Mountain Bike Rides
Cycling? Three days in a row? In January? Only a couple of us could manage the full three days, others managed an almost infinite variety of pitiful excuses, none of which involved missing limbs, exploding organs or sudden death. The mediocre weather forecast was never cited but may have had some influence.
The venue for our first day out, Guisborough Woods, was not at it’s best, blanketed in dense cloud and drizzling steadily but we still managed a team of five, eager and raring to go - to the cafe - just the inconvenience of a couple of hours mud-plugging beforehand. An uphill start on fire roads, followed by a carry up the steps, took us, eventually, to Newton Moor, from where we skirted the edge of the woods to the top of The Unsuitables, arriving mud-splattered and wet, barely into the start of the ride. Continuing up and down Percy Cross Rigg, things began to go a bit wrong for Trainee#2 whose gear shifter decided it was being grossly overworked and seized up solidly, leaving it with slightly less movement than The Ginger One on a nightshift, stuck in the second lowest gear, fine for the uphills but less practical for descending, his little legs were spinning round faster than a hamster hitting his wheel after a wrap of whizz. Disconnecting the cable plunged him, Trainee#2 not the hamster, into the thigh busting world of constant top gear, which calmed him down a bit. The myth of only one more hill kept him going; by his fourth, stood up on the pedals ascent, a realisation may have dawned that some economy with the truth had occurred. The long awaited descent arrived and proved more of a disappointment than our last bonus, the usually speedy track was so draggy pedals had to be turned the whole way down, through face splattering mud and puddles, all the way to the concrete road, where, we were finally blessed with a bit of gravity assistance. Some mainly flat riding took us back to Pinchinthorpe Visitor Centre, where we took turns at jet washing each other.
The next day we had a crew change and found ourselves at a mostly deserted Hamsterley, gaining an Olly but losing a Fireman, a Ginger One and a Youth. Emergency repairs meant Trainee#2 no longer had less gears than ears and was back in the business of trying to keep up with an eighteen year old. Our usual ‘hotlap’ ensued, now with the addition of the new track, Polty’s Last Blast, starting with five hundred feet of ascent in less than a mile to Pike’s Teeth. All the tracks were suffering from the weather, which is dull and drizzly and has been for some days now, even the man-made tracks were greasy and required some circumspection, nobody told the youngsters who spent the majority of the day chasing one another down the trails like playful kittens. Over enthusiasm resulted in a tumble or two no names will be mentioned to protect the guilty. Once again we arrived back at a car park literally dripping in mud, considering it never actually rained we were in a disgraceful state. A complete change of clothes later, we were tucking into enormous plates of food in the 68 cafe, some of us fuelling up for tomorrow.
For the first time in what seems like weeks we set off for a ride on dry roads, if only the trails could have risen to the same standard. A bit of a cheeky route today saw us doing a lakes style hike-bike up to the summit of Carlton Bank, to ride the mostly paved track south west, undulating over Gold Hill, then down Knoll’s End to Faceby Plantation.
The numerous water water bars claimed a victim when The Fireman pinch flatted on one of the fun sections, the weather, being marginally better than of late made the wait bearable. We followed the same route through Faceby Plantation, to Faceby, then skirting Whorl Hill, as we did eight days ago, this time without being caught up in the local hunt. After passing through Swainby, Trainee#2 was visibly relieved not to be repeating Scarth Nick for the second time in just over a week, instead we took the bridleway into Clain Woods and headed for Scugdale via the former Cow Shit Farm, now greatly improved since the day The Ginger One plunged his bare leg into half a metre of evil-smelling slurry which had to be negotiated to cross the farmyard. (TTB 012).
Onward and upward, we made our way along the Scugdale valley, climbing up past the crags to a very boggy Clough Gill Top, black peat hags sucking our wheels as we battled towards the better track at Brian’s Pond. A final effort, us three day warriors feeling the pace now as the draggy track once again turned skyward over Bilsdale West Moor. Thankfully the last mile or so is in at a more gratifying gradient and we reached Lordstones with sand-blasted faces and large, if somewhat mud-stained, grins.
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