Bollocks To Christmas

Mountain Bike Ride

Benny The Brawl, The Breadlad, The Youth

24th December route

It’s the time of year when the majority of the “christian” world completely lose their shit and throng the shops and car parks in celebration of being let loose from the usual nine to five existence. Give a day person a day off and the first thing they’ll do is head to a retailer, apparently shopping is now considered a leisure activity rather than a grim necessity to be endured while imagining all the better places we could be. After several days of attempting to thread a way through aisles packed with manic shoppers determined to make it the best christmas ever by panic-buying anything which can be consumed and a home-life consisting of the expungal of every trace of pre-christmas existence by hiding anything not featuring  tinsel or glitter. Christmas eve has finally rolled round signalling the beginning of the end and the gratifying feeling that in two days it will all be over. In a quest to separate ourselves from the rapacious hordes, a few of us decided being wet, cold and muddy would be preferential to an ill-tempered trudge around another supermarket.

Me, The Youth, Benny The Brawl and The Breadlad met up at a surprisingly well-filled Gribdale car park, plenty of like-minded folks about, well, almost like-minded - mountain bikers were conspicuous by their absence - all prepared to brave the dull, drizzly day and  tree-bending wind. Unseasonably warm temperatures have left the tracks in a predictable state, gloopier than medieval midden after a plague of dysentery. This, plus the wind, a muddy car park and actually being outside his bedroom, put Benny The Brawl into an epic rage, riding the rutted track across Great Ayton Moor while being blown sideways into the ruts, raised his blood pressure to the level which would put us blokes teetering on the verge of middle-age in an electric bed surrounded by nurses and beeping machines. Reasonably flat ground calmed him down a little and we continued around the Lonsdale Bowl with tailwind assistance, although he didn’t seem to find the water splash as enjoyable as everyone else, using some very unchristian language this close to Jesus’s birthday.

A quick scoot along the Percy Cross Rigg tarmac and up Codhill Heights took us to Guisborough Woods, where we decided to sample the full force of the wind by continuing to the top of Highcliffe Nab. We almost came close to the mythical £250 from You’ve Been Framed when The Youth’s lightweight body proved unequal to the strength of the wind which blew him steadily toward the cliff’s edge; a hurried dismount robbed us of £250. The novelty of being buffeted wore off eventually and we cycled through the woods back to Roseberry Common and took the steps to Newton Moor. The weather took a turn for the worst and The Breadlad modelled the latest in waterproof fashion, digging out his Niagara Falls ponchos: who needs Gore Tex? Retracing our tyre tracks around the Lonsdale Bowl and Fingerbender Bank, finishing, without further incident, down the steep hillside back to Gribdale car park. After some hesitation, Benny rode it like a pro, probably down to our special coaching, which mainly consists of profanity, shouting and casting doubts on his sexuality. We kept the camera rolling, just in case, you can never have enough blooper reel footage.

Xmas Dinner Ride 2017

Mountain Bike Ride

The Breadlad, Trainee#2, Oz, The Fireman, Rod and a special guest appearance from The Captain.

Xmas Dinner Ride 2017. Route.

The annual festival of alcohol-fuelled joviality and consumerism of a more rampant nature than a priapic ram rampaging round a field of ewes after a two day ovine pornography binge, trundles into view again bringing with it the kind of weather which might be considered slightly nippy in some parts of the world but in England leads to multi-car pile ups as the nine to fivers spend the morning rush hour slithering into one another. Those day workers on vacation from their their daily grind seem to think they are entitled to use our moors on a weekday, clogging the car parks and cafes where us salt of the earth shift-workers, the horny handed sons of toil responsible for keeping the wheels of industry ticking over, are often the only patrons.

A further inevitability of the Santa season is the Terra Trailblazers’ Xmas Dinner Ride, this year in its fifteenth incarnation; two days  previously we'd have been in stereotypical winter wonderland but some warming rain had erased the snow, letting the greenery reappear. We congregated in the pub car park, beneath the jagged tooth of Roseberry Topping, our original ten reduced by thirty percent as seems to be usual for these occasions. The weather forecast was not too promising but the sun shone in a barely above the horizon winter fashion. The mandatory ‘before’ picture taken, we pedalled along the road for a short distance before turning off, into Cliff Rigg Woods for a steady climb on frozen mud and a few patches of snow and ice. Riders from the generation that have no notion of a time before central heating were already complaining of the cold, while those of us who can remember ice on the inside of the windows and put another coat on the bed, were more stoic.

Carrying on, we pedalled through through Aireyholme Farm - boyhood home of Captain Cook (Roseberry Topping’s Cook Connection) and up to Roseberry Common where the tailwind which had so kindly assisted us the hill, brought a few drops of rain who soon invited all their mates to come and join in soaking the only idiots people on the moors. Jackets were dragged out of bags as we battened down our metaphorical hatches and loins were girded for a moist ride. Route options were discussed between the riders who had an idea of where we were in relation to the rest of the world, while the geographically challenged stayed silent. The general idea of staying in tree shelter and keeping the wind behind us was agreed and we headed eastwards through Guisborough Woods, sticking to the fire roads, which was a bit exciting today seeing as they were mainly solid ice, the lumpy, bumpy sort of ice caused by thawing and refreezing, like riding on a gigantic, slippery golf ball. We made our way through the forest, passing all the tracks we usually ride as they were either sloppy mud or large puddles, rain still beating at our backs, numb extremities were frequently and bitterly vocalised - not a Ranulph Fiennes amongst us, the concept of the British stiff upper lip now something from 1950’s novels.

The Concrete Road, today the concrete waterfall, a broad river coursing down it, six pairs of fat tyres surfing the break, reaching incautious speeds heading for the old railway line which skirts the outskirts of Guisborough, our route turning into the wind and rain, thankfully significantly less powerful than on top of the hill. A broken and dejected sixsome pedalled toward Hutton Village, the usual witty banter conspicuously absent, spirits not even enlightened by the rain ceasing. Back in Guisborough Woods we regenerated some body heat with a nice uphill fire-road but the thought of a nice warm public house was all that kept  some people from laying down on the subarctic tundra and letting hypothermia take them to a better place. At the end of the fire-road we turned right instead of left and headed back to civilisation, some liveliness reappearing as the traumatic ordeal nears its end.

Wet clothing shed, spirits revived by hot drinks and cold beers, we were joined by erstwhile Terra Trailblazer and retired process foreman, The Captain, who, like all retirees, looks twenty years younger than he did in the days when he spent hours in the control room toiling over the daily tabloids. The meal was a splendid, no complaints were made in that regard, the conversation descended to the usual gutter level which is only to be expected when a bunch of men get together, especially those riding high on the endorphin rush from battling the killer elements of a North Yorkshire December day and living to tell the tale. And thanks to The King’s Head for putting up with us.

December Breaks Us In Gently

Mountain Bike Ride

The Breadlad.

4th December route

Two men on the verge of middle age, one so close to that verge he’s practically jaywalking, meet in a cold and snowy North Yorkshire car park, ready for a mountain bike ride. Fresh, crisp air and blue skies, one man recovering from an operation to repair a detached retina, the other has compressed thoracic vertebrae following an accident. They are the only people present; younger and more able bodied compatriots are conspicuously absent. It seems trivial matters of domestic administration have suddenly become more important than life itself. The usual seasonal defection, (cue David Attenborough voice): as the temperature reaches single figures, vicarious becomes the new watchword, saddles are replaced by sofas, real life experience is usurped by You Tube, the sultry lure of central heating stultifies enthusiasm. Who wants to be cold/wet/muddy or - horror of horrors -  have a dirty car, when the cocoon of indolence grasps, her smothering tentacles gently pulling you back into the warmth? The fair-weather cyclist has returned to hibernation, slumbering like a grizzly bear, twitching on the settee, no doubt dreaming of dusty singletrack and mud-free downhills.

Meanwhile, these remaining enthusiasts are discussing their respective surgeries as they assemble bikes and decide how many layers of clothing might be required. Finally ready, me and The Breadlad venture out into the frozen wilds of North Yorkshire, skirting the remnants of two day old snow, thawed and refrozen, the day is virtually windless and only the occasional cloud mars a cerulean sky. Warming up steadily on tarmac, we climb to the crossroads, then left onto Percy Cross Rigg, still climbing before the drop to Sleddale, then offroad for the inevitable reascent of Codhill Heights. The tracks are drier than would be expected and still frozen for the most part, giving us speedy progress across the moor until we reach the outskirts of Guisborough Woods.

Being rebels, we take our bikes to the top of Highcliffe Nab and enjoy the vista, Guisborough spread out below us, the North Sea in the distance, Redcar’s wind turbines turning sluggishly in their saline enclosure. A quick descent through the forest - mainly on fire roads (not taking too many chances yet) until the siren song of a previously unridden track lured us in, plunging through conifers, a ribbon of russet pine leaves tempting our tyres, beneath the pine needles - a skating rink of slippy mud. Fishtailing, we slithered down to reach firmer ground. If we were thirty years younger, high fives or fist bumps might have ensued but being proper emotionally repressed Northern gadgies and not rad dudes from North California, we restrained ourselves and settled for a wry smile before raising our seat posts and pedalling on.

Making our way via the steps to Newton Moor, opposite the magnificent bulk of Roseberry Topping, we encountered a few walkers, also enjoying this magnificent day. We pedalled across Newton Moor to the top of The Unsuitables, passing through gates and onto the offroad portion of Percy Cross Rigg, up then down, through frozen puddles to regain the tarmac. Another offroad track leads down to the hamlet of New Row, just outside Kildale, sketchy gravel with a few rocks and roots but not enough to catch out grizzled old riders like us. The road back to Kildale is in the shade as the sun dips below Warren Moor, it’s dying rays burnishing the opposite moor where we’d been riding minutes before, for the first time in the ride we noticed the cold, moments later it is forgotten as steaming mugs warm cold fingers in  Glebe Cottage Tearoom. Smugger than the smuggest people in Smugland, we ate and drank in an endorphin haze. It’s not about the miles in the ride, it’s the smiles in the ride that matter and all that. Another great day in the memory bank for times of injury or commitments that can't be shirked.

Winter uses all the blues there are.

One shade of blue for water, one for ice,

Another blue for shadows over snow.

The clear or cloudy sky uses blue twice-

Both different blues. And hills row after row

Are colored blue according to how far.

Robert Francis 1901-1987

First Time For A Month.

Mountain Bike Ride.

The Youth

24th November 2017 route

After a month of settee slumping and the odd ride around the outskirts of Billingham, I finally felt ready to venture back out on the moors. Nothing too extreme, definitely nothing with any danger of falling off at least, if that were to happen, euthanasia would probably be the best option. I expected pain - and it didn’t let me down but somehow it seemed less, maybe concentrating on lines, or the views, or the bright, crisp weather shifted the focus away from the little man attempting to force a scaffolding pole between my shoulder blades, the deep breathing perhaps repelling his onslaught, or possibly the well documented effect of combining natural green spaces with exercise. Whatever it was, the pain began to take second place to the ride and it was like seeing things through new eyes; the splendour of Roseberry Topping, today justifying it’s common appellation - Cleveland’s Matterhorn, the main cliff face like a jagged tooth sticking up from the surrounding greenery; the heathery expanse of Newton Moor; the steady climb up Codhill Heights; the views to the coast from Highcliffe Nab, white wind turbines spinning away above cerulean blue sea. White steam from the far-distant cooling towers of our workplace, The Ginger One trapped in that control room while we looked down on him from afar.

Only me and The Youth out today, everyone else otherwise engaged, it was their loss. We began in Great Ayton, a little road bashing taking us to Fletcher’s Farm, then onwards and upwards to Aireyholme Farm and ever upwards to Roseberry Common. Bikes were shouldered for the steps to Newton Moor where we took our first breather, looking across Roseberry Topping and down onto the aforementioned chemical factory. Across Newton Moor, level riding for the first time in three miles, icy patches here and there where the sun has yet to cast it’s warming light. Cautious pedalling, no slips or surprises today, just fresh air and sunshine. The Lonsdale Bowl came and went, soon we were at the Percy Cross Rigg gate, taking another breather watching some people loading an impossible number of dogs into a Land Rover, getting on for ten it looked like. Down to Sleddale next, followed by the climb on the wide bridleway up Codhill Heights, not even pausing at the gate posts today - like a pair of climbing machines. The fire road beside Highcliffe gave us a bit of payback, hurtling down the sketchy gravel, not a soul in sight, Guisborough spread out below us like a model town.

We took the fire roads back towards Roseberry, circumspectly passing all the off-piste tracks until temptation proved too much and we ducked off into the trees to savour the delights of pines needles and mud, weaving between the conifers, on a track which (according to Strava) is called Homage To The Loamage. We climbed back up to Roseberry Common from the end of Homage To The Loamage and took the Brant Gate path which skirts the bulk of Roseberry Topping, dropping down to the road at Newton Under Roseberry, hard-packed mud, grass, sloppy mud, paved stone, trees, gorse bushes and all gloriously downhill. A couple of miles on tarmac and we were back at Fletcher’s Farm, replenishing our calorie reserves. Not the most arduous ride, nor the most technical but one of the most pleasurable rides for quite a while.

October Round Up and Video

October 2017 Round Up and Video

Video click here.

Another month over and despite conditions reverting to the wet and muddy side of life, we managed quite a few rides, mainly on our own North York Moors but Hamsterley featured a lot this month, mainly owing to K Line being opened. This is a grand track and shows what can be done with time, effort and of course, money. For those who haven’t had the pleasure, imagine Glentress’s Berm Baby Berm on steroids. October does also mean the Lakeland Monster Miles, which me and The Fireman entered, as usual, only the short one, it turned out everyone was joining us this year, the long route was cancelled owing to ground conditions. This years short route is approaching the longer route anyway, now 50 odd miles and almost 5,000 feet of ascent, add in sodden ground and it became an arduous experience.

For me, October’s riding ended with a bang, quite literally - a bang on the head as it smashed into a fence post on a local cycle track, plus a cut arm and some bruises, settee time for me for a bit.

Here’s a couple of rides that have not been blogged.

Wednesday 25th October route

Me and Trainee#2 arranged to meet Benny The Brawl at Kildale railway station, Benny assured us he could find the parking spot, following a decidedly cursory glance at the map when we were at work. A nonagenarian dementia sufferer could have made a better job of finding the railway station, we waited almost an hour before giving up on him. Apparently he had been in Westerdale at one point, a bit like arranging to meet in Middlesbrough and turning up in Hartlepool. Benniless, we made our way to Guisborough Woods for a quite satisfying scrounge about in the mud, failing to find a track Rod told us about but having fun failing. Forgetting it is half term, we squeezed our mud-splattered carcasses amongst the clean people in Glebe Cottage for refreshment. How do people visit the countryside and stay so clean? Even if I go for a walk I end up looking like I’ve been potholing.

Thursday 26th October route

The following day Benny managed to find his way to Clay Bank without diverting via Oslo or somewhere, to join Trainee#2 and The Breadlad for his “favourite” ride, essentially over the top to KIldale and back through the woods. He would be getting a variation today but taking in all the best bits. We made our way up to the crossroads near Round Hill (highest point of the NYM etc. etc.), when he eventually caught us up, he declared, with some vehemence, that he’d never never been on this spot before and the ride had been changed to make it more difficult for him, all this despite photographic evidence to the contrary.

Unconvinced he rode on with us, across to the top of the Ingleby Incline. We had a look down the slope and I do believe he became a little bit excited, reverting to four years old with an incessant stream of can we’s. Never passing up on an opportunity to disappoint a child we demurred, the thought of regaining the height being the main reason. Instead we took the track along the edge of Ingleby Moor, following the Cleveland Way along my favourite doubletrack, heading toward Battersby Moor before doubling back on ourselves to get to Turkey Nab. The track by Turkey Nab is an eroded 4x4 track, constantly changing, with lots of exposed bedrock and some deep gullies, to a gate, after which it is a more straightforward drop down through the trees to Bank Foot Farm. From the farm, an allegedly flat track, part of the old ironstone railway, leads to the bottom of the incline, I say allegedly because it always feels like hard work plodding along this track. After the Incline and undulating fire road passes through Battersby  and Greenhow plantations to the short but steep bit of tarmac to Clay Bank car park. And, for the first time ever, Benny managed to ride the whole thing. Good effort that boy.

Friday 27th October route

Today was meant to be an easy pootle up the local river on my CX bike, while my car was being serviced in Middlesbrough. Drop car off, ride to Stockton Cycling, cup of coffee, ride back. And the first three quarters went to plan, a pleasant ride up the river in the sunshine, the ride back didn’t quite work out as well as expected. Blind bend, broken helmet, battered spine and badly lacerated arm meant the day finished in A&E - again. Special mention has to be made of all the lads at Stockton Cycling who kindly looked after me and got me to hospital, taking customer service to a new level.