A Bit Of An Old Explore

Mountain Bike Ride

The Ginger One. Trainee#2

27th March route

You know how it is, when a ride starts with only a vague plan, which in this case was to introduce Trainee#2 to Guisborough's concrete road, then have mooch about the top of the woods and see what caught our eye. More spring weather, daffodils and dog walkers all over as we left Pinchinthorpe visitor centre behind and pedalled along the pleasantly flat former railway track which cuts across the outskirts of Guisborough. All too soon we reached the right turn which signifies the fun is over and the real riding begins. It seems Greg Le Monde is mistaken with his famous “It doesn't get any easier: you just get faster.” In real life the concrete road gets no easier and no faster. Bikes were winched upward, legs screaming and lungs gasping, our winter fitness gains somewhat reluctant to show themselves today. Leaving the concrete road behind, we made our way, still climbing, through what remains of the woods,

“I remember when this was all trees.”

“ It was only a fortnight ago, ya tool.”

Gradually things levelled out, the track mainly dry, only marred by a few boggy bits which we were able to power through. Reaching a fire road signalled time for a bit of payback, we embarked on Nomad, one of Guisborough's more well established tracks, showing a bit of wear and tear now, not helped by people riding it in the depths of winter. After a short climb back to the fireroad, we set off down a once popular track, which had a lot of hard graft put into it, which is inexplicably overgrown and decidedly unloved, definitely no fun today, ankle-grabbing brambles and small conifers doing nothing to improve the flow. Climbing, once again to the top fireroad, we made our way to Highcliffe Nab and took in the view from the top prior to exploring a couple of promising trails beneath the cliffs.

Moving on to the Lover’s Ledge area, another brace of trails presented itself, after some exploration and a spot of pedestrianism. We all agreed they would be better when our skills are equal to the challenges of the tracks, when the mysterious time called 'summer' arrives. From the bottom track, some collective masochism disguised as “let’s see what’s left of The Chute” had us ascending a muddy fireroad of some steepness; the same fireroad where I once heard a noise like a set of knackered bellows, then a rather large young lady riding a small pony came into view, the pony’s nostrils were fully dilated, eyes rolling alarmingly and it’s breathing would have had an emphysemic octogenarian worried, the rider seemed oblivious. Riding back through the forest, thoughts turning to coffee and comestibles, someone who had not rode 60 miles less than 48 hours previously suggested a visit to the S.O.W. track, which would entail riding back to the top of the forest, thanks for that you ginger bastard. Trainee#2, another dilettante cyclist, enthusiastically agreed and soon the painful shreds of what used to be my quads were cranking slowly up The Unsuitables, the fact the other two were panting as much as me by the time we reached the top was only slightly gratifying.  

At the S.O.W. track, I managed to go over the bars before we’d even begun descending, all the fault of The Ginger One, who was in front of me, going slower than a granny with eleven points on her licence driving the inevitable Hyundai i10 along a single carriageway road. I don’t know who she is but she’s there everywhere I go. Anyway, hitting a small rock, my lack of momentum resulted in the sort of gymnastics people approaching middle-age ought to avoid. Concern and sympathy from my companions was in shorter supply than bacon sandwiches at a bar mitzvah, as they rode off laughing.  The S.O.W. track (Skip Off Work), is worth the climb, steep and varied, a good effort from all those involved.

A couple more trails were ridden before we were safely in the Branch Walkway Cafe, Trainee#2 beginning the mammoth adventure which is a Branch Walkway burger.

Solitary Saturday

Cross Bike Ride

All alone.

25th March route

In an attempt to regain some semblance of fitness before next week’s Moors And Shores ride, another long ride seemed like a good idea. The CX bike freshly returned from the tender care of Stockton Cycling’s top mechanics meant the road bike could be put back in its place at the back of the shed until an urge for a ride of unadulterated dullness comes upon me. Released from the tyranny of frail wheels and fragile frame, I was free to loosen my fillings on rocky descents and enjoy direct routes over moors rather than skulking round on tarmac. A rough plan in mind, I abandoned wife and child on a fine, windless Saturday morning and headed, quite literally, for the hills. Cycle paths and some urban singletrack took me to the shores of the Tees, a little too close for comfort at some points. Passing under the Surtees Bridge, which carries the A66 over the river, is particularly spooky, an unfenced, uneven path beside black water, wondering if I’d be able to unclip from the pedals as the bike dragged me to the depths like an anchor. Always bringing to mind the spirit of 1970’s public information films which sought to warn us of the danger of open water by giving us nightmares.

A quick pedal along the remnants of Bowesfield Lane, then cycle path all the way through Ingleby Toytown to emerge at The Fox Covert on the outskirts of Yarm. Country lanes from here to Hilton, weekend warriors on road bikes becoming more and more prevalent, always going in the opposite direction. Is there something I don’t know? A right turn at the wind turbines, today motionless against the blue sky, follow the road to Hutton Rudby and on through Sexhow to meet the A172. Crossing over to Carlton, an ascent of Carlton Bank was considered and disregarded, far too nice a day to ruin it with puffing and panting, instead a continuation to Great Broughton and the more amenable Clay Bank. The Ingleby Greenhow road beckoned from the top of Clay Bank, a fine downhill but not as much fun as the undulating gravel through the woods of Greenhow Plantation and Battersby Plantation to Bank Foot Farm.

Picking up the road again just outside Ingleby Greenhow, battling against the tide of road bikers again, I passed through Kildale then turned left up Percy Cross Rigg, returning to off road riding at the gate. The rocky track, sandy dry today, heads upward to the old Starfish Decoy building where I paused for a bite to eat and a photo opportunity, looking out at a Mediterranean blue sea. A brief downhill blast brought me to the Unsuitable’s gate, which was thronged with walkers and a solitary mountain biker getting his breath back after ascending The Unsuitables. Deciding to keep my height, I pedalled across to Newton Moor for a look at Roseberry Topping; the summit appeared jam-packed, it’s a wonder people weren’t being shuffled over the cliffs like penguins on an ice floe. Multitudes of walkers were milling about Newton Moor, coming up the steps from Roseberry Common like a procession, including groups of teenagers bent under the weight of enormous back packs. What do they carry in there? I’m pretty certain I had less stuff than that when I left home.

The track to along Newton Moor to Gribdale sported a few puddles, the usual ruts and a lot more walkers, the car park beside the road at Gribdale Gate was full to capacity and every relatively flat bit of grass had a car on it. It only takes a bit of sunshine to lure them away from the settee. About forty miles in the legs by now, the thought of ascending the fire road to Captain Cook’s Monument remained just a thought as I rode downhill to Great Ayton, heading for home - another twenty or so miles away. Through Tanton and Seamer back to Hilton and reversing the route through Ingleby Barwick. A slightly different route through Stockton took me to the Tees Barrage, where I paused for another snack, watching the canoeists battling through the man-made course before riding up the escalator to do it all again. The last lap beckoned, weaving through strolling families, dog walkers, kids on bikes, all enjoying the glorious day, even the river looked blue.

Blowy At Bloworth

Mountain Bike Ride.

The Breadlad

17th March route

Maybe it was anticipation of the tail end of Storm Stella, which was due to cross the Atlantic and ravage Britain after blowing some fat people about in the land of the free and home of the brave but today we were reduced to a duo as assorted pitiful excuses were trotted out for missing the ride. The Breadlad and me did the usual faffing about in Clay Bank car park, a bit breezy but not reaching hurricane standards just yet. Leaving the car park, the wind was blowing straight up the Bilsdale valley, bikes were shouldered for the walk up the Carr Ridge steps, the path turning so the wind was at our backs by the time we remounted for the climb onto Urra Moor, passing by Round Hill, the highest point on the North York Moors. We continued in a similar, wind-assisted, fashion to Cockayne Head, the track drying out nicely, only a few puddles remaining, before turning into the wind, dropping down by the Badger Stone then climbing again to cross Slapewath Moor to Stump Cross. The start of what we call The John Deere descent, named after The Pensioner many years ago for his resemblance to a smoky, old tractor which just keeps ploughing on.

Stump Cross really is a stump of a cross, probably put there by early pilgrims to mark the start of the bridleway opposite, a fine, singletrack descent, cutting down into Bransdale, culminating in a steep shale drop to the road. Normally from here, we would turn right and follow the road steeply upward before picking up the track along Bransdale Ridge back to Stump Cross; today however, we went left into the remnants of Bloworth Wood, nearly all felled now, acres of tree stumps surrounding us as we contour around the head of the valley on a gently rising fireroad. A short uphill section leads out of the woods up to Rudland Rigg where Stella sought to remind us of her presence in a most forceful way.

The thought of battling against the wind, back over the highest point of the moors, did not fill us with joyfulness, The Breadlad mooted an alternative return which involved a tree-screened lower path and a blast down The Incline to reach it. Acceptance of the idea was swift and we continued along the old rail track from Bloworth Crossing to the Incline top, the track stretching perpendicularly below us; it must have been quite a site in the ironstone mining days when trucks full of iron ore were trundling down the slope.

Ingleby Incline

No chance today of beating my personal land speed record (47.6 mph, if you’re curious) while being buffeted by a side wind but still a speedy few hundred metres. Despite being blown sideways across the track twice. The Breadlad’s plan came together, the track back through the woods was indeed predominantly sheltered from the wind and we made decent progress back to Clay Bank, with only the short road section to cause us pain.

Squelching From Square Corner.

Mountain Bike Ride

The Breadlad, Trainee#2, The Youth.

10th March route

The Square Corner microclimate, that weather anomaly where everything in the confines of the car park is colder and damper than the rest of the world is firmly in force today as we shiver gently waiting for The Breadlad to arrive. Recent tree felling has made the whole length of The Mad Mile visible, a white line snaking up the eastern flank of Black Hambleton, today's  crew of shirkers were inordinately pleased when we turned off into Silton Woods instead of puffing and panting our way up that white line. They were even more pleased when we rocked up at the downhill track, although it had involved a bit of swamp bashing to reach that point, a squelching path through soggy grass, which someone had kindly rode a horse along to make this bit more challenging. The downhill track is suffering a bit from the weather and notices have appeared exhorting people not to build trails. Not sure what the legal status is currently but no signs prohibit riding, so away we went down the muddy track, the majority of it rideable. Although probably not ridden in the style envisioned by its creators; in better conditions we will flow like mercury down the track, carving berms, floating over roots and casually manualing the doubles. Today, well you know, it's a bit greasy and the roots are wet and I left my pads in the car and it's winter innit? Elbow pads, not incontinence pads, not quite at that stage yet.

Casualty free we reached the bottom, boasting some of the slowest times ever recorded on Strava for this segment, nice to know we're flying the flag for the oldies. A mile or so of tarmac took us to Kepwick, where the infamous bank was given a miss - more collective relief - in favour of following the road to Cowesby and eventually Brick Shed Cottage. The red Paradise Trail drops down to here from Cowesby Moor and we were checking out a rumour the path from the moor had been resurfaced, essentially riding this section of the red route in reverse. We pushed a short section through a churned up field, where a small herd of bullock's ignored us in favour of a chomping a load of hay, leading to a gate and what used to be an overgrown gully, previously unrideable, is now a nicely gravelled, steep but cycle-friendly track. But not for far. The remainder of the track is unchanged, rocks and mud leading to Cowesby Moor: we were soon pushing. The continuation, across the moor, surfaced a year or two ago is gradually returning to swamp but still a million times better than the original track.

A more amenable climb through Boltby Forest, passes some substantial trees I remember being planted. How can I be that old? I'm sure someone just added thirty years onto my life when I wasn't paying attention. Fire roads took us up to the Drove Road, a short distance further and we were at High Paradise Farm, the tearoom now open summer hours. A friendly welcome, hearty portions and all downhill back to the car. Okay, two out of three ain't bad as Hartlepool United's most famous supporter sang. The welcome was friendly, the portions were immense, so maybe it’s not quite downhill all the way.

Stomachs full to bursting point, the ride back along The Drove Road seemed less enticing than an hour previously, even with the benefit of a tail wind, but it had to be done, albeit at a leisurely pace. The Mad Mile in the sensible direction is surely one of the finest finishes to a ride in the country. Today was no different, a pedal free blast on rocks and gravel, all the way back to the car.

Has Spring Sprung?

Mountain Bike Ride

The Breadlad, Trainee#2.

9th March route

Sheepwash car park, three mountain bikers, a few dog walkers and so many ramblers you'd think red socks are being given away. Why do they always attack the countryside mob handed? Safety in numbers? Protection from the wild beasts of North Yorkshire? After their “safety briefing”, they moved out looking like a phalanx of geriatric refugees who had just looted Go Outdoors, the car park ringing with the click of walking poles. We rode off in the opposite direction, into a stiff headwind, the only thing marring an otherwise lovely spring day. The tarmac climb to Arncliff Wood served as a suitable warm up before entered the trees and proceeded to slide down some treacherously slippery tracks, despite of our usual middle-aged caution, some unscheduled dismounts may have occurred.

A couple of swampy fields later, we were back on tarmac, passing the Rusty Bike cafe, heading into Swainby, for a pleasant pedal up Scugdale to Heathwaite, passing the time with an intellectual discourse on explosive diarrhoea, never let it be said our conversations revolve solely around bikes and biking. At Heathwaite we took a breather before climbing up the track to Faceby Plantation. Some superb single-track is reached by a carry up steep steps, maybe people exist who could ride these steps but we are not them. We are, however, adept at gently sloping single track, even with tyre-grabbing muddy patches. Another soggy field later we were in Faceby, mud splattered and damp of gusset - must try harder to remember my mudguard.

A further climb took us to Whorl Hill Farm, passing the newly renovated chicken sheds, which unfortunately burnt down last year. Tragic it may be but I bet it smelt marvellous, like the world’s biggest barbecue. Or a light snack for some Americans. A deeply rutted and no muddier than usual track (probably because it couldn’t get any muddier without becoming a tourist attraction like the Dalyan mud baths in Turkey) took a convoluted route to Whorlton Castle. Allegedly one of the most haunted places on Britain, if you're sensitive to that sort of thing. Insensitive to most things of an ethereal nature, we rode past untroubled by leering ghoulies but safe in the knowledge, gleaned from many episodes of Scooby Doo, that it’s always the caretaker in disguise and he would have got away with it if it wasn’t for those pesky kids.

A short time later we were indulging in a valiant but ultimately futile attempt to ride up the steps in Clain Wood. Trainee#2, not having as many years on the lager and kebab diet as me and The Breadlad, took the prize for riding the furthest but he does have the benefit of youth and not being worn down by 40 years of toil in the chemical industry. Not yet anyway. A further climb took us up and across Scarth Wood Moor, the day by now having developed into a perfect spring afternoon, sun breaking through the clouds, trees sheltering us from the wind. Our last bit of track, the downhill back to the car park, now definitively known as Olly’s Folly, one of the last legacies of The Pensioner, which, muddy conditions notwithstanding, we rode without folly, or Olly for that matter.

A Couple To Start The Month Off.

Mountain Bike Rides

1st March route. The Breadlad

2nd March route. Trainee#2, The Breadlad

Only a dedicated duo today, me and The Breadlad, Trainee#2 took the day off, preferring to go to the gym and “work on his legs”. Evidently his legs are not working hard enough when he cycles. We’ll have to put more hills in the routes. Another spring-like morning as we left Danby behind, climbing steadily over Ainthorpe Rigg, a little gloopy but we managed without stooping to pedestrianism. A quick breather at the top before we plunged down the other side, the slabby rocks in the top gully surprisingly dry and fast, opening out to spongy grass, spraying water from the tyres as we romped down, too soon we were at the road heading into Fryupdale. We followed this for a while, detouring slightly to check out how the new Yorkshire Cycle Hub building is coming on. To our untrained eyes, a lot to do ahead of the Easter opening date but it looks as though it will be a great facility and an asset to the moors. There’s always room for another cafe.

The track to Woodhead Farm led to a muddy bridleway climbing into the valley on heavy gravity fields, the bridleway turns right and continues steeply upward, Lake District steep, plodding slowly, bikes on back, a meandering path traversing a vertical hillside. It will make a great downhill track though, some sections could (possibly) approach the limit our skills but we will enjoy trying: when everything dries out.

After the steep bit, a more amenable track led us across the moor to the New Way road, which we followed south to the Trough House turn off. The Cut Road path, which passes Trough House and contours around the head of Fryupdale with spectacular views down the valley is one of North Yorkshire’s gems, today made a little more challenging by a thin layer of ice. Pretty much sanitised nowadays compared to the technical rockfest of years ago but still a scenic blast. A short bit of road work took us to another favourite offroad track, a straight downhill doubletrack above Bainley Bank, today slightly muddy to calm us down a bit. Near the end of the track two untethered farm dogs decided a game of chicken with two speeding mountain bikers was more fun than herding sheep, chasing rabbits, biting postmen or whatever they do all day. Bowels suitably loosened, (ours, not the dogs’) we arrived at the steep road which leads to the hamlet of Street. One other unexplored offroad track awaited our attention, a quick glance at the overgrown rabbit run before us ensured it remained unexplored and we followed tarmac speedily all the way back to Danby.

The next day we arrived at Scaling Dam car park to find it firmly barriered and bereft of butty van - for the second time in the past few weeks. It’s a mystery why it’s closed, nothing on Northumbrian Water’s website to indicate what could have precipitated such emphatic action. Even naifs like us are aware that remote car parks are often used for deviant sexual encounters in the evening but ten thirty in the morning? Feeling suitably protected from the attentions of voyeurs and exhibitionists, we parked in the fishermen’s layby and stepped out into a fairly stiff westerly. Stiff enough to ripple the surface of the reservoir and cold enough to shorten our usual faffing and get us on the road to High Tranmire Farm in double quick time. From the farm we battled into the wind for a while until we dropped down to cross Hardale Beck, which gets wider every time we’re here. The steep and usually loose ascent known as The Slagbag rose above us, excuses were made in advance, too tired, too loose, too wet, too windy - in the event they were superfluous, we all managed dab-free ascents, panting, wheezing, cursing and almost vomiting but success was ours.

Downhill to Green Houses, past the excitable spaniel, spaniel singular today, not the usual barking trio. Staying on the road, we climbed out of Stonegate, then down Bank Lane, aiming for the stepping stones over The Esk beyond West Banks Farm. Trainee#2’s prowess at riding stepping stones, fresh from his success at Nettledale, was tested by the sight which greeted us at the river. Two of the central stones were missing and the river in spate, no chance of even walking across today, not unless we fancied being swept all the way to Whitby, arriving in the harbour to be ripped apart by the flesh-eating seagulls. An alternative route via a handy bridge was utilised and we were soon almost puking for the second time today on the ultra-steep track up to Park House Farm, roughly cobbled and approaching vertical we were all successful again, the price of success being a sweating, wheezing trio frightening the animals. Another muddy field descent followed, passing under the railway into Underpark Farm, dodging chickens and ducks waddling about in the slurry. A steady pull along the riverside bridleway brought us to Lealholm, then a few miles into the wind to Houlsyke before more climbing eventually got to Danby Beacon, the last stretch of road up to the beacon gaining some spectacular Strava times with the benefit of a tailwind.

Still bright, sunny and cold, we took a quick breather at the beacon, Trainee#2 bounding about like a hyperactive juvenile, obviously not working hard enough. The singletrack over Roxby Moor was a bit draggy today but still enjoyable. Trainee#2 took a big off, probably from eating the dust of someone almost thirty years his senior, although he blames a spuriously appearing rock. Surprisingly he was unwilling to repeat it for the camera. The car park was still locked and barred as we passed, despite a sign saying it would be closing at three o’clock today, must have been three a.m. There was no other choice but to decamp to the butty van at Birk Brow in search of sustenance.