After my night on the floor, I was keen to get up early and leave the Travel Tavern behind us, escape the northwest’s seemingly endless urban sprawl and look for somewhere more in keeping with the rural aesthetic we’d become accustomed to. As it turns out, we didn’t have to travel far – just a few more miles the previous night would’ve seen us clear of the built up area and back into the countryside, where there was an abundance of nice-looking places to stay. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

Our route skirted the edge of Warrington and headed down into Cheshire. We soon gave up on following the Sustrans cycle path after a hugely confusing 40 minutes in Northwich that seemed to be taking us round in circles, and opted to follow our instincts instead; we were rewarded with a route that took in quiet country roads through a series of stunning villages and hamlets, past multiple castles, and alongside a beautiful canal – this was more like it. We were now in proper WAG country: all of a sudden the houses were more impressive, the cars more expensive, and the whole area more attractive. It’s also real cyclist country. We saw more people out on bikes today than we have on the entire trip so far. It was interesting how tribal they were – many of the roadies we passed would barely give us the time of day, bombing along in their mini pelotons. You try carrying all this stuff, fellas, and we’ll see how fast you go then!

We stopped for lunch at a cracking pub called the Bickerton Poacher, which appeared like an oasis just as the sun was at its hottest and we were gasping for refreshment. Then it was on to our final push of the day, down to just south of Shrewsbury. We were all struggling now as the heat began to take its toll, and we seriously debated whether we should call it a day rather than push on to the campsite; but, figuring that any miles done tonight would be miles we wouldn’t have to do tomorrow, we cracked on. It was a Herculean, banana-fuelled effort from the boys (particularly from the Dawg, who managed the last 20 miles on just 10 gears due to a problem with his left shifter, and from Bailey, who navigated us through Shrewsbury with surprising speed thanks to some nifty on-the-fly decision-making), and we ended up with another 85 miles chalked off. Phew!

By now it was gone 8 o’clock and we were struggling to find somewhere that would serve us food. We only had two options: the pub up the road that stopped serving at 9pm, or the curry house down the road that stopped at 9.30. Working on the basis that curry and cycling aren’t happy bedfellows (and trying not to think about the ramifications of three men in a small tent, post-jalfrezi), we opted for the Nag’s Head. We put up the tent in record time, showered, then got back on the bikes for the two-mile cycle to the pub. It was a close-run thing, but we just about made it – thanks in no small part to the fact that, shorn of our panniers and gear, the bikes felt so light!

There we were treated to an amazing roast, some well deserved pints and even invited to stay on at the staff party that was going on in the bar. We declined citing an early start (the first time I’ve ever seen the Dawg turn down free beer – actually, probably the first time I’ve ever turned down free beer!) and headed back to the campsite. After a slightly tentative cycle back (one head torch and a couple of rear lights between three is not the best way to approach country lanes after dark), we piled into the tent and fell fast asleep – or at least we did once the Dawg had spent about 25 minutes trying to find his way out of his sleeping bag, through the porch and into the toilet. It’s a tent Geoffrey, not a bloody decompression chamber!