Borrowdale Bashing Again

Mountain Bike Ride

29th July route

Rod, The Pensioner

Heading west away from the drizzly North East of England, things were not improving on the weather front until the summit of Stainmore Pass revealed a tear in the clouds and a sunny Lake District glowing gold and green below as we descended from the murk. Convention week in Keswick, some God Squad thing so most of the car parks were filling up fast as we unpacked our bikes in Fitz park, a few ominous clouds scudding in from Skiddaw were soon burned off by the sun, yes sun, in Keswick. We made our way through the town and began the steady of ascent of Walla Crag, a more interesting start to the Borrowdale Bash. It was a sweaty business, involving pushing, carrying and the dispiriting sight of The Pensioner cruising up a hill we had pushed our bikes up moments before. Once on the rocky summit, the arduousness of the ascent was wiped from our minds by the view, Derwentwater, Bassenthwaite and the surrounding fells, a panorama of greens and blues, clear of cloud and haze reminding us why we really come to the lakes.

Our payback, the descent to Ashness Bridge, followed, mainly dry apart from the stream crossings, loose and rocky as only Cumbrian trails can be, loamy singletrack is a bit sparse this side of the Pennines. We made it down without incident, emerging from the fellside at the picturesque Ashness Bridge, tourists splashing in the water and generally having fun in the sun. We began the the tarmac climb up to Watendlath Tarn - not fun in the sun, sweat dripping into our eyes as the road reared up and The Pensioner disappeared into the distance ahead of us. At the tarn he managed a nice long rest before we caught up and began the truly gruesome ascent of the bridleway to Rosthwaite, electric bikes are no advantage when the track turns to a rocky jumble and soon The Pensioner found himself being overtaken others of his clan as he tried to manoeuvre 22 kilos of bike in an upward direction. The rest of took the opportunity for some sunbathing at the top. The descent is still loose and rocky but (if my memory serves me correctly) seems to have had a bit of work done, especially a great many water bars, one of which took out Rod’s tyre in a spectacular fashion. Another bit of sunbathing ensued between turns on the mini pump, chatting to friendly but curious walkers, the majority questioning our sanity for even attempting to ride down the track. Back on the move again, a little more cautiously in Rod’s case, we took the Frith Woods finish for a change. This proved to be a nice descent, weaving down through bracken and over tree roots, with a couple of truly technical sections, which were attempted with lack of style only surpassed by the lack of success.

The awfulness that is Honister Pass came next and it was not long before I was wishing i had never ditched the granny ring, eventually my puny legs would no longer turn the pedals and the walk of shame was upon me. Breathless and sweating, we eventually reached the bridleway turn off and panted for a little while before reversing our ride and heading back north, following the undulating and varied Allerdale Ramble to Castle Crag where things begin to go more steeply downhill on a track designed for longevity not comfort, leaving us bouncing over pillow-size blocks, letting the suspension take the hits and trying to avoid pinch flats. Forearms aching from braking and shoulders tense from fighting the handlebars, we reached the gate and more amenable riding through Hollows Farm  campsite and into the village of Grange. In a change to the advertised programme, we gave the cafe a miss and pressed on back to Keswick, via the Catbells bridleway, easy riding but spectacular views across the lake, Skiddaw to the north and our initial summit, Walla Crag on our right.

Keswick was thronged as we made our way through the town to the cafe in Fitz Park to replenish today’s spent calories, all 1,408 of them according to my gps device. Sitting outside in the blazing sunshine, mud-spattered and sweat drenched, smelling like a nest of weasels, we shoved food and drink into our faces, trying not to look too smug as the legions of shop-wanderers milled about us.

Never Venture North of the A171

Mountain Bike Ride

Billy No Mates

12th July route.

In a flurry of optimism a ride exploring some of the little used bridleways north of the moor road seemed like a good idea. The chance of uncovering an esoteric gem to proudly lead my boys along at an unspecified point in the future was surely indicated by the trees and contour lines on the map. Things began well, following the usual route from Birk Brow to Moorsholm, then turning onto new territory, Cow Close Lane, which started promisingly before becoming puddle-strewn, muddy and slightly overgrown, this ought to have been a warning, it went unheeded as the track opened out, passing through a gate and into a field. The field proved to be a bit on the soft side, like wandering over turfed quicksand, water filled ruts and ankle deep mud soon had me hiking but not before a barbed wire fence claimed a glove and drew blood. Things improved briefly with a nice bit of singletrack through the woods, still a little slippery but pleasantly downhill to a bridge. The inevitable ascent followed but only just, flat shoes and a forty five degree slope of wet mud equalled a two steps forward: one step back, climb. Eventually saner ground was reached, a bash through an overgrown field edge bridleway led to almost welcome tarmac.

A couple of tarmac miles brought me back to the moor road, which was crossed to access another non-existent bridleway, so underused the gate could not be opened for undergrowth, after careful perusal of a soggy and trackless moor, discretion became the better part of valour for this one and Danby Beacon was reached by the road.

Tracks of a more familiar nature were followed for a few miles, leading back to the Shaun The Sheep bus shelter at the end of Robin Hood's Butts from where I broke with convention and reversed the Dimmingdale Farm track instead of returning to Birk Brow on the usual Quakers Causeway. Part of today's plan was to find an alternative route to Birk Brow for those whose buttocks are not suitably robust for the battering inflicted by a mile of stones laid in the time before spirit levels. Personally, I enjoy the Quaker’s Causeway, it is a quick way to cross a squelchy moor without battling peat hags the consistency of molasses but some of my compatriots regard it with as much enthusiasm as a colonoscopy.

Returning to Moorsholm, I passed through the village and found the required bridleway with suspicious ease, ironically this turned out to be another paved trod, not as pleasant as the Quaker’s Causeway. A very overgrown trod, nettles and briars encroached on the bridleway, whipping exposed arms and legs to an itching frenzy. As the paving ended, mud returned. I slithered down the track to a rickety bridge over a stream, followed by a steeper slippier rerun of the ascent at the start of the ride, another forty five degree mud slope. Levelling out, things became more overgrown than an afternoon in a rainforest, next time I'll be packing a machete, no I won't because there will be never be a next time. One of the cardinal Terra Trailblazers rules was ignored and the price was paid - never ride North of the the A171, the bridleways are always dire, best left to the equine community. The bacon butty from the van at Birk Brow never tasted so good.

A Good Day In Gunnerside.

Mountain Bike Ride

The Pensioner, The Ginger One, The Bread Lad.

5th July 2016 route

For a tiny village in the middle of nowhere, Gunnerside is certainly popular, we managed to bag the last parking spaces in the village, a bit of sunshine brings them all out apparently. Almost a team today, just like the old days when mountain biking was more popular than whatever else it is that everyone does nowadays. The Pensioner, The Ginger One and The Bread Lad, all of us eager to sample a Pensioner route, which he assured us is of the highest quality.

Leaving the village behind, we rode up the minor road to Dyke Heads, pausing to become voyeurs as an extravagantly horned bull became amorous with some bovine beauties, regardlessly blocking the road in his lust crazed frenzy. Perhaps we were like that once - or maybe not. Climbing steadily up Jingle Pot edge, the scene of The Ginger One's monochrome moment back in 2004 (TTB 17) when the strain of the ascent left him a broken man, laid in the heather, bemoaning the fact his vision had turned black and white, something only previously experienced in brief flashes before he grabbed the remote and changed to a channel showing  more contemporary programmes. Fitter now (hopefully) than that ride 12 years ago, we plodded upward, taking a right turn at Botcher Gill Gate onto a singletrack high above Gunnerside Gill, looking down into the valley at the old mine buildings and spoil heaps along the riverside. Dropping down to cross the river, obligatory pictures taken on the slab bridge, a gruesome Lakes style push/carry ascent took us out of the valley, The Pensioner’s electric assistance was not much use here and he soon went from Bionic Man to Neanderthal Man, grunting, panting and cursing as we made our way upward, topping out into the lunar landscape of Melbecks Moor, acres of barren spoil heaps, the odd bits of old mining machinery still scattered about.

Soon we were descending again on a sublime track on the opposite side of Gunnerside Gill, culminating in a grassy blast to the pleasantly named Barf End, which prompted some unpleasant alcohol-related reminiscing from The Ginger One. More pleasant off ride riding took us to Surrender Bridge, where we joined the track to The Old Gang Smelting Mill, another industrial relic from the days before health and safety. Pausing at the old buildings for a breather and snack, we gazed at the devastation around us caused by the ancient method of mining known as hushing, where torrents of water are released, usually from man-made reservoirs, flooding down the hillsides to strip away the soil and subsoil to expose the ore-bearing rocks beneath. Enough to give present day environmentalists a few sleepless nights.

The hardest climb of the day ensued, a brutal but thankfully brief haul up Ash Pot Gutter where we joined the track from Moor House for a spectacular downhill blast back to Barf End. But first we had a to cross a slippery ford, scene of one of The Pensioner’s previous accidents, he approached it with a degree of trepidation entirely disproportionate to a centimetre of water, although at his age a broken hip would probably end with with euthanasia. Perhaps before the end of the ride. The next track, back to Gunnerside, was the definite highlight of the day, steep, fast, varied and simply magnificent, beginning on grass and finishing in a tree-shrouded rock garden which spat us out, grinning from ear to ear on the famous electric gate road.

After negotiating said electric gate, which, it must be said seems an extravagant way of keeping sheep off the main road, we made directly for the cafe, which The Pensioner was almost as keen to show us as the ride we had just done. The Ginger One and The Bread Lad were keener to stow their bikes back in their cars first. This proved a big mistake, returning ten minutes later the Curse Of The Closed Cafe was upon us. The sight of a sweaty pensioner in lycra lurking about outside the establishment was doubtless too disturbing for the staff,  they had the sign turned round as soon as our backs were turned. Being denied his post-ride pot of tea (pot, not cup, cafes serving cups of tea are no longer on The Pensioner’s list of preferred suppliers) is unthinkable for The Pensioner, so we retired to The Dales Bike Centre for replenishment.