Sunday morning again found me astride my trusty steed, rattling and bumping over the setts towards Colne, under a dull grey sky, with just a nip of frost in the air. Just in front of me I spied "Non-stop and Co.," so, putting a spurt on, I caught up to them, and we jogged along together until we arrived at the top of Primet Hill at Colne, where "Non-stop and Co." elected to go straight up Albert Road, but our runs secretary and I, the hand of time up us, decided to go via North Valley Road to Laneshawbridge, our meeting place. Arriving there, we found that as usual the club had left. (I shall have to start taking lessons on punctuality). We kept on up the hill, and presently we caught up to the stragglers, but, not wishing to loiter, we did our best to catch up to the leaders, leaving several groups behind us in so doing. We were not to catch them, as it turned out, and considering that "Derailleur" was with them, we were not surprised, because this poor lad has been going mad lately.

Going by way of Cowling and Crosshills, we soon came to Keighley, which we left behind, going via the Bradford road as far as Riddlesden. When we arrived here we found that none of us knew the right road to take, no one had been on this run before except myself, and that only once. I elected to take my companions the way I had been before; of course, our runs secretary was a little bit dubious about it, but in the end I had my way. Crossing the canal by the swing bridge, we climbed steeply upwards until we came to West Morton; keeping straight on, we came presently to a wayside cafe, where we slaked our terrible thirst, caused by the hard climb.

Taking the right-hand road, here, we dropped quickly down to East Morton, and then climbed steeply again on to the road that passes "Dick Hudson’s," our lunch-time destination. But it was on this road that the trouble started. We caught up to some of our members, whom we had left behind before; they had come further along the main road before turning off and had thus saved that terrible climb to West Morton. Well, our runs secretary didn’t seem to like it at all, and he called me all the unpleasant things he could think of. By and by, however, after he had got it all off his chest, we managed to pacify him and proceed on our way. Arriving at the "Cragside Cafe," we found it crowded out with hikers and clubs, but after a little gentle persuasion, we were accommodated in the best room, and therein did full justice to our lunch.

After lunch was over, we adjourned to the field behind, where some of our more childish members passed the time away see sawing, others playing a mixture of soccer and rugger, and also a game invented by the hikers of "touch and pass.”

Leaving here, we proceeded by way of Gaping Goose, Menston and Highfield, to the Cow and Calf Rocks, overlooking Ilkley. Here our members made the rocks look untidy by swarming all over them. There are great possibilities about these rocks for anyone wishing to do away with oneself and a like remark was handed to me, perhaps in the hope that I would thus experiment. From the top of these rocks we had a magnificent view of Wharfedale, Ilkley to our left, Burley in front of us, and Otley just visible away to our right; in the slight mist it almost looked like a map spread out before our eyes.  After spending nearly an hour basking in the warm sunshine, sheltered from the cold breeze, we again began our journey. A downward swish of about a mile and a half brought us to Ilkley, where we paused whilst our lady members sampled the famous cream ices. From here we proceeded by the road, which keeps close to the Wharfe, to Bolton Bridge, and the parting of the ways, some electing to go to Halton East for tea, the rest of us staying at our usual tea house. Leaving our bikes against a wall, we wended our way down to a  nearby stream, and removed the dust and grime of our wanderings, whilst tea was being prepared.

After having done justice to this meal, we decided to have a walk as far as the Abbey, so, setting forth, we went there by various paths, through fields and woods, and eventually came out on top of the cliff opposite the Abbey. On a convenient form we sat gazing at the scene before us. Just try to picture, if you can, what our view was like. At the foot of the cliff before us lazily wound the Wharfe like a huge serpent, whilst just across, on the other bank, the ruins of the Abbey, and behind it all the sunset sky, slowly deepening from gold to orange. Nothing broke the silence of this beautiful scene, save the tolling of the Abbey bell, calling all to come and worship. I myself would have liked to have gone, but we had yet many miles to cover.

With the encircling gloom came the chill of the evening, and so, after a long gaze at this rural setting, we made our way back to our machines. Taking the main Skipton Road, we rode on until we came to a by-lane, which, amongst the club members rejoices under the name of "Donkey, Neddy’s"; how it got this queer name I have yet to learn. This, however, brought us on to the Skipton  Addingham road at Draughton, and to the strains of "For You" and "Home," we swept down to Skipton. After our usual pause here, we began our homeward stretch under a crescent moon, and soon were passing through Thornton and Earby to Colne, and so on home, after another glorious day awheel.

Double S