Moors And Shores 2017

Moors And Shores 2017

Cross Bike Ride

The Fireman.

2nd April route

Approaching Saltersgate on the Pickering road, cyclists could be spotted silhouetted high on Hazelhead Moor, already well into this year’s Moors And Shore ride; it was before eight am and I wasn’t even near the car park. What time did these people get up? Or maybe they just bivouacked in the trees near the start line. When me and The Fireman saw the queue, we wished we had, a line of cyclists, 3 and 4 abreast snaking around the field, popular this year, the numbers breaking the four figure mark, all paying good money to battle through North Yorkshire accompanied by several hundred like minded souls.

Shivering slightly in the cool morning air, we slowly approached the start until our batch was captured by red and white tape to listen to the safety briefing, after which we were released into the wild, bottlenecking into a pleasant singletrack, where the rider in front dictated the pace. The singletrack fed us onto a fireroad where the fast boys immediately began jockeying for position as though they were in the last 100 metres of a Spring Classic, not the first mile of a leisurely amble. Us older, wiser and slower kids settled into a steady rhythm which would, hopefully, see us through the next 45 miles or so.

The route is very varied, utilising moorland tracks, fireroads, man-made singletrack in the forests, a few swampy bits and the inevitable road sections. Leaving the forest behind, we crossed the moor above Saltersgate, following the tyre tracks of those early morning riders spotted hours ago, before a slippery descent to Malo Cross and muddy singletrack around the back of Fylingdales Early Warning station, it’s generators drowning out the voices of riders. A wide, stony track to the first feed station, a few deep puddles making me glad I’d stuck with the waterproof boots and socks. A bite to eat before we embark on one of the highlights of the ride, 7 miles of descent to Langdale End. A mixture of fireroad, tarmac and doubletrack, unfortunately followed by a big climb to Broxa and beyond, initially on road before levelling into some meandering woodland tracks through Broxa Forest, reverting to tarmac again for a speedy run to the second food stop at Scalby. The mere words, food stop, are inadequate to describe the feast laid out before us, trestle tables laden with calorific goodness, the favourite snacks of every cyclist made available, from Jelly Babies to cheese sandwiches.

Knowing the infamous Wrench Green climb was still to come, efforts were made to avoid overeating, admittedly very pitiful efforts, our willpower slightly less than that of an alcoholic at a free bar. Enough carbs ingested to fuel a meeting of bulimics anonymous, we set off again, climbing a very muddy slope through Raincliffe Woods, before the aforementioned  Wrench Green climb, nemesis of many entrants, all chatter ceased, the silence only broken by the sounds of exertion, puffing, panting and the odd bit of quiet weeping. The pedestrian option was taken by a large percentage of aspirants, the foolish continued grinding upward, I had reached the stage of wondering if the the food stop goodies would look quite as appetising projectile vomited over the handlebars when, thankfully, the summit came into view, the road levelling to join a fireroad in Wykeham Forest.  Nausea subsided, we continued, mainly through the woods, taking in some fine singletrack and fast double track, only marred by evidently inexperienced riders who think it’s acceptable to stop without warning in the middle of a track, or at the end of sectors, while they have a drink or wait for their mates.

This year’s finish had been altered slightly, avoiding a track near the Low Dalby visitor centre, usually busy with casual strollers, instead opting for a deceptive drag, clicking down through the gears until they were gone, finally admitting this track is steeper than it looks, my nutrition strategy, (shovel it in at the food stop) proved flawed and forty odd miles of pedalling took its toll, The Fireman pulled away and I was left to plod upward on empty legs, overtaking and being overtaken the whole way. A few electric bike people whose batteries had proved unequal to the Moors And Shores miles were pushing their 60lb steeds up the slope.  After an eternity the fire road levelled out then began to drop, another slight climb and we popped out back at the Adderstone field and the welcoming sight of the finish arch.  

One more medal for the collection, obligatory photograph, visit to the catering van, eating chips in the sunshine, in a field surrounded by sweaty cyclists and muddy bikes. “Another one over.” “It wasn’t too bad really.” “At least the weather was okay.” “Are we doing the next one?”