A Chop Gate Figure Of Eight.

The wisdom of setting of on a mountain bike ride when winds approaching 50 mph are forecast may be questionable but the route planning was exceptional, tail wind for the uphills and down against the wind. The plan was not without its faults but on the whole it worked, it just had not taken into account the times when the wind would be approaching us from the side. And we paid for it.

In the car park at Chop Gate village hall, things were reasonably calm as we assembled bikes while trying to persuade The Ginger One he ought to put a coin in the Honesty Box, Oscar Wilde’s definition of a cynic, “ A man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing” could have been penned to describe The Ginger One’s personal fiscal policy. Needless to say, his collection of pound coins remained firmly in his pocket, nestling by his ginger scrotum for warmth. Refraining ourselves from putting him through any more expenditure related trauma, we set off pedaling up the Raisdale Road, turning right following the road to Beak Hills. The plan kicked in here and the wind assistance gave us a welcome boost as we headed through the gap between Cringle Moor and Cold Moor, turning right again, climbing the steps to the summit of Cold Moor, the wind hit us from the side, threatening to blow us over with every step as we pushed and carried bikes upward. On the top standing upright was not a foregone conclusion, heading along the spine of the moor into the wind practically a relief as we made our way back to Chop Gate via the nicely varied descent. Things were rocky, slippy, muddy, boggy, waterlogged and occasionally sublime but always wet, before too long we were  back in Chop Gate, one loop of the figure eight complete.

For some of us the proximity of the cars was almost too much to resist but after the requisite degree of cajoling and humiliation order was restored and the ride resumed. We  began the long (but, again, wind assisted) pedal up Clay Bank and stopped almost as quickly to repair a puncture in my new front tyre. Back on the chain gang, we plodded up the road to the summit before another right turn and another side wind as we battled our way up Carr Ridge, ultimately to Round Hill, highest point on the North York Moors and the obvious place to be when the it is one of the windiest days of the year. After a thorough buffeting, which isn’t the same as a thorough buffet - another of The Ginger One’s specialities, his free food balancing skills greatly outweigh his cycling skills - we headed down the track to Medd Crag, the wind doing it’s best to push us back up the hill.

The downhill of Medd Crag used to be a North York Moors favourite, always interesting, diverse surfaces, grass, mud, rocks and gullies, all pointing downward; now reduced to a wide, muddy bank, churned up to farmyard consistency by animals and vehicles, leaving only vestiges of the original track. A last bit of tarmac took us back to Chop Gate, where The Ginger One gave us another display of his frugality by washing his bike in the stream - he even brought rubber gloves and a brush in preparation.

“I’m on a water meter you know...”