Twenty-nine of us, including about a dozen Auks, signed up for the Sporting Tours trip to the Raid Alpine, Thonon to Trieste, in early September. Although we had had such an exceptional summer in Britain, the Alps were in the midst of an unsettled and stormy season, and the mood in the coach was somewhat subdued as we travelled rapidly from good weather to bad, with forecasts of more to come. Even slightly bad weather in the high mountains is no joke at all.

Evening in the hotel at Thonon, and as we watched the rain driving down outside M. Rousset himself turned up to give us our brevet cards and commiserate about the weather. This 'visitation' had been arranged by Graham Baxter, the man behind Sporting Tours who was with us as courier, and was typical of the sort of attention to detail that is thrown in to the deal on one of his trips. Georges told us that five of the passes on our route had been closed with snow at some time during the previous week. He told us about the oldest successful male and female riders (about 70 and 60, our resident veterans of either sex looked crestfallen), the fastest time (about 4½ days, we were planning 10½, not very much more than 100km per day, this was after all an end-of-season holiday), the largest successful group (24, we might beat that if everyone went well), and mentioned with reverence the names of the two legendary Brits who were the first to ride these randonnées, Mark Brooking and Barry Parslow.

Day 1, An easy day to start off with.

The rain stopped an hour before we set off, and we rode away from the lake on drying roads, although the air was supersaturated and there were threatening clouds in the hills. Our first low pass, the Pas de Morgins, proved that, with ages ranging from 20 to 62, a wide range of abilities both uphill and down, and differing attitudes to such things as lunch-stops, luggage-carrying and setting-off times, we were a 'loose-knit' group. By two hours into our first day, everyone knew he or she was likely to spend a lot of time on their own. I was soon off the back on this first climb which peaked at 1390 metres - higher than the summit of Ben Nevis - but, in riding straight past the coach parked near the top Sheila Simpson and I were the first to reach the Swiss border which was the first control point on our cards. This became a familiar pattern throughout the ride, as some of us carried luggage and tried to pretend the coach didn't exist, while others enjoyed the pleasures of a stripped-down machine in the mountains and picked up food and clothing from the coach at some prearranged spot.

We descended into much sunnier weather, and ignored the lunch opportunities in the town at the bottom - this was pricey Switzerland, the land of the rapidly- disappearing franc. The rest of the day was a flat drag through vineyards and orchards - we found a cycle route to avoid the main road - up the upper Rhone valley to Sion. Here we played the game of 'find the hotel', at which we were to become very adept by the end of the trip. When we found it, the weather was hot and clear enough for basking on the terrace, and Rocco Richardson and the Marmite Queen and some others who had used the main road already had the best seats. Sheila introduced everyone to her despicable trick of buying cheap beer in the supermarket down the road, then drinking it in the hotel's glass. After comparing the prices, everyone shot off to the supermarket leaving us to take over the best seats.

Day 2, Over 2000m for the first time.

Despite bad forecasts, the weather held - just. Ron Sant, Ian Hilditch, Sheila and I took a more 'scenic' route up the valley than we intended - a bit of an extra climb, quite a nice one actually. Then after hanging on to Ian's wheel for a hectic main- road bash to Brig, we faced the Simplon Pass (2005 metres) where we had been warned the temperature would be 0›C at the top. Photo. I think most people struggled up here as we were still developing that special Alpine fitness needed for the very big passes. The top was indeed very cold and we found Mark Waters standing around with no warm clothing to put on. He had paid the penalty for being quick by climbing the mountain before the coach arrived (we had passed it parked halfway up). Various kind souls had spared him a glove or two but he was looking distinctly blue even so. I piled clothing on for the descent, including balaclava, double gloves and over- shoes, although I still had more gloves and a second waterproof in reserve. We crossed into Italy at rather high speed (no brevet stamp required), hurtled down through a very long tunnel that turned out to be forbidden to cyclists, and found our hotel, three-star no less, right in the ancient cobbled centre of Domodossola.

Graham Baxter's choice of hotels was amazing. Some of the room prices that we saw on the doors brought a lump to my wallet. Such luxury in Switzerland, or in expensive resorts like Cortina, was truly impressive. Without exception they stored our bikes well, and fed us superbly on good cyclists' fodder (specified in advance by Graham) and plenty of it. In this hotel we got large plates of pasta, then they came round with seconds before moving on to the meat & veg, where seconds were again offered. Cycling only 6 or 7 hours a day, we were not going to lose weight on this holiday!

Day 3 - The last 'easy' day, make the most of it

Yet another bad weather forecast, yet another fine morning. Just a couple of low passes today to get us down to Lake Maggiore and back into Switzerland once again. Regardless of country boundaries, we had moved rapidly from French-speaking districts to Italian-speaking, and had touched on a German-speaking area before climbing the Simplon yesterday. Our second pass today, the Piano di Sale, was a little gem. Photos. Not high, but very narrow and twisty and scenic and quiet, with a long exhilarating descent to the lake. Rocco apparently rode it twice, and said it was even better the second time. It was such an easy day, we killed some time with lunch at a lakeside bar in the glittering sunshine. As this was the last bar in Italy before the border, we soon gathered quite a little group together. Another stamp at the border, then some bad traffic in Locarno before another 'hunt the hotel' near Bellinzona. Even so, we got there before the coach, which couldn't get over our minor-road passes and had to take a very long way round indeed. Time to buy Alan the driver a drink - even at Swiss prices!

Day 4 - The first big, super-scenic day.

And our luck ran out. We tackled the very big climb of the San Bernardino in rain and low cloud - no views, and very cold indeed towards the summit. Photos. Our highest pass so far, and the longest climb of the trip, about 1800 metres from bottom to top. Then back into the wind and the worsening rain over the Splügen Pass, higher still at 2113m with a desolate border post back into Italy at the top, where every stitch of clothing went on (both waterproofs, two pairs longs, three pairs gloves) for what would have been, in good visibility, a sensational descent down a cliff face, through moody tunnels and tweezer-tight hairpins. At the hotel, Alan, after much deliberation the night before, had taken the coach by a longer but safer route around the lakes. Much more than 'just' the driver, he was now anxiously checking each bedraggled rider in. A few more wet specimens arrived - despite riding as individuals, all but the very fastest and slowest were arriving each evening within a span of about 40 minutes. Just for once everyone bathed and changed before drinking the bar dry. Three-star luxury again. Fabulous evening meal here at Chiavenna, listening to the rain getting ever heavier. Graham Baxter liaised every evening by phone with his other tour in the Pyrenees - they were having a much wetter time than us, should we laugh or cry?

Day 5 - A tough proposition.

Clear, bright day, if a bit chilly at our earlier start time of 08.30. A main road, high-level route today, over 5 alpine giants. Back into Switzerland for Maloja Pass, the first and the lowest, but also by far the prettiest of the day with superb snow-capped peaks on every side. Photo. Then past St Moritz, where Ron Sant disappeared to relive a few past triumphs on and off the piste. Bernina Pass next, setting our new height record for the trip of 2323m, was bleak, windswept and snow-dusted. Ron, Sheila and I joined forces with Graham, who would have been last to set off as usual, for a line-out to the summit. Photos. In the bar, warming soup was a must, even at Swiss prices. Rocco came in and sat down at an empty table muttering to himself, so we lent him the money for a soup too, as he had lost his wallet a couple of days back. Graham stayed here for awhile to see some more of the party through.

On the next pass, the Forcola di Livigno, there was quite a bit of snow heaped by the roadside - melting rapidly. Photos. At the customs post I looked back to see Graham beat Sheila and Ron in the sprint for the summit, while ahead a super double rainbow filled the valley below - don't descend too fast, or we'll catch that shower up. Livigno is a strange little corner of Italy - on the Passo d'Eira there were long queues of cars waiting to buy petrol - this is a duty-free zone. On the Passo di Foscagno photo., our fifth of the day and our fourth over 2200m, Mark Waters bought some very exotic cigs in the duty-free shop, and Liz Creese (the Marmite Queen) drooled over the giant bars of chocolate. No one was in any hurry to turn away from the high country and down to Bormio, but when we got there, we had one of our longest 'hunt the hotel' games of all. Surprisingly, Graham no help at all in these games. Even better meal than last night - quite stupendous, a great end to one of my best days ever in the Alps.

Day 6 - 'Rest' day - just the Stelvio!

2757 metres of sheer drama, Stelvio was the high spot of the trip, in every way. Gloomy tunnels, stacks of hairpins and then - snow, glorious fresh snow, blinding in the sunlight, covering the meadows all around the summit area. Photos. This was Graham's big day - fulfilling a lifetime's ambition - but Sheila was having a good day and passed him and the Marmite Queen on the final hairpins, though not quite able to catch Rocco. We all get a rubber stamp at the bar, although it was not strictly required. The descent was awesome, endless nests of hairpins nicely banked for speed. There was some sort of randonnée - well over 100 cyclists making their way up the climb as we were dropping down. Then a main road bash (where Graham was knocked off) to Merano, and the most testing 'hunt the hotel' of the entire holiday.

Day 7 - harder than expected.

No big passes, just three medium-sized ones. People didn't twig that we would finish 1300 metres - over 4000 feet - higher than where we started. No wonder it was tough. At the start of the climb towards Val Gardena, I got very confused - it used to be an easily-missed right turn, but now they've built a tunnel, and put a LEFT turn inside the tunnel, which is then shaped like a pair of crossed fingers, so we emerged on the right, and already climbing. Sheer flashiness on the part of the road builders. We saw our first Dolomite scenery - this is what everyone come for - and overheated badly on the last climb which had a couple of 1 in 6 sections. Hotel in Val Gardena was easy to find, which made a change. Good grief, a four-star! The field was getting a bit spread out now, some people arrived quite late.

Day 8 - the Dolomites in a day.

From here to Cortina over six passes, we seemed to be rushing the best bit. As ever, the forecast was bad. An 8 o'clock start seemed in order. We might get over the first two before the rain started. Mark kept passing us - then taking photos of the views, then passing us again. He soon ran out of film and we never saw him after that. Sella Pass was mighty impressive, as ever, photos, but what a shame not to see this fabulous scenery at its best! Pordoi Pass is supposedly highest pass in the Dolomites (at 2239m, 2m higher than Sella!) so we got another stamp. Photos. Campolongo Pass, easily forgettable in among its higher neighbours. Photo. A stamp at La Villa (birthplace of Maria Canins) then a long drag up the rocky Valparola Pass, photos, downhill over Falzarego Pass, photos, still no rain but quite cold and dull now, over the Santa Lucia, just a lump which no-one was really counting, then finally ... Passo di Giau. I had been warning people darkly about this one all week. Not a good pass to tackle when tired. Photos. Long, and subtly steeper than anything we had ridden so far, this was, by universal consent, the hardest climb of the trip. A fine twisty descent to Cortina and, once again, a really testing 'hunt the hotel' game, though Rocco and the Marmite Queen, by taking a wrong turning on the way into town, found it straight away. When the last riders got in, the meal was already being served.

Day 9 - Anticlimax.

Breakfast was bad enough. Certain riders' habits, tolerated in smart hotels all across the Alps up to now, of pinching the rolls from other guests' tables and taking treble rations of cheese and ham (two to eat now, one to make into butties for lunch, carried on the coach of course) caused, ahem! a certain amount of friction here. I doubt if cyclists will be welcome in this hotel ever again. Probably not in any of the others we've been in, either. But up to now our convincing impression of a swarm of locusts had been met with gracious smiles and only the faintest hint of irony, lost on the average bikie.

The big climb of the day, the Tre Cime di Laverdo, which should have given us the best views of the whole trip, went off like a damp squib. With a long 1-in-7-ish, 1-in-6-ish sort of gradient, some people didn't have the gears for it and had to walk. The top was shrouded in dense cloud and we even managed to lose the hut at the end of the road where our rubber stamp was waiting! I stumbled across it while following the Marmite Queen to tell her she was off course. Retracing down the road we called encouragement to the walkers, even though some of them still had a long slog ahead of them. Photos.

Two more uninteresting passes got us to Auronzo. We were definitely through the Alps and out the other side. This three-star hotel had one of its stars masking-taped out. Hmmm.

Day 10 - Wet, wet, wet.

To be honest, we had been very lucky with the weather up to now - the forecasts had been diabolical, but in fact we had kept dry apart from that one day, and we had had lots of fine, if cool, riding conditions. Nevertheless there were moaners in the party who felt we had had bad weather. Well, today would put them right. Two waterproofs on right from the front door.

The main pass was the little-known Sella di Razzo (1790m). Little-known because it can be closed due to army training. And because, as we had been warned, it was partly unsurfaced, due to lack of maintenance. All the better for the tanks and fwd army vehicles to play on, no doubt. There was a unique air of decayed grandeur on the hairpins near the top, with the stonework reverting to nature, helped along by the heavy rain. At the top there were lines of very soggy, very sorry-looking army troops on manoeuvres here, so close to Slovenia. It was a bizarre sight, and I was tempted to pull out my camera. But no, then again perhaps not. Descending in the deluge, I punctured, but continued for a while on the rim looking for some sort of shelter, as Rocco and the Marmite Queen sloshed past. When I eventually had to stop, I discovered that mending a puncture was the warmest, pleasantest thing I had done all day, much better than riding in my own wind-chill! A couple more piddling climbs, but really the trip was over now. Cool reception at the hotel - had the jungle drums been beating, or, then again, can you imagine how soggy we all were?

Day 10¸ - Slovenia or bust.

The route was main road down the Adriatic coast to our final control town, Trieste, or we could try for an attractive-looking option through a corner of Slovenia. I was keen to do this, not because I am averse to main roads, but just to add to my tally of countries for this holiday. In fact, continued rain dampened my spirits, and I found that my back wheel had been damaged by yesterday's rim-riding, so, with no Slovenian cash, I decided to stay in Italy in case the wheel fell apart. I believe Ron Sant was the only rider to take the adventurous option, he arrived at the coach really pleased with himself and reported on a lovely route. By mid afternoon our bikes were bagged and booted away, and we were back on board and headed for Lake Garda. At yet another excellent overnight stop, Graham presented us with our huge medals, our trip successfully completed.

Only two of the group failed to ride the whole route, the sensible schedule, short days and good food kept the project easily within everyone's reach, regardless of age or ability. Graham Baxter too rode the whole way, as well as dealing with all his other duties, pacifying hoteliers, and generally looking after us. Although I found the rigid itinerary difficult to come to terms with, as when touring we usually are fairly relaxed about precisely where we end up, this was more than compensated for by the excellent accommodation, and the wonderful company both on and off the road.