There's no bad weather, just bad clothing

So far I had enjoyed sub-zero temperatures, snow, sleet, fog, high wind and heavy rain as not a little sunshine. Unremarkable for late winter in the north of England. Indeed I’d gained much satisfaction from cycling in all conditions. A Gore-Tex outer layer and breathable merino wool bottom layer allowed me to take it all in my stride.

On my seventh day the weather gave me pause for thought.

BBC Breakfast reported heavy snow fall across the country causing severe disruption. Where were they reporting from? Mold, north Wales. Exactly the direction I was heading.

Cycling the Roses (Wetherby to Liverpool)

The few inches of snow which had fallen during the night made my first 10 miles a little treacherous but was soon cleared away by the traffic. This didn't stop me having an embarrassing fall as I failed to unclip from my pedals with sufficient alacrity as I came to a stop sign in Leeds city center. No harm down beyond a severe blush.

The day remained unrelentingly dull interspersed with wintry showers and as I stuck to A-roads the cycling was more reminiscent of my London commute my already idealised north Pennine cycling. As I wove my way through Bradford’s less than beautiful suburbs I had little reason to dawdle and made excellent time arriving in Huddersfield in the early afternoon. A quick stop for a pie and a pint at the charming Head of Steam pub and I was working my way along the last 10 miles to my grandfather’s house in Marsden.

The weather couldn't entirely hide the charms of God’s own county.

The stack visible is the chimney from the Textile Mill my Grandfather and his father before him ran.