Peregrinations With The Pensioner.

Mountain Bike Ride.

The Pensioner, The Fireman

26th October route

Dull but dry said the weatherman. Some breaks in the cloud allowed rays of sunlight to beam through in a picturesque fashion, all very crepuscular, as The Bread Lad might say; never one to pass up a chance to shoehorn his new favourite word into the conversation. Three of met up under the aforementioned dull sky in Danby. A brief discussion ensued regarding The Pensioner’s current capabilities, before we found ourselves following him up the road toward Clitherbeck Farm. Heading offroad across Castleton Pits, the wind was against us, naturally part of the universe’s great plan to make The Pensioner’s life more difficult and nothing to do with being an autumnal day in late October. A steady drag up the road to Danby Beacon, one of the Terra Trailblazers’ NSP’s (Natural Stopping Points), although the cold wind and lack of views today meant we did not hang about too long. Some sublime singletrack over Roxby Moor beckoned, still pleasantly dry, The Fireman and me took advantage,careening across it as though we were being followed by the hounds of hell, not an irascible sexagenerian.

We took it a bit easier for the next section, making our way to Hardale Beck and it’s unattractively named Strava segment - The Slagbag, a climb as gruesome as its title, steep and loose, lung-burstingly steep, The Fireman cruised up it, me and The Pensioner took things more leisurely. Riding across the moor to Green Houses, we were battling the wind again but the sun began to break through for longer periods; by the time we were on the Oakley Walls road the wind was behind us and everything was well with world. At Oakley Side, a group decision was made to retrace our tyre tracks to Clitherbeck, wind and gravity assisted riding getting closer to the cafe; what could be better?

Our final bit of offroad, Lord’s Turnpike, today a bit muddy, a bit damp and against the wind again, fortunately the ultimate section is steeply downhill, passing the famous “Beware Of Flying Bees” sign and down into Danby. The Stonehouse Bakery was fairly full, it being half term but we were able to squeeze around a small table to ensure The Pensioner was not denied his mandatory post-ride pot of tea. Calories replenished, we left the cafe and walked into a summer’s day which had somehow appeared as we ate, a pleasant end to the day unless you are The Pensioner for whom it was merely further evidence of life’s great plot against him because it ought to have been warm and sunny all day.  

                        

Sunday riding. Again?

Mountain Bike Ride.

Dave.

25th October route

Another weekend; another Clay Bank start. Just me and Dave this time and he fancied an old Terra Trailblazers route from 2003, (TTB05) 12 years and one week to the day, not having hungover youths or smoking pensioners this time it ought to be (hopefully) less than a full day epic.

The downhill start through the Greenhow Plantation was a great help to our average speed, although the ascent of Turkey Nab, or Ingleby Bank as it is sometimes known, from Bank Foot Farm brought it back to more realistic levels. A bunch of wobbly-head, One Life: Live it, offroaders had managed to skilfully tip over a Land Rover near the gate, which took away some of the agony of the climb. It did not help the second section which soon degenerated to pedestrianism, owing to the loose surface, nothing to do with our lack of technique or weak legs. The signpost at Tidy Brown Hill, directing Cleveland Way walkers to Kildale, indicates the majority of the climbing is over and it was not without some relief when it crept into vision. Continuing, more easily, along the moor, we were passed by a few groups of motocrossers doing their Sunday thing; each to their own and all that. Our human-powered engines spun pedals relentlessly, onwards toward Bloworth Crossing, then up to Cockayne Head and onward past The Badger Stone, ultimately to Tripsdale, that magnificent track which becomes gradually rockier, steeper and faster as it nears the valley bottom, culminating in some loose hairpins which nave caught out many an unwary Terra Trailblazer over the years.

Tripsdale descent

In mountainbiking, as in life, every pleasure must be paid for and the climb out of Tripsdale is as equally steep and loose as the descent. A lapse in concentration resulted in a lifted front wheel which put paid to my attempt to repeat the only Terra Trailblazer’s dab-free ascent of this track. Eventually we made the top as the sun broke through and a pleasant ride above East Bank Plantation took us to Medd Crag, the now-ruined downhill track to Urra. It appears someone thought it a good idea to bulldoze the bottom part of the track into a smooth carriageway, then abandon it, so it is now just a mass of soft, wet mud and broken rocks.

A long slog up The Raisdale Road followed, steady pedalling regained most of the height we had just lost. Both feeling the pace by now but with only a few miles to go, the cafe was given a swerve and we embarked on The Fronts, that glorious roller-coaster track which passes along the side of Cringle Moor to Broughton Plantation. Things begin to deteriorate from the plantation, the track is sheltered by trees and never seems to dry out properly, the worst section is just after The Wainstones, where things go uphill and traction depends on tyre choice. Today was touch and go, it’s fair to say we shall probably be ignoring this track until about May, unless there is a good frost.

The last half mile is an excellent rock garden leading to a fast bit of fire road before a sharp right finishes the route on a pleasurable high with a slippery, rooty, downhill which spits two tired but happy riders out onto the road opposite Clay Bank car park.

Mingling With Day People.

Mountain Bike Ride.

Dave, Rod.

17th October route

A rare weekend ride for me, a regular occurrence for my two companions, who belong to that curious subspecies of working life: day people. Only shift workers can take the objective view of people who spend Monday to Friday in a work/telly/bed routine, then use their precious time off walking round shops or recovering from hangovers. The occasional day person will maybe grab a few hours riding at the weekend, the really keen ones lash out on high power lights to blunder about the woods after dark on weekdays, when respectable shift-working cyclists have already done a full day’s riding and are relaxing, feet up on the coffee table, smug in the knowledge they enjoyed the empty trails in the hours of daylight. Really demented day people buy turbo-trainers and “ride” in their garages - the less said about that sort of behaviour the better, a bit like the difference between going out for a sociable couple of pints and snorting neat vodka to make sure the alcohol quota is fulfilled.  

We met up at an unusually (to me) full Clay Bank car park and commenced the gruesome plod up Carr Ridge onto Urra Moor, passing Round Hill - the highest point on the North York Moors and continuing on the Cleveland Way toward Bloworth Crossing. The short section which crosses the small stream at High Bloworth has been nicely paved which eradicates the former water-filled, muddy trench, we all expected the stream would have been bridged - it hasn’t. Three sets of forks bottomed out in the unexpected dip. On Rudland Rigg, karmic retribution for laughing at The Ginger One’s pinch-flat on The Mad Mile yesterday was extracted as my own pinch-flat became evident, then my pump decided it couldn’t really be bothered with all that pushing air out business any longer, taking a step down and becoming a mere sliding stick. Luckily Rod was equipped with serviceable pump.

Repair effected, we pedalled onward along Rudland Rigg toward the oddly named Golden Heights, it has to be said that Rudland Rigg is one of the most depressing tracks on the moors, always loose, always rocky, always uphill, no matter which direction you’re heading. It can be considered a necessary evil because there are some gems which make their way down its flanks. We were heading for one now, the bridleway which drops from West Gill Head into Farndale, worth every pedal stroke. Soon we were on it, beginning on a vague indentation through grass which became a more defined track contouring the hillside, carving through bracken, which luckily is starting to die off, continuously interesting, and we managed to reach the road with all our rear mech’s intact - unlike The Pensioner last time he rode this track.

At the road, we turned left and headed northward to the low point of the day - the ride back up to Rudland Rigg from Monket House, viewed from Blakey Ridge, a seemingly vertical ribbon of concrete and gravel; viewed from ground level, a lung-bursting, leg-crippling, heart-pounding torture. Slowly we inched upward, until the angle eased and we could ride without looking monks at an Amsterdam sex show. Regaining Rudland Rigg we essentially retraced our steps back over Round Hill until we could turn off on the interesting bridleway which makes its way down Jackson’s Bank into Greenhow Plantation, from where we followed a muddy fire road back to Clay Bank. A finish more suited to our more mature years than the Carr Ridge steps, which have extracted a toll of bruises and bike parts from us over the years.

Square Corner Again

Mountain Bike Ride

The Ginger One, The Fireman, Disaster Dan.

16th October route

Eight days from our last venture from the windswept Square Corner, we find ourselves here again, shivering in the curious micro-climate as we assemble bikes. The Ginger One managed to drag himself away from his action-packed life as a sport’s spectator and see what it might be like in the real world, outside of 16:9 ratio screen, although not without his iphone to catch up on things during rest moments. The Fireman and MTB virgin Disaster Dan completed our quartet.

A downhill start, just to give Dan a wholly false impression of what mountain biking is all about, took us easily to the SIlton Woods downhill track, which we despatched with our customary style and grace, as usual, clocking Strava times amongst the slowest ever recorded. But no casualties despite the mud and the slippery rocks. Continuing through the forest, we took back roads for a while, into Kepwick village, eschewing Kepwick Bank for a change and continuing through Cowesby until we reached Brickshed Cottage, where we switched to pushing mode for an ascent of the bridleway to Cowesby Moor, now used as a descent by the Sutton Bank Red Route. This would best be described as arduous, however the track across the moor is a delight nowadays, compared to the actual swamp it used to be, having been resurfaced by the Sutton Bank crew. Climbing steadily upwards, we rode through Boltby Forest on fire roads until we reached the Hambleton Drove Road near the boundary stone at Steeple Cross, where we paused to regain our breath, a more elegant way of saying  panting, swearing and stuffing our faces with calorie-dense snacks.

Eventually we made our way to Sneck Yate and along the road to the turn off opposite Wethercote Lane which leads to the path above Boltby Scar, where we headed toward High Barn, taking in the fine views from The Escarpment before riding the best bit of the Sutton Bank Blue Route, the singletrack which goes through down past Boltby Scar and continues downward, our route managed to take in the highlights of the descent before we cut our losses and hiked back up a more direct bridleway to regain High Barn.

Heading North on the Cleveland Way, signs began appearing for a tea room at High Paradise Farm, we would be passing through the farm yard, so it would be rude not to try it out. More signs whetted our appetites, until the final notice which informed the tea room closed for winter at the end of September; the fact that people are hungry in the middle of October obviously irrelevant. Never mind, we swallowed our disappointment and pedaled onward, retracing our steps through the top of Boltby Forest and back on to the Drove Road, pausing only for a play in the bombhole as we left the woods.

A steady drag along the Drove Road, unusually against the wind, began to take it’s toll on our newest recruit and he found himself trailing behind some blokes twice his age. The Ginger One led the way, finding a sudden burst of energy as he realised the quicker he turned the cranks, the sooner he could be back in front of the telly. We regrouped at the top of the Mad Mile, happy in the knowledge it is quite literally - all downhill from here, a glorious descent, somewhat sanitised from previous incarnations but not without the odd interesting section. The Ginger One led the way, speeding off like Danny Hart, for the purposes of filming I brought up the rear, before going into downhill mode, passing Dan, then The Fireman, both riding with caution and common sense as befits people employed in the safety industry, around a bend I went, picking up speed after the loose rock section, clumsily jumping water bars, The Ginger One was in sight, now looking more like Miranda Hart as he pushed his bike dejectedly down the track, victim of another Mad Mile pinch flat. Some rather ungentlemanly sentiments were expressed, verbally and nonverbally as he was overtaken.

More Adventure Biking

Cyclocross Bike Ride.

The Chairman, Oz, Rich.

9th October route

Another sunny Great Ayton start, assembling bikes by the river, Chairman Whelan of The Cafe Racers lured away from pristine tarmac for a bit of buttock-rattling on his cyclo-cross bike, or adventure bike as the manufacturers have christened his bike. The rest of us just used our unadventurous cross bikes. The Chairman wore a particularly fetching black Lycra ensemble which made him look like an emaciated Hoover belt.

Some steady road riding took us to Ingleby Greenhow where our adventure credentials were tested by the ford behind the church,  swollen by the rain earlier in the week, discretion being the better part of valour and all that, we took the handy footbridge provided. Gaining height up the road toward Clay Bank, soon we turned into Greenhow Plantation and followed fire roads to The Incline, two words guaranteed to turn any self-respecting cyclist’s bowels to water, especially those riding high-geared cross bikes. Slowly winching our way up the loose surface, one by one feet hit the floor except for Chairman Whelan whose policy of treating the E shift hedonistic one a.m. cream cake feasts as something more unthinkable than a depraved crystal meth orgy in a Darlington squat is paying off. He made it to the gate and even attempted the even looser and steeper top section, if he had managed it he would have made a name for himself - that name would have began with C, and it wouldn’t be Colin.

Once things levelled out we kept following the old rail track which contours the moors to the valley of Rosedale, an engineering feat which must have entailed hundreds of 19th century man hours as the demand for steel grew with the Industrial Revolution. Six miles of almost flat riding, cranking along, taking in the views across Farndale to Rudland Rigg. Crossing the road at the top of Blakey Bank, another disused rail line beckoned, running high above Rosedale, passing relics of the mining days, a fenced of air shaft, the remains of buildings and an almost complete kiln which was used to drive the water from the ore before it was loaded onto the trains. Another bowel loosening bank came next Chimney Bank, luckily we were heading down, into Rosedale Abbey for our cafe break.

Sandwiches scoffed, coffee swilled, back on bikes, the only way is up, as the song says and soon our pace was reduced to a steady plod as we passed The Pensioner’s snigger point at Bell End Farm and onward ever upward to bring us the the Castleton road some five miles away. Payback time in the form of the almost straight road which drops directly to the village of Castleton gave us a chance to increase our average speed for a while before the climbing restarted, an especially vicious gradient, thankfully brief, leading to another bridleway which passes Box Hall on its way to Commondale. Varied surfaces ranging from concrete to loose rock but no difficulties. The road drag from Commondale toward Kildale came next and lacked the usual headwind so felt almost pleasant, at Percy Cross Rigg crossroads, a bit more torture was mooted and we headed uphill to sample the delights of the Lonsdale Bowl on cross bikes. Some people thought it could not be done on skinny tyres being more ‘offroad’ than anything previously ridden in this ride; rutted, rocky and muddy across moorland, through heather and rough grass before a loose slope curves down to the car park at Gribdale, a high speed blast on the mountain bikes but requiring a bit more consideration without the skill compensation provided by 140mm of suspension travel.

All downhill from here, we opted to turn left at Dikes Lane and pass Fletcher’s Farm Coffee Shop on our way back into Great Ayton, just for a bit more offroad.

A Ride From Square Corner

Mountain Bike Ride

The Trainee

8th October 2015 route.

The Trainee reappears after a month on days where he was being taught how to distribute nitric acid and deal with customers; in the form of tanker drivers, who feel they ought to be loaded within seconds of arriving and are never wrong because the customer is always right and they are The Trainee's customers. Putting the trauma of being on days behind him, he put leg over crossbar for a ride from Square Corner. Not a bad day weatherwise but it was following a couple of days of continual rain so we expected things to be a bit squelchy underfoot, especially our first objective - The Dale Head singletrack. Things were predictably damp, although not too muddy, standing water above a hard surface, so the going was wet but fairly firm and our progress was not as hindered to any great degree.

The road bank up toward Scotland Farm, Hall Lane, came next and The Trainee thought he would make a name for himself by powering up the hill like Chris Froome on Mont Ventoux; with age comes wisdom and the knowledge that Murton Bank had to be conquered later in the ride, so the older generation opted to pace ourself. A few tarmac miles followed pleasantly to Moor Gate, where we went off-road again, following a damp track to the lonely Hill End House. From here the track goes downhill through a couple of fields, then even more steeply through Low Wood, slipping on the muddy slope to the bridge over the River Rye. A quick climb up to New Hall Farm, then it is downhill on tarmac all the way to Hawnby, or more importantly, the tea room at Hawnby, which has been rather neglected by the Terra Trailblazers lately, mainly because The Pensioner has now renounced mid-ride cafe stops in favour of gallons of tea when the pedalling has finished.  The other reason why Hawnby is infrequently visited loomed large following our repast, Murton Bank, less than 450 feet of ascent in just under a mile but some steep sections which sort the men from the boys. The Trainee’s previous display of youthful power seemed to have deserted him, winching slowly uphill until the road levels out past Peak Scar and merely a gradual rise all the way to Sneck Yate car park.

Sneck Yate translates from the old Yorkshire vernacular as “gate with latch”, the gate is long gone but it is the point where the Hambledon Drove Road becomes a track leading through the top of Boltby Forest and northward to rejoin the road at Square Corner above Osmotherley. Following the scenic track along the Western Edge of Arden Moor, fine views across the flatlands of Northallerton to the Yorkshire Dales, Wensleydale and Swaledale. Pausing only for a little play in the bomb hole near the exit from Boltby Forest, we continued steadily north until we reached the highlight of the ride, what surely must be the highlight of many rides, The Mad Mile. A glorious 1,600 metres of gravity-assisted ecstasy, banishing all previous hardship and agony as the investment in the gravity bank is paid back with interest, all the way back to the cars at Square Corner.

Lakeland Monster Miles 2015

Cross Bike Ride

The Fireman.

4th October 2015 route.

An otherwise empty breakfast room in a Lake District guest house, one lonely lycra-clad figure chomping cereal and trying to drink scalding coffee as the clock ticks on at this unfeasibly early hour on a Sunday morning. Outside the window a cyclo-cross bike bearing a number, lubed and raring to go, more so than its owner whose quick pint before bed somehow extended to a second, then a third and maybe a fourth as the England rugby team were given a comprehensive lesson in how to actually play the game by the Australians.

A quick blast through Keswick, into Fitz Park to meet The Fireman at the start of this year’s Lakeland Monster Miles, a decent forecast, dull but windless - that’ll do nicely. We managed to jump onto the end of a batch of riders about to set off, seems to be a lot less entrants than previous years but maybe we just caught a quiet moment. And we’re off, directly onto the old rail line between Keswick and Threlkeld, familiar territory for us from other days mountain biking in the area. Twenty years ago, no thirty years ago, God was it really so long ago? We used to use this path as a shortcut into Keswick before it was officially a footpath, climbing through barbed wire to access the bridges before they were boarded over, just walking on the girders with the river flowing beneath our feet. We rode on, into Threlkeld, passing the Horse And Farrier and The Salutation, many a night of drunken excess in both pubs, The Salutation had an eccentric jukebox in those days, where the numbers chosen bore no relation to the song which actually came from the speakers. The slight rise leaving Threlkeld, catches people unaware, some already off and pushing; they are in for a hard day if they’re pushing now. Onward to Scales, then the lonely road to Mungrisedale, then Mosedale,  beneath the cliffs and boulders of Carrock Fell, most riders pedalling steadily all too aware of what is ahead. This is The Fireman’s first Lakeland Monster Miles, my third, I’m pacing myself to the point of indolence, through the ford, smile for the camera.

Then it’s upon us, the climb, in my mind, the first of three hard climbs the route offers - we are only doing the mini-massif - a loose track stretching upward as far as the eye can see, down through the gears running out of teeth too quickly, every year I vow to get a bigger cassette, never get round to it, still running the quirky traditional cross bike gearing which works fine at home but is no match for Lake’s gradients. The Fireman, running a triple chainring on his Giant, cruises ahead as I resort to a short stretch of pedestrianism. Back on the bike, still climbing but at a more amenable angle, we are soon at the summit and a grassy, greasy, lumpy, bumpy descent across a damp moor, mountain bikers getting revenge on the cross bikers as there more stable steeds fly down the hill. Back on tarmac for a while, passing the ridiculously picturesque Over Water, glistening in the sunshine, we pull up at the feed station for our first breather, eat a few carbohydrate dense snacks and do some half-hearted leg stretches to prepare ourselves for the second half of the route.

From the feed station, it’s straight into Sector Bogtrotters, this year almost mud-free but still a single file plod over slippery rocks, watching the back wheel of the rider in front flicking from side to side until he eventually manages a full blown, feet clipped in tumble which brings the whole line to a halt as he remounts. The second climb of the day looms, The Allerdale Ramble through the woods at Setmurthy Common, a climb which comes at you by stealth, one minute cranking steadily upward, then it becomes steeper, muddier and looser, one by one feet unclip and begin the walk of shame. Once again my gear choice lets me down and I watch The Fireman triple ring into the distance, little did I know it would be the last I’d see of him for a while. From the top of the woods, another grassy descent leads into Cockermouth and I’m regaining my breath as I hurtle down (hurtle down is of course a relative term when applied to a slightly craven bloke in his mid-fifties), scanning the riders ahead for The Fireman, of whom there is no sign.

The route continues through some residential streets in Cockermouth and onward to where the route splits. The marshall advises sensible riders to go straight ahead, the short route, that’s me and on I go, toward what I think of as the last climb of the day, the ascent from Low Lorton up to the summit of Whinlatter Pass. Not to put too fine a point on it, I hate this stretch of road, possibly even more than telephone cold-callers or music made by computer programmers, it saps energy, it drags, it goes on forever, a slight respite near the end where it drops down, losing height which must be painfully regained, eventually joining the main Whinlatter Pass road, which still drags upward, past another route split, the long route climbing an even more difficult track up into Whinlatter Forest. The visitor centre comes into view and happy switch is thrown, it’s done, in the bag, all downhill from here. Speeding through the forest on fire roads, down on the drops, too frightened to attempt moving my hands to the top of the bars, a quick flash from my right and I’m immortalised onto the photographer’s memory card. Do I look as though I’m smoothly cruising to the finish, or like a man on the verge of middle-age wondering how much damage coming off at this speed will do?

Rejoining tarmac at Thornthwaite all that remains now is to follow minor roads back to Keswick, bikers everywhere now, some ambling along; a few putting the power down, obviously intent on beating some Strava record; others riding only by pure determination, heads down, mouths open, shoulders sagging as they battle the last few miles. On the road between Braithwaite and Portinscale, a shout from behind and The Fireman appears, he’d been watering a tree at the top of the Setmurthy Common climb when I’d rode past, fourteen miles of chasing later he caught me up. We crossed the finish line together, rather disappointingly on foot as is the rule here, collected our medals, kissed our wives, refrained from kissing each other (we are proper Northern us like) and went for a cup of coffee. The Fireman went back to Teesside and I made my way to Saddleback Cafe for a congratulatory bacon sandwich, the equivalent to a protein shake for those of us old enough to be on solid food.

Three Good Hills

Mountain Bike Ride.

The Pensioner, The Ginger One.

2nd October route

Another Great Ayton start on a day whose weather would not have been out of place in midsummer, probably superior to midsummer 2015 to be honest. The Pensioner smeared his ample proboscis with sunscreen and we were off, making our way through the metropolis of Great Ayton and up Station Road to Dikes Lane, where we began the long drag to Roseberry Common through Aireyholme Farm. Today must have been the day when all the people who had been putting off their ascent of Roseberry Topping decided to get it over with, the hill was swarming with ramblers, the cliched column of ant-like stick figures lining the path, congregating on the summit like cheapskates round the reduced price aisle in Tesco. We went the opposite way, shouldering bikes for the plod up the steps to Newton Moor, pausing at the top to take in the view of Teesside and check the state of our chemical plants. Moving across to Guisborough Woods, we descended Les’s 1 to check out the recent improvements, nicely bermed at the bottom and most of the ruts smoothed out , definitely better than it used to be.

Fire roads through the woods to our second big hill of the day, The Unsuitables, a well known horror for regular Guisborough Woods riders. Eventually the gate at the top came into view, where we rested in the sunshine as The Pensioner eventually came into view. Continuing up Percy Cross Rigg, the track drier than it’s ever been, even the usually permanent puddles were gone. Around the Lonsdale Bowl was similar, soon we were down at Gribdale contemplating the third big hill - the fire road to Captain Cook’s Monument, perfect conditions for a flawless ascent of the stepped section around the memorial plaque. Over the stones, up to the steps, weight perfectly balanced, nose of the saddle massaging the prostate, keep that front wheel down, around the left hand kink, apply the power to the rear wheel, weight back slightly to get the front wheel over the big step and stop dead - another failure and the ignominious push up the remaining steps.

From the monument, we immediately plunged downhill, through a forest of handlebar-grabbing bracken to the edge of Mill Bank Woods, from where we followed the bridleway which contours Easby Moor, past the Red Run and down the eroded rooty track leading back towards Dikes Lane, a technical test almost causing a few dodgy moments from The Ginger One as his brutish Darlington lack of finesse came to the fore. Within sniffing distance of Fletcher’s Farm Coffee Shop now and The Pensioner’s trademark cafe spurt was employed, leaving his juniors behind as he flew down the track like Mark Cavendish sprinting for the tape.

A ride of some brevity - barely into double figures but  three good hills and a lot of face-splitting grins from the downhills. Blue sky, dry tracks, an Indian Summer and tea: we’re easily pleased.