Hamsters, edited highlights, winter version.

Mountain Bike Ride

The Trainee

21st January 2016 route.

In complete contrast to the debacle that was yesterday’s ride, today we managed a more or less continuous pedal. Some local knowledge from a knowledgeable local informed us there was significantly less snow at Hamsterley than the North York Moors: he was not wrong. Paradoxically, the tracks were mainly covered in what can only be described as grippy ice, a kind of semi-thawed slush which had a remarkable amount of friction.

Our latest edited highlights of Hamsters route is as follows - winter version, missing out the off-piste stuff,

1. Pikes Teeth, up the hill from the car park, a harsh start, then a long drag to get you warmed up for the rest of the day.
2. Oddsox, from the bottom of Pikes Teeth, fire road to Rocky Road, down to the river, cross bridge, take the right hand track parallelling the river, at the end turn left up another fire road. Ride past Route 666 because that is what it deserves, follow the fire road to Oddsox.
3. Transmission, on the opposite side of the valley, plod up to the transmitter and begin, so good we sometimes do it twice.
4. Accelerator, turn right from the end of Transmission and into the entrance, this track appears flat, no rocks, no drop offs just speed. So good we always do it twice.
5. Nitrous, directly after Accelerator and completely different, steep, rocky and varied. Don’t be a dick and ride over the last berm to get a faster Strava time. If your cycling is more about conceit than enjoyment there is a Strava segment for the trio known as Triple Tranny.
6. Section 13, across the valley, up the hill, yes, that hill, pause  (or maybe not) at the wooden hut and continue to the top, watching out for paying customers in full face helmets emerging at speed from the woods. Gird your loins and tackle the next bit of gravity defying before plunging back down, carving berms and getting some easy air on the jumps.
7. Boneshaker, turn right along the fire road from Section 13, Boneshaker is on the left. More old school than the previous tracks, which is a polite way of saying less well-surfaced. There is a new finish to this route which leaves a lot to be desired; most riders continue to use the old finish.
8. Special K, after an uphill tarmac surprise, Special K appears, main features a steep bomb hole and a wooden wall ride, the wall ride is generally wet.
9. Brainfreeze, along a fire road from Special K and into Brainfreeze, another old school track, culminates with a platform jump often avoided by craven old blokes.
10. The Skills Loop, do the see-saw, zig zag to the start and point yourself downward, taking in a few ‘technical trail features’ although a few less than there used to be since some of the wooden sections were removed.

And that’s it. Say hello to The Gruffallo and make your way back to the car park. All the best bits - 11 miles and a fair bit of climbing. The cafe will doubtless be closed so get yourselves to The 68 Cafe outside Toft Hill, just be aware in winter last orders for food is 2:30pm and it closes at 3pm.

The Long March

Mountain Bike Ride.

The Ginger One.

20th January 2016 route.

As a defence, “it seemed like a good idea at the time.” probably could be bettered and even the most mediocre legal eagle could rip it to shreds; a geographically-challenged snooker player from Darlington did not even question the wisdom of today’s execrable route choice. Constrained as we were by snow on the high moors, it probably lacked a bit of sense to start from Clay Bank car park, only 677 feet below the highest point on the North York Moors, we decided to stay low and see what transpired. A lot of trudging through snow, mud and water with heavy bikes and wet feet is what transpired but more of that later.

Our initial descent to Greenhow Plantation on the road featured a few patches of ice and snow, entering the woods, we followed snow-covered fire roads, up and down to eventually reach Bank Foot Farm, giving way to a few large vehicles which are currently employed in harvesting the trees. After Bank Foot the usual format is to slog on up Turkey Nab onto Battersby Moor, the aforementioned conditions made this option somewhat unattractive. The low level track from Bank Foot to Coleson Banks used to be reasonable except for a brief messy section, an entirely logical thought progression reasoned quite often tracks are repaired and strengthened prior to tree-felling to facilitate access and egress for the wagons and heavy machinery. This particular track had not been visited by us for quite a while ergo there is every chance it is now a gorgeous thoroughfare which would lead us speedily and picturesquely to Coleson Banks. Of course there was every chance to converse was also true. The converse was also true with knobs on. A brief section of exemplary fire-road lead us unwittingly into a Somme winter, the track is beyond destroyed, metre deep trenches running with water stretch into the distance, bordered by ridges of soft clay topped with snow. Unrideable and barely walkable, the going was slow and sticky, sinking ankle-deep with every step, at points we were able to get off the track and stagger through the remains of the plantation but were forced to rejoin the track by fallen trees and thick brush. Ice rimed puddles alliteratively punctuated our passage as we plodded painfully upward.

Finally a metal barrier came into view, our torture had come to an end, we stumbled onto the Coleson Banks track like two Gulag escapees. The Coleson Banks track, once a popular way to and from Baysdale is also wrecked, the track surface now about three metres below the surrounding moorland funnelling water downward, reducing the terrain to bare rocks and earth. Probably unrideable to ascend - now there’s a challenge. It was not a challenge to two dilettante process operators, we showed it who was boss by turning tail and heading downhill to Battersby, where a large red sign informs the us the ‘road’ we have just descended is closed. Can’t think why.

Some road riding took us back to Bank Foot where we reversed our route through the snowy woods before the final drag up to the carpark which never gets any easier.

What Kind Of Fools Would Be Out On A Day Like Today?

Mountain Bike Ride

The Fireman.

14th January 2016 route

Some precipitation may have been forecast, in addition to the fifty mph wind and perhaps some snow on high ground and possibly down to lower levels but it takes more than a meteorologist’s prophesy to put off a Terra Trailblazer. Well, actually it takes much less than that but two of us made it to Great Ayton, through slush, snow and flood water. Seeing as we are here, we might as well have a ride. Decision made, hard core waterproof clothing donned, double Buffed, we set off into the snow, a covering of wet slush on the roads, legs instantly soaked. After a mile or so in the direction of Little Ayton, the snow being blasted at our left sides by the wind, we were reluctant to make a left turn into that wind which would give us access to the moors via Aireyholme Farm. We  pressed on to Kildale, the snow got heavier and the puddles got deeper, luckily vehicles were few and far between, the odd car or van ploughing through, sending up fountains of spray, like the log flume at Flamingoland.

At New Row we rode up past the cottages, battling directly into the wind, and began the off road bridleway, failing to even reach the gate, unable to gain any traction in the unconsolidated snow. After the gate, things were a little easier owing to the tree cover and we both had valiant attempts at a dab-free ascent but it was not to be. Conditions were somewhat different on the open moorland after the top gate, a prodigious wind howled in straight from the frigid bowels of viking Helheim, snow came in horizontal lines, the track’s potholes and rocks concealed by a smooth layer of white. Again, a brief effort at riding ensued before we admitted defeat and continued like Robert Swan on one of his polar walks, the wind doing it’s best to push us back down the track. At the top, an executive decision was made to ride straight back down Percy Cross Rigg and become roadies for the rest of the ride. The wind at our side again, following a vehicle track though the snow was fraught, the disadvantage of 29” wheels became apparent, in side winds they are like sails, if I was blown off the track once I was blown off a dozen times,  slithering uncontrollably into the heather-filled drifts as my 26er companion sped off into the distance.

Not wanting to wait about in the cold, we continued down the road toward Kildale, puddles and slush deeper than the outward journey, feet wet and freezing despite waterproof socks and shoes, the water coming in over the tops of the shoes and being contained by the very design which was supposed to keep it out. The smell of coffee was in our nostrils know, heads down, we pedalled on, still being buffeted by snow and wind, until we reached the sanctuary of Fletcher’s Farm Coffee Shop, where we were definitely the wettest, and possibly the stupidest, customers. We had not seen another cyclist all day, is this really the country that produced Ernest Shackleton, Captain Scott, the aforementioned Robert Swan and Pingu?  We were a bit cold, fairly damp and feeling very smug. Where was everyone else, spending the day watching Jeremy Kyle - The Retard Whisperer and prettifying their lady parts?

Drizzle

Mountain Bike Ride

The Ginger One

12th January route

While these clouds and this somber drizzling weather shut all in, we two draw nearer and know one another.

Henry David Thoreau

Just as well we do know each other because there were only the two of us on this freezing Tuesday morning, a mere duo of Terra Trailblazers hardcore massif, everyone else at work or cabined up waiting for better weather. Even yours truly has been a bit lax this month, twelve days in and only on the third ride. Today’s forecast was rain at 1pm, today’s plan was for a brief ride and back in the cafe for 1pm. Obviously North Yorkshire’s cloud and wind are no respecters of the BBC and they failed to stick to the plan.

A cold start, wet underfoot with some low cloud grazing the higher moor tops, we were pushed up the old Carlton Bank Gliding Club track by a tail wind, which, to be honest, only made things marginally easier. The wisdom of beginning a route with a 200 foot climb, when the Xmas excess is still bulging through the Lycra like someone trying to smuggle jelly, has got to be questionable but like The Unsuitables at Guisborough, it is a relatively speedy way of gaining height. Soon the bridleway parts company with the wide track and heads across the moor on some pleasant singletrack, before rejoining a wider track and heading down past Brian’s Pond on Carlton Moor, puddles becoming deeper and more voluminous as we rode further south.  Before long we were climbing again, up Barker’s Ridge, then heading towards another of The Pensioner’s, snigger, snigger landmarks - Cock Howe, actually one of North Yorkshires circa Bronze Age barrows.

The bridleway from Cock Howe to Head House was in surprisingly good condition considering we have had approximately twenty times more rain than this time last January, wet of course but not too arduous. From Head House the clouds came down to meet us, enveloping us in their wet cotton wool embrace as we turned into the wind, cold drizzle being forced down into any gaps. Returning to Cock Howe, we moved away from the wind and down the track, boggy at first but resolving to some reasonable riding in narrow ruts with the odd few rocks thrown in. The steep section down to Chop Gate proved to be somewhat slippier than usual; The Ginger One, who appears to have sold his soul to Beelzebub, rode it like Danny Hart, my attempt owed more to Miranda Hart, skidding out several times on the wet grass, few little lie downs before the bottom was gained.

From Chop Gate the original plan to head up past Beak Hills was shelved by mutual agreement in favour of a straightforward slog up The Raisdale Road back to Lordstones for dry clothes and a welcoming cafe. Entering the car park at the same time the rain was due to begin was ironic, seeing as we had been rained on for the past hour or so.

The Second Ride Of The Year.

Mountain Bike Ride.

The Trainee.

6th January route.

Still it continues, precipitation of a persistent nature, dribbling incessantly from a monochrome sky the colour of a pewter tankard. Like Johnny Cash sang “I ain’t seen the sunshine since I don’t know when.” We are not stuck in Folsom Prison, our freedom gained by liberal use of waterproof outer garments and a good dose of old fashioned obstinance. Our route began in Great Ayton and was essentially the ride we did on Christmas Eve with a slightly altered finish, considering that was a little under a fortnight ago things have become significantly wetter. The ground is sodden, hard tracks are classified by width into rivulets, rills, runnels, becks, brooks or tributaries, mudguards are de rigour unless two hours in a wet nappy is one of your perversions.

The rain never seems to be especially heavy, mainly little more than light drizzle but as unceasing as death and taxes. We were out there and we made the most of our days off, nothing a washing machine and some heavy duty wet lube can not rectify but oh for those those crisp cold days of winters’ past, with bright blue sky and frozen tracks, ice on puddles and warming bowls of soup post-ride. This winter every ride finishes with puddles of muddy water on cafe floors before peeling off saturated kit prior to the drive home, car windows misting up from the heap of wet gear evaporating in the back.

Looking on the bright side, The Trainee was able to test out all the new cycling goodies which Santa’s bulging sack had conferred upon him - lots of them featuring the all important W word - waterproof. The rough road to the farm at Sleddale has a small stream which usually flows under the road at a bend - today it was a ford; a nearby rocky gully is now a picturesque waterfall; on the tarmac of Percy Cross Rigg, puddles are becoming so vast seagulls are tearing themselves away from the chip shops of Whitby to eye them up.

And still we rode on, the alternative being a cold, wet stand about, we prefered warm and wet. Following our noses to the cafe, Fletcher’s Farm having a decidedly agricultural odour today, we were soon supping hot drinks and filling our faces, smugly, as befits two adventurers in a world of sofa-bound circumspection.

The First Ride of 2016

Mountain Bike Ride

The Ginger One

4th January 2016 route.

The first ride of a new year, empty days stretching into the future, just waiting to be filled with rides on sun-baked trails, never-ending downhills on perfect singletrack, amiable companions and post-ride post-mortems over well-earned coffees (or, even better, beers) in a pastoral idyll. The reality is more prosaic, a muddy station car park, a morning that has not quite managed to get light by eleven am, incipient drizzle and the penalty for festive excess weighing heavily around our waists. Still, it was good to have broken free from the deadly force-field of couch and Quality Street and be heading for the hills.

Or hill, in our case, as we opted for the long way round to Percy Cross Rigg, all on tarmac, as a “nice warm up”, an uncharacteristic easterly wind making things a little tougher than they ought to have been. Continuing up Percy Cross Rigg until we reached the Sleddale turn off, progress was brisk but chatting was still an option. As I had had an eight am appointment earlier, the chat was inevitably about day people and their rush hour, culminating in the often repeated phrase of shift workers, “and they do that every day.” usually spoken with varying degrees of bewilderment.

The off-road climb of Codhill Heights came and went and we had our first break at the seat, just over the fence in Guisborough Woods. Almost five miles of riding non-stop, something of a record for The Ginger One, who regards continuous pedalling as something from the roadie weirdo school of cycling, only a heart rate monitor away from skinsuits and training. The next section was not quite so brisk, opting to “have a look” at the Guisborough Red Route, the bit from Highcliffe to The Secret Path, may, in retrospect, have been the most unwise route decision of the year so far. Eleven months ago it was a complete disaster (February 2015) and has barely improved since, before long we were reduced to pushing through the sort of knee deep wallows a hippopotamus would be pleased to call home, slithering down denuded, muddy slopes and clambering over numerous fallen trees before regaining some semblance of normality and hauling our bikes up The Secret Path - which, astonishingly, is the official direction to ride what has always been a downhill track. Imagine being a first time visitor to the Guisborough Woods trails and following the red arrows; you wouldn’t rush back.

Eventually we reached the Unsuitables gate and were able to have another crack at this pedalling business, making our way across Newton Moor, then round to the top of the new S.O.W. track, which looks like it will be a nice addition to the moors downhill tracks. Another tree planting day occurred yesterday and the area is now filled with green tubes protecting saplings. When I’m in my mid-eighties, and this is a nicely forested downhill track, I’ll be boring anyone in earshot with “I remember when this was all fields”. We continued down the first couple of bits of Les’s, a bit more cautiously than usual, before hauling ourselves all the way back up to the top of steps and onto Newton Moor again. Amazingly, a bit of sunshine attempted to break through the cloud but despite it’s bravery, the clouds regained control of the sky and returned us to the more usual grey gloom.

Some little used singletrack took us damply to the Lonsdale Bowl track, which we followed back to the gate at the end of Percy Cross Rigg. Despite the brevity of the distance covered, we were both feeling the pace, ploughing through mud for most of the ride gets a bit wearing and the New Row track, today replete with a band of jolly walkers, was a welcome downhill end to the ride.

December Round Up and Video. 2015 review. Ideas for 2016.

December 2015 video and 2015 review.

Cut to the chase - December video click HERE

Another month over and another year over, December 2015 will be remembered, perhaps briefly, as the hottest December in the history of December’s, or something like that. Not to mention the storms, now conveniently named by the Met Office, we are already up to Frank and a bit of a character he turned out to be. Awesome wind and Biblical rain gave us a few interesting moments on the hill tops but this east side of the country fared a lot better than the west, once again stacking up the sandbags and digging out the insurance policies.

2015 bit the dust, another year where lesser cyclists ate our dust, gawping like Cletus The Slackjawed Yokel as the Terra Trailblazers swept majestically past in a flurry of phat air wheelies, tail whips and a general air of honed athleticism. Or more realistically, creeping, slothlike along the trails of North Yorkshire in a flurry of panting, perspiration and prevarication.

A few trips away livened things up, The Lakes on several occasions, earlier in the year before it was submerged; ditto the Yorkshire Dales. A brilliant trip to Dalbeattie to take in three of the Seven Stanes, Dalbeattie, Mabie and Ae, where our technical skills were put to the test and mostly found lacking. Two day at Gisburn Forest, the first day officially the hottest of the year. The Sandstone Way, best considered a retrospective experience, any pleasure derived from three days battling fifty miles per hour plus headwinds was gained some time later, mainly on the train home from Newcastle; the hospitality of the Northumberland people more than made up for the rigours of the trip. Mostly, though, we stuck to our own moors, familiar trails and friendly cafes, revelling in having such a fine playground on our doorsteps.

A few personal ambitions and thoughts for 2016, more riding (goes without saying); trips away - bring them on. Dalbeattie is pencilled in for April again, The North West Trail in Ireland, although not mountain biking, looks good for the summer. Some of those Cafe Racer chaps are mooting a trip to ride Belgian cobbles. Maybe some weather-beating Continental vacations will be necessary, it’ll be eleven years since my unforgettable trip to Les Gets, I still dream of lift-assisted riding. Closer to home, the ascent (and descent) of Whiteless Pike in the Lake District looks a grand day out, likewise some of the other hikeabike adventures in the most beautiful corner of England. We may even give in to The Ginger One’s whining and cross the final frontier into the principality of Wales, although he is from Darlington and probably only looking for a better class of sheep.

Mainly, I expect we will be sticking to the good old North York Moors, the cafes and hostelries can expect lots more dripping, damp-bottomed men in incipient middle age leaving muddy puddles on their floors while attempting to restrain a profane and petulant pensioner.

And last but not least, welcome to the new lads who have decided to join our happy little band in 2015, just remember once you’re in you can’t escape and you soon become oblivious to the moans of wives and partners. What precisely is wrong with building a bike in the dining room anyway?