Mud-free And Almost Flat.

Mountain Bike Ride

The Pensioner, The Ginger One

27th February Route - click here

As plans go it was not a bad one, the almost flat was something of an exaggeration, if not a downright lie, those mendacious metres just kept coming but the mud-free bit was supposed to be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. North Yorkshire made a liar out of me. That could almost be the title of a Country and Western song.

The idea was to slog up The Mad Mile from Square Corner, pedal along The Drove Road, drop down to enter Boltby Woods at Windygill Ridge and pick up the resurfaced track across Cowesby Moor down to Brickshed Cottage which is a section of the new Red Route from Sutton Bank. The Mad Mile is as gruelling as ever but now entirely rideable thanks(?) to the sanitisation of the trail, it was much more fun to ride down when the rocky slabs were still present. The Drove Road bore the odd puddle and muddy stretch, it was only when we turned off and headed towards Boltby Forest that things became a bit sketchy and a lot less fun than they ought to have been. The Pensioner doing a Superman into the heather at one point would have been the highlight of the ride - if we had actually saw him do it. All the way to Brickshed Cottage the trail teased us with flashes of dry, compacted earth, seducing us along, only to turn to squelch. The final section which goes steeply down to join the road at Brickshed Cottage had no saving graces, pure filth from top to bottom, deep mud interspersed with rocks, like badly cooked dhal, passengers on our bikes we dabbed and slithered and jolted our way down to the sanctuary of tarmac.

Following the road towards Boltby village, the next section of Red Route was eschewed, “because it’ll be too muddy” and we followed tarmac pausing outside Boltby to gaze in awe at Sneck Yate (or Boltby) Bank, that vertical strip of carriageway some idiots have been know to ride up - or attempt to ride up, in my case. Rejoining the Red Route at Town Pasture Wood, the fire road ascent gained height without too much suffering, apart from The Pensioner who “hated every minute of the whole ride” from the minute we turned off the Drove Road and he guessed the gist of the route. The Ginger One, on the other hand, had little idea of anything other than he was pedalling a bike somewhere in North Yorkshire and there was a lot of uphill and a fair bit of mud. His trail knowledge being somewhat limited by a complete lack of observation or retention over the past 15 years of  riding on the moors. The zig zag up to The Escarpment was also unrideable in parts because of the mud, this Red Route is not standing up too well considering it has been open less than twelve months.

Once on The Escarpment it was plain sailing all the way back to Square Corner although everyone was beginning to flag owing to it being the third or fourth consecutive day of riding for us all. And we were still going uphill, albeit gradually, all the way to the top of The Mad Mile. Where we paused for breath, lowered seats, switched suspension into descent mode and got some payback for 3 hours earlier when we had dragged our aching bodies against gravity - and against nature according to The Pensioner, although he may have versed the sentiment in more profane terms.

All that remained was a twenty minute wait in the freezing car park while two idiots washed their bikes when we could have been in the cafe. Which turned out to be closed when we eventually got there.

A Couple Of Shorties

Mountain Bike Rides.

Sunday: The Pensioner and Scott. Route

Tuesday: The Pensioner, The Bread Lad, The Ginger One (+Richie and Barnett) Route

A couple of short rides, 48 hours apart.

Sunday started so well, with a steady plod across Codhill Heights and a blast down the fire road beside Highcliffe Nab. A left turn onto the start of the Guisborough Woods’ Red Route, which appeared to have rather less trees than last time we rode it, we soon found out where the trees had gone, spread across the track, walking became the only option, followed by clambering and battling through brushwood in the style of three idiots trying to find the source of the Amazon. A clear bit of fire road was no better, ruined by heavy machinery, sticky mud turning our footwear into slippy 1970’s platform shoes. Eventually we made it onto the main fire road, where The Pensioner discovered he had a puncture, just as a minor blizzard struck, somehow he tricked Scott into pumping up his tyre. Standing watching Scott exercise his arm muscles, we were being passed by many cyclists bailing out and returning to Pinchinthorpe. Pity we were parked at Kildale. A painful ride into the wind awaited us, doubly painful because it also included an ascent of The Unsuitables and Percy Cross Rigg with horizontal snow blasting into our faces.

Tuesday saw us gathering at a windy Gribdale, a big crew for a few miles. We made our way across the moor to Guisborough Woods, attempting to find any tracks which are holding up against the weather. Les’s 2 and the infamous tree gap claimed a casualty, a bit of over enthusiasm with the front brake and I was over the bars. Escaping with a few grazes which I’ll spend the next week hiding from the little woman, we continued up Roseberry Common and eventually to the top of Cliff Rigg Quarry, to the part known as The Elephant’s Hole, which was followed by a painful track through some gorse bushes. The weather was glorious, a heatless sun beaming from a blue sky, in complete contrast to 48 hours earlier. The tarmac slog up to Gribdale remained, which was dispatched with a tailwind. Reaching Gribdale with a mere ten miles under our wheels, a group decision was made to add in an extra loop, unfortunately up the fire road to Captain Cooks Monument  - all so we could descend a muddy track back to the cars. A motorised exodus to Great Ayton took us to Stamps for the cafe stop and Petch’s for the pie stop - suddenly it all seemed worthwhile.

A Ride From Birk Brow.

Mountain Bike Ride

The Pensioner, The Ginger One, The Fireman.

20th February Ride.

Birk Brow (Or Guisborough Bank, if you are an ignorant Darlington retard)

In a move which elicited great disappointment from The Pensioner, a mid-ride cafe stop was scheduled for this ride, mainly because there isn't a cafe in Birk Brow car park, just a tea van which usually is on the verge of closing as we return. Other than that crushing blow, The Pensioner had little else to complain about today. Not that it stopped him complaining, especially after a senior moment by the ride planner meant a missed turn off added an extra mile or so.

The route attempted to be mud-free and almost succeeded, even though there was quite a bit of tarmac cheating involved. The wind was punishing, especially on the open moor roads but most of the off road tracks were surprisingly dry even Robin Hood’s Butts, our first off road track, which is usually like a canal, had only a few large puddles. Some heather burning, fortunately on the leeward side of the track, kept us pleasantly warm for a few metres. From the end of Robin Hood’s Butts, a mixture of road and bridleway took us uneventfully up to Danby Beacon, or RAF Danby Beacon as it remains on some online mapping, which shows they probably could do with updating as it closed in 1954 and was demolished in 1957. It’s claim to fame: it was responsible for the first German plane to be shot down over British soil. The track from The Beacon downhill toward Lealholm was fun with a tail wind, the tail wind became a headwind along Oakley Walls but we paced ourselves and chatted in a civilised manner to ease the pain. The Ginger One was present come to think of it, so the chat was anything but civilised, his coarse, uncouth Darlington manner contrasting with the Hartlepool gentility of The Pensioner and I.

The cafe stop at The Stonehouse Bakery in Danby, was, as previously mentioned, a mid-ride affair, good to be refuelled for the second half of the ride but not as relaxing when you realise what remains to be ridden. In this case sucking mud leading into Danby Park, a nicely remade track through the park, some seriously steep tarmac followed by some less steep tarmac, all leading to the very reason we parked at Birk Brow, the Quakers Causeway. The Quakers Causeway is one of the paved 'trods' which run across the moors, built by monks long, long ago, even before The Pensioner was born. Nowadays they are a mud-free if slightly lumpy way of crossing the moors, it seems medieval monastic paviors had a bit to learn about laying level flagstones.

By now we had rode in excess of twenty miles and the uneven trod claimed The Fireman as it's victim when he took a clipped in tumble into the heather. Soon we were back in the car park, the thick end of 23 miles under our wheels, the wind was still cold and the sun was still shining and no one, not even The Pensioner, was complaining.

A nice day at Danby and a bondage sheep.

Mountain Bike Ride

The Bread Lad, Dave The Soldier

Valentines Day Route


Not exactly sunny, in fact quite dull, but dry and snow-free so we’ll take it, a mere three of us today,  DOM’s excuses being bandied about from some of the others. It’s either delayed onset muscle stiffness or daft old man syndrome. The intention was to try and do the ride planned on the day my wheel bearings collapsed, so the slog up through Ainthorpe and on to Ainthorpe Rigg was done again. Some drainage work is ongoing on the moor and the Ainthorpe Rigg track, with all it’s gullies and drop offs is no longer. How it will be as a descent route remains to be seen. The Pensioner won’t be happy. Which will make him happy - the pensioner paradox. The steep track down Crossley Side was a bit greasy on the rocky slabs at the top - claiming casualties from two thirds of our team, the remainder was a nice ride down, one day it will be dry and we shall float down it like the cycling Gods we undoubtedly could be given the right conditions. And someone else’s legs, lungs, bravery and skill.

A quick tarmac blast past Danby Castle and over Duck Bridge, the ford alternative was too deep and fast for today. The long drag up to Danby Beacon came next, we paced ourselves, saving energy for the Roxby Moor singletrack, which was surprisingly dry considering we have had a week of thaw, not as sublime as in the summer but for the middle of February we had no complaints. The steep and loose bank after Hardale Beck, known as The Slagbag on Strava, was despatched by Dave with his new 1x11 set up, The Bread Lad and me adhered to the Homer Simpson dictum, if it’s too hard; it’s not worth doing. Further along the track, just before it drops down to Green Houses, we found a sheep in bondage, initially we thought it had become tangled in some twine and out came the trusty Swiss Army knife, on closer inspection, it appeared to be deliberately hogtied, maybe to stop it wandering off, maybe while the farmer finished watching 50 Shades Of Grey, who knows? We left things alone and reported it at the nearest farm: there were no signs of sexual deviancy of an ovine, or any other, nature.

Back on the tarmac for a blast along Oakley Walls, taking advantage of the windless day to get a bit of pace going we returned to the top of Park Bank and took ourselves offroad on the bridleway to Clitherbecks Farm, the rather damp bridleway as it turned out although underneath the puddles was stony so it wasn’t too much trouble. The Lord’s Turnpike, our last track, which leads down into Danby was hard work, the muddiest section of the whole ride. Soon we were at the infamous Beware Of Flying Bees sign, not the same without the usual Pensioner pedantry, next stop The Stonehouse Bakery and it’s calorific temptations to finish the ride.

Snow riding - it's all getting a bit boring now.

It’s a widely held misconception that Eskimos have 200 different words for snow but as we've found over the past few rides the white stuff is infinitely variable in it’s ability to add to the enjoyment of the day or send us off, cold, wet and exhausted for an early cafe and home. Apart from the problems of actually reaching the start of a route without recourse to a 4x4 vehicle, assembling bikes in freezing car parks and actually finding other idiots to ride with, suddenly the tracks are filled with people enjoying themselves on sledges, plastic bags, old car bonnets or whatever, sliding down OUR downhills, whooping and grinning, as we grimly attempt to plod upwards, the penalty of gravity running concurrently with either having to force reluctant wheels through deep snow or wheel spinning on hidden ice. Fresh snow is normally okay, so long as it’s not too deep, give it a few days and you are trying to plough through the Devil’s semen. As the thawing and freezing cycle advances, we cease to advance, the ice becomes uneven and lumpy making riding in a straight line something akin to a drunken walk home after a Saturday night binge. Soon the extra effort involved becomes too much for our feeble old bodies and once again, we are taking some bikes for a walk in the picturesque, snow-covered countryside. And yet we press on, somehow thinking things will be better round the corner, or after the next gate, or, the ultimate in optimism, if we get higher. (Where the snow is always deeper. Why don’t we understand this?).

So why do we image these difficulties will be negated as soon as the track points downhill? We leap back on our bikes to begin a descent which has every possibility of serious injury; skidding, sliding and hoping against hope that the patch of snow we’ll eventually land in will be deep and soft. Our geriatric caution renders even simple downhills slower than our usual performances. Death grips on the bars and the extra core rigidityrequired just to stay upright combine to create tension in the chest muscles. Or is it? Could it be the early symptoms of that first heart attack? Not to mention snow-blindness, hypothermia, pulmonary edema (not entirely certain what that is but there’s always snow involved), frostbite. It’s only a matter of time before we get the quiet shake of the head from the stoic mountain rescue paramedic as he silently wonders what possessed an old bloke to be attempting a ride in these conditions, when all the proper cyclists are on turbo-trainers in the safety of their garages.

Thawing out in the cafe afterward do we marvel at our good fortune in staying alive and uninjured? Are road rides planned instead? The price of turbo-trainers discussed? No. Despite the evidence of our own eyes, legs and lungs, the conversation will be where are we going tomorrow and who is out. We’ll just go somewhere different, there might be less snow.

Congratulations to the Terra Trailblazers who tore themselves away from the fireside, unvelcroed themselves from the settee and showed the weather who was boss. You know who you are. Who will be the first to crack and purchase a fat bike?

After snow comes the inevitable thaw, which means only one thing - mud and a whole new world of moaning.

For anyone really interested all the routes ridden are on Garmin Connect - terratrailblazers.

Idiots In The Snow - January video

More slipping and sliding about from the Terra Trailblazer's more dedicated (or stupid?) riders. Although the month started wet and windy conditions soon became arctic making things a whole lot more interesting and the cafe's even more welcome.

Click here