The Monsal trail is anodyne, apart from the scenery, and quite short. Moreover it is populated, at least when the sun comes out, by every Harry and his unfettered dog, and his unfettered and witless small chidlren. Dodging these represents the only hazard. My own nearby bike ride , The Meon Valley Trail, is also an old railway line, but covered in pot-holes, boulders, bear-traps, horse-apples, dog-lumps, stolen golf buggies, entire fallen trees that weren't there last night, and wild dogs which tear at your ankles just before you run them over because you can't stop on the loose surface. It's much more fun.

Bakewell has been gentrified since I as last there; a French Bistro has a-sprouted, and you can now get vegetables to eat which haven't been boiled to death. We hired a cutesy cottage, and spent the week stuffing our faces, climbing lonesome limestone ridges with a gazillion pounds worth of satellite mapping kit, (I'm an amateur cartographer for OpenStreetMap,) and cycling like a mad potty thing before the locals emerged from their hangovers. If you're a bit outdoorsy, 'tis the place to be outdoors. Mr Mezzo loved it.

No 'Bakewell Tarts' were ate, due to me trying, and failing, to shed my winter hibernation fat-store. Local scenery: