A Torrid Tetrad.

Mountain Bike Rides

A week in an uncharacteristically hot Keswick, blue sky, blazing sun, baking heat, it’s unnatural. People grumbling because it is too hot - that’s more natural. To spare myself the fate of wandering up and down Keswick Main Street with the wife and mother, at a speed marginally slower than the bloke with the top hat who walks in front of the hearse, I had the foresight to bring the mountain bike and arrange for many visitors to “just drop in” if they happened to find themselves at the Lakes.

Day One: Ride One

18th June 2017 Route

Alone

Nobody came to rescue me today, so I had to go out alone, well, not quite alone, as The Lakesman triathlon was passing by our front door, 2.4 miles in the lake, 112 mile bike ride followed by a 26 mile run. My own effort was rather less extreme. The Keswick to Threlkeld rail path is still not fully open, with bridges down awaiting replacement, a signposted diversion for cyclists takes minor roads, passing Castlerigg Stone Circle, very picturesque but an unwelcome amount of extra climbing just to reach Threlkeld, the start of today’s route. Our old favourite, the Glenderaterra Beck ride, a pleasant warm up for the week ahead and it was pleasantly warm. The Blease road from Threlkeld to the Blencathra Centre appears to have suffered some tectonic upheaval, seeming steeper than last time I was here, or maybe it was the heat draining my energy. Or last night’s Jennings Bitter. Finally the car park came into view and the road turned to stoney track, contouring the east side of the valley, climbing gently, then down to cross the beck, performing a U turn and climbing onto the side of Lonsdale Fell, where an awesome singletrack runs high above the valley, a grey line cutting across the fell side, leading the eye to a view of the mighty Helvellyn, as old Willy Wordsworth said, “And a record of commotion, which a thousand ridges yield;”  

Back on our track, the tricky bit  appears, jagged slabs of off-camber rock, threatening to tilt the unwary over the edge, hundreds of feet to the valley floor, concentrate, breath, speed is your friend, no it’s not, brakes are your friend, foot down, blew it again. Safely through, around a bend and suddenly I’m riding through a field, gathering speed to cross Whit Beck before a short climb to reach the Cheat’s Car Park, used by those who cannot manage to walk the whole way up Skiddaw. Trying to recall a vaguely remembered track from the top of Latrigg to the rail path led to a bit of wandering about on overgrown, fenced off tracks before a B.O.A.T. led to the Brundholme Road. Not quite where I expected to be but the road is now closed to traffic owing to some subsidence, so it was a pleasant run back to Keswick on shady tarmac, littered with pine needles and encroaching brambles.

Day Two: Ride Two

19th June 2017 Route

The Breadlad.

Another day dawned bright and glossy, sun tan lotion in the lakes? What next? The Breadlad arrived from his tent, having callously abandoned wife and grandchildren in favour of mountain biking - a man after my own heart. Just for a change we chose a route from the Vertebrate Publishing, Lake District Mountain Biking Guide, Troutbeck And Jenkin Crag, mainly for the line about technical descents. A ride though Ambleside on the main A591 was not the best fun in the world but we soon turned off onto a gravel bridleway (Mirk Lane) which climbed interminably on varied surfaces and through varying degrees of undergrowth.

Dropping down after Town End, we crossed a pair of footbridges, one of which was on its side, requiring some circus-style balancing skills while carrying bikes, over a lethargic stream.  Some more tarmac took us to Dubbs Road, a gravel track to Dubbs Reservoir, which climbs gently, although nothing seemed gentle in today’s temperatures. We paused in the shade of a small plantation, for a bite to eat but soon moved on when we realised we were the bite to eat. A bit of movement stopped us being a midge meze, shortly afterward we doubled back on ourselves and followed a zig zag bridleway rapidly downhill until we popped out at a caravan park, a caravan park with an on-site pub, it would have been rude not to stop and rehydrate. An ice cold shandy, condensation running down the glass, sat outside in the beer garden - would have been great if the pub could be arsed to open during the day. Disappointed, we moved on and climbed another overgrown bridleway, battling brambles, branches and bugs until salvation was reached at a post office/cafe/shop combo selling ice cream. A competition between sunshine and ice cream ensued as we risked brain freeze to avoid sticky fingers, all the while perusing our next ascent, Robin Lane.

Unable to prevaricate any further we climbed the lane, which was not as arduous as it appeared and continued past a farm for a pleasant descent past Jenkin Crag and through Skelghyll Woods, steep rocky sections and root covered boulders need commitment, to paraphrase the book but, by Lake District standards, are fairly innocuous. The track turns to tarmac and suddenly we found ourselves in the centre of Ambleside, two sweaty wretches, bitten and scratched amongst the daytrippers and tourists ambling in and out of the shops - I bet we’d had the most fun.

Ride Three.

20th June 2017 Route

The Breadlad and Rod.

Another day, another waster with mountain bike in hand turns up at the front door, closely followed by yesterday’s waster. What sort of men can spend weekdays messing about on bikes? Shift workers - that’s who. Setting off today we almost felt sorry for the poor day working drones, the heat was almost too much, imagine being trapped in some office, looking at all that blazing sunshine. This was to be a ride of two halves, the first half reprising Sunday’s Glenderaterra Beck ride for the benefit of Rod, who has never had the pleasure. It is probably best to gloss over our attempts to find a shortcut to the car park at the end of Blease Road, where the route proper starts but needless to say it involved a lot of pushing, fence climbing and profanity.

The remainder of the route followed the same format as day one of this little break, the singletrack is impressive, more impressive was the lad who overtook us on the narrow section, riding a cross bike. He then proceeded to ride it up Skiddaw, as we watched from the Cheat’s carpark.

We took the Spooney Green Lane option for our return to Keswick, a marvellous downhill track, nice and fast when there are not too many wandering pedestrians. Returning to our little house in Keswick, The Breadlad departed to perform some familial duties, showing the granddaughters his impression of Sir Steve Redgrave powering round Derwentwater. More like Roger The Cabin Boy. After a brief rest, Rod and I set off for round two, a cheeky ascent of Walla Crag in the blazing heat of mid-afternoon. Which, as the saying goes, was nice - apart from the horse flies which seem to view me as their own personal blood bank.

Ride Four

21st June 2017 Route

Rod

This was a route we’d had our eyes on for a long time after seeing pictures of an awesome descent between Fleetwith Pike and Haystacks but the thought of riding up Honister Pass on mountain bikes always put a damper on the ride. Utilising two cars however... And it came to pass, we drove up the pass and parked at the slate mine experience, shouldered bikes and hiked up the bridleway for twenty five minutes until it leveled out. The weather still verging toward tropical, we were glad of the breeze at the top. Helmets on, shin pads, check, elbow pads, check, Rod looking a little bemused, check. When it says technical in The Lakes, it means pain for someone - quite often me. We rode a slightly descending track, completely rock covered, Haystacks looming large ahead of us on the other side of the valley, suspension taking the sting from the tail, so to speak. At the bothy in Dubs Quarry, we stopped for a little explore; I’ve slept in worse places.

Continuing, the path became more and more ‘technical’, dismounts became more frequent, the terrain well above our skill level; boulder fields, rocky drops teetering on the edge of space. We halted at a natural viewpoint, Buttermere ahead of us, the remainder of the bridleway snaking down the fell side, it looked stunning, surely it would become easier? Not until things leveled out in the valley bottom did we manage to fling enough pedal strokes together to get our speed into double figures.

We continued on into Buttermere and climbed up into the valley me and The Breadlad used as a return route in our Whiteless Pike adventure. This attempt was not flawed by being temporarily misplaced twice - we’re men, we don’t get lost, however this did not make it any easier. Contouring a baking hillside, on singletrack barely wider than our tyres, every lapse of concentration rewarded with a slip off the edge into the bracken, sweat in the eyes, every stream crossing a cooling rinse, we plodded onward up the valley, water leaving our bodies faster than we could replace it.

At last, the downhill to Rigg Beck appeared and this time we followed it, descending steeply at first on gravel singletrack,  which became a flowing track beside the beck, along the valley to the road. Tarmac took us back to Keswick and well earned shandy in The Pheasant. Four days riding in the heat was taking it’s toll, no more clean padded shorts, all my tops smelt like a dotard’s mattress, the sweat pads in my helmet held more water than a camel’s hump. Just as well tomorrow was scheduled for rock climbing, my sweaty buttocks might not have survived another day in the saddle.                                                                    

*tetrad

ˈtɛtrad/

noun

technical

1. a group or set of four.
2. "a tetrad of distinct elements"

Ashes To Ashes. The Movie,

The Pensioner always told us he wanted his ashes scattered on his favourite Nidderdale ride when he shuffled off to the great singletrack in the sky. One day in June, the weather suitably capricious in remembrance of The Pensioner, some of his riding companions congregated in Pateley Bridge, ready to battle our way round a lengthy route with an inconceivable ratio of uphill to downhill and a lack of technical difficulty equal to a trail centre green route.  The Pensioner's idea of heaven.

Now here’s a thought, Bob’s ashes are spread all over the moor sides of Nidderdale, enriching the grass and being leached into the water supply. The grass will be eaten by sheep, whose meat will be eaten by us, the water will be drank by us in the cafe’s of Pateley Bridge. The Lamb Hotpot was really tasty this year, next year it may contain Pensioner DNA, who knows?

The story is here.

This is the video.

Dave

Vinnie

Bobby

Rod

Andrew

Uncle Ian

The Breadlad

Climbing Simon

Andy T.

& Me.

Same time: same place, next year.

The Pensioner's Ashes

Mountain Bike Ride.

The Breadlad, Uncle Ian, Rod, Andy, Andrew, Dave, Vinnie, Bobby, Climbin’ Simon.

11th June route

After weeks of dedicated training the day has finally arrived, The Pensioner’s wish is to be fulfilled, for many years prior to his untimely demise he told us he wanted his ashes scattering on his Nidderdale ride. The problem being he only gave us a vague idea of the route, assuming our telepathic skills were on par with Uri Geller’s. We managed to figure out the route from various clues and perusal of the map, it turns out it is quite a popular route and definitely in The Pensioner idiom.

An impressive turn out of ten riders met up in a sunny but windy Pateley Bridge ready to get to grips with The Pensioner’s favourite route. Two of our less “honed” riders, a bit out of of practice, were utilising The Pensioner’s Haibikes to make up for their lack of training. Eventually the faffing was over and our actual peloton left the car park and headed into the Nidderdale Valley, following the road beside Gouthwaite Reservoir, just before we reached Ramsgill, one of the electric bikes suffered a mechanical which called for a return to base for some mechanic style attention - luckily we had a mechanic, so they were despatched in search of wet lube while the rest of laid about making the immaculately manicured grass in Ramsgill look untidy, sure we could hear some ethereal chuckling.

Wheel bearings freed Vinnie and Bobby rejoined us and we left tarmac behind to ride the bridleway, passing West House Farm to Stean Gorge, in true Pensioner style, things went a bit pear-shaped here and we missed the turn off onto the steep road to Middlesmoor, realising only when a finger post appeared pointing us to Middlesmoor via a bikes strictly prohibited footpath. What would The Pensioner do? Reverse and climb up a steep road or follow the path? The footpath police have done their level best to make things as bike unfriendly as they possibly can but we forged onward in true Pensioner spirit, mentally railing at the temerity of the “authorities”. Back on track we dragged ourselves up the remaining stretch of road to Middlesmoor, 25% gradient road, which left us panting somewhat. Another stretch of offroad track climbed ahead of us and climbed some more before fooling us into thinking we had reached the summit and then going up a bit more. Surely the famous downhill to Scar House reservoir must be here somewhere. So far: so Pensioner, wide tracks, open vistas, no trees, continuous ascent; all the hallmarks of The Pensioner.

Finally the reservoir came into view and we attacked the descent like starving men at a feast, Bobby giving us a masterclass in descending, overtaking those of us who thought we could not possibly go any faster. Regrouping at the bottom we crossed the dam, pausing to look over the edge at some phenomenal Victorian architecture. This being the farthest point of the ride, we decided this would be the spot to scatter The Pensioner to the four winds and the wind today was so strong he was certain to be scattered far and wide. Firstly his old riding helmet was signed by us all and fastened to a post, hopefully for eternity and then we took turns at letting the wind move The Pensioner at a speed much faster than he could ever achieve in corporeal life. What could have been a sombre moment felt (to me anyway) quite carefree, remembering The Pensioner, thinking about his quirky philosophy and unshakeable pessimism. It was the best send off possible, nothing could have been more suitable, a wild, windswept moor, a bunch of bikes and the barest minimum of respect. The American scientist Craig Venter summed it up perfectly when he said: “The only 'afterlife' is what other people remember of you.” The Pensioner will be eternal.

Our return route basically took us along the other side of the Nidderdale valley, along Dale Edge to the oddly named Sype Land. Naturally it was predominantly uphill, on wide tracks and by special arrangement, a howling side wind which buffeted us into the sides of the track. Eventually things took a turn downhill - are we lost? A Pensioner route with more than a few metres of downhill? Our speediest run of the day took us into Bouthwaite where we followed the opposite bank of Gouthwaite reservoir on a pleasant bridleway before we rejoined the road back into Pateley Bridge.

Bikes away we retired to a local pub for another gift from The Pensioner, dinner for all, which was received thankfully by all. It had been the best of days, poignant but enjoyable, a healthy amount of banter and a ride over open moorland ideally suited to a partially-sighted sexagenerian. Another quote to ponder before we go, this time for mr. mad dogs and englishmen Noel Coward; “We have no reliable guarantee that the afterlife will be any less exasperating than this one, have we? If that is true our old mate will be having the time of his life up there.

Scotland - Hotter Than Spain

Mountain Bike Rides

The Breadlad, Trainee#2, Rod, Howard, The Ginger One, Oz.

24th May route Glentress

25th May route Innerleithen

26th May route Glentress

Three days, five men, one field, two sheds and a medically inconceivable amount of flatulence, pretty much sums up this trip to Glentress, not forgetting the incredible weather, of course and the two effete individuals who opted for the more refined accommodation offered by a nearby hotel. The days followed a predictable routine, food, ride, beer, snacks, shower, pub and return to the fart boxes. Sleeping arrangements were divided along age lines, the, ahem, more mature riders in one cabin while the, and I use this term loosely, younger ones shared the second cabin. All that can be said, at least we were able to close the door in the old folks hut without risk of asphyxiation.

Our first ride was the Glentress red route, pretty much an uphill slog to the top of Spooky Woods, broken up by Cool Runnings, which is fun but in reality only serves to increase the agony. Eventually those picnic tables came into view and we took a breather before the fun started, obligatory photo’s taken, snacks eaten, Howard’s drone took to the air and with more enthusiasm than style we flung ourselves over that famous initial drop off and let gravity do it’s work. The less than magnificent seven continued in a downward direction utilising the finest tracks Glentress red route can offer. Trainee#2’s impetuous youth overtook his skill level at one point and he became the first casualty of the trip; tortoises and hares were mentioned in passing. Somewhat sooner than anticipated it was all over and we were faced with the choice between an early finish or reprising some sweaty uphill. Options were discussed, some choosing the last section of the blue route and back to the cabin, while the remainder of us gurned our way back to the Buzzard's Nest car park then up around the play area to the start of Berm Baby Berm, the highlight of Glentress. Always a gem, we followed the Berm Baby Berm and the remaining sections of the blue route back to our cabin for cold beers and salty snacks.

The following morning saw us in the on-site cafe, somewhat disappointed by the paucity of food on offer. What happened to the Scottish breakfasts we’ve enjoyed in the past? One haggis butty later we decamped to Innerleithen, the first time at Inners for most of us, being rained off the previous two occasions we were in the vicinity. The chances of being rained off today were remote, merciless blazing sun scorched the car park as we assembled our bikes, wondering if the Minch Moor climb on the red route would really be as arduous as it is usually reported. The only saving grace of the first half mile or so  - it was in the shelter of trees, other than that it has nothing to recommend it, just find your easiest gear, switch off the pain receptors in your legs and grind upwards. Things eventually become easier, it doesn’t so much level out as become less steep until a small play area is reached which gave us all a bit of downtime, before recommencing the climbing, rising above the treeline onto open moor. And then it’s all over, a cairn and gasping cyclists milling around, admiring the view as they refuel.  What goes up must come down, to coin a cliche and it was worth every lung-busting, leg-burning, sweat in the eyes moment; apart from one section which sneakily ascends, leaving you wondering why you can’t keep your speed through the corners until the heart-wrenching disappointment when you realise climbing has not been rescinded and is being reinflicted on our sweaty torsos’. Popping out at a fire road corner, we paused to regain our breath but only briefly once the local insect population realised a buffet had been laid on. More glorious downhill followed, featuring some drop offs which, being slightly over kerb size, were out of the Terra Trailblazer’s league and that was that, we were back in the baking car park, literally dripping with sweat and praying for an ice cream van to appear. Being godless heathens, our prayers went unanswered, so we decamped to Innerleithen in search of sustenance. Thanks to Ian from Glentress Forest Lodges - one of the good guys of British tourism.

The third and last day dawned bright blue and cloudless again, us in the residence for mature gentlefolk rose bright and early, next door in the methane motel, things were more lax or perhaps they had finally succumbed to the oxygen depleted atmosphere. If we were at work a regulation 7 failure would be on the cards, despite the door being open all night. Wetherspoons Thursday Curry Club has a lot to answer for. The mundane seven now reduced to five as our two friends of Dorothy from the hotel decided three days of fun in the sun would be too arduous. Today was play day, some cherry picking of Glentress tracks and a blat about the Freeride Park to hone our skills. Highlights have to be Berm Baby Berm again (and again), probably the best bit of Blue in the country and, for the first year ever, it being actually dry enough to ride the North Shore in the Freeride Park. The Breadlad reinforced his status as air time king of the Terra Trailblazers with his multiple descents of the middle wooden drop off while he was filmed from every angle. Just like Tom Cruise,he does all his own stunts. Eventually we succumbed to the heat and retired to the cafe, via the return loop of the Blue Route for cold drinks. 28 degrees celsius  - in Scotland in May, if this is global warming bring it on.