Mountain Bike Ride
Billy No Mates
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.
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