Mountain Bike Ride
The Bread Lad, The Ginger One, The Youth.
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.
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