The Cafe Racer's Xmas Dinner Ride.

Road Bike Ride.

The Fireman, Chairman Whelan, Adam The Boy Wonder, Pete The Machine.

19th December route.

What can we say that hasn’t already been said? Tattered remnants of the once mighty Cafe Racers etcetera, etcetera. They managed a few riders today, although a Terra Trailblazer or two were drafted in to make up the numbers. For once The Lion Inn at Blakey Ridge was not swathed in mist and relatively windless but still as cool as could be expected in mid-December. Chairman Whelan gathered his troops for an inspiring pre-ride speech, mainly wondering if anyone was familiar with the route he’d planned.

Rigid road shoes beneath gimp-suit covers were clipped into curious, spike-free pedals and we set off for the purgatory of a wholly tarmac ride, to make matters worse, on roads cutting across inviting moorland, promising tracks leading in every direction, which were bypassed in favour of grinding out miles with the traffic. To be fair, this year’s route was most amenable, The Chairman’s new career as a process operator is teaching him the basics of energy conservation and the reduction of unnecessary exertion. A five mile downhill start was most welcome and we made a good average speed down into Hutton Le Hole before things levelled out through Lastingham and on toward Cropton. We could almost have forgiven him the gruesome bank into Cropton - almost.  

Stupid road shoes

After Cropton some remote tarmac brought us onto the Wheeldale Road which cuts it’s lofty way across the moor to Egton, unfortunately dropping down to cross streams on a few occasions, with the inevitable following slog back upward.  But the weather remained kind, the wind stayed low and the sun attempted to break through the heavy clouds. An exciting drop down to Egton Bridge, on greasy roads was followed by the more exciting and slightly greasier Limber Hill to Glaisdale, passing Beggar’s Bridge and under the railway we began climbing again. Glaisdale is the sort of horizontally challenged village where the paperboy must be perpetually exhausted and the High Street could double as a black ski run in a good winter. At this point The Chairman had one of his “thoughts”, opting for us to follow an unknown “shortcut” signposted For Local Traffic Only, it ought to have been signposted for professional hill climbers only.  An ever-ascending hill wound it’s way through quaint cottages, every corner revealing more verticality, as we gurned upward, legs barely turning, cursing The Chairman who probably weighs less than one of my manly buttocks. Regaining the High Street, some of us on the verge of cardiac arrest, the majority of us failed to appreciate the serendipity The Chairman’s new discovery.

The next village was planned as the cafe stop, so roads were pounded with more enthusiasm than at any other point in the ride. The Beck View Cafe fed and watered us, once we had regrouped following The Fireman’s detour, where he failed to notice Pete the lead out man peeling off toward the cakes. Some relatively flat riding through the Esk Valley followed, passing through Danby to Castleton, another North Yorkshire village where the road builders never got to grips with the concept of the spirit level. Six miles between us and our Xmas dinner - and the majority of them upward, nothing for it but dig in and press on, fighting against the tyranny of gravity, slowly, so slowly, the summit was gained and a slight downhill took us back to The Lion Inn, a most welcome downhill, which meant we didn’t arrive in the car park as panting wrecks.

Then we had some food and beer and to fill in the gaps between food and beer The Chairman had prepared a quiz for us; despite the questions being biased toward the skinny-tyred freaks, a mountain biker still managed to be joint first. Although he may have had some help from Uncle Google while The Chairman was at the bar.