6:30 is clearly the allotted hour for Challenger's to rise - well all of those who weren't in the Mason's last night. Simultaneously heads poked out of tents and within an hour a majority of the tented village is packed away.

         "It's had a sign like that for years," says Sue knowingly. "It's regularly used by Challengers"

"Dangerous" bridge

I take my usual deep breath and scuttle over trying not to show my "suspension bridge phobia" to the others. The two women take off along the river bank as do we until we notice the path officially runs a few hundred metres away. We cut away south climbing along a high apparently man made embankment then spot the track below. Feeling slight superior about our map reading skills we follow it along to an old farmstead where it disappears in an apparently exitless field.

I have a sense of déjà vu. Memories of 2002, when I had dragged a disgruntled Adrian along the same track, despite his protestation that there seemed to be a path along a river. As we scramble precariously over a dilapidated wall, the same one Sue and I are now tackling, I remember him standing on the other side with "I told you so" written all over his face. We cut our losses and head back downhill through some scrubby birchwood.  In sight or the now very clear path beside the river Sue pulls me back.

"I can hear those two women," she says darting behind a tree. I look questioningly at her. "I'm on my tenth Challenge. I'm supposed to know what I'm doing and I'm not supposed to get lost!" So like a pair of naughty school children we hide until they pass then jump furtively onto the track.  Sadly Sue's plan is foiled as a few yards further on they stop for a break.

"We wondered what happened to you," one of them comments. Sue tries to say something nonchalant but we both blush, mumble something about needing to get on and scurry away.

I've walked the stretch to Edzell four times now. Each time I've stopped for a break by the iron suspension bridge near Dalhastnie to the point where it is now tradition. I force Sue into a break with the offer of yet more emergency goodies, this time strawberry and cream Thornton's fudge.  It has also become a tradition to erroniously think Edzell is just around the corner, to become disheartened near the first forestry plantation, relieved by the beginning of the road, share a joke with other Challenger's by the river gorge, curse the road by the second plantation appreciate the relief of the shortcut by the strange circular water tower and forget just how far down Edzell's long straight high street is the wonderful Tuck Inn. 

As ever it is heralded by a mass of packs on the pavement and the heady aroma of home-baking and unwashed Challengers.  Anne and Alvar Thorn, Penny and Bernie Roberts and Tim and Kate Wood are already in residence as are Darren and Dawn.

Driven on by our embarrassing escapade this morning we have made good time. We have several hours to spare so drink tea, have a baked potato, drink more tea and then succumb to pudding .  . . and another pot of tea. The rest depart heading for the North Water Campsite. Just as we feel we maybe outstaying out welcome Alan Jordan arrives. He's booked in to Edzell's hotel so he can watch tonight's Champion's League final. We make the most of his company  .  .  .  and drink more tea. 

Before we leave town Sue and I are on a shopping mission.  The local chemist obligingly roots through many draws in an attempt to patch up my ankle. The local convenience store provides a bottle of red wine for tonight's host and then we're left with Sue's mission to find a suitably naff tea towel for her work colleague. (I never got to the bottom of why this was important!)  I'm not hopeful as Edzell isn't exactly a tourist hot spot but on a corner is a weird emporium full of clichéd tartan gifts. Some are surprisingly nice but it does a suitable line in dodgy tea towels.

We head through the impressive arch and are pleased to find a footpath for the first mile or so. We have a relatively flat six miles to go and there's no point in reaching Brechin before six as our hosts will still be at work. Just as well as it's hard to get a rhythm going. The tea is getting its revenge and finding secluded spots to relieve ourselves is somewhat tricky on a B road lined with a surprising number of cottages. Even so we are still in danger of arriving too early so when we find a fine old disused bridge we lie for a while in the sun. We have a grand view back over the flat farmland to the Angus hills which appear almost purple in the late afternoon sun.

My mind's eye heads further west. I see Clova, the rolling eastern hills then Ben Alder and the sharper western hills. Soon I'm back in a Glen Pean and then the butterflies of the Lochailort start return. It wasn't even two weeks ago but it feels like years. I look at Sue and can see she's going through the reflective process. We start to reminisce feeling both satisfied with a wonderful Challenge but sad that it's so nearly over.

So far the road has been remarkably quiet but as we negotiate the roundabouts under the A90 we hit Brechin's rush hour. It doesn't exactly compare to London's but for two Challengers used to a slower pace of life it's slightly disconcerting to be driven into the verges by frazzled commuters. We're glad to divert onto a quiet back lane. We're debating if our bladders can make it to the house but Sue's in too much discomfort. Just as she heads for a gateway in a somewhat exposed rape field a car pulls up.

"Are you on this Challenge thing?" asks the driver somewhat exuberantly.  I confirm we are whilst Sue looks on despairingly.  There follows a barrage of questions.  He is thinking of applying next year and rifles through his glove box for pen and paper to note down the website. Seeing he is occupied Sue nips in to the field. I'm about to round off the conversation, as I too am getting a little desperate, but it seems judicial to keep his gaze on me for a few minutes more until Sue is back on the road looking suitable relieved.

In 2006 a local man  out for an evening bike ride came across three dishevelled, tired Challengers. This remarkable generous man, Simon, and his equally welcoming wife Jill offered them accommodation and threw in good food and wine too. The lucky recipients were Sue, me and our friend Steve Smith.  Despite our body odour and the attack on their wine cellar they have invited us back this year. Though the pleasure this year was anticipated rather than a surprise it was every bit as special and was topped with a bottle of champagne to celebrate the near completion of Sue's tenth crossing.

I have to admit that it was with an element of smugness that we tucked our freshly showered bodies between freshly laundered sheets. We did spare a though for those folks shivering in their sleeping bags on the nearby campsite - honest we did!

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