Enough, I’ve had enough, of snow that is. Against this backdrop it’s been a pointless gesture raising the white flag to the powder god but surely I’m not alone in wanting an end to this weather and yearning for some sign of a thaw.

Eventually the fun to be had on a bike performing long-forgotten antics and smugly passing all those road users who have ground to a halt pales and we’re reminded that the lockdown hampers us all, one way or another. Sprained or broken bones, wasted hours spent in prolonged commutes and enforced unpaid time off work focus the need to return to normality, no matter how romantic or surreal this picture postcard landscape may appear.

One can even sympathise with British Rail announcements regarding the wrong kind of snow. Powder snow may cushion any tumble but within no time the build up on tyres renders progress impossible. Even this year’s national cyclo-cross championship has had to been rescheduled, visions of a 10 lap running race while carrying a bike all too easy to imagine.

Unfortunately, the traditional end of year industrial shutdown together with the Christmas celebratory excesses of food and drink help create a miasma of fog that drives even the most ardent couch potato stir crazy.

Yet it wasn’t that long ago that winters like this were commonplace. With a grudging sense of inevitability about the effects this kind of weather forced upon us, the country hunkered down into hibernation mode. The curtailing of outdoor pursuits like cycling was regarded as a matter of course. Even top riders would confine their bikes to dark garage recesses, dust off the rollers and dig out the running shoes.

Winter time heralded activities such as roller racing, gym workouts and running. The Cyclists’ Running Race held on Farthing Down was the best-known of many such events, as was the London roller racing championships. Many cyclists were happy to enrol at the local gym in an attempt to impress club mates with how many 60-kilo squats were possible.

In general, people accepted that, by the start of the new year’s season, a good deal of riding fitness would have gone and they would simply have to ride themselves into form. Early season races like the Perfs Pedal Race and the Eddie Soens Memorial were held for exactly that. Only since the advent of milder winters and the wonderful turbo trainer were people actually able to target these races and time trials like the great North Road Hardriders’ ‘25’.

For those with the funds, the real antidote to a hard or perhaps lazy winter arrived with the advent of the Majorca training camps. Basically a week, or if you were really flush, 10 days, of uninterrupted sunshine, Alpine-style climbs and a never-ending ribbon of smooth, pothole-free roads. To be able to ride all day, every day felt like living the life of a pro; indeed often you could ride with them, this Spanish isle then being the training ground for many Continental teams. Still is.

Back home it was very apparent to all concerned where you had been. Indeed, an early season tan carried some weight, since only a brave or foolish rider would dare challenge the power of those rippling, bronzed muscles. So, for this spring is it milk bottles or light brown ale?