Mountain Bike Ride.
The Fireman, The Trainee, Disaster Dan.
Much of the country has been blanketed by mist for the past few days, flights cancelled, cars crashing, drivers using fog lights when they are actually supposed to be used. In North Yorkshire, the mist has been patchy, lovely and sunny in the clear bits, cold and grey in the fog. The carpark at Kildale station was definitely in the latter camp as we assembled bikes and checked The Bogmonster still lurked in the public convenience. (It does) Since the demise of Glebe Cottage Cafe, we haven’t visited Kildale but rumour has it the cafe reopens on Friday 6th November, so, as Arnie once (almost) said, we will be back.
If the next ride involves the same hideous start as this one, my companions might be thinking twice, the lure of Glebe Cottage may not outweigh ascending the Baysdale Road again. It was a strong start too, Disaster Dan and The Trainee powering up the initial steep section as age and wisdom paced themselves at the back; sure enough, ten minutes later the folly of youth were some way behind as we waited at the summit cattle grid. Clear by now, sunny with good views of the surrounding moors, patchy mist floating across like discarded sheep’s wool.
Breath returned, it was time for a bit of offroad fun, down the bridleway into Baysdale, grass slick with dew but not too muddy anywhere. Disaster Dan taught us all the best way to somersault down a steep slope until someone eventually took pity and let him into the seat dropping secret. A good descent which could be an excellent descent if it was not for a couple of gates which spoil the flow. We reached Baysdale Abbey unscathed, which is always a bonus and set about making our way up to Great Hograh Head on Baysdale Moor, entering the mist as we went higher. Views became non-existent, the temperature halved and we plodded on following the yellow sandstone track, walled in on every side by greyness, enveloped in a cliche of murky cotton wool. The descent to Armouth Wath appeared suddenly, the track disappearing downward into the mist, gravity giving us a rest from pedalling, the ruined remains of the former coal mine vague shapes in the gloom as we passed by, then we were climbing again on the Flagged Road, still known as The Old Coal Road locally. Gradually upward we made our way along Middle Head Top to Burton Howe, a bowl barrow or burial mound dating from a couple of thousand years BC, around about the time The Pensioner was entering puberty. All this history was lost on us as we pedalled past, glad to be on the downhill stretch with the mist thinning out, although the view across Greenhow Botton to Hasty Bank was lost today, we were heading North on The Cleveland Way and not fighting gravity for a change along the wide, rocky and deserted track to the gate at Tidy Brown Hill.
From here a fantastic bit of double track leads all the way back to the Baysdale road, to call it a bit of double track is definitely doing it an injustice, it is a personal favourite, with just enough decline to be sensible, a fair smattering of drainage humps and a gravel surface it entices you to try and go just that little bit faster, pumping the drainage humps and drifting the curves; at least we have left the mist behind now visibility was only comprised by watering eyes. At the gate, we regrouped, everyone buzzing (as the youngsters would say, although how could they relate when their idea of excitement comes from an X Box and doesn’t involve actually getting off the settee) More downhill fun was to follow as the road which tortured us on the outward leg became a stately pleasure-dome to be hurtled down at injudicious velocity, witless ewes ambling out of the way, vacuously contemplating the two-wheeled buffoons whizzing past before resuming their attempts to eat every bit of grass in North Yorkshire.
No comments:
Post a Comment