On today’s little escapade were Phil “Lunn Poly” Rounding, John “The lollipop”, Phi; “Full English Breakfast” Johnson, his twin brother Craig and Dave Hirst. The objective was Selby, well known… for being called Selby. CJ’s diner, to be exact. Whilst we waited for the usual club stalwarts to appear Phil regaled us with last week’s horror story. Being “Thorper Billy no mates” the Sowerby crew had kindly accommodated our outcast.  Arriving at the cafe in Holmfirth he found out their dreadful intent. He discovered they survived all day on a low-fat latte all day, zero lard intake. Mortified by their lack of respect for the fry up he was glad to be back with the usual crew. We consoled him with the usual sympathy accorded by cyclists, none. The relationship between their speed and our diet were soon dismissed as wild speculation.

Anyway, the forecast had said it was going to wang it down all day. This may have explained some gaps in the line. Attire ranged from the optimistic (no mud guards, short and short sleeves) to the pessimistic and prepared (mud guards and several layers). Today favoured the optimists. Two paragraphs in, and we haven’t even left Mirfield.

Our route was Dewsbury, Shaw Cross, Thorpe, Garforth, and  Lotherton Hall. Dave Hirst and Phil Johnson were like a couple of giddy school girls as they raced towards the town/village signs. The pace went noticeably up as we pass the A1(M) junction (nightmare roundabout) and hit the smoother, flatter stuff. Arriving at Lotherton Hall Phil “More holidays than Lunn Poly” Rounding complained he must be getting soft living the RV life style, complete with central heating and air-conditioning.

Noting their usual British retail hospitality, soon as we arrived all the staff at Lotherton ran into the kitchen. Whilst the Garmin’s chirped at each other we enjoyed a well-earned cup of char. Lotherton is, in fact, not that far from Selby, though the giddy couple were disappointed there was no sign for Sherburn.  Cycling in the country lanes was marvellous, the sun even showed itself on a few occasions. The quiet was only shattered by John’s wheels as he must have stuck a lollipop in his spokes, judging from the noise they made. We didn’t see a bird all day, curiously.

We got to CJ’s at about 11.30am. We decided Dave had ordered a salad as his baked potato had a cucumber on top. Phil “FEB” Johnson was not too put out at missed his lard intake – we knew this place had gone up market and offered the same as an FEB, but spread out in different permutations in the menu. That’s posh, that is. Phil satisfied himself with negotiating extra grated cheese on his beans on toast and tormenting the staff. We decided pepper on a fried egg was worse than smoking, and should be banned, immediately.

The ride back was equally entertaining. A mixture of strategy, tactics and cheating were used to sprint for the signs. One thing is for sure, Dave won’t need an eyesight test next time he goes for a medical.  We hit a few showers coming back. We stopped a few times, cape up, cape off, cape up, cape off, cape up, cape off, oh sod the cape etc.

On the last hill our consumer of Winnebago culture did his last selfless, Captain Oates, sacrifice. “Don’t wait for me lads”. Of course we’re all used to Rounding and his reverse psychology, as he came up bounding the hill at East Ardsley ( is it?) just a few bike lengths behind. We waved au revoir to FEB at the Batley sign and John “The Lollipop” peeled off at Thornhill.

As a last rejoinder I just want you to know, Hirst, that although you may have got the last sign (Mirfield), the one that really matters is the one for Ravensthorpe J. Home by 2.30, Planet-X washed, kissed and tucked up into bed it was lashing it down by 4pm. The weathermen were right, but late in their forecast.  An excellent day’s outing, and I have to confess to a rather long kip on the settee after.