Spring, the temptress she is, has flirted with us since the first blue skies poked through after a long, frozen winter. True to form, as soon as the sparkling azure appears, it’s whipped away with such certainty that thoughts of summer seem cruelly premature. It’s partly why many cyclists flee these shores for a warm weather training camp – just as our own Richard Hallett and David Arthur have done this week.

And the thick, sullen mist and steady drizzle that clouded the RCUK office window on Friday did little to ease the pain for those of us chained to our maritime climate. The only glimmer of light the following day’s weather forecast, which promised much – but, as we’ve learnt so often, can deliver little.

But Saturday dawned with sunlight streaming through every break in the curtains – the kind of wakening that immediately brings you to your feet to explore further. And then when a clear, dry morning is confirmed, it’s the weather which sees Lycra hastily thrown on and porridge downed in order to swing a leg over the bike and enjoy what could only be a short window of opportunity.

But short it was not – instead the finest day of the year to date. Escaping the drab concrete and heavy traffic of south London, a steady stream of colour, like an artist’s palette, filled all corners of vision. Heading into the lanes of Kent, along the North Downs ridge, the steady whir of tyre on Tarmac was accompanied only by birdsong or the rustle of wild pheasant spotted in the undergrowth. Even the occasional passing car seemed to hum a merry tune.

The steady drag up Layhams Road, a popular route out into the country for south-east cyclists, sees rolling farmland drop away on either side. Freshly ploughed fields juxtapose those so green they’re akin to a Thai paddy field at the height of the wet season. Each turn in the road produces a new patch of freshly sprung crop, intersected by a winding lane. Sporadic electricity pylons carry their power to some far-flung town. The type escaped with such superb results.

It’s the kind of ride that serves as a reminder of why we’ve all previously forced on layer-upon-layer of clothing and gone toe-to-toe with the winter. But the sensation of frozen hands is replaced by fingers, without gloves, rested softly atop the ‘bars. While hills can so often be avoided over the winter, now they present a welcome challenge, with thoughts turning to the inevitable climbs of the summer. But, instead of a wind-battered, numb face grimacing through the fog, there are beads of salty sweat, glinting in the midday sun, to wipe away.

Brief remnants of winter, even from days just passed, show that we’re not out of the dark yet, however. Long stretches of the Pilgrims Way, which intersects this part of the world from west to east, is covered in a thin layer of dirt and gravel from recent floods. A passing 4×4 splashes mud on the as-new test Trek Madone 5.2, but that does little to disrupt the calm.

Cyclists are out in force. We’re a merry band and nods of approval or a quick wave are readily exchanged as we head in search of new territory to explore. It’s the kind of ride where there seems no reason to stop. But, in a flash, it’s time to return to the smoke. Although, even as green turns to grey, the deep blue sky casts a fresh light on what, just 24 hours earlier, was a dank, gloomy existence. And even now, 48 hours later, the sun continues to shine.