Vätternrunden is the biggest cycling event you've probably never heard of. 17,000 cyclists gather each year to ride round lake Vättern which is impressive given the full lap is 315km. Thanks to rave reviews from @uliharder who did it in 2000 it's been on our to do list for years so we thought it was high time we have it a go. Our start time was 9:36pm so we rode into the very short night. Mixing with huge pelotons is always fun on a tandem. When they weren't catching a tow on our back wheel, the solo riders scampered past on the climbs but were left far behind when gravity was on our side. Feed stations were undeniably Swedish with blueberry soup. Pickled gherkins and a DJ playing terrible euro pop. The highlight was in Jönkoping where meat balls and ryvita were served from the middle of an ice rink. On and on we rode past endless trees. Huge red barns dotted the fields and the enormous lake sat always to our right. Sleepy at times, sore at others our difficulties were always shared with each other but so were the highlights. There are some beautiful stretches of road on the route. Finally we dropped off the last climb and down into Motala. I reached behind me to clasp Kirsty's hand as we crossed the finish line. A medal was hung on each of our necks and we could finally stop pedalling. Bra jobbart as they say up here. Good job. #vätternrundan #shesnotpedallingontheback #dawessupergalaxytwin

You have to love Sweden: free camping, free swimming and three million midges. #roadtrip #smidgenet #homeiswherethehillebergis #vätternrundan #shesnotpedallingontheback

#boattrip #öresundbrücke #vätternrundan #shesnotpedallingontheback #dawessupergalaxytwin

#roadtrip #vätternrundan #shesnotpedallingontheback #dawessupergalaxytwin

How to Escape from Algecieras  Plan A: Train to north of Seville. Problem: The train line is closed for works❎ Plan B: Bus to north of Seville.  Problem: Can't take 4 bikes on the bus❎ Plan C: Ride to Seville Problem: doesn't leave enough time to ride the bits we want to❎ Plan D: Hire a van and drive to Salamanca then ride from there.✅ It's a strange feeling being in a vehicle after a few weeks on the bikes. Our motorway follows the route of an old Roman Road and runs alongside a railway, a pilgrims path to Santiago and Eurovelo 1. Lots of history and beautiful scenery speed past the windscreen. At Salamanca we now have 6 days to ride to Santander and hastily create a route that allows a reasonable daily milage. The scenery slows down to a more familiar pace as our pedals start turning again.  Most of this feels very different to Morocco. The roads are long, straight, flat and quiet. There seems to be nobody here. Passing through sleepy villages, the only signs of life are the whisps of cigar smoke and sound of chatter emanating from the bar. Tagines and mint tea have been replaced by tortilla, chorizo and cafe con leche.   But the arid colour palette is similar and the low rise, slightly crumbling clusters of houses could be a smarter Moroccan village scene if it wasn't for the huge Catholic church dominating the skyline instead of a mosque.  The flatlands eventually give way to a rocky ridge of hills that spill fierce winds from their slopes. It's a frigid wind too, chilling us to the coldest we've been on the entire trip. Four weeks ago the climbing would have been a strain but with legs honed in the High Atlas we can spin up and over with relative ease. Then it's down from 1011m to sea level. Pushing the bikes to now familiar limits. A cycle path takes us into the bustle of Santander and we pick our way through to the port where our boat sits waiting to complete our journey back to the UK. We'll have 22 hours at sea to try and process everything we've seen together over the last few weeks. I suspect it won't be nearly long enough.

Pop quiz: Does Spain have a land border with Morocco? Answer below.... It's the last few days of the Moroccan leg of the trip and we mix with the tourists in Chefchouen before climbing through the now obligatory route through the town's tip. It must have been a joke by the Bikepacking.com route designer to include a tour of all the tips in the country along the way. Benni rejoins us and we enjoy smooth roads for an easy morning's ride.  We could have been even more chilled out if I'd accepted one of at least a dozen offers of hash along the way. Copious amounts of marijuana are grown on these hillsides and it seems that everyone is a dealer. Another spectacular gorge opens up before us in the evening light and we settle into a campsite right by the river. The same gorge then offers Tara and I our final off road section as we pick our way along a thin ribbon of donkey track perched on a ledge part way up the cliff. The view is magnificent but most of our attention is focussed on staying upright. Back on the road, the deep blue of the Mediterranean appears on the horizon and becomes our companion for the last 2 days. Through Tatouan we find ourselves in what feels like a completely different country. Expensive coffee shops sit next to huge gated communities, golf courses and BMW dealerships. This is where the wealth of Morocco comes to retire and it's a world away from the mountain villages from just a few days ago. Then we reach the border. Police patrol the road leading up to it and there's a tall fence topped with barbed wire. We get waved up to the first booth and asked what is in our panniers. There's not much investigation after peeling back the first layer of dubious smelling kit so we get stamped out and say Hola to Spain. This is Ceuta, a small enclave that has belonged to Spain since 1578. We spend our last night in Africa high up on the peninsula with views over the straight of Gibraltar including the rock itself. Mainland Spain feels within touching distance and will be our destination in the morning. There's still some planning to be done as to how we will be getting home but it will probably involve some buses, trains, cycling and a ferry.

Moroccan kids seem to have a period in their lives where it's compulsory to be as annoying as possible. Shouting, running into the road, trying to grab passing bikes and occasionally throwing stones are universally accepted behaviour. One cheeky little tike even offered to push Zoe's bike only to steal her favourite merino socks from a pannier in the process. Then at a certain age, and we're not sure when or how, they become some of the nicest human beings you're likely to encounter. Perhaps it's the last module they teach before the end of school.  Refreshed from Fez, the road winds out of the city and inevitably ramps back up towards the sky. Sometimes smooth, sometimes bumpy our route takes us further and further north. The hills are now lush and green with acres of olive groves that offer somewhere to camp and some of the tastiest olives so far.  We work our way round a huge reservoir and are now feeling the heat from being at a lower altitude. Bottles get filled and drained on the hour every hour. There are some chunky mountains surrounding us but this is much more densely populated than the Atlas with villages and towns on ridges and plateaus all along the road. People are busy everywhere which means more interaction with kids but also some more kind hospitality. After another unexpected but much needed night with a family the group splits three ways. Benni has a fever so chooses to spend the day resting. Zoe and Kirsty have a stretch of road down to Chefchouen while Tara and I are keen for a challenge.  Sometimes you have to be careful what you wish for. The 44km route through Tallasamtane National Park proves to be one of the toughest days either of us have been stupid enough to spend on a touring bike. We eventually drop down into Chefchouen just before sunset battered, bruised and hungry but somehow still happy that we'd gone that way. There are just a few days left now until we reach The Med. Time to ease off the gas and wring as much out of that time as we can. We won't miss the kids though.

In Morocco you should always pour a glass of tea then immediately return it to the pot. Then each glass is filled from as great a height as you dare. Proficient pourers can get the pot near to the ceiling with the glass still on the table and not spill a drop. Leaving Oum Rabia we're pleased to see that the rain has stopped and the blue skies are back. From here until Tangiers we are loosely following The Route of the Caravans which has been published on Bikepacking.com and claims to offer some of the best off road tracks and trails in this part of the country. Half the group loves this idea while the other half prefers smooth tarmac (as as near as you can get to smooth in Morocco) so Kirsty has devised options to suit both sides. For each off road section there's a road option so everyone can choose which one they want to do. At our first split point, Kirsty and Zoe continue on the road while Tara, Benni and I begin a 20km loop through the forest and across the moor. Along the way we meet two Belgians carrying little more than a bivvy bag and a pair of flip flops, traveling light, moving fast and sleeping rough. They marvel at our heavy rigs but we have the luxury of time so don't mind that our progress is a bit slower.  We regroup with the others to camp together and share some trails in the morning into the smart town of Ifrane then split again. The next section puts the rock into Morocco. There are rocks by the trail, rocks on the trail, rocks in the puddles and a rock that throws me over the bars on a fast descent. I'll have sore ribs for a few days, but thankfully the bike is unharmed. We're now approaching Fez and after being hosted by another wonderful family we enter the modern city and then the labyrinth that is the ancient Medina to arrive at our traditional riad. We're ready for our day off which gives us a chance to fettle the bikes, clean clothes, refuel on tasty food and Benni and I experience a local hammam. It's not exactly a soothing spa treatment but we leave about as clean as we can possibly get and with minimal bruising.  We may be out of the Atlas Mountains but there should still be plenty of great riding ahead as we pedal north.

Benni!....Benni!......Benni! Benni! Benni! Benni! Benni! I must sound like a high volume, low quality Elton John tribute as I chase after the cyclist that has just zoomed past the cafe where we're all sat. It's been a week since our farewell at the top of the Tizi n'Tichka and we weren't sure if we'd see him again but after a detour further south, Benni has caught us up again. He joins us to warm his toes by the fire in the cafe. We're on the last stretch in the High Atlas which means we're rewarded with lots of descending down to Tounfite. One hotel is full, the other is a smoke-filled working man's hostel so we huddle near a street BBQ to weigh up our options. As the rain starts, the prospect of pitching our tents doesn't seem too appealing. But our saviour comes in the form of Khalid who asks if he can help before offering his home for us to stay the night. His whole family embrace us and we're given henna tattoos by his sisters, warmed to boiling point by their stove and fed the largest pile of cous cous we've ever seen. Once again, Moroccan hospitality leaves us grateful and humbled. With the snow covered peaks behind us, we pedal into the wind across a barren plain into Boumia. The tarmac disappears and we're challenged with a steep rocky climb that takes us towards Khanifra National Park and the Middle Atlas Mountains. These feel more alpine, with dense forest interspersed with lush green pastures. The only clue that we're not in Switzerland are the monkeys calling to the rest of the troop from the tree tops. Patient shepherds watch huge flocks of sheep and goats. Between them the fruit orchards are beginning to sprout coloured blossom. Each afternoon we've been dodging thunder storms and on a last, speedy descent into Oum Rabia we get a soaking. The five of us pile into a guest house and hang our soggy kit off every available hook. Luckily Moroccan floors are always tiled so the drips can be mopped up easily in the morning. From here we begin to eye up some more off road routes that have some of the group excited and others more apprehensive. Hopefully there will be a way to satisfy everyone.

The drummers beat a rhythm on their bendir while the crowd chant in unison. We join the villagers to form a circle surrounding the musicians linking arms, clapping and gently bobbing our shoulders. The circle moves round as the music picks up pace while some people break away to dance in a frenzy in the centre of the circle, arms held wide and grinning from ear to ear. When we eventually peel ourselves away from the party we ask our new friend Azi what the occasion is. He tells us this happens every night in Tamalout "It's a crazy village!" It never ceases to amaze me how chance can change a journey like this in an instant. To get to that party we'd ridden over a 2900m pass capped in snow. We'd camped in a small copse of silver birch and then ridden along a long valley filled with terraced farmland before climbing further into the mountains. The asphalt roads had given way to rocky dirt tracks with fast flowing streams to cross, filled with ice-cold melt water. The excitement of a 10km descent was soon forgotten when the reward was a steep climb, just as long. But we arrived at the top of what we hoped was the last climb of the day just before Mohammed in his little Dacia. He jumped out of the car and in broken French began a conversation regarding football, our love of Morocco and eventually where we planned to spend the night. "Vouz restez a chez moi" he told us.  With directions to his village, we sped down the mountain and into Tamalout to be greeted by his cousin Azi who spoke very good English. Surrounded by excited children we push up to his house and spend the rest of the evening eating, dancing and meeting what felt like the entire community. Everyone knows everyone here and Azi explains that they all help each other out. This is why Mohammed wanted to help us and had offered the invitation without a second thought.  The whole experience is a highlight of the trip and a glimpse of a life that is so far removed from our own. We continue on the next day with new friendships, full hearts and an eagerness to find out what might happen around the next corner.