"I don't have six fingers, I swear," endurance coach and Isle of Wight local Joe Staunton joked. Behind him, the harvest moon hung globular and magnificent against a pastel sunset, the sea crashing against the beach below us.
The joke plays on a stereotype that has long burdened the island. Forget its luscious blue vistas and sun-drenched soils, and it's easy to poke fun at the small island hanging off the English coast – but its islanders are determined to paint its image anew.
The Isle of Wight is famous for a few things: it was the Victorian poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson's favourite place, it's home to some of the last red squirrels in the UK, and in 2010 the idyllic waters of Freshwater Bay became the scene of a £56 million cocaine bust.
But it's also a great place to explore by bike. The perimeter ride is already popular, with visitors circling the route along its undulating white coastal cliffs over the course of a day, and last year DJ Pete Tong and cycling commentator Orla Chennaoui brought luxury bike holiday LeBlanq to the island.
While Staunton is neither a Corkhead (a born-and-bred islander) nor a DFL ("Down from London"), he's passionate about the place he's decided to call home. He took me, round-the-world record-breakers Amy and Kyle Hudson, influencer Paris Wood and her partner Ben McCullough on a ride that showcased his favourite parts of the island.
Starting in Freshwater, on the western edge of the island, we began a steady ascent over the Compton Bay cliffs before ploughing along six kilometres of undulating Military Road. From there we were rolling, the momentum gained from short, sharp climbs carrying us to Newchurch for coffee and cake at Pedallers Café.
We made a few more spontaneous stops, too. The nostalgia of the miniature village hooked all five of our party, as did the waft of garlic as we passed the island's famous farm. The Isle of Wight is the sunniest place in the UK, with over 2,000 hours of sunlight a year, and the islanders make the most of it: they distil mermaid gin infused with homegrown citrus fruits and export their tomato harvests across the country. This summer alone, 10 million sweetcorn cobs were ferried to the mainland, and the garlic grown here is the best in the country – though the chilli garlic relish is not for the faint-hearted.
Onwards we cycled into the heart of the island, each of us imbued with the bulb's distinctive whiff. Here crows circled above open fields as we snaked through quiet, hedge-lined country lanes. Though relatively flat, the island still harbours some stinging ascents, and Staunton peppered them throughout the 97km route. The first came before our lunch stop at the Spyglass Inn – 160 metres of elevation over five kilometres – with another 170m kicker straight after.
It was around this point that I hit a wall. Ill-equipped for a day out with social media influencers on lovely bikes, my flat-pedalled old gravel bike was a poor match for the island hills – my lack of fitness didn't help, either. I made a sorry companion for Staunton, who has worked with national champions during his time as an endurance coach, but he stuck with me, chivvying me along with stories of growing up on the island.
Over half of the Isle of Wight is protected as an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, he told me, home to rare species of butterflies and wildflowers found only in England's chalk soils. The scenery regularly stopped us in our tracks, with the slow-eroding cliff faces overlooking the blue-green expanse of the English Channel. The island loses between one and three metres of coastline a year to erosion, but each retreat exposes new treasures. One palaeontologist crowned the Isle of Wight the most diverse location for dinosaur bones in the country, and it's even got a dinosaur of its own: the "white rock spinosaurid", an enormous carnivore that roamed the land over 125 million years ago.
As we made our way back towards the Albion Hotel for a post-ride dip in the sea and dinner at The Red Lion (butternut gnocchi for me, please!), I found myself elated, despite my screaming legs.
The pace of life here is slow. Even if you find yourself out on a big bike ride, the energy on the island feels rejuvenating. Jenna, a DFL who settled on the island eight years ago, remembers spotting her painter and decorator down at the beach when he was supposed to be painting her kitchen – there was a really good swell, apparently. I met another woman on an early-morning swim, both of us dodging breaking waves. She moved to the island over a decade ago after a career spent around the world. Now she joins a group of friends every morning for a swim – many of whom I saw litter-picking at a silent beachfront disco the night before.
One of our group asked Staunton what "the point" of the Isle of Wight was. I kind of understood what she was getting at: it's just a dislodged piece of old England, right? After a weekend of eating well, sea swimming and cycling across the island, whatever preconceived notions I had of island life changed. There is real community here – I was shown its unique blend of culinary culture, quiet country roads and punchy climbs by a rider genuinely passionate about his home. There's no better advertisement than that.
The good thing is for many of us living in the south of England, the island is surprisingly accessible. You can travel by train in an hour and thirty minutes from London and cycle straight from the ferry port – you can even drive there from Bristol in 2 hours. You can visit a garlic farm boasting produce as left-field as garlic ice cream, go for a sauna and a dip in the sea or complete the 65-mile perimeter ride and be home in time for tea. Plus, there are dinosaurs everywhere.