Wednesday 30 December 2015

Burning Off The Christmas Calories.

Mountain Bike Ride.

Dave, The Youth.


Two days basking in the warmth and bonhomie of family and friends; overeating, drinking too much; late nights; channel surfing; couch-bound; chocolates; nuts; more Guiness; some cheese? Why not - it’s Christmas. Waking the day after Boxing Day, feeling distinctly unvirtuous, jaded and lethargic,  parting the curtains revealed bright sunshine and blue sky, yesterday’s twenty four hours of rain ousted by the gods of mountain biking, an omen of their approval for our lifestyle choice. Two others managed to drag themselves away from the Quality Street and rechauffe turkey to meet at a windy, fairly cool and deserted Birk Brow car park.

A brief exchange of pleasantries; “How was your christmas?” “Quiet” “Get any good presents?” “No, not really, usual shit.” “Be glad when it’s all over.” “Yeah” The normal post-christmas exchange between any group of men. Seconds later we were braving speeding motorists on the A171, as they hurtled towards Whitby for some fish and chips to take away the taste of brussel sprouts and cranberry sauce. Mercifully our time amongst  the Wacky Racers  was brief, some quieter tarmac led us to the Shaun The Sheep bus shelter and the junction with Robin Hood’s Butts. Dave was finding his new tyres a bit of a drag on the tarmac, in the same situation I was a couple of weeks ago after changing to Chunky Monkey tyres, large volume, sticky rubber, extra weight - it all comes as a shock at first but feels normal after a couple of rides.


The off-road track of Robin Hood’s Butts normally harbours a few puddles but today the puddles were more like harbours, the odd narrowboat chugging along would not have come as a surprise. After a wet mile or so, we stopped to shed layers, the wind having dropped to make the day even more pleasant, and turned off onto the Siss Cross Road, a narrow path, formerly a pony track, which leads across the moor, ultimately to Danby. Naturally it was wet today, pretty much every twisting, turning, rutted, muddy inch of it bore a surface layer of water, some bits deeper than others which resulted in the odd, unpremeditated lie downs in the heather for some of us.




Not wishing to lose height and continue into Danby (it was Sunday and the cafe is closed), we crossed the road took our regular bridleway past Clitherbeck Farm, emerging somewhat wetter than when we started onto the road to Danby Beacon, which, predictably, we followed to the beacon, Dave once again paying the price for his affair with Magic Mary. A quick look at the view and we were off again, down the normally fun track to Oakley Walls, today, unfortunately, anything but fun, a muddy monstrosity, the only saving grace it being downhill. We retraced our tyre tracks to Clitherbeck in the opposite direction, gravity in our favour this time, splashing through the puddles and bouncing over the rocks, The Youth leading the way as someone barely out of their teens out to be. We had to recross Robin Hood’s Butts in the opposite direction too, some of the puddles proving a tad deeper than expected at times - think waders rather than waterproof socks. The Youth finally began to realise the finish of the ride would be The Quaker’s Causeway, a paved ‘trod’, laid down hundred’s of years ago by monks. specifically to cause suffering to twenty year old hardtail riders. And suffer he did, like the prettiest boy in prison after a date night with Big Reg from E wing. Us riding full suspension, skill-compensators flicked to full bounce and cruised the rugged, uneven paving while The Youth caromed from stone to stone some way behind. And then it was all over and we crossing the road back to the car park, a meagre fraction of Christmas’s excess calories hopefully burnt off. 



Sitting here typing this blog entry on the penultimate day of 2015, it seems that this was to be the last ride of 2015. Storm Frank is battering the North of England, recycling is being widely recycled, fences are buckling under the onslaught, cyclists are hiding behind the laptop. Not a bad year, all in all. 142 rides, 3017 miles, 251,445 feet of ascent - can’t complain but must try harder next year.

Christmas Eve Quicky

Mountain Bike Ride

The Bread Lad.



Waking up at the crack of eight thirty, opening the curtains to be greeted by a day that hasn’t even got the energy to get light properly, throw in some rain and a bit of wind and you have people bailing out faster than you can say Gary Glitter Comeback Tour. Only two of us realised the true spirit of The Terra Trailblazers and took on the Del Boy ‘who dares wins’ mantra for a Christmas Eve ride from Great Ayton. But not before The Bread Lad successfully negotiated the queue at Petch’s Pies, the shops being shut for a whole day tomorrow appears to have initiated a countrywide panic buying spree, 45 minutes later he joined me clutching his hard won pork pies, by which time the rain had stopped. It was forecast to cease, something our assorted bailers seemed unaware of.

Later than planned but stocked with porcine comestibles, we made our through the streets of Great Ayton and into the countryside, passing the (closed) cafe at Fletcher’s Farm and, onward and upward to Roseberry Common via Aireyholme Farm, a route we have found ourselves panting up several times over the past ten days or so. The sky lightening all the time, we shouldered bikes and wandered up the steps to Newton Moor. The rain might have stopped but the ground is sodden, grassy areas are like riding across blancmange, everywhere else is either mud or puddle. We stopped to have a look at the new track being constructed on the slopes of the moor, a local, pro-mountain biking farmer is generously allowing a track to built on his land, all he asks in return is for volunteers to assist in tree planting days, the next is 3rd January, if you can make it. Link here.


Filing the new track away for future reference, we took in the first section of Les’s, which is holding up quite well despite the various storms which have battered the forest lately. What goes down must come up and it our case it was up The Unsuitables, that arduous extravaganza of upward motion, which is a dull but speedy way to regain the top of the forest. Pausing only briefly to regain our breath, the Black Nab/Codhill Heights combination came next, as did the sunshine, bathing us righteous riders in it’s golden light (if not quite it’s honeyed warmth). The usual speedy descent of Codhill Heights was marred somewhat by the headwind but it was not long before we were making our way along Percy Cross Rigg, splashing through puddles the size of small tarns and passing the occasional walker tempted out by the improved weather.


The Lonsdale Bowl was muddy and slippery, not a huge difference from most of the year, the low sun shining directly into our eyes from just above Easby Moor, almost like a beacon beaming from the top of Captain Cook’s Monument, made descending Fingerbender Bank an interesting proposition, the various ruts indistinguishable, filled with glistening water or shining mud; we made it but not with our usual style and grace. Another downhill track took us to Gribdale and essentially the end of the ride. Only tarmac to Dike’s Lane, then retracing our tyre tracks back past the still closed Fletcher’s Farm Coffee Shop, we continued to Stamps for a pre-Christmas scone two sweaty, mud-splattered trolls amongst the last-minute Christmas shoppers and holiday strollers.



Wednesday 23 December 2015

A Couple Of Short, Damp Ones.






Mountain Bike Rides

The Bread Lad, The Pensioner




It’s been raining; a plethora of persistent precipitation has moistened the moors, tracks without the benefit of a bit of surfacing are becoming soft or submerged. We’ve been let off lightly compared to The Lakes, which is suffering badly, it won’t be long until Penrith B&Q starts stocking gopher wood and breeding pairs are being rounded up.






Our first ride set off from KIldale and featured an appearance by The Pensioner, fortunately the weather was in a better mood than he was and stayed pleasant all day, a little sunny and not a drop of rain. The Pensioner’s own personal black cloud followed him for the whole ride. We still ended up drenched, however, owing to the amount of standing water on the trails. The route utilised some parts of yesterday’s Xmas dinner ride, the section from Roseberry Common to the A173, then back up to Newton Moor via Aireyholme Farm, still bearing our tyre tracks. Another puncture in my new tyres slowed us up a bit, that will be 50% of the rides with the Chunky Monkeys which have resulted in thorns stuck in the tyre. A lot of hedge cutting has been going on and the adjacent thoroughfares are littered with prickly detritus making every ride a lottery. At the road, The Pensioner opted to make his way back to Kildale via the highway, while me and The Bread Lad reverted to offroad splodging our way across Newton Moor, back down to New Row and directly to Glebe Cottage, where we found a mud-covered pensioner lurking in the car park.



The following day me and The Bread Lad had an earlier start from Danby, repeating a previous route, parts of which were new to The Bread Lad. Unfortunately it begins with an ascent of Ainthorpe Rigg, which is becoming somewhat soggy despite the extensive resurfacing and improvement sanitisation. The drop down the other side was worth the pain. A few miles of road took us across the valley and up Oakley Side, which despite our best efforts did not let us ascend dab-free, too loose, too wet, too weak from two previous days of mountain biking. The Clitherbeck bridleway was essentially a canal with a few linking tracks, giving us a thorough soaking, Robin Hood’s Butts was in similar state, puddles the size of small tarns, a raft is beginning to look like an essential accessory. Turning off onto the Siss Cross Road, a ribbon of singletrack heading south across Danby Low Moor, we could see it glistening into the distance, the whole track smeared with water like the trail of a monstrous snail weaving across the moor. We followed the narrow trail upwards toward Siss Cross, the high point, from where it heads - yes, you’ve guessed it, downwards, never particularly steep but gravity assistance is always welcome, the track narrow and winding with a few swampy mud traps to punish overconfidence from those who think they can blast mindlessly downhill. From the end of the track it’s all downhill to the door of The Stonehouse Bakery which is the way every ride ought to finish.

Friday 18 December 2015

The Christmas Dinner Ride 2015

Mountain Bike Ride

The Ginger One, The Bread Lad, The Cruncher, Oz, Tony The Copper, Howard, Steve.
Dom and Simon
The Captain


In the season of traditions our traditional christmas dinner ride survives as the most popular and well attended ride of the whole year, when regulars and irregulars gather to gain an appetite by sliding about in some mud for a few hours until it dinner time. This year was no exception, The Kings Head at Newton Under Roseberry, in the shadow of Teesside’s most iconic North Yorkshire landmark - Roseberry Topping, was chosen as the recipient of our mud-spattered carcasses. Half ten on a dull but unseasonably warm Tuesday morning, numerous gentlemen, many on the verge of middle-age, were dragging mountain bikes from vehicles and renewing past acquaintances as the inevitable pre-ride faffing took place.




Eventually an octet of mountain bike riders and a brace of road dabblers left the car park and went their separate ways, the roadies keen for dinner but reluctant to commit their delicate bodies to more manly pursuits, think Nureyev and Nijinsky in a car park with Wigan Warriors rugby league team and you will be getting close. We weren’t getting close as they sped off down the road, their androgenous, lycra-sheathed, buttocks disappearing toward Great Ayton. The mud-pluggers continued at a more reasonable pace, pedalling and chatting, until we entered the woods and had our first taste of the brown slippy stuff, when breathing became more of a priority.




A team of eight is a slow business at gates and other N.S.P’s (Natural Stopping Points) as conversations are continued, bikes are compared, old rides are discussed and new rides planned. The actual route is largely irrelevant on this day, the majority of the tracks were not  new to any of us; inevitably we split into an A team and a B team, with those cheats, who actually train taking the lead as those of us whose approach is more lax brought up the rear. Initially we thought we might stick to the better-surfaced tracks because of the conditions but the temptation of out of control descents, slippy roots, greasy rocks and lashings of mud became too much and we found ourselves passing the early afternoon away failing and falling on a selection of North Yorkshire’s finest trails. Occasional riders who do not attend on a week to week basis, were surprised to find us regulars as lacking in technique and courage as we ever were.



A last minute dash and we arrived back in the car park with five minutes to spare, cue a selection of muddy men attempting to preserve some semblance of modesty and avoid being arrested for indecent exposure, shedding sodden kit, as they rushed for sustenance. We were joined for the meal by erstwhile Terra Trailblazer - The Captain, who still threatens to rejoin us at some indeterminate point in the future, and the two road riders, returned from their cafe tour of North Yorkshire.











The meal was most tasty, the pleasant staff were friendly and efficient, conversation flowed despite (or maybe because of) the lack of alcohol and it was well dark by the time we left the pub, hopefully all looking forward to next year’s ride.

Wednesday 16 December 2015

A Chop Gate Figure Of Eight.

The wisdom of setting of on a mountain bike ride when winds approaching 50 mph are forecast may be questionable but the route planning was exceptional, tail wind for the uphills and down against the wind. The plan was not without its faults but on the whole it worked, it just had not taken into account the times when the wind would be approaching us from the side. And we paid for it.



In the car park at Chop Gate village hall, things were reasonably calm as we assembled bikes while trying to persuade The Ginger One he ought to put a coin in the Honesty Box, Oscar Wilde’s definition of a cynic, “ A man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing” could have been penned to describe The Ginger One’s personal fiscal policy. Needless to say, his collection of pound coins remained firmly in his pocket, nestling by his ginger scrotum for warmth. Refraining ourselves from putting him through any more expenditure related trauma, we set off pedaling up the Raisdale Road, turning right following the road to Beak Hills. The plan kicked in here and the wind assistance gave us a welcome boost as we headed through the gap between Cringle Moor and Cold Moor, turning right again, climbing the steps to the summit of Cold Moor, the wind hit us from the side, threatening to blow us over with every step as we pushed and carried bikes upward. On the top standing upright was not a foregone conclusion, heading along the spine of the moor into the wind practically a relief as we made our way back to Chop Gate via the nicely varied descent. Things were rocky, slippy, muddy, boggy, waterlogged and occasionally sublime but always wet, before too long we were  back in Chop Gate, one loop of the figure eight complete.



For some of us the proximity of the cars was almost too much to resist but after the requisite degree of cajoling and humiliation order was restored and the ride resumed. We  began the long (but, again, wind assisted) pedal up Clay Bank and stopped almost as quickly to repair a puncture in my new front tyre. Back on the chain gang, we plodded up the road to the summit before another right turn and another side wind as we battled our way up Carr Ridge, ultimately to Round Hill, highest point on the North York Moors and the obvious place to be when the it is one of the windiest days of the year. After a thorough buffeting, which isn’t the same as a thorough buffet - another of The Ginger One’s specialities, his free food balancing skills greatly outweigh his cycling skills - we headed down the track to Medd Crag, the wind doing it’s best to push us back up the hill.




The downhill of Medd Crag used to be a North York Moors favourite, always interesting, diverse surfaces, grass, mud, rocks and gullies, all pointing downward; now reduced to a wide, muddy bank, churned up to farmyard consistency by animals and vehicles, leaving only vestiges of the original track. A last bit of tarmac took us back to Chop Gate, where The Ginger One gave us another display of his frugality by washing his bike in the stream - he even brought rubber gloves and a brush in preparation.

I’m on a water meter you know...