Mountain Bike Ride
The Ginger One, The Youth, Trainee#2, Oz.
Forecast to be the windiest day of the month, with forty plus mph gusts, where else would we go bit up a big hill? Against the wind naturally. It was all part of a cunning plan - or that’s what I told the others anyway. Another decent turn out, meeting up at Lordstones in the aforementioned wind, bikes were hurriedly assembled and soon we were slogging our way up the old gliding club access track, always a harsh start and being pushed backward in an enormous game of cosmic blow football made it no easier. Blow football, that shows my age, I bet kids today would not have the lungs for it, they will have to wait for the PS4 version to come out. The pedal across to Barker’s Ridge was more amenable, the climb up Barker’s Ridge wind-assisted and it was not long before we were regrouping at Cock How ready for the singletrack bridleway to Head House. Gusty wind and narrow singletrack made challenging conditions and it was up to the front runner to find the hidden hole and demonstrate to the beginners the best way to fall off into the heather. Relatively uninjured, thanks for asking, which was more than my companions did, too busy in hysterics at the old gadgy on the floor. Unfortunately, this was to be a repeated theme for the remainder of the ride.
From Head House, we made our way back to Cock Howe, where we took a breather before the highlight of the route, Trennet Bank, the superb, natural, downhill which takes us down to the Bilsdale road. Regardless of the weeks of dry weather, sections were muddier than the muddiest place in muddy land. Some people blamed their tyres: others were more honest. An unfortunate degree of rider/ground interface occurred before we reached Chop Gate.
Another wind-assisted uphill took us past Beak Hills - what was I saying about planning? Slightly delayed by a herd of Belted Galloway cattle being driven along the road but we were glad of the breather, eyeing up the potential steaks and burgers destined for the shop and restaurant at Lordstones. All that remained was a blast along the track we call The Fronts, an undulating pleasure zone cutting across the north face of Cringle Moor, only the occasional muddy puddle to mar the enjoyment but enough to give Trainee#2 an idea of what is to come when winter arrives. Starting in summer, he may have a fallacious impression of mountain biking, deluded into imagining it’s all sunshine, dry trails and clean bikes. Continuing down the hill we were soon in Lordstones, sweating and mud-splattered amongst throngs of curiously clean walkers, most of whom look as though they have just stepped out of Go Outdoors.
Mountain Bike Ride.
The Bread Lad, The Fireman, The Youth, Trainee#2, The Ginger One, Oz.
30th September 2016 route
The following day promised an even bigger team but a serious accident on the A19 meant a late start and a reduced crew, The Pensioner threw the towel in and wrote off the whole day, the rest of us not being quite as time rich (yet) stuck it out and began the ride 90 minutes later than usual. Here’s a thought though, next time the A19 is closed it’s probably not a good idea to drive your lorry through Osmotherley. Being late did not make the ascent of The Mad Mile any easier. Somewhat breathless we regrouped at the cairn a mile later, for a pleasanter few miles along the Drove Road to Sneck Yate. Being a bit pushed for time, we pounded tarmac to Dialstone Farm, the returned to offroad, pedalling to what is billed as “The Finest View In England” looking across Gormire Lake from Whitestoncliffe to the flat lands of the Vale Of York. Very pleasant but not a patch on the singletrack along the escarpment back to Sneck Yate, a treat for the newbies, riding the edge of the moor, space to the left of us, white singletrack to the fore. At High Barns we diverted to do part of the Blue Route, the best bit, which drops down past the old quarry of Boltby Scar, before doing a U turn down the moor. Great riding, spoilt slightly by the heinous push back up to High Barns, short but steep, we weaved between the ordure, calves burning, panting upward. From here it is almost all downhill to the cafe but only almost, a final ascent brought us to the sheltered courtyard at High Paradise Farm, where we took a late lunch in the sunshine.
A quick blast along the Drove Road, reversing our outward route, brought us again to the top of the Mad Mile, almost as breathless as when we had rode up it. Whatever happened to the nice relaxing, post-cafe pootles we used to do. I did not see testosterone pills and blood bags on the cafe menu but some seemed to have been covertly consumed judging by the neck and neck panting all the way back. Oz demonstrated his usual grasp of pro cycling tactics by wheel-sucking most of the way then sprinting to the front in the last few metres. The Mad Mile was thankfully free of sheep, dog walkers and steaming piles of manure, the downhill run exhilarating to say the least and for the first time in many descents The Ginger One did not have a pinch flat.
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