Down The Mad Mile On A Cross Bike.

Cross Bike Ride

Climbing Simon

12th March route

In a little over two weeks, a few of us are doing the Clif Cross, a mere 27 miles riding around Hebden Bridge and the Calderdale valley but tempered by 4,600 feet of climbing (which reminds me - must get a bigger cassette), it seems some kind of training rides are in order and the ever organised Chairman Whelan of The Cafe Racers plotted some fine routes across our local moors. The Cafe Racers, who nowadays ride less often than The Taliban have hog roasts, were conspicuous by their absence (as the saying goes) leaving only me and The Chairman to fly the flag of self-righteous smugness.

Sheepwash on a fine Saturday is a popular spot, brimming with Teessiders ready to enjoy the countryside without actually losing sight of their cars. Luckily, we were starting early and the car park was only almost full. Seeing as it is a cross bike ride, we began with a compulsory dismount, marching directly up to High Lane via the slabby rocks above the ford, when it levelled out, we remounted and made our way to Square Corner, the car park also thronged, it must be so awful to be a day person, we’re used to having everywhere to ourselves. The Mad Mile loomed up in front of us, we shirked the challenge and took Route 65, the fireroad down through Silton Woods, which is fast, loose and best avoided by wheel fannies. The Chairman was not being kind when he plotted this route to avoid ascending the Mad Mile, it seems route 65 was nothing more than an efficient way of getting us to the bottom of Kepwick Bank, 1.4 miles, 660ft ascent at an average of 9% which sounds innocuous but with several 20%

sections, a gate and some inquisitive cattle roaming loose along the roadside, a dab-free ascent is never a foregone conclusion. We stopped to photograph a Belted Galloway bullock but it proved to be camera-shy and ran away as soon as it saw a lens. The top gate, which opens onto the Hambleton Drove Road, is a welcome sight and The Chairman even permitted a brief breather before heading for Arden Bank, passing through a posse of walkers the size of a football crowd (if you happen to support Darlington). We took  payback for the climb up Kepwick Bank with a descent of Arden Bank, loose and rocky until we hit the road at Arden Hall.

Our next objective: Murton Bank, more uphill torture from the twisted mind of the scrawny-buttocked, anorexic, route planner. So slight are his glutes that it does not seem feasible he can turn a crank never mind cruise up 20% slopes with barely a pant, as I’m reduced to a wheezing snot-monster. The amount of time I spent behind him, his lycra-sheathed, rear end never out of my sight line as he kindly ambled along so I could attempt to keep up, I became an expert on the posterior physiognomy of a dedicated dieter. But first we had to pass through Hawnby and it would have been rude to miss out the tea room, which gave us a chance to refuel before the ascent.

Unable to prevaricate any further, we set off up the bank, never pleasant, eventually it became less steep but still uphill all the way to Sneck Yate car park, on the approach to Boltby Forest, where we turned right and followed a track through the top of the forest and onto the Drove Road. A few miles of big sky riding followed, the track taking us north across the top of the moors, the weather almost pleasant, something approaching a spring day as we pedalled steadily along, big gears and even bigger wheels cranking through the miles until we reached the Mad Mile. Normally a balls out descent on a fully suspended skill-compensating mountain bike, a more cautious pace was employed, at least until the loose rocks turned to gravel and it’s a quick blast to the bottom gate.

From here, a straightforward ride along High Lane, passing Chequers, took us to the woods at Cod Beck Reservoir and a last descent before we reached the ice cream van in the car park. The Chairman declined a 99, obviously the evil calories would possibly force their way out onto his hips and turn him into a Jabba The Hut style blubber mountain, barely able to lumber off the couch and grab another bag of crisps. No such dilemma for me.