Mountain Bike Ride.
The Pensioner, Uncle Ian.
The recent weather trend has been misty mornings and sunny afternoons: today was no different, consequently me, The Pensioner and Uncle Ian met at a misty Sheepwash in anticipation of a sunny afternoon and we were not disappointed. Some unremarkable pedalling took us to Silton Woods for the downhill track, which we rode with all the skill and dexterity which might be expected from a trio whose combined age is 176 years. Big air, phat air, tail whips, railing berms, not a trace of any of that. Some more rather shoddy looking woodwork has appeared on the track, despite the best efforts of the FC who regularly dismantle what they view as death traps. In our, undoubtedly geriatric, opinion, we would like to see somebody ride this particular jump and live. Moving on, we made our way to Thimbleby Woods and the bottom bridleway, ignoring the dire warnings from The Pensioner regarding the unsuitability of said bridleway for riding a bike along, although he may have couched it in less elegant terms. Unfortunately, he was correct in all he said, the surface not being tough enough to withstand the hooves from our equine brethren, had suffered badly, morass would be too kind a word for it. One best left to the horsey types and they are welcome to it.
Some tarmac riding took us through Thimbleby and Osmotherly, after which we proceeded sharply uphill - much to The Pensioner’s disappointment - to Scarth Wood Moor. A quick breather at the gate, then we promptly lost all that height again blasting across the moor. And it was worth every second of ascent, this section is mainly paved and practically mud-free, so we were able to “put the throttle down”, The Pensioner leading the way, mainly because he swerves about so much nobody is brave enough to overtake. Too soon, it was over and we rejoined the road to take us back to Sheepwash.
The problem with Sheepwash is the lack of a post-ride cafe, The Boot Shop Coffee House in Osmotherley is only open towards the weekend, the other cafe in Osmotherley is open so infrequently and the owner so unwelcoming that we boycotted it years ago, the cafe in Swainby closes between half one and three, which is generally the exact time span when we require food. A short drive to a nearby garden centre cafe was the prefered option. As The Ginger One once stated in his usual coarse and brutish manner (he’s from Darlington and all efforts to civilise him have failed) “Garden centres attract old people like shit attracts flies.” This particular establishment seems to exert a gravitational pull which sucks in whole care homes. The Pensioner remarked without a trace of irony “It’s like Zombieland in here, full of people just like me. I fit right in.” How he could say that as he walked purposefully amongst the beige shufflers, the only pensioner in the place dressed in Lycra and covered in mud, probably gives a good illustration of the inadequacy of his eyesight. And obviously, what are old biddies to us are hot chicks to The Pensioner, as he cast somewhat myopic flirtatious glances around God’s waiting room.
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