The First Bit Of Freezing February.

 

Short But Steep

For the first time this year I have a riding  companion, The Breadlad has found a window in his diary, took a break from international jet setting and ventured out into the wilds of North Yorkshire. Not a bad day for the start of February, sunny(ish) at least. We met at Lordstones and plunged straight into the agony with an ascent of Carlton Bank, utilising the old track which once led to the gliding club. From the summit we had a glorious bit of downhill into Faceby Woods, where most of the trails are going the same way as the trails around Cod Beck Reservoir and Guisborough Woods. And the way they are going is onto the back of a wagon and off to the biomass power station, the trees anyway, the trails are buried beneath the detritus of modern logging, the check-shirted lumberjacks Monty Python sang about so gleefully when I was a lad have long gone, replaced by War Of The Worlds machines which chop, trim and stack within minutes. There will always be a payback for such an enjoyable bit of descending and it wasn't long before we found ourselves hauling up the end of Scugdale. The track up to Stoney Wickes has seen some serious traffic of the HGV variety by the look of it, leaving behind a barely walkable quagmire, requiring some devious diversions to get us to the top unsullied. We continued down Raisdale Mill Lane which was predictably awful, a pernicious amalgam of mud, water, rocks and vegetation beneath which lurks a bridleway (allegedly). By the time we reached the road, enthusiasm for further bog-trotting was somewhat on the low side., so we headed back to Lordstones and the welcome warmth of the cafe.

Blinded By The LIght

The sun really did get its hat on and come out to play today, how can it be in your eyes the whole way round a circular route? For a bit of variety, I parked at the cafe-free Hutton Village and pedaled the old railway track along the outskirts of Guisborough until I reached the Concrete Road. Which could mean only one thing, riding up The Concrete Road, it has been a good while since I did this ascent and I can categorically state it hasn’t got any easier. Once my breathing  had recovered, I began climbing again, taking the track along the top of Guisborough Woods, getting a few winter miles to make summer smiles, into the legs. Still a viable activity for us dwindling minority of analog bikers. Eventually I found myself on the north side of the woods, the shaded and still frozen side, which meant the trails hadn’t reverted to the usual winter slop. A carefully curated selection of Guiborough’s finest off-piste followed, culminating with a descent of an old classic - The Chute. Still enjoyable after all these years.

Andy's Overactive Anus.

For the second time this month, The Breadlad has escaped from the world of flour and yeast, flung his leg over the crossbar and joined me in pursuit of non-electric enjoyment. We both remarked on a contemporary anomaly, we are out riding, nearly everyone who used to ride with us has an electric bike now, yet they ride less than they did in their analog days. It is a mystery. Are they frightened to let their bikes get cold or dirty? Is it the price of electricity? Are they trying to keep the mileage down, so they can sell them in pristine condition and spend the money on golf sticks or gym memberships? Whatever they are doing it can’t have been as much fun as we were having, panting up the hill out of Danby. Getting off-road as quickly as possible, so The Breadlad’s over-active bowels could find a convenient gorse bush to evacuate behind. I swear he has the digestion of a seagull. Two dumps within an hour, at least it wasn’t on the car windscreen - this time. One of us was considerably lighter by the time we continued on our way to Robin Hood’s Butts. We turned onto the rough track and had the wind behind us, a rare occurrence, normally it is in your face all the way to the Shaun The Sheep bus shelter. It seemed so much easier, we paused at the shelter for a snack before hurtling down the road (hurtling may be a relative term) to pick up the bridleway to Foul Green, just outside Commondale.  Another bridleway runs roughly parallel with the Esk Valley railway line, which goes from Midlesbrough to Whitby, we followed this, crossing the road near Castleton and continuing through Danby Park on draggy tracks which eventually took us back to Danby. Our ride was a little on the brief side, it must be said, I’m sure many modern day porn actors could, if they wind was behind them, ejaculate further but the cafe was open and more importantly for The Breadlad, so was the toilet because yet again, the turtle’s head was battering at the anal gates. 

Can't Beat A Bit Of Sideways Sleet To Liven The Ride Up.

Back on my lonesome today and the first time for a good while since I have ridden two days in a row. Treated myself to an easy warm up, taking tarmac from Great Ayton to KIldale. Met ex-Terra Trailblazer, The Fireman, three times today, he was riding the lanes with his CTC buddies. From KIldale I headed off-road up the Yellow Brick Road onto Percy Cross Rigg. It is another day of grey cloud and less sunshine than the dark side of the moon. Apparently we are trapped in some anti-cyclonic weather system, the sun hasn’t been spotted for days and it is set to continue like this for a while yet. We’ll all be on vitamin D tablets before much longer. The forecast did warn of “some precipitation which may fall as sleet or snow on higher ground.” which was not incorrect. Pedaling across the shelter-less Codhill Heights, sideways sleet turned to sideways snow, leaving me looking like a moving Rorschach test.

Psychologist: “What do you see when you look at this shape?”

Client: “An idiot on a bike.”

It passed over by the time I reached Highcliffe Nab, where I risked my 1960’s teeth on a frozen energy bar, sucking until it was soft enough to chew, you don’t take chances with your gnashers at my age. The sugar sandwiches my grandad used to sneak me behind my mother’s back have a lot to answer for. Some trails beckoned, I chanced a few of the firmer ones, heading through the woods until I reached Roseberry Common, with only the drop through the farms between me and the delights of pastry encased animal flesh. The section from the common to Aireyholme Farm was especially uninviting, mud and water all the way down, I’d managed to stay relatively dry up until now, that soon changed and I arrived at Fletcher’s Farm shop looking like a curry house toilet, with one wet foot courtesy of puddle which turned out to be deeper than it looked. The sausage roll made up for it. I am easily pleased.

Clicking on the route names will take you to the Strava page for the route. Where you can marvel at how slow we are.

 

The Return Of The Blog

Well, it has been a while since I last endeavoured to write a blog, mainly because I have been in the land of Vegemite sandwiches and avocado on everything. The end of December and the start of January were spent in Australia, where it was the height of summer. And not the insipid attempt at the summer solstice we are used to in this country, most days the thermometer was hovering around 30 degrees at breakfast time and only getting hotter. A busy schedule of eating, drinking and sightseeing meant riding bikes was a distant memory. Of course I could have went native, retiring to bed at eight thirty pm and going for a ride at half four in the morning like the locals; as I say, I could have done that but the fact we were in a big city where some of the pubs manage to stay open after seven pm kind of put paid to the idea. Only because I didn’t want to appear antisocial you understand. Returning to England came as a great shock, flying into a snow-covered Manchester, which was around thirty degrees cooler than we were used to, it was some time before the lure of the moor became too strong to ignore.

First Ride Of 2025

Almost into the last week of January and I am finally cocking leg over crossbar and pedaling slowly away from Great Ayton, feeling under-exercised and decidedly overweight, it isn’t long before the fifty tooth back cog is brought into play. Ten teeth for each week I have not been riding and I suffered for every one. The familiar climb to Roseberry Common is fraught with unfamiliar sensations, burning legs and rasping lungs, teeth tingling, eyes watering from the cold air. Did I used to do this for fun? Making my way into Guisborough Woods, the combination of snow, thaw and rain has left the trails in predictable condition, so I stuck to fire roads, which were slightly draggy but good exercise to get me fit again. Or so I kept telling myself for sixteen miles or so, every bit of my body ached by the time I pulled up outside the butcher’s shop for the first Cornish (style) pasty in many weeks. As Professor Brian Cox and his buddies once sang “Things can only get better.”

Quicky, Before The Rain

It was due to rain at one pm, so a quick scoot round before it started seemed a good idea. Swainby had the pleasure of my company today, briefly anyway. The Rusty Bike cafe at Swainby is closed on a Thursday, so the village hall fills the cafe gap by offering food and refreshments. Judging by the amount of cars about it is very popular but they only serve until one pm, which is never usually of much use to me. This being only the second ride for some time, the hill out of Swainby proved a little trying but I plodded on, secure in the knowledge my fitness was being boosted by the effort. Probably by less than a tenth of a percent or something but eventually I found myself on High Lane above Sheepwash, heading for Square Corner. I didn’t bother with my usual excursion into Silton Woods, opting to turn around at Square Corner and head back for the reservoir at Cod Beck. All the trails in the woods above the reservoir, which Rod partially built and maintained are buried beneath a tsunami of fallen trees; the infamous Colonel, who lives out his twilight years hauling branches across trails is probably orgasmic at the sight of the place now. I dropped down to the reservoir, then, in the spirit of self-improvement, rode up the private road to Scarth Wood Moor, just to ride back down the other side. Which was splendid, following the roughly paved bridleway all the way to the road. Another short bit of muddy singletrack took me to a back road leading back to Swainby. The forecast was not as accurate as it could have been but at least the rain was light.

Breezy At The Beacon 

My third ride of the year began from Scaling Dam, a usual spin out towards Lealholme, then back to Danby Beacon, ready for a blast across the ever-accommodating Roxby Moor. I failed to factor in the headwind, which attempted to push me backward 50% of the ride, luckily the first 50%. It was unnecessarily ferocious, having no sympathy for my depleted fitness. Hardale Beck, usually crossed by a long stride from stone to stone, was running wide and fast today, some downstream exploring had to be undertaken before I could reach the other bank with dry feet. Hardale Beck flows across the foot of The Slagbag, a mere tenth of a mile of near vertical unpleasantness, steeply angled gravel and grass, requiring precise body positioning and punishing power output to make it to the top without dabbing. Or you can just walk and save the prospective coronary for a different day. The Oakley Walls road traverses the moor, high above the Esk Valley, leading to a gravel bridleway, The Watersplash Singletrack on Strava. This ends at Clitherbeck Farm, from where it is possible to gain the road to Danby Beacon via a partially paved bridleway, part of The Pannierman’s Causeway, or less arduously by tarmac. No prizes for guessing what I did. The wind was howling by the time I reached Danby Beacon, some of the gusts made standing up a challenge but it was beginning to be in the more amiable direction. When I turned onto the Roxby Moor bridleway, it became a full on tailwind, God’s helping hand, pushing me along the track. All too soon I was back at Scaling Dam car park, bike on car and heading to Birk Brow for the first burger van visit of 2025.

Not Bad For The Middle Of Winter

I had a couple of venues in mind for today, both on top of hills but the weather gods intervened by adding a sporadic coating of ice to the roads, discretion became the better part of valour and I parked up in Great Ayton yet again.  Up through the farms, heading for Guisborough Woods, hoping for some firm and frosty trails, unfortunately some beautiful winter sunshine put paid to that idea and most of the trails were a thin skin of thawed mud, more slippery than sloppy, relegating traction and control to the optional extras part of the brochure. A few frozen bits lurked in sheltered North-facing coves and they were marvellous, a proper winter wonderland of frosted branches, white grass and hard trails. Unfortunately, few and far between, the remainder were mainly left for better weather. From the top of Highcliffe Nab, I looked across Guisborough to the North Sea, glimmering blue in the sunshine, not a bad day for the middle of winter. Plenty of people out enjoying it today too, even a few other mountain-bikers,  leaping off the hamster wheel of employment in favour of some good old muddy fun. The remainder of the ride continued in a similar vein, scrounging about the woods, seeing which trails have been redeveloped after being felled and which trails have succumbed to lumberjackery. And all trails lead to food eventually, well, they do in my world, Great Ayton beckoned and the ride was over. The first month of 2025 finished and only four rides in the bag, never mind, plenty of months left in the year to catch up.

Clicking on the route names will take you to the Strava page for the route. Where you can marvel at how slow we are.

The Whole Of November

 

Slithering About With Miles.

First ride of November and in contrast to the last fortnight of October, which was better than the summer, November’s temperatures are returning to average and the sun seems to have ticked the box for no publicity, spending its time on this side of the earth skulking behind thick cloud. Miles has jumped off the hamster wheel of productivity for a few hours to have a scrounge about the woods, exploring trials old and new. The new Stripes, which has been resurrected following the tree cull and (according to Strava) been renamed Red Stripe was fun, slippery autumn leaves keeping things interesting. We climbed back up and made our way across towards Roseberry Common, introducing Miles to the trail behind Little Roseberry, which he has somehow missed. A few more trails took us slithering down through the woods before we made our way back to Guisborough, for me to return home to my retired layabout existence and Miles to add a bit more to the country’s GDP.

In The Misty Morning Light

As Seventies superstar Gilbert O’Sullivan once sang, alone again naturally. Took myself off to Blakey Ridge for a bit of Rosedale riding today, The Lion Inn was invisible through the mist which is often a regular feature this time of year. The plan was to do the Rosedale Half Round which, unsurprisingly, is a truncated version of the well known Rosedale Round. Basically, along the rail track to Chimney Bank, down the bank into Rosedale, up onto the East Side rail track, around the head of the valley and back to the car. Today I had a slight detour to photograph Ana Cross, before returning to Chimney Bank. On Rosedale Abbey village green, erstwhile Terra Trailblazer, The Fireman, was chilling under a tree with his skinny-tyred bike. Nice to see he is still getting out, unlike the majority of our former companions. This ride begins gradually downhill, turning steeply downhill into Rosedale Abbey, after seven miles of gravity-friendly riding , the inevitable occurs and it is time to start climbing. In a reverse of the first half, steeply at first, passing The Pensioner’s  favourite sign, Bell End Farm, ( I swear I can still hear him sniggering), then more gradual along the rail track. The mist began to dissipate, occasional glimpses of blue sky became more prolonged giving great views around the valley, all the way back to the car.

Riding In The Russet

A nice bright Monday morning for what turned out to be the only ride this week and I can’t even remember why it was the only ride. Set off from Swainby and pedalled toward Sheepwash, grinding up onto Scarth Wood Moor just to head back down the hill on the track we call Olly’s Folly after the unfortunate youth who managed to break his ankle riding down. It is still fun. I carried on around the reservoir and up to High Lane, making my way to Silton Woods to ride a few trails through the golden brown carpet of leaves. Leaving Silton behind, I headed back to High Lane for a scrounge about the trails in the woods above the reservoir, stopping at the reservoir for a few pictures of the autumn colours. And then it was downhill all the way back to Swainby.

Too Cold For Downhills.

There comes a point every year when we change from summer gloves to winter gloves, start wearing an extra layer and maybe wear a coat when it isn’t raining. I wish it had been the ride before this one. Despite the temperature (allegedly) not being below freezing, this ride was colder than a penguin’s ankles, I threw in a few extra ascents just to keep warm. The ride was nothing out of the ordinary, Great Ayton start, through the farms, up the steps, Percy Cross Rigg, Codhill Heights, around the woods and back. But the views were magnificent, blue skies, wispy clouds and autumnal golden goodness from fallen leaves and the demise of the bracken. Some of the overgrown trails are reappearing from beneath their summer canopy of bracken. Perfect weather for photographs, when I could feel my fingers to press the buttons. 

Frozen...

Definitely colder than the last ride but I was prepared this time, winter gloves, extra layer, coat. Parked at Hutton Village for a change, so I could finish the ride on some different trails, which all turned out to be frozen solid and grippier than the grippiest thing in Grippyland. Except for the frozen puddles. Another blue sky day, pleasantly windless, a pleasure to be out on the moors and not one thought was given to those unfortunate souls incarcerated by employment. There is a new trail which runs in three sections, from almost the top of the woods to Hutton Village, this was earmarked as my finish. Very enjoyable, some swoopy up and down bits through the woods which need plenty of momentum for a no-dabs ride. I’ll do better next time. The choice between climbing back up through the woods to ride more trails or an easy cruise along the road to my car wasn’t a difficult one. The car held hot coffee and food.

Bright And Breezy

Another blue sky day, although the temperatures have now returned to double figures after a few nippy days. A Scaling Dam start today, accompanied by my usual companion, Mr. Nobody, at least I’ll be able to have a sensible conversation. Today's route was nothing if not familiar but none the worse for that. From the car park, the most minor of minor roads took me to High Tranmire Farm, where I turned off and followed a rough track to Hardale Beck and its alleged ford - I’d like to see someone drive through, it gets larger every visit, now resembling a small pond. Once this is negotiated, you are faced with The Slagbag, a short but brutal climb on grass and gravel, levelling out on Thorn Hill, where you can get your breath back/vomit/pass out* (*delete as applicable). The track continues to pick up tarmac on the other side of the hamlet of Green Houses. More tarmac, into a strengthening headwind, took me along Oakley Walls until a welcome return to gravel and mud at the bridleway to Clitherbeck Farm. From the farm I followed the road to Danby Beacon, stopping for my first breather of the ride and a few pictures prior to heading down the unsurfaced Lealholm Rigg for half a mile or so until I reached a bridleway on the left. We have always called this the Roxby Moor singletrack, even though it is predominantly double track, on Strava it is Brown Rigg singletrack, either way it is a glorious mile or so across a heather moor, the blue water of Scaling Reservoir glinting in the distance. And the headwind became a tailwind for this section, the sun was out and all was good with the world.  From a dip in the middle, the track climbs gently to reach the road to High Tranmire Farm which was part of the outward route. A short bit of tarmac leads back to the car park, from where a short drive takes us to the highlight of the ride - the Birk Brow burger van.

Could Have Done With Being A Bit More Frozen

A frosty start generally means nice, firm trails - not today unfortunately. A slight thaw meant everything was just soft enough to be draggy on the uphills and slippery on the downs. Another Great Ayton start but with Captain Cook’s Monument as the first objective, using an indirect route to check the condition of a few tracks on the way. Arriving at the monument, a few people were wandering about, Captain Cook’s must be almost as popular as Roseberry Topping as a destination. A couple of years ago, we visited the monument in Australia where Captain Cook landed in 1770, the town and the year. The town is the only one in the world which has numbers for its name, named from the year Middlesbrough’s most famous son claimed the continent for the British Commonwealth. The native aborigines may not be wholly congruent with this arrangement. Judging by the monument, I don’t think the Australians are that keen either, it is a post box size cairn with a small plaque, nothing like the imposing monolith on Easby Moor I am standing beneath. Putting all thoughts of historical mariners behind me, a pedestrian free route to Gribdale was engineered, although it wasn’t free from fallen trees, necessitating a bit of clambering. From Gribdale, the only way is up, unless it was to be a very brief ride, so I rode up onto Newton Moor, around the Lonsdale Bowl and up Percy Cross Rigg to reach Guisborough Wood and skirting around the top of the woods to Little Roseberry. After all these years I have just found out the track around the back of Little Roseberry has a name, on Strava maps anyway, Bridlegill Road, who knew? The lure of the animal flesh wrapped in pastry was becoming hard to ignore, so I continued in a downward direction to the butchers in Great Ayton.

Clicking on the route names will take you to the Strava page for the route. Where you can marvel at how slow we are.