Sunny Sheepwash.

Mountain Bike Ride

The Ginger One.

25th February 2016

This is turning into a superlative ten day break, sunny, dry and cold, with plenty of riding to while away the days. Today was no different. Me and The Ginger One found ourselves in Sheepwash car park awaiting the imminent arrival of The Trainee, who eventually phoned his apologies with some story which was widely considered a mendacious pretext for his Velcro bedsheets problem. Just for a change we began by hauling the bikes up the steep, slabby downhill we usually ride down in a faltering manner. This saved us half a mile in distance from the usual start along the reservoir and up through the woods and gave us some more carrying practice for the forthcoming Lakes’ epics.

We continued along High Lane to join the road before passing Chequers and continuing to Square Corner. Somewhat controversially, we then turned off road onto the track which leads to Swainby Shooting House, a track we used for many years unhindered despite originally having signs banning cycles. Some years ago the signs were removed and the network of tracks across Whorlton Moor became a regular route between Square Corner and Arnesgill Ridge, never the most exciting track but scenic ‘big sky’ riding with excellent views down the Scugdale valley; selfish actions by mountain bikers over in Clain Wood, part of the same estate, resulted in many square miles of moor reverting to out of bounds to cyclists. We thought we would have a look and see how the situation is progressing, the track to the shooting house was criss-crossed with tyre tracks, regardless of the signage. So we pressed on to the shooting house for the first time in many months, mentally expecting shotgun toting gamekeepers to be accosting us every pedal turn, buckshot-free, we continued across Whorlton Moor to Arnesgill Ridge enjoying the aforementioned big skies and views of Scugdale.

Arnesgill Ridge segued into Barker’s Ridge and the track went in the downhill direction, a few icy patches were easily avoided and it was a whole lot more fun the Tuesday’s ascent of the same track. Soon after we were at the top of Scugdale contemplating the ride to the bottom of the valley, this route being a B.O.A.T. is well rutted by motorbikes and 4x4’s giving a variety of lines, today it was pretty dry, a spirited descent followed, more enthusiasm than skill. A large stretch of ice almost caught The Ginger One unawares but some judicious swearing kept him on course and we reached the bottom virtually unscathed.

Being pensionerless, a mid-ride cafe stop was permissible and we enjoyed sandwiches and local gossip in the shop/cafe in Swainby, best value for money sandwiches in North Yorkshire fuelling us up for the remainder of the ride.  Especially the drag up the steps in Clain Woods. We ended the ride with the usual ‘extra loop’ finish - up the bridleway on Scarth Wood Moor and down the front to finish back at Sheepwash. Another splendid ride over, even feeling a bit of warmth from the sun - not bad for February.

Mighty Muddy

Mountain Bike Ride

The Fireman

23rd February route

The weather man he speak with forked tongue again, sunny with light wind was only half right, at least it was the sunny part he predicted correctly. Not that he would be bothered, he was not the one having to start a ride by pedalling three and a half miles uphill into a buffeting wind. Look on the positive side - it would be behind us on the return leg. This ride covered some similar ground  to last Friday’s except we began from Chop Gate village hall car park, plodding along into the aforementioned headwind, up the Raisdale Road before veering left to Beak Hills and onwards and upwards until we were shouldering the bikes up the path to the top of Cold Moor - living up to it’s name today.

A quick breather, then we were heading downward to the bridleway which leads to Garfitt Gap, some muddy ruts and a couple of technical sections make the bridleway an interesting ride down, at the end always the proviso - “It’ll be great in the summer.” A little more downhill before it was carrying time again, as opposed to carrion time which was how I would feel a few miles further on, legs still suffering from riding up to Captain Cook’s Monument on the cyclocross bike yesterday. For the second time in four days, we found ourselves at the Wainstones, this time looking for a barely remembered track I used many years ago which leads to Garfitt Quarry above Hasty Bank Farm, where I was once stung on the palm of my hand while climbing during a “boulder and bike” day out. That made holding the handlebars for the remainder of the ride “challenging”. The path was initially elusive - an anodyne way of saying we blundered about a bit until eventually it appeared, surprisingly well-defined for a path which, according to the Ordnance Survey, does not exist. Like the previous bridleway, it will be better in the summer, today being a little too muddy to be fun. Things improve massively after the quarry where it heads more steeply downhill through old shale tips before joining the Hasty Bank path at the gate.

From here we were heading to Lordstones on the well used lower path we call The Fronts (because it runs along the front of the the three hills, Hasty Bank, Cold Moor and Cringle Moor). This initial section above Broughton Plantation is muddy at the best of times but we were relying on the winter weather to have frozen the mud so we could glide over it - about as stupid an idea as relying on a government. By the time we reached Lordstones, with a sackful of mud each splattered about our persons and hanging off our bikes, one of us was ready for the undertaker, fetch me the body bag and I’ll climb right in. Of course, the sensible option from here would have been to ride straight down the Raisdale Road back to Chop Gate but I didn’t get where I am today by being sensible, after a quick energy bar and a chat with The Pensioner, who randomly appeared on his way to some sort of walking adventure, we were plodding up the old Gliding Club track on the side of Carlton Bank, legs screaming for the granny ring, their stern master denying them, berating them for their feebleness. The drop down to Brian’s Pond came as a relief but before long we embarked on the last climb of the day, Barker’s Ridge, the wind at our backs now, pushing us up - hang on a minute, where’s the wind gone? The buffeting near gale of three hours ago now a gasping zephyr, as much help as Stevie Wonder on a darts team.

Cock Howe came into view marking the start of our last mile of riding, downhill all the way to the car park. Trenett Bank, one of North Yorkshire’s finest and The Bread Lad’s favourite, and there he was knocking out crumpets while we slithered down his favourite track, February muddy today but still rideable all the way for those with the necessary skill and courage, okay, I may have stepped off the bike once or twice but only because I’m a bit of a nancy. The last section through a labyrinth of steep-sided gullies is fast and furious and always fun, until it deposits us, mud-covered but grinning into the car park.

The Pensioner Reprised.

Mountain Bike Ride.

The Pensioner, The Bread Lad, Uncle Ian.

20th February route.

Returning to the fray for the first time in a few weeks, The Pensioner returned to once again give us the benefit of his unique brand of curmudgeonly negativity and imaginative profanity. Danby was the lucky recipient of our custom, following the usual amount of faffing, we found ourselves following The Pensioner up the hill toward Clitherbeck Farm, as he had attempted to sneak off in the lead. Reeling him back in, as the roadies say, we paused at the entrance to Clitherbeck Farm before splitting into two teams. The Bread Lad and me took the off-road track and The Pensioner and Uncle Ian remained on tarmac, the competition was on, last one to Danby Beacon is a footballer/interior designer/kiddy fiddler/rambler* (*delete as appropriate). The road team won.

We admired the view from the beacon for a while before enjoying the rocky downhill track of Lealholm Rigg, again splitting at a bifurcation, The Pensioner sensibly opting to continue in a gravity assisted direction, while the remaining trio attempted to find a track over the corner of the moor, highly visible on Google Earth, not quite so obvious at ground level. Suffice to say, we found a track, wet, muddy and leading in the right direction, after a while it kindly went downhill, eventually depositing us on the road some distance from the patiently waiting Pensioner, who was stood at the end of the track we ought to have been on. Not that we were lost of course, temporarily misplaced perhaps or merely exploring the possibilities for future rides. Lost? Us? Unheard of.

The wind, which up to now had been somewhat beneficial decided it’s benefactor period was at an end and began to hit us from the left quarter, the usual slog along the Oakley Walls road made twice as hard by the natural action of air moving from high pressure to low pressure or God trying to blow us backwards. Eventually we all reached the rock strewn double-track down Oakley Side, which was fun in a lumpy, bumpy, bouncy, mud-splattered face sort of fashion. Except for The Pensioner who professed to have hated every minute. He liked the ascent to Danby Castle on the other side of the valley even less but still dragged himself along the Crossley Side road, despite the wind, which now meant business, throwing in some vicious gusts which had us all battling to make progress.

The ascent to Ainthorpe Rigg begins on soggy grass, higher up turning to loose rock gullies which become rock slabs near the top, our usual high point between two rocks was reached before bikes were shouldered for the hike a bike to the top. All downhill from here, a pity the track has been sanitised beyond belief, the only saving grace being it is now faster than previously without the rocks and technical gullies to negotiate, it’s simply let the brakes off and go as fast as you dare. In our case, not very, particularly as the side wind tried (and succeeded) to push us off line.

A 30mph road blast through the hamlet of Ainthorpe, led by The Pensioner, who has not lost his ability to liven up in sight of the cafe, took us back to Danby and the day’s primary objective, the Stonehouse Bakery. Unfortunately so full we had to sit outside, the customers seated indoors failing to wither and disperse in the face of The Pensioner’s wave of silent loathing and muttered comments regarding “us regulars”.

Practising for The Lakes.

Mountain Bike Ride

The Bread Lad, The Ginger One.

19th February 2016 route.

The Youth could have joined us today but instead chose, entirely of his own volition, to go walking. Yes, walking, that curious slow motion way of traversing moors and fells, favoured by people with a penchant for red socks, map cases, floppy hats and ski poles for whom adrenalin rush remains merely a concept. He was subjected to the mandatory ritual abuse and made aware that he would be held responsible for the next walker-laid singletrack obstruction we find but could not be dissuaded from his chosen course. With heavy hearts we let him continue but our disappointment was intense, it was like finding out your son is a male prostitute in Soho.

The three of us met in a cold and sunny Lordstones car park ready for a short but hard challenge, which, ironically, contained an unusual amount of walking. Training for some of the Lake District hike a bike epic adventures we are planning for this year. We were walking sooner than we thought as the first slope up to The Fronts was covered in lingering snow overlaying sloppy mud which our technical climbing skills were unable to conquer. The remainder of The Fronts track was in similar condition, unable to decide whether to be frozen or thawed, a morasse of mud, snow and ice which slowed our normal god-like athletic swiftness to that of mere mortals. Still faster than walkers though.

Soon we  were shouldering the bikes for our first hike of the day, onward and upward on the Cleveland Way as it passes over Cold Moor. Turning right at the summit, we picked up the bridleway to Garfitt Gap which, despite being downhill, was a bit tricky, again owing to the winter conditions. There were more than a few hesitations, always accompanied by some variant on “It’ll be better in the dry” or “We’ll save that one for the summer.” Fun over, more pushing and carrying eventually brought us to the top of The Wainstones, a well-known conglomeration of boulders, pinnacles and small cliffs much loved by local climbers. We had a little breather on top of the central wall looking at the inscrutable face of Sphinx Rock gazing impassively back towards Lordstones, before continuing over Hasty Bank on a nicely paved track which soon went steeply downhill. Too steeply for incompetents like us, it was not long before we resorted to pedestrianism, truly a practice for The Lakes.

Reaching the road at Clay Bank, less than four miles travelled in an hour, our average speed was boosted by the downhill tarmac to Chop Gate, although the headwind did not exactly help. On the road to Beak Hills, the wind became an advantage, pushing us upward to Cringle Moor, the last carry of the day, a lung-wrenching, calf-burning, continuously steep, ascent on stone steps made harder by the predicted rain beginning to close in. From the top our final objective came into view, the Carlton Bank downhill track (which is actually on a spur of Cringle Moor). A few quick snaps at the Alex Falconer seat and we were off, not precisely a flawless ascent but regardless of the mud and water the whole team reached the bottom uninjured, always an advantage. Somewhat later than usual, despite the brevity of the ride, three mud-covered wretches sat amongst the half-term customers thronging Lordstones cafe, everyone except us clean and tidy, unsullied by their 30 metre walk from the car park.

Another Day: Another Bike Ride.

Mountain Bike Ride

The Bread Lad, The Fireman

12th February route.

Mere hours from the finish of our last ride, we were setting off on another one, leaving Scaling Dam car park and it’s ever popular butty van - making certain we had checked the closing time before we left, the scourge of malnutrition will be hard pressed to catch us by surprise - the same trio as yesterday pedalled along the minor road to High Tranmire Farm. The weather is again approaching ‘not bad for February’, dry and bright with most of the puddles still slightly frozen. After crossing the beck, which gets deeper every time we cross it, The Slagbag reared it’s ugly head, steeper than the steepest thing in steep land, loose and just for today, icy. Valiant attempts were not even considered, energy conservation among cyclists approaching middle-age being a priority. From the top we dropped down to Green Houses, minus the excitable spaniels today, and continued on tarmac to the picturesque hamlet of Stonegate, passing a nice riverside house, nice but surely every spell of prolonged rain must be a cue to start moving the furniture upstairs.

More tarmac eventually brought us to West Bank and a speedy descent to the river, where, according to the measuring board the water in the ford was two and a half feet deep and one hundred per cent wet. It would have to be the stepping stones then, slightly slippy from mud and ice and just to make things more interesting one has lost it’s top section, so lies below water level, water which was very fast flowing. The Bread Lad was despatched first to check out the possibility of being swept away down the Esk to emerge into Whitby harbour like a seal dressed by Halfords. Regardless of the fact, I had the camera rolling the whole time, he refused to give us a little cinematic excitement, unlike Tom Cruise he does not do his own stunts. His companions also made it across with only slightly damp feet to show for the ordeal.

A slight climb preceded an icy descent and then we were crossing the same river again, by the more civilised alternative of a bridge, which led to a stony track and another gruesome ascent, loose and steep, which deposited us, breathlessly in Park House farmyard. An inquisitive goat watched us from the top half of a barn door, probably wondering what these idiots were doing, panting away like paedo’s in a playground outside his home. Unfortunately the next few miles were also in the uphill direction, almost the whole way to Danby Beacon before we gratefully turned off onto the Roxby Moor bridleway - that sublime blast through the heather which can be ridden at speeds which may be considered unwise for cyclists of our ineptitude. Even though it was muddy in patches the track was still splendid enabling us to ride two and three abreast at times on the varied lines heading across the moor.

Only a little tarmac between us and the butty van now, pedals to the metal, minutes later we were savoring assorted bacon related sandwiches like the gourmets what we is.

That Godawful Rudland Rigg.

Mountain Bike Ride

11th February 2016 route

The Bread Lad, The Firemen

Cold and frosty, approaching perfection, blue sky, the merest zephyr barely ruffling the trees around Clay Bank car park. The storms, which have made most rides a little more challenging than usual lately, have taken themselves off to annoy the southerners, which is no less than any race who consider jellied eels a delicacy deserve. Almost a team today, a whole three of us managed to drag ourselves from under the covers and out into the winter sunshine.

After the heinous carry/push/ride up Carr Ridge onto Urra Moor, we continued up to Round Hill, the uninspiring highest point of the North York Moors and onward to Bloworth Crossing ready to attack Rudland Rigg. In some circles Rudland Rigg is considered a good track, a straightforward thoroughfare  cutting directly across the moors, looks brilliant on the map; in reality it’s a gravel-covered monster which defies the usual laws of physics by being uphill regardless of the direction of travel. At one point, after retracing our treads back to Bloworth Crossing, we looked back at the downhill track we had just pedalled the whole way down, despite it being a virtually windless afternoon.

Powering upward, our little team pedalled south on the Rigg, ice-breaking on the large puddles still scattered about the path like droplets in the trough of a giant urinal. Eventually reaching the reason we were putting ourselves through this torture, West Gill Head and it’s associated bridleway, a long and varied descent into the west side of Farndale. Today it was a little muddy in parts but still excellent apart from the wheel stopping bog which engendered an unfortunate testicle/top tube interaction leading to the sort of pain only men can understand. Childbirth - not even close, no epidural or gas and air when traumatised testes are throbbing like kettle drums being beaten by an overenthusiastic but surprisingly rhythmic orang utan.

Reaching the valley otherwise unscathed, we followed the road for a while to Monket House, where a left turn thrust us into a whole new world of pain and verticality as the bridleway heading skyward back to Rudland Rigg had to be ascended. It would be nice to say we powered up it like professional cyclists - obviously not having hidden motors in our bikes we could be nothing like professional cyclists and we all resorted to Shank’s Pony after brave attempts. Back on Rudland Rigg, ascending the track we previously ascended, although we were riding in the opposite direction, the muddy bits had thawed slightly, making it now uphill and draggy. Quite a few miles under our wheels by now and started to feel the pace, which was when my gear cable though it would be a good time to snap, leaving me in the 11 tooth cog for the remainder of the ride.

The most direct route back to Clay Bank meant descending Carr Ridge, the rocky steps we carried our bikes up three hours previously, not often attempted by the Terra Trailblazers, mainly due to our technical inability and lack of testicular fortitude. One less than elegant somersault later, Beth Tweddle has nothing to worry about, I joined the other two at the gate for the last bit of downhill fun before the we returned to the car park.