An unexpected rise in the thermometer (we checked twice — thought tha’d left it on radiator) tempted a magnificent seven of us out to Rawdon, bound for the ever-welcoming Hebden Tea Rooms.

Now, for a club that’s been turning cranks in Leeds since derailleurs were considered witchcraft, our group riding could do with tightening up a spoke or two. A gentle “coming together” in Otley (that’s cyclist-speak for “three of us inspected the tarmac at close quarters”) saw a trio momentarily horizontal at walking pace. Thankfully, both riders and machines proved more robust than a Yorkshire pudding on Sunday — no harm done, pride slightly scuffed, and we rolled on after a quick dust-off and the obligatory “you can’t park there, lad.”

Recent weather has been distinctly Noah’s Ark-esque — two of everything and water absolutely everywhere. The lanes were generously marinated, but spirits weren’t dampened. We navigated the puddles with all the grace of seasoned puddle-dodgers and made landfall at Hebden for coffee, tea cakes, and the sort of refuelling strategy that would make a Tour directeur sportif nod approvingly.

Suitably caffeinated and sugar-boosted, we pointed our wheels homeward — and lo! The sun put his hat on. The ride back up the Wharfe Valley was nothing short of glorious: golden light, steady turns on the front, and only minimal discussion about whose turn it actually was. It was the kind of spin that reminds you why we do this — for the views, the banter, and the baked goods.

If this is the shape of the season ahead, we’re in for a wheelie good one. Chins up, tyres pumped, and remember: we might be one of the oldest clubs in Leeds, but we’ve still got plenty left in the tank — even if some of us rattle a bit over the pot holes.