Mountain Bike Ride.
Dave, The Youth.
Two days basking in the warmth and bonhomie of family and friends; overeating, drinking too much; late nights; channel surfing; couch-bound; chocolates; nuts; more Guiness; some cheese? Why not - it’s Christmas. Waking the day after Boxing Day, feeling distinctly unvirtuous, jaded and lethargic, parting the curtains revealed bright sunshine and blue sky, yesterday’s twenty four hours of rain ousted by the gods of mountain biking, an omen of their approval for our lifestyle choice. Two others managed to drag themselves away from the Quality Street and rechauffe turkey to meet at a windy, fairly cool and deserted Birk Brow car park.
A brief exchange of pleasantries; “How was your christmas?” “Quiet” “Get any good presents?” “No, not really, usual shit.” “Be glad when it’s all over.” “Yeah” The normal post-christmas exchange between any group of men. Seconds later we were braving speeding motorists on the A171, as they hurtled towards Whitby for some fish and chips to take away the taste of brussel sprouts and cranberry sauce. Mercifully our time amongst the Wacky Racers was brief, some quieter tarmac led us to the Shaun The Sheep bus shelter and the junction with Robin Hood’s Butts. Dave was finding his new tyres a bit of a drag on the tarmac, in the same situation I was a couple of weeks ago after changing to Chunky Monkey tyres, large volume, sticky rubber, extra weight - it all comes as a shock at first but feels normal after a couple of rides.
The off-road track of Robin Hood’s Butts normally harbours a few puddles but today the puddles were more like harbours, the odd narrowboat chugging along would not have come as a surprise. After a wet mile or so, we stopped to shed layers, the wind having dropped to make the day even more pleasant, and turned off onto the Siss Cross Road, a narrow path, formerly a pony track, which leads across the moor, ultimately to Danby. Naturally it was wet today, pretty much every twisting, turning, rutted, muddy inch of it bore a surface layer of water, some bits deeper than others which resulted in the odd, unpremeditated lie downs in the heather for some of us.
Not wishing to lose height and continue into Danby (it was Sunday and the cafe is closed), we crossed the road took our regular bridleway past Clitherbeck Farm, emerging somewhat wetter than when we started onto the road to Danby Beacon, which, predictably, we followed to the beacon, Dave once again paying the price for his affair with Magic Mary. A quick look at the view and we were off again, down the normally fun track to Oakley Walls, today, unfortunately, anything but fun, a muddy monstrosity, the only saving grace it being downhill. We retraced our tyre tracks to Clitherbeck in the opposite direction, gravity in our favour this time, splashing through the puddles and bouncing over the rocks, The Youth leading the way as someone barely out of their teens out to be. We had to recross Robin Hood’s Butts in the opposite direction too, some of the puddles proving a tad deeper than expected at times - think waders rather than waterproof socks. The Youth finally began to realise the finish of the ride would be The Quaker’s Causeway, a paved ‘trod’, laid down hundred’s of years ago by monks. specifically to cause suffering to twenty year old hardtail riders. And suffer he did, like the prettiest boy in prison after a date night with Big Reg from E wing. Us riding full suspension, skill-compensators flicked to full bounce and cruised the rugged, uneven paving while The Youth caromed from stone to stone some way behind. And then it was all over and we crossing the road back to the car park, a meagre fraction of Christmas’s excess calories hopefully burnt off.
Sitting here typing this blog entry on the penultimate day of 2015, it seems that this was to be the last ride of 2015. Storm Frank is battering the North of England, recycling is being widely recycled, fences are buckling under the onslaught, cyclists are hiding behind the laptop. Not a bad year, all in all. 142 rides, 3017 miles, 251,445 feet of ascent - can’t complain but must try harder next year.
No comments:
Post a Comment