Eventually, many hours and beers later, they stumbled through the door of the Auld Post Office, and were confronted with the alarming sight of.................Nick Hobbs eating a falafel.
It was alarming because both Seaton and JO knew that the Auld Post Office didn't sell falafel, so where had Nick got it from?
"Hi guys!" said Nick, spitting falafel all over his pristine yellow jersey, "I was in the area and decided to join you on this adventure. What charity is it for?"
"Uh, well..." mumbled JO, turning a rather throbbing shade of crimson, "it's for the Spoof. Where did you get the falafel?"
"Next door, at 'Falafels R Us'. To be fair, it's not that good, the Scots don't know a thing about Egyptian cuisine," replied Nick, finishing off the last mouthful.
"Anyway," he said "where are we headed today?"
"We're going to see if we can make Dunbeath, if the weather holds," said Seaton, as he placed a newly purchased stamp on the postcard he had written to his dog.
Stepping out of the post office, the three spoofers headed towards their awaiting alloy steeds, the Scottish summer sleet falling awkwardly all around.
"Let's get cracking," enthused JO, leaping on to his rustbucket, "where's your bike, Hobbs?"
"I got a stunner," came the reply, "look at this beauty!"
Nick moved a wheelie bin to one side to reveal a shiny new unicycle.
"You're going to Land's End on that?" crowed JO, mockingly.
"Why not?" said Nick, "It's pedal power, it's just as uncomfortable as yours, and I have one less tyre to puncture, what's not to like?"
Unable to argue with Nick's skewed logic, the companions set off down the A9 towards Achavanich, hopeful they would make it there for lunch.
Traveling through the morning mist, and passing the occasional drunkard shouting unintelligible Scottish phrases, the trio felt a little uneasy. The creaking of hubs and sprockets, giving an eerie sense of forboding to the occasion.
Suddenly JO's frame snapped clean in half.
"Fuckit!" shouted JO, as he picked up a tooth from the asphalt, "that fuckin' hurt!" He spat a globule of blood from his mouth, and surveyed his now two piece bicycle.
"It was you jumping on it back at the post office, that's what did it!" said Seaton incredulously, "what are we gonna do now? We got hundreds of miles to go, and no cycle shop in sight!"
"It's unrepairable anyway," said Nick, "there's only one thing for it, you'll have to give him a backie Seaton!"
Throwing the rusted remnants of JO's former steed in to the ditch, he clambered aboard Carew's bike, and the pair wobbled off at a frighteningly slow pace, Seaton mumbling under his breath various curses and remarks about 'if you think I'm standing all the way to bloody Land's End...' etc.
The trio made it in time for lunch at Achavanich, JO had the scotch broth, Seaton went for a Scotch egg, and Nick opted for another falafel. It was apparently not very tasty.
"So, the main objective now is to find a cycle shop," said Seaton, as he let rip an eggy fart of biblical proportions.
"But I can't afford a new bike," said JO "I'll have to borrow one, maybe in Dunbeath!"
The final leg of the journey was uneventful, and Dunbeath came in to view in the late grey afternoon. They had arranged to stay at a campsite, and booked themselves in.
As Seaton and Nick struggled to put the tents up in the rising wind and hail, they noticed JO had disappeared.
"Where the hell is he?" complained Nick "whenever there's work to be done, he fook's off!"
"I've been working," came JO's voice from the trees behind them, "Look at this bad boy..."
There, in front of Seaton and Nick, sat JO. Proudly straddling a pink Falcon Fairy girls bicycle, replete with handle grip ribbons, a faux-wicker basket, stabilisers and a bell.
"You can not be serious?" Seaton and Nick cried together.
JO just smiled.
Across town, a mother struggled to understand what the world was coming to, as she consoled her distraught 5 year old daughter.
They'd only popped in the shop for a lolly.
I mean, seriously, what sort of person would steal a little girls bike? And on her birthday, too?