"I can't get my leg over!" Alex shouted, his cheeks flushed with frustration. It was a less than promising start to our supposedly romantic weekend in the Yorkshire Dales, but I was confident things would improve, if only we could get going and find our rhythm.
"Easy does it," advised the hotel receptionist as we creaked into action. A small and mystified crowd was gathering in the car park.
The rolling hills of the dales may not seem an obvious choice for tandem cycling, but their remote beauty (having inspired the likes of Wordsworth, Elgar and Turner) seemed an ideal retreat to get away from city life and spend a couple of days focused on little but each other and the steady progress of the machine.
The bike itself was a gleaming silver, low-slung and far better equipped than the novice team on board. I say novice - Alex had never been near one - but I was a veteran of childhood tandem holidays in the vertiginous Cotswolds, so the gently undulating Dales shouldn't pose too much of a challenge. I just hoped we'd still be speaking - and engaged - to each other by the end of the weekend.
As a child, I'd tended to get away without too much in the way of pedalling, my eight-year-old legs being too short to accompany the pedals all the way round. It had taken my dad days of solo slogging to figure that stunt out - maybe I could get away with taking a back seat again this time?
In fact, our uncertain launch gave way to an impressive push as we joined the B6160 along the river Wharfe, and I was enjoying the ride - not to mention having a captive partner to talk at. Our minimal levels of fitness were soon exposed, however, and I found myself yearning for a downhill breather.
"How about a freewheel?" I ventured. My wish was granted and my burning thighs given a few seconds' respite.
But relief turned to panic as we came to an abrupt halt: the chain that had been keeping both sets of pedals in synch had flown off its cogs. Powerless to power on, we stopped for a spot of DIY repairs. Alex provided the know-how and I the tissues - a dream team - and we were soon on our way again. But with such a high level of reliance on each other I could see the potential for arguments: who was it that was pedalling out of time, shifting gears without warning or setting an ungallant pace?
Riding a tandem mirrors a relationship in many ways: you both need to put in the effort at the start and work to keep the momentum going. Blind faith in each other helps and communication is key - if you're sat on the back you can't see much past your team-mate, so you have no idea if a complete stop or uphill sprint is around the corner. Speeding headfirst into the unknown, particularly downhill, is thrilling but terrifying, as you are powerless to brake or steer - not recommended for even the mildest control freak.
It was time to turn the tables on centuries of stereotype and switch to the front seat for the return leg. To my horror, the driving seat was structurally sexist - it couldn't be lowered enough for me to get a toe down to the road. Undeterred, I gave it a shot, but the handlebars were veering left to right with every pedal stroke and my time in command was precarious, brutish and short. Miraculously, we caught the tandem equivalent of the surfer's perfect wave and managed to freewheel up hill and down dale all the way home, taking in the glorious scenery of the ruined 12th-century Bolton Priory and its stepping stones, and the pristine pastures of the 30,000-acre Bolton Abbey Estate.
As insurance against bad "early spring" weather and possible tandem tantrums, I'd booked us into a luxurious country house hotel, complete with a Michelin-starred restaurant and a fitness centre in a converted 17th-century barn. As I enjoyed an hour of massage on my stiff limbs, energetic Alex opted for yet more exertion in the gym. For the unprepared Valentine, a full range of waxing and grooming treatments is available here and the hotel will even deliver a spare pair of tights to your door should you forget or ladder yours. Another luxury was only having to cross the road from the spa to collapse in our room - though a mini-high jump was required on my part to get on to the "Princess and the Pea" four-poster.
Our spacious "Garden room" was prettily decorated with plant-inspired watercolours by Emma Tenant, sister of the Duke of Devonshire whose family opened the current hotel by extending a centuries-old coaching inn in 1982. All the rooms are individually designed and furnished with antiques and artwork rotated from the family's estates at Lismore in Ireland, Chatsworth in Derbyshire and the local Beamsley Hall. This makes for a homely, if old-world, country feel, to the extent that - should you not bring a pair of your own - you can borrow appropriately sized green wellies in the hotel lobby.
Our room was in the older wing of the hotel, full of character but with some less romantic creaks to match. Breathe in bed and you were likely to wake the neighbours. But a modernisation programme will soon see an influx of DVD and CD players into the rooms - ideal for rainy days and solo or business travellers.
Having pedalled up an appetite for dinner, we descended on Michael Wignall's Burlington restaurant, this month awarded a fourth AA rosette and famed for its wine cellar of over 2,000-bins. The elegant, candle-lit dining room and conservatory certainly passed the romance test and the well-executed modern European fare was outstandingly presented with some eyebrow-raising combinations. I'm not sure that the chocolate fondant with eucalyptus ice-cream was as successful as, say, the slow-poached rabbit loin with carpaccio of lobster and avocado tuile. But overall, the meal was very enjoyable, light and impressive to behold. An alternative nine-course tasting menu is on offer for serious gourmands, while guests can also head for the excellent and more affordable brasserie and bar.
In the morning we awoke to find the hotel shrouded in a heavy mist. Cycling of any sort was going to be challenging so we set off on foot to visit the notorious Strid Woods, along one of the estate's 80 miles of footpaths, woodland and moorland trails. At the Strid, the normally serene Wharfe river narrows to gush through a narrow cleft and plunges into a 30-foot deep channel which has claimed several foolhardy lives. No one is said to have survived its currents after failing to jump across, though we spotted some keen photographers going the extra inch for the perfect shot.
The enveloping woods are a haven for wildflowers and animal life, and I'd be tempted to return in springtime to see the carpet of bulbs. For the moment though, a hot drink was called for and found in the Bolton Abbey Tea Cottage, a pleasant stop-off point on a riverside walk - but open on weekends only.
In the increasingly chilly afternoon, the hotel's indoor pool and spa came into its own, before a relaxing spell curled on a log-fire warmed sofa. We had survived the all-weather weekend of cycling and walking - not to mention January fog - without a tumble or a cross word. There must be something in that Yorkshire air.
Way to go
Liane Katz stayed in the Devonshire Arms Country House Hotel, Skipton, North Yorkshire. A double room costs from £195 bed and breakfast or £260 including dinner for two in the Burlington Restaurant. You can also drop in to their conservatory for a cream tea with homemade sandwiches, scones, cakes, tarts and champagne for £27.50. See devonshirearms.co.uk.
The 12-room Devonshire Fell, a nearby sister hotel offers a very good value alternative with contemporary interiors, stunning views of Burnsall village and the riverside and a Michelin-tipped bistro. A double room costs from £120 bed and breakfast or £150 dinner bed and breakfast for two. See devonshirefell.co.uk.
GNER (gner.co.uk) operates train services from London to Leeds from £19 return, then there's a 30-minute connecting train to Ilkley or Skipton.
Tandems can be rented locally for £30 a day from Dave Ferguson Cycles (01756 795367).
Further information: outdooryorkshire.com
