Terra Trailblazers: 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.