It would have been rude not to take advantage of the warmest April for centuries, so we took the month by the handlebars and clocked up an unprecedented (for an April) 128 miles, spread across 7 rides. Dry, dusty trails, sunburn and incipient drought, what a month. Not that it was without it’s traumas, on two rides we wheeled up to the relevant café, hungry, parched, ready for refreshment, barely able to crank out another revolution of the pedals without sustenance, only to find doors locked and windows barred, formerly welcoming and welcome facades now stern and forbidding, mocking us in their resolute impenetrability. Emergency energy bars were dug from the bottom of bags in an attempt to stave off hunger and fuel our muscles before our bodies began metabolising precious fat reserves. We’ll need them for the summer food shortages, caused by the drought, which will decimate the racing whippet cyclists, giving the podgy pedallers a turn at the front for once.

The Captain managed another triumvirate of appearances, although he’s now taken to pushing his bike down the hills as well as up them. Which is a shame (for him) because as well as our rides being longer, they also contained much more ascending and descending fun this month. Notably the bridleway which runs from Steeple Cross at the North east corner of Boltby Forest, all the way down to Kepwick via Gallow Hill and Atlay Bank, over 2 miles of descent, predominantly on singletrack, through rhododendron flanked gullies, open woodland and grassy moor, every inch bone dry and mud free. The hidden valley of Thorodale near Arden Hall was pretty much the only spot we saw mud this month, even then in nothing like the quantity we’d see in a normal summer.

The Pensioner, aka Blind Bob, aka Sweary Bob, finally succumbed and spent some of the pension we work so hard to provide for him and bought a new bike to replace his antique Marin, bits of which were failing faster than his equally aged body. Unfortunately the new bike has done nothing to address his inability to actually ride in a straight line, on the odd occasions he actually takes the lead it’s virtually impossible to overtake without being T boned. His performance on The Rim, that sublime singletrack along the edge of Urra Moor has to be seen to be believed, an hilarious combination of wild veering, stalling and falling off, all narrated with a profane commentary detailing his physical constraints and abusing whoever planned the route.

Terra Trailblazers April 2011 from John Lavelle on Vimeo.

Hottest April for years, dry, dusty trails, who cares if there's a hosepipe ban?