A Filthy Day At Danby

Mountain Bike Ride

The Fireman

24th November route

In complete contrast to the first day of this month, Danby today was drab and grey, although not actually raining and forecast to get a bit brighter; seasonally average weather for below average cyclists. A mere two of us today, yesterday’s big group (4?) a blip when that gap between work, domestic duties and lack of motivation opened up and released four people concurrently.

The road to Ainthorpe beckoned and we answered it’s call, albeit with as much enthusiasm as an uphill start will ever engender. Mercifully, the tennis court marking the top of the hill came into sight and we resorted to off road riding on the bridleway over Ainthorpe Rigg. Since it was sanitised/improved/totally ruined, (*delete as applicable) riding up is decidedly less strenuous than it used to be, although a couple of muddy stretches meant what is usually a dab-free ascent was flawed. The Crossley Side descent was worth the pain, starting down a rocky gully which eventually opens out into a wide grassy track, today sodden sward, spraying water in our faces as we let the brakes off. Or perhaps spattering faeces in our faces, such is the amount of sheep droppings littering the area.

The next bit of the plan involved the bridleway from Stonebeck Gate Farm to Crag Wood but we wimped out, theorising current conditions would have rendered it offensively muddy. Instead we continued to Great Fryup Dale and followed the road back to Houlsyke, a lovely bit of road, mainly downhill, through a picturesque and little visited valley. As we reached Houlsyke, the weather stuck two fingers up at the BBC and a steady rain began to fall, we stuck two fingers up at the weather and continued undaunted. The ascent of the loose and rocky track up Oakley Side was cleaned by Fireman power but my attempt was thwarted by the bike which decided to change from granny ring back to the big ring without telling me. Halfway up, when standing on the pedals no longer worked and I was wondering if a human heart could actually explode, I realised the little joke my drivetrain had decided to play on me.

Pausing at the top to regain some semblance of normal breathing, despite the awfulness of the weather, was mandatory before we set off again onto the bridleway which leads to Clitherbeck Farm. Always fun whatever the weather, somewhat puddle strewn today but we were wet anyway. The weather began to improve a bit along here, the rain ceasing by the time we reached the road. A quick bit of tarmac took us up to Robin Hood’s Butts, where, as usual, the wind was against us; Robin Hood’s Butts resembles a canal at the best of times, today we rode along listening to the sound of bottom brackets drowning. After half a mile or so the cairn marking the start of the Sis Cross Road was reached - not actually a road at all but a narrow, occasionally paved, singletrack through the heather: today, a narrow, occasionally paved, stream. Slightly uphill at first until we reached the high point, a lone finger of rock, the downhill section is like a toboggan run, constrained by walls of peat and heather, still wet, the odd patch of The Evil Yellow Mud Of North Yorkshire, sticks like dung to duvet, slowed us down but it was nonetheless and enjoyable ride down.

Continuing on The Pannierman’s Causeway, the small beck we rode through a few weeks ago, now a different proposition, fast flowing and more than knee deep, even the stepping stones were underwater, riding back uphill the way we had came was less preferable to wet feet, so pedalling was usurped by paddling, waterproof socks and shoes were tested and found lacking. More sodden sward brought us to the bridleway which leads to Danby Park, where we picked up the road back to Danby, soon dripping onto the floor of The Stonehouse Bakery, where sandwiches must come with a side order of cake, such is our total lack of willpower when confronted with the display case.

Back at the cars we met some birdwatchers who kindly identified our dead bird from yesterday - a red legged partridge. We could have ate it.

White Stuff Everywhere.

Mountain Bike Ride

The Bread Lad, The Ginger One, The Youth.

23rd November 2015 route

Following a weekend of wind, rain, snow and frost the hills above Kildale were almost picturesque with a light dusting of white, The Incline a white line cleaving icing sugar heather on its journey to the valley. We assembled in a frozen station car park, a whole four of us today, not a bad turn out for a winter’s morning, but shame on those still under their duvets, wallowing in the smell of their own fart gas and scratching their scrotums.

The usual faff ensued before we set off up the road, passing the cafe and heading for Little Kildale and our first ascent of the day, what mountain biking’s favourite crumpet fondler calls Three Sting Hill, a fitting title for this ever steepening lump of tarmac. The Youth though he would blast up the hill and show these old gadgies a thing or two, it might have worked if he had counted the stings properly. We waited at Warren Farm for him to catch up. A quick blast down into Leven Vale, passing the old chimney of the Warren Moor Ironstone Mine, which closed in 1874, about the same time The Pensioner started smoking. Through the gate, we entered the Field Of Heavy Gravity, an age old nemesis for The Terra Trailblazers, a seemingly flat field which gradually saps energy and the only sound is gears being clicked down - from the other side of the valley the true picture is apparent, the field is at a decent angle but it’s the soggy grass which does the damage and rarely is it dry. As we paused for some weight shedding urination, a dead bird was discovered, quite brightly coloured but well beyond the boundaries of our collective ornithological knowledge - found out the next day it was a red legged partridge, so probably edible. Unable to prevaricate any longer, we puffed and panted up the field then shouldered bikes for the steep, broken track to the summit of Kildale Moor, the equally steep and broken downhill to Baysdale was exciting and mostly ridden, although The Youth gave a few demonstrations in rapid over the handlebars dismounting.

Baysdale definitely had a soggy bottom today and wet feet were inescapable as we splattered through the mire, occasionally riding the firmer sections, things eventually improved when he hit some better tracks, climbing steeply through the woods,then out onto the open moor toward Great Hograh Head. It was here the light dusting of snow seen from afar became something less than picturesque, namely a drag, either slipping and sliding in frozen ruts or cutting through fresh snow. Coupled with the slight incline of the track and the bitter headwind, progress was not rapid, even the usually enjoyable descent to Armoth Wath was taken at a much more cautious pace than usual. Some more snowy uphill took us to the ancient barrow of Burton Howe, the cairn marking the end of today’s climbing, once The Youth had caught the old timers up, we celebrated with a snowball fight. Continuing on the Cleveland Way, tobogganing along the frozen track, we decided to get our own back on Turkey Nab and ride it in the downward direction. Getting lower the snow was left behind and The Ginger One suddenly became Danny Hart, letting rip through the slippery slabs and broken rocks as though he was racing to put his name down for an overtime shift before Oz got there. His recent record of pinch flats and the thought of puncture repairs in these sub-zero temperatures, ought have engendered a bit more prudence. But he’s from Darlington; it would be easier teaching a halibut to sew.

From Bank Foot Farm, a few miles of tailwind assisted tarmac took us gratefully back to Kildale where we piled into the warmth of Glebe Cottage for calorific comestibles to replenish our depleted energy supplies, them snowball fights taking out of you.

A Lone Ride From Lord Stones.

Mountain Bike Ride

William Sans Amigos

16th November ride

A fine sunny morning, if a little windy (okay, a lot windy) but nothing unexpected for the middle of November, Lordstones car park is completely full as I grabbed the last space, the only cyclist, behind the lines, among an army of walkers. Out of the twenty or so people who can regularly be called on for a ride out, every single one was otherwise engaged on this splendid day, leaving me to ride the ride of the abandoned and unwanted.

“If you are lonely when you’re alone, you are in bad company.” wrote France’s most famous existential philosopher one day when he was philosophising away in his back bedroom; presuming he was not clairvoyant and referring to the mid-seventies Paul Rodgers’ supergroup, he probably meant there is nothing wrong with a lone bike ride. Some riders find the whole idea of riding alone, especially mountain bikes, unthinkable and would sit on the settee all day rather than find themselves companionless out on the moors. In some circles it is even regarded as extreme risk taking behaviour to venture out unescorted, as it were; but realistically we’re not talking base jumping or wingsuit flying, or even talking while the bingo is on in a working men’s club. In the respect of assistance in the event of a debilitating accident, it is probably unwise but the odds of a debilitating accident in a year of mountain biking, alone or otherwise, are lower than you might imagine. And you could always be a little circumspect on the gnarly sections, save them for when you have spectators.

Anyway, alone and unconcerned, I set off along The Fronts from Lordstones, intent on checking out a prospective route for the forthcoming Xmas dinner ride (15th December, all welcome). The Fronts are starting to get a bit muddy, entering their winter phase of puddle and slop but for today the roller coaster fun was still rideable and it was not too long before the bike was shouldered for the walk to the top of Cold Moor, the wind blasting in from the West, as I remounted and followed the enticing ribbon of singletrack South along the broad ridge of the moor, barely able to keep a straight line owing to the gusting wind. The Cold Moor descent is well known in North Yorkshire mountain biking circles and never fails to disappoint, although the boggy section in the middle was today more swampy than boggy and the track was more a small stream in places.

Arriving at Chop Gate, wet and muddy, tarmac beckoned for a short while before turning off at Raisdale Mill Cottages and beginning the climb up to Noon Hill via Barker’s Ridge, like a politician with a microphone, it does go on a bit and is about as enjoyable, but unlike a politician, it does have a point. Eventually the scrappy cairn at Cock Howe came into view, its’ lone finger of stone pointing skyward and it was time for me to leave the broad moorland tracks and head downhill on another bit of sublime singletrack, the bridleway which leads to Head House, a little slower than usual owing to a headwind but enjoyable as always and today dab-free, although only bewildered ewes witnessed this rare phenomenon.

The remainder of the route was a steady pull along Arnesgill Ridge before reversing Barker’s Ridge to Stoney Wickes, for a change there was a tail wind and the broad tracks seemed to go by almost effortlessly. A final drag over the moor from Brian’s Pond before the finish down the old gliding club access track, loose gravel tempering the temptation to let the brakes off for this final descent.

And back to Lordstones, ready to book a table for the Terra Trailblazers most well attended ride of the year, only to find they are not doing Xmas dinners this year. Not popular enough last year apparently; which is a shame because the planned date is the same day they open their Xmas Grotto and Santa comes to Lordstones. It might have kept some of our younger members amused until their dinner arrived.

A Steady Ride With The Pensioner.

Mountain Bike Ride

The Pensioner.

Sunday 15th November route.

Going against the very ethos of the Terra Trailblazers, one of us arrived at our meeting point early, sat by the river in Great Ayton ten minutes before the appointed time and fifteen minutes before The Pensioner would arrive. Naturally, when he does arrive, the lubing and tweaking everyone else does at home happens at the roadside, managing to squander another ten or twenty minutes before we set off. The Ginger One finds this behaviour particularly irritating, which amuses us no end. Today, however, a mere two of us were venturing out, everyone else otherwise indisposed on this fine Sunday morning. The river Leven which passes through Great Ayton was running a bit higher and faster than usual, testament to the excess of rain we have suffered lately. A brace of ducks surfed the rapids, looking for food or perhaps just enjoying the ride.

Eventually we set off, at a steady pace, The Pensioner has succumbed to a few health issues lately and this is his first ride for two weeks, a lifetime for someone who usually rides most days. Some easy spinning on tarmac to Little Ayton, then rough tracks past the cafe at Fletcher’s Farm before rejoining tarmac at Dikes Lane and the first proper climb of the day. The plod up to Aireyholme Farm was more pleasant than usual, mainly owing to easy pace; waiting for The Pensioner to catch up, just beyond the farm, I passed the time with a little selfy filming, the wind managing to blow the replacement Lumix off the trailer it was balanced on. Luckily it seemed no worse for it’s unscheduled two metre flight, a fortuitous patch of grass and rain-softened ground breaking nothing but it’s fall.

The plod up to Roseberry Common in the shadow of the mighty Roseberry Topping passed in an equally amenable manner, waiting by the gate at the top bringing back memories of The Captain, a former Terra Trailblazer whose pace verged on time travel at times; his glacial progress on some of the inclines was legendary, whole continents could be formed as pushed and panted his way up to Captain Cook’s Monument or Carlton Bank. The Pensioner has yet to reach the dizzy lows of The Captain and despite his misgivings had yet to resort to those pedestrian habits. A bit of downhill was welcome by now and we headed into Guisborough Woods for a bit of a fire road blast to the oft mentioned Unsuitables, this ascent definitely sorted the men from the boys and the pensioners from the men and he reached the summit without his usual chirpy grin. Bit of poetic license there, The Pensioner is not given to grinning unless schadenfreude is involved.

A straight up and down of Percy Cross Rigg came next, before a wander around the Lonsdale Bowl to Gribdale, during which we found ourselves amongst a flock of Sunday ramblers, all heading for Glebe Cottage. We dropped down to Gribdale via a minor track which has just became rideable again now the summer bracken has died down. From Gribdale, all downhill to the cafe, The Pensioner now back on the horse and leading the way, the smell of tea and breakfast scones in his ample nostrils as we headed swiftly towards his most favourite cafe in the universe, Stamps Coffee Shop.

It's windy; it's muddy; let's go and do it all again.

Mountain Bike Ride

Rod, Tom.

9th November route

Last day of ten days off, already. What day people don’t understand is a ten day break goes by just as fast as their weekend, doubtless the hours whizz by a lot faster for us than for those who spend their days off carrying the wife’s shopping bag around The Metrocentre or even worse, trudging round B&Q looking at paint or tiles. Just to ensure we do not have too much fun, the weather has reverted to seasonal average - better described as mediocre - which presently is grey, damp and windy with sunny intervals.

My companions from Hamsterley on Saturday, suitably dried out, rejoined me at Pinchinthorpe for a few miles around Guisborough Woods. Wind of Herculean velocity was forecast today, so a careful strategy of riding high in the tailwinds and low in the headwinds was planned - and on the whole it worked. But first we had to get high, for us today, this meant The Unsuitables, that infamous Guisborough Forest bridleway which stretches from Hutton Village to Hutton Moor. A mere 450ft ascent but it does feel much harder even though the present incarnation of The Unsuitables, a well-surfaced, open, gravel track is the best ever, a far cry from the tree-shrouded, muddy, rutted, monstrosity it was back in the day, when a descent could never be guaranteed to be without the odd tumble. Or maybe that was just me.

The mandatory NSP (natural stopping point) at the top was deployed while we regained the use of our lungs, before an excursion along a cheeky trail far too good to waste on walkers, despite the cunningly placed tyre traps in the paved sections. Soon we were back in the woods and revisiting the Lost World which was ridden rather more cautiously than last week where I lost a camera and gained a haematoma. The track is still obscenely muddy in parts; a legitimate reason to visit the bike shop in search of mud tyres - I think it may well be. I can hear the conversation with the wife in my head as we slide down the slope.

“But if I had some mud tyres I wouldn’t have a bad leg now and camera’s won’t keep getting smashed. You can’t put a price on safety - it says so on the posters at work.”

Some bits of the trail known as Nomad came next, which were only slightly less muddy, the big drop at the end of the second section claimed Tom’s front tyre, which gave us more mature gentlemen a good excuse for a rest, apart from fielding Tom’s loose possessions which the wind was busily trying to redistribute across North Yorkshire as he furiously fiddler’s-elbowed with his micropump. Wind at our rear, we set off again being casually propelled across the top of the woods, all the way to the Concrete Road, another name to strike fear into the hearts of Guisborough regulars, luckily our route was downward. Picking up the old rail track back to Hutton Village following the descent, we were now going against the wind but it was much less powerful owing to the lower altitude. With age comes wisdom and all that.

Still feeling fairly fresh we headed back into the woods to polish of the final section of Les’s as a finale to the day before the real finale which is, of course, the Branch Walkway cafe at Pinchinthorpe where more flirting with danger was done, in the form of a bacon sandwich, apparently now as hazardous as drinking TNT and smoking dynamite. (Buddy Guy, if you’re wondering.)

Wet Hamsters

Mountain Bike Ride

Rod, Tom

7th November route

A distinctly damp start to the day saw a mere three of us in Hamsterley’s WIndy Bank car park, sheltering from the unremitting rain under Stockton Cycling And Running’s gazebo, perusing the bikes on offer for their demo day. Could have ordered better weather. When we could respectably prevaricate no longer, bikes were dragged from cars and assembled under leaden skies. Me, Rod and his nephew Tom are today’s team, braving the elements to get a ride in, using our own bikes because we had not thought to book a test ride on one of the Stockton Cycling And Running test bikes, although the electric mountain bikes were looking very tempting.

The ride did not start well, Rod broke his chain before we had even left the car park, the Powerlink snapped clean in two; spare link employed and we were on our way, soon panting up the slopes to our first objective, Pike’s Teeth. Wet rocks, slippery roots and a painful bruise on my left thigh meant no records were broken on the descent of Pike’s Teeth (or any other tracks) today. Gaining the fire road, we headed through the forest toward Oddsox, with a couple of off-piste detours into the woods, which proved to be mostly a muddy waste of time and energy. Back on more consolidated ground, Oddsox, with it’s sweeping roller coaster turns was running well, even the second section, which goes through the woods was okay and it was not long before we returned to the valley bottom to begin the long trek up to the masts which signal the start of Transmission. En route we stopped to shed a layer of clothing because the sun- in defiance of the weather forecast - was forcing its beaming face through the clouds.

The triplet of Transmission, Accelerator and Nitrous was as enjoyable as ever, the trails standing up to weather and usage very well, only the odd puddle evidence of wear and tear. We all emerged at the valley bottom again, muddy but unscathed and under a blue sky. The climb up to Section 13 was an unwelcome necessity but we plodded upward, pausing at the old huts to wait for a snack, marvelling at the dichotomy of bright sunshine and rain, as we sheltered under the overhangs. Section 13 is starting to show it’s age now, the puddles are getting bigger and some of the drop off seem to be higher, are maybe I’m becoming more craven. Rod showed us an alternative to the next section, Boneshaker, which was quite pleasant until it rejoined Boneshaker’s new, improved (?), uphill (?) finish.

We rode the next two sections of track without resorting to secret, nudge nudge, wink wink, diversions, Special K and Brainfreeze, the platform jump at the end of Brainfreeze mocking our pusillanimity as we swerved around it again. A quick spin around the Skills Loop finished the ride for us and we returned to the car park where Stockton Cycling And Running’s demo day had picked up pace, muddy bikes were being returned by even muddier riders, free food and drink was partaken while prices and specs were discussed. Rod had a spin around the car park on an electric bike, reporting it to have quite a boost as the motor kicks in, perhaps something to consider for the future when the inevitable fitness decline appears as we enter our nineties, and the technology will have improved in the next 35 years.

Embracing Our Inner Hippopotamus

Mountain Bike Ride

The Bread Lad

6th November route

Passing by Glebe Cottage just a the sign was being turned from Closed to Open for the first time in six months, a gratifying sight to us ever hungry cyclists, the thought of diving straight in and being the first customers for the new management did cross our minds but we restrained ourselves and pedalled onward. Another Kildale start, taking the least steep option along the Commondale Road, then up Percy Cross Rigg, just me and The Bread Lad on overcast but mild morning, defying the forecast which prophesied rain all day. We continued down to Sleddale and the gradual ascent of Codhill Heights, recalling the time when, along with The Pensioner, we were caught in a hailstorm of Biblical intensity on this shelterless track, hailstones so ferocious bruises were left on thinly covered skin. As the track levelled out we saw a pair of cyclists coming toward us who turned out to be Ritchie and Barnett, having a fitness ride, sticking to the established gravel tracks  to avoid the mud of the rudimentary, makeshift trails in the woods. If only we had their wisdom.

The first trail in Guisborough Woods, which I think is called Lost World gave us a false sense of security, being damp, leaf-covered but perfectly rideable, it’s companion Lost World West started in the same vein but soon deteriorated into a mud slide. One especially steep section saw me and the bike somehow land on top of a spiked tree stump, bearing more than a passing resemblance to a Viet Cong punji stick, a nasty injury was avoided by my trusty Lumix camera, which did the same job as a World War 2 soldier’s cigarette case stopping a bullet, although the LCD screen on the camera did not survive the impact and now looks like an iphone belonging to someone under 30 who is too cool to use a protective case like us wiser, older, gentlemen. A massive bruise on my thigh has got to be better than a severed femoral artery and The Bread Lad being forced to clamp my groin to stem the bleeding until help arrived.  Who could foretell the consequences of such intimacy?

Continuing on some other unsurfaced tracks led to more unplanned ejections, mud and insufficient technique, not too mention summer tyres, being the culprits, before we decided it would be more sensible to utilise Ritchie and Barnett’s plan and stick to properly consolidated tracks for the remainder of the ride. Well, most of it anyway. We’d almost had enough of embracing our inner hippopotamus, wallowing in the mud. We made our way via fire roads to The Unsuitables, Guisborough Woods now a very different place than it was 12 months ago, swathes of conifers have been harvested, changing the views and destroying some trails forever, although new ones will always take their place. The Unsuitables gets no easier, a long drag to the top of the woods, just so we could hang a right along to the triple downhill of Les’s, the top section of which has been much improved, now featuring some rather splendid bermage. We only rode the top two sections of Les’s, not wanting to lose too much height, then made our way over Roseberry Common where we paused to discuss our options, or rather, decide which way back to Kildale might be the least muddy.

Up the steps to Newton Moor and along to Gribdale, then back to Kildale, seemed the best option, although it  involved another big ascent, up to Captain Cook’s Monument we went for it, making a valiant attempt to ride the last stepped section around the memorial stone, today bedecked with poppies. As usual it ended in failure, the combination of wet, slippy rock, a steep step up and a left turn all served to highlight our inadequacies and we, once again, resorted to pedestrianism. From the monument, we dropped down to Mill Bank Woods and took a pine needle strewn track to Bankside, then a brief bit of tarmac to Glebe Cottage.

The new incarnation of Glebe Cottage, the room has been decluttered a bit making it feel larger; the old climbing pictures have gone, so no longer will I be able to bore people with what Park Nab used to be like before the best bit fell down; the menu is virtually unchanged and a tempting array of cakes is now displayed on a counter; the new folks are friendly and are open to suggestions regarding the menu and any other aspects of the cafe. Some bike security is to be installed and most importantly, nobody seemed  in the least bit fazed by mud-covered men. It was only the first day but everything appeared to be running smoothly and calmly, with no teething troubles. And the food was good.

Pansonic Lumix 2013-2015 R.I.P.