to check out. It's probably in a fairly rural place and most likely has a café. The one o visited had a loyalty card system which is how I got my free lunch.

Of course if you can find any tea rooms, these tend to be located in much nicer places. You may find the prices are slightly higher though.

Community centre and church coffee mornings are a great place to find a cheap cuppa, if you can find any.

If you have any other advice for good places for a cup of tea, please let me know and I'll add it to this post.

I've had this trip¹ on my mind for a while now and, thanks to a bank holiday weekend, I decided now was the time!

I feel half the struggle with microadventures is fitting as much as possible into the little time you have. I decided to take this to the extreme and fit five days worth of cycling into the three day weekend.

Friday

I'm writing this sprawled across two leather sofas in the New Forest Youth Hostel on the first night.² I feel like the adventure started waiting at the train station at 06:45 this morning, bike (and back) fully ladened and about to catch the train to work. The adventure took a brief break between 07:30 and 16:30 but soon got back into full swing as I plummeted downhill, through the countryside just minutes from the city centre.

I took the back roads via Hursley, past North Baddesley and through Calmore (my first visit here) before arriving in the New Forest through Ashurst.

Ashurst is my benchmark; it feels like the Forest. I think this is largely due to it being dubbed "Ashurst New Forest" in the automated announcements on the train I'd be taking home from work (if I were not on an adventure!) to save confusion with Ashurst, Kent (in case someone aboard the train was very lost). Ashurst also has a campsite nestled amid the heathland that is characteristic of this particular forest.

En route, I saved a horse who'd managed to tangle his matted tail around a barbed wire fence. He actually seemed genuinely grateful when he turned around to see his rescuer! I also met a pleasant man with a border terrier and had the obligatory "I have one of those too" chats.

After Lyndhurst I got bored following the main road down to Burley so decided to make a detour. I found a suitable one on the map but, alas, turned too early. I noticed my mistake pretty soon and opened an OS map. Unfortunately (again), my quick glance wasn't quite accurate enough and I ended up in deep mud with a fence between me and my road. Legs sore from brambles, I unloaded my bike and heaved it over the fence. Luckily for me, some form of mammal had worked itself a small passage beneath the wire fence that was just big enough for a slightly larger mammal - me - to wriggle through.

Back on the right road, the detour was worth it. It turned out to be a quaint, meandering little road all the way down to the hostel. I stopped to take a photo over some pretty fields and as I set off, bumped into a young gentleman and we began to chat. From now on we shall refer to this gentleman as Ed, for that was his name.

It turned out Ed and I had a lot in common - our jobs, where we lived, where we worked and an enthusiasm for cycling. So we exchanged contact details and suggested we might meet up later in the weekend.

The hostel is weirdly quiet. There aren't many people to talk to tonight - not as one usually expects in a hostel! Still, what a fantastic excuse for an early night.

Saturday

This morning started early. Not deliberately, but I woke up desperate for breakfast and a cup of tea. Having showered the night before, I had nothing else to do but check out and get going. Google's navigation (after a bit of coaxing to get it to go a slightly more interesting route) took me off-road up a sandy track over the heathland. It was empty at that time in the morning besides the mist still clinging to the hillsides and treetops.

Cycling on sandy soil, it turns out, is pretty hard and on more than one occasion I jerked forwards over my handlebars. It wasn't long, however, until I was back on the road making faster progress.³

I made a quick stop at the New Forest Airfield Memorial. During WWII the New Forest was littered with airfields and many of the runways are still present today - if a little cracked and overgrown.

I was out of the New Forest by 8:30 and stopped at Tuckton Tea Gardens by the river in Christchurch for a cup of tea and an accidental slice of chocolate orange cake.⁴

The majority of the rest of my day's ride was along the promenade from Hengistbury Head through Boscombe, Bournemouth and to Poole. Interestingly, no cycling is allowed on the promenade between 10am and 6pm throughout July and August. Its easy to see why too - weaving through the crowds wasn't easy even with today's relatively sparse crowds.

An added excitement of this journey is the 10-minute-or-so of ferry ride.

The hills leading up to Swanage were the first real climbs I'd encountered this trip and they almost killed me. The exhilarating downhill into the village, however, more than made up for this. The ice cream on the seafront helped too.

After checking into the hostel, I headed down to the chippy for a rather tasty portion of the daily special, rock and chips, and set off along the coast path towards Dancing Ledge - a seaside spot I used to frequent as a child with my family.

Contrary to the forecast - thunderstorms - the weather was beautiful. So beautiful I had to stop at a beach and have a quick swim before reaching my destination.

When I finally arrived at Dancing Ledge, the climb down was far less daunting than I'd remembered but the water was just as cold!

I cut back over the hills rather than following the coast path back. This provided variety but also, more importantly, a little rest for my already aching legs.

Another family tradition is to have a Kebab from Rainbow Kebabs - so, of course, I had to oblige. Sat eating it on a bench by the beach I felt the sun on the back of my neck - I was not prepared for this weather! After a quick potter through the village I headed back to the hostel armed with an almond croissant and made myself a pot of tea.

Sunday

The forecast storms seemed to have bypassed me yet again on Sunday and the sun was shining intensely. Having filled my platypus to the brim, I started my day by walking the 6 or so miles to Corfe Castle. I plotted my own route on the OS map and headed out.

My route was fairly direct and, having been planned on a map with no knowledge of the area, involved some less commonly trodden paths - for better or for worse. The paths where hard to find and required a moderate map reading ability⁵ to hunt down. But when I found them they were beautiful, untouched. I only had to hop over two gates and only one of those was as a result of going off course - and only by a few metres, I just couldn't find the stile!

After a quick stop off for an ice cream and watching the train go by, I continued my walk alongside the railway and into Corfe Castle.

Upon arriving in Corfe I bought a sandwich from the bakery and waited for my steam train back to Swanage. I felt a little bit like a child⁶, excitedly sat in my compartment (just like the Hogwarts Express!) and sticking my head out the window.

The cycle was hard. It was hot and the hills were... hilly. Studland Heath drags in the sun with little shade and endless heathland. The journey got more exciting after the ferry over to Poole - the seafront there was more interesting and provided many obstacles along the promenade to keep my mind busy. Toddling obstacles, obstacles on the ends of leads and obstacles on scooters proved to be most problematic.

My sister's house is just beyond the far end of Bournemouth's Upper Gardens which makes for a pleasant ride. Bournemouth, it seems, has great cycle paths. I spent the afternoon enjoying the sun and some hard-earned pints with her boyfriend followed by dinner at my sister's work.⁷

Monday

Following a breakfast of French toast courtesy of my sister, a couple of rounds of Cluedo (what else do you do on a lazy bank holiday Monday?) and a quick re-stock at Aldi I set off on the short leg of my journey back to the New Forest. I decided to go via the coastal route and stopped along the seafront for lunch.

Although one of the shortest legs of my journey, Monday's was the most boring. The dragging journey wasn't helped by the end-of-bank-holiday-blues that seemed to plague everyone I came across.

I stopped again at Tuckton Tea Gardens but was sorely disappointed with my half-pot of tea, stale slice of cake and less friendly service.

Eventually the monotony of roadside cycle paths gave way to country roads and I began to cheer up after I saw a small mouse scuttle across the road, narrowly avoiding my tyre - finally back in the countryside!

I spent the evening pottering around YHA New Forest before finding myself a cosy spot on the sofa in front of the TV.

Tuesday

After much deliberation the night before, I decided to cycle the 7 miles to Brockenhurst and catch the train to work rather than cycling the whole way. There were two reasons for this: firstly I was tired, I could probably make it but I'd ache; but secondly, and the deciding factor, I realised I had forgotten to bring my gym pass with me - the thought of a what I knew would be a long day at work after 30 miles and no shower really did not appeal.

The morning was beautifully sunny while refreshingly cool, like only a summer morning can be. The Forest was quiet again and the animals weren't quite yet expecting human passers by, so were a little sluggish.⁸

The stretch of National Cycle Route 2 between Brockenhurst and Burley/Holmsey Campsite is my favourite stretch and it was beautiful this morning, even if my mind was partially on the day ahead at work.

Relief washed over me as I stood waiting for my train. I wouldn't say I'm glad that it's over as such. Perhaps more in a proud or accomplished sense.

I'd been off sick from work on Friday and by Sunday evening I was sick of TV box sets and being stuck inside. I was finally feeling better... just in time for work tomorrow.

Now, though, I'm sat writing this in a shady spot in a beautiful pub garden in a village miles from home feeling like I've actually done something with my weekend.

It's amazing how much you can do in a few hours. I decided I'd go at 15:30 this afternoon, got dressed and walked. I'll get the 18:12 train back and be home by about half past - in time for tea.

It's not much of an adventure; its a route I've done many times before. But without these 3 hours my weekend would've felt like such a waste.

A couple of friends invited me to climb mount Snowdon this weekend. Unfortunately, they were travelling up on the Friday morning while I had to work.

Desperate to join and after discovering that YHA offered late check-in, I managed to hunt down a (slightly more) affordable train that arrived into Conwy at midnight.

I came into work early so that I could run away as early as possible. At 4:15pm I legged it to the train station and began my journey. After a quick pint in Waterloo with a friend and a cheeky Burger King, I headed off to Chester from Euston.

Writer Jini Reddy mentions her pet gripes with rail travel:

the less said about shouty, beer-swelling tribes, the better.

Those shouty, beer-swelling tribes are more common than I'd like, especially on late night services... like the one I was on.

A good technique, I find, for avoiding them is to be sat with headphones on watching a film on a tablet. Peace and quiet. That is until I got off at Chester and one of these same beer-swelling¹ men decided to ignore the fact I was trying to listen to my podcast and talk and talk and talk at me. He also invited me for a drink which I politely declined over and over and over. Eventually he left and, after sharing relieved looks with a lady in the waiting room, I was at last left to myself.

After boarding the final train I discovered Conwy was a request stop - something that I wasn't even sure existed until that moment! The guard kindly explained this to me in a soft, reassuring Welsh accent. Jini captures my thoughts pretty accurately on this matter too:

a nailbiter - I might have requested the stop but would the driver pull in or wouldn't he? (He did.)

He stopped for me too.

I find an adventure can often begin with the travelling, especially by train - there's an excitement that comes with journeying clad in hiking gear with a large rucksack and hiking pole strapped to your back².

I arrived at YHA Conwy at just gone midnight and was greeted by an envelope with my name on it at reception containing my key and check-in information. I dumped my bag in my room (guarded by a loudly snoring gentleman) and set off in search of fellow hostellers.
I stayed up for an hour or so talking to a group who turned out to live in the next town along from me and another group who lived half way across the world. I love the variety of people you meet at hostels but they're always (so far) lovely and have interesting stories to tell.

I woke early the next morning and tucked into a fry up staring out over the hills. I was meeting my friends at 9:30 to drive down to Snowdon so took advantage of the spare time to explore locally. I had earmarked Conwy Mountain³ (Mynydd y Dref) as my destination and I set off in the beautiful sunshine.

On my short hike, I met a gentleman who lived in Conwy working as a geologist. He was taking full advantage of his location and was hiking up to the summit to paraglide. We discussed how kind the weather was considering it was a weekend in Wales. He pointed out landmarks in the panoramic views and recommended some local places for food and ales. Unfortunately I had no time to try out any of his recommendations. I guess I'll just have to go back!

We couldn't believe our luck arriving at Snowdon, sun blazing and a parking space in the £10-a-day (!) car park - neither of which were expected.

We began our journey up the Pyg trail as part of the mountain-climbing crowds. We made good time and, even with stopping for photos and appreciating the stunning views, made it to the top quite quickly.

We couldn't believe our luck having views across Snowdonia interrupted only by mountains rather than the usual cloud cover.

During the warm ascent we had decided a swim in the heart-shaped Glaslyn lake on the descent. The sun had gone in and the wind picked up by the time we'd made it back down but I still quite fancied the dip. The others whimped out.

The gravel bed dropped away into blackness less than a metre away from the edge so I paddled in the cool water for only a step or two before diving in head first. The deep pool was freezing - it felt like the morning's sun had made no impact on the temperature at all. It was still refreshing but I only managed two strokes into my swim before returning to land to dry myself with a fleece and wrap up in my down jacket.

The rest of the journey was beautiful, if uneventful, strolling along the flat winding path that is the end of the Miners trail.

We made it back to the car just before it began to hail - good timing! The day was rounded off by a welcome shower back at the hostel, an even more welcome ice cream on the seafront - Turkish delight flavour! - and finally fish and chips.

Back at the hostel, my new North American friends and I talked and played Jenga well into the night.

On Sunday I got up early again (though not as early as planned as a direct result of late night Jenga) and headed for the hills.

I set off in the same direction as the day before but with more time on my hands I got further, wandered aimlessly and had time to take in the views.

Finally, to end off the weekend, I met up with Jen and Scott (my friends from home) for lunch in the Tower Coffee House, a beautiful little tea rooms in the tower of the old town walls - a little on the expensive side, perhaps, but a lovely place to sit with an even lovelier view and the staff are lovely too.

Friday night after work, in a desperate attempt to find a valid excuse to not be in the gym, I decided to go on an adventure.

I got home, quickly made up a picnic, grabbed my bike and left with two hours 'til sunset. My plan was to cycle to the first train station inside the New Forest, finding a picnic spot en route, and return by rail. That was the plan.

I peddled along the cycle paths that took me to the edge of town. Reaching the last convenience store before leaving, I heard the familiar beep, beep, beep of the hole in the wall. In response, my wandering mind realised something. I realised I'd left my wallet behind. No train home. No emergency cash should I get into some kind of trouble. I desperately searched my pannier for signs of my wallet or any spare cash. No luck.

I'd spent too much energy and daylight to go back so on I peddled, making up a new plan as I did so.

The road turned a corner and ran alongside some woods where I met face to face with a deer. We stood and stared at each other for a moment. I reached for my camera. The deer obviously took offence at this and bounded away through the woodland with its mate.

I continued up the hill until I found what looked to be a cycle path through the woods. I decided this would be a good spot for my picnic and perhaps an alternate route home - it was in approximately the right direction.

Post picnic - and now with a phone which had decided to become faulty over the course of my little trip - I headed further into the woods along the path egged on by the bicycle tracks left by past peddlers. It must be cycleable if there are this many tracks. The "path" soon deteriorated into a track and then little more than a swamp. I had to walk much of the way when my bike wheel started to dig.

I reached a dead end and then, after an exhilarating downhill chasing a panicked pheasant, another. Finally, as the darkness descended, I decided to switch from Google Maps to the more detailed Ordnance Survey app. I eventually found my way to a trail that was also on the map. I'd earmarked a small road that was on both the OS and Google maps. That was my destination at which point I'd switch back to Google Maps to navigate me home.

It was dark now. I eventually hauled my bike up the last hill and into the grounds of a hotel. A road sprawled out before me. At last! I switched over to sat nav and followed Google's directions.

Now, Google Maps in recent years has got very good at directing down bridleways and cycle paths in preference to busy roads. Which, in most scenarios is fantastic. However, on this particular evening night, you can imagine how far my heart sunk when the tarmac I was happily peddling along turned to gravel, dirt and then mud. I'd seen this before!

Fortunately it was all downhill and there were only a couple of places where I had to get off and push. My breaks squeaked and squawked against my muddy wheels in response to the squeaking and squawking of the owls in the trees above. A rabbit and a bat quickly manoeuvred away from me hurtling down the bumpy track.

Then, at last, an electronic voice piped up:

In 300 yards turn right onto Castle Lane.

Castle Lane. Not only was it a road name, but a road I knew. In fact, it was a road I had been on very recently.

I was back on the cycle path I'd started on. I peddled the comparatively easy ride home, showered and finished my bottle of wine.

I'd been lost, seen a fair bit of wildlife and heard even more. I'd been cold, hungry. I'd been places I'd never been before. Despite its many failures, it still sounds like a microadventure to me!