The Curious Tale Of The Christmas Ride

Mountain Bike Ride

The Breadlad, The Ginger One, The Fireman, Rod.

(No young ones - strange that)

18th December 2018 route

“It's Christmas time, and there's no need to be afraid

At Christmas time, we let in light and banish shade

And in our world of plenty, we can spread a smile of joy”

Pinchinthorpe car park in the rain and gloom, if someone really could let in light and banish shade we’d be thrilled, we might even stretch to a smile of joy. A gathering of unique individuals, ready for the annual Terra Trailblazers’ Christmas ride. Uniquely stupid some might say, to turn out in rain and fifty mph winds all for the reward of a festive toastie and a mud-splattered face. 

Next year’s Xmas ride is going to be in July, the weather might, just possibly, be marginally better. Or we could stage a mountain bike nativity, we’ve got the virgin but three wise men might be a bit of a struggle. We haven’t got a carpenter but one or two members say they have wood, normally something to do with cafe waitresses. Joseph and Mary arrive at an inn on their mountain bikes, looking for a room for the night, only to find the inn has been taken over by the R.R.A., the militant branch of the Rambler’s Association, the Rambler’s Reproval Army. They’ve painted a mural on the gable end of the inn, depicting a thirty strong band of ramblers trudging uphill, glaring at a descending mountain biker, beneath the slogan The Struggle Is Real, emblazoned across the bottom of the mural, He Should Have A Bell On That. Their policy: mandatory execution for cycling on footpaths; their weapons, the mighty sword of walking pole, the shield of map-case and the hard stare of disapproval. The last forty metres to the inn is not a bridleway, Joseph and Mary are forced to look elsewhere and stumble into a swingers’ club Christmas party, where Mary is welcomed like an old friend and Joseph begins to have his doubts about the whole virgin birth business. 

Anyway, this bike ride. Six redoubtable cyclists in a wet car park, one soon realising he’d left his wheel skewer in the garage and bailing on the ride, while the remainers were left doubting the veracity of his story and/or admiring his subterfuge. Oz drove off, back to central heating and civilisation, while the rest of us donned waterproofs and pedalled into the forest, eventually arriving at the gate on Roseberry Common, where the art of the drystone wallers provided a handy windbreak, while we decided on a route. The consensus being “let’s get back in the trees.” So we shouldered the bikes and hiked up the steps to Newton Moor, mainly to see if it could get any windier higher up - it could. 

We tacked a zig zag path across the moor, buffeted by a side wind until we reached the top of The Unsuitables, setting off down Black Nab, the wind gradually moved to our rears, not from our rears, as is more usual. We regained the sanctuary of Guisborough Woods and began enjoying a few of the less muddy, off-piste tracks, the usual combination of wet roots, mud and incompetence amalgamating to make us twenty year veterans look like novices. Or maybe we are the living embodiment of “all the gear: no idea.” 

After a relatively small amount of miles but a copious amount of fun and laughter, the cafe was calling and we began to descend using a combination of fire roads and favourite tracks. In the shelter of the conifers it was quite calm, only grey sky, rain and swaying tree trunks reminding us of the weather higher up. One sheltered section of fire road which looked as wet as the previous bits turned out to be a couple of hundred metres of sheet ice, Rod kindly skidded along it on his back, a graphic way of warning the remainder of us to be cautious. 

And then came the highlight of the ride, festive pigs in blankets toasties in the Branch Walkway Cafe, a Christmas concoction of bacon, sausage, stuffing and cranberry sauce, in a toastie. Just the thing after a hard eleven miles in the sort of conditions which would have kept Ray Mears and Bear Grylls confined to their five star hotels in case their make up ran. 

The First Week Of December.

Mountain Bike Ride

The Youth

4th December route

First frost scraping of this winter and first Thule wheel holder of the year to snap. Thule must make a fortune from these, the plastic goes brittle at the first hint of frost, bang a mountain bike on and they break straight down the middle, isn’t there always a cynical little voice in your head that wonders if this is a deliberate policy. Any regular Thule user will be nodding their head now. Moan over, it was a grand day for a bike ride, crisp and clear, blue sky and a dusting of white frost. We rode up from Great Ayton, past Fletcher’s Farm, to Dikes Lane, passing one of those throngs of walkers which seem so prevalent in the rambling world. Is it a safety in numbers thing? 

We continued through Aireyholme Farm and up to Roseberry Common, the mighty Roseberry Topping resplendent, wearing its winter coat of russet bracken. Across the common and into Guisborough Woods, the shaded parts pleasantly firm: where the sun has touched, a sloppy mess. The Youth managed another of his spectacular over the bars superman flying through the air impressions when he somehow  failed to see a set of icy steps, I don’t know how he manages to stand up after falls that would see me getting a ride in a big yellow helicopter. Youth I suppose. More of the same followed, without the falls, which he was reluctant to repeat for the camera despite the promise of global fame and endless Youtube crash compilations. We made our way back onto Newton Moor and down Little Roseberry before shouldering the bikes to climb up the Roseberry Topping track, to access the rocky bridleway known as Clatter And Bang which leads to the stone folly, built, allegedly,  to enhance the landscape. 

The Youth demonstrated his climbing prowess by traversing the exterior, while those of a more mature disposition appreciated the fine views of Roseberry Topping. From here we made our way to The Elephant’s Hole, a huge bowl scooped out from the top of Cliff Rigg Quarry, always fun to ride down, the track through the gorse which follows is never as enjoyable but winter gloves take the sting out of it, pity mine were still in the car. Another track of mud and slop was negotiated and we were on the road to Great Ayton, straight to the butchers for several decidedly unhealthy combinations of pastry and meat, obviously not the normal fare for athletes like ourselves but we felt we’d earned it. 

Mountain Bike Ride

Howard

6th December route.

Forty eight hours later, the world had descended into that day long gloom where it never actually gets properly light, cloud oozed down to smother the higher hill tops and moisture caressed us, entrained in a burgeoning wind, while we did the usual car park faff. Hard to believe we’re even in the same country as two days ago. I don’t know about you but I find days like these depressing and energy-sapping, I could easily crawl back under the duvet and remain there until the sun comes out and it is a genuine effort to muster the enthusiasm to get the bike out but then again, the alternative - not riding - is unthinkable. Leaving Danby behind, we had a gentle start, through the woods of Danby Park to Castleton, then the interminable climb to pay our respects to The Seated Man, still sitting on top of Castleton Rigg, clutching his bag to stop the wind blowing it into the next dale, eyes beginning to squint in the prevailing wind. A quick photo and we were gone, probably his only visitors today. 

More tarmac and a short bridleway took us past Fat Betty and close to Rosedale Head, where the mist came down to meet us, it wasn’t too bad, the Lion Inn on Blakey Ridge was visible for the first time in a month. Regaining gravel at Trough House, we flew along the track, skirting the head of Fryupdale, our friend the tailwind giving us a big shove in the right direction. Continuing downward, the puddle-ridden doubletrack at Bainley Bank brought us out on the road above the hamlet of Street, from Street it is only a short but steep uphill to the Yorkshire Cycle Hub, where we availed ourselves of the cafe with gusto. Suitably satiated, a short pedal took us to Crossley Side and the steep path onto Ainthorpe Rigg, I happened to mention to Howard we’d seen a lad ride the whole thing in the summer, so it was challenge accepted and off he went but conditions were against him, wind, water, mud, slippery rocks and he’s no longer got youth on his side, it won’t be long before his main topics of conversation are ailments, operations and medication, like the rest of us. Better luck next time. From the top, the sanitised path across Ainthorpe Rigg came as a bit of a shock to Howard, who remembered it as a technical descent filled with rocks and drop offs, now it is merely a fast but unchallenging downhill. All too soon, we were heading down the road back to Danby, the weather never having managed to rise above a barely perceptible brightening of the greyness which lasted mere minutes before normal service was resumed. We were lit with the inner glow which comes from a good ride in mediocre conditions, or maybe just smugness.

Mountain Bike Ride

The Youth, The Ginger One, Oz

7th December route

Turned out to be a bit of an extra, today's ride. The forecast was for fifty mph winds so I wasn't going to bother but a few unexpected texts later, a crew was formed and we found ourselves in a sunny Pinchinthorpe car park, whinging about the three quid parking fee but grateful for the weather. It's been so long since Oz and The Ginger One were out they've refitted the stabilisers to their bikes but we made them remove them so they could ride without embarrassment.  

The usual fireroad start was, as usual, a couple of miles uphill, eventually we gained Newton Moor, while all the news from my former workplace was disseminated, of course, things have never been as bad since the old blokes deserted the place. Just shows who was actually looking after the job - insert smiley face emoticon (if I knew how). We took in some of Guisborough’s, not necessarily finest tracks but less muddier than the other tracks tracks and did a lot of standing about, gossiping like fishwives. Some of the moorland stuff was not too bad actually, stuff around The Nipple and across The Lonsdale Bowl. The Youth managed the stairs from Tuesday wholly with his bike, which is a novelty but there you go. The Ginger One’s fabled “extra loop” even happened, we rode back uphill so The Chute could become our last route of the day - and very nice it was too. And, like a self-employed plumber, the fifty mile an hour winds failed to turn up, which was a bonus.

November 2018 Round Up and Video

November  2018 Round Up and Video

You know the score - video click here.

That’s another month successfully wasted away. In cold hard stats, 17 rides, 29 hours riding, 208 miles, 208 off-road, mainly cold, wet, muddy miles with a lot of wind and the odd dollop of sunshine, just to rekindle our enthusiasm. And we had mist and fog, is that mist or fog? Quick bit of research - 

Fog is a cloud that reaches ground level, even if that "ground" is a hill or mountaintop. Mist forms wherever water droplets are suspended in the air by temperature inversion, volcanic activity, or changes in humidity. Fog is denser than mist and tends to last longer.

The Lion Inn, Blakey Ridge.

Thank you Professor Google. We had both, it wet us and chilled us but didn’t deter us, well, some of us, the ones who were actually out in it. The usual settee-bound dilettantes were nowhere to be seen now the clocks have gone back and the temperatures have dropped below double figures. 

November also marked two years since that prototype Karl Pilkington, The Pensioner,  shuffled off this mortal coil, gone to some better place where the tracks are always wide, well-lit and downhill, the sun shines and there is always a pot of water with the pot of tea in the free cafe. On the anniversary of his demise me and The Youth took ourselves out for a Pensioner ride, wide open tracks and a minimum of technicality. It was grim, another day when the weather showed us who was boss. As pedalled into a rain-filled headwind, the sky as dark as dusk despite it being just past lunchtime, I swore I could hear a ghostly sniggering above the buffeting wind. Later in the ride we met a bespectacled mountain biker, riding an electric bike, his sentences punctuated with profanity. Spooky. 

Tuesday 27th November route.

Dale Head Farm Tea Room, Rosedale

"I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when."

“I ain’t seen the sunshine since I don’t know when” Johnny Cash, Folsom Prison Blues. I ain’t seen the sunshine since I don’t know when either but at least I can have a shower without the ongoing threat of having my almost middle-aged body abused by Big Bubba, The Beast Of B wing. It’s been a grim week (and it’s only Wednesday), last week’s perpetual mist gave way to an East wind coming directly from the steppes of Russia and carrying rain colder than the Devil’s semen. A brass monkey would be castrato before he’d turned a pedal. If the sun doesn’t appear soon we’ll all be on vitamin D tablets.

“Oi, conversation about the weather is the last refuge of the unimaginative...”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“And who are you?”

“Oscar Wilde.”

“Have you met Big Bubba?”

“Was he in Reading Gaol?”

Mountain Bike Ride.

The Little Woman

19th November 2018 route

Monday. We suffered from some mendacious meteorology today, setting off from Scaling Dam under the forecast cloudy sky. So far: so good. Within half a mile a few spots of rain caressed us, which soon progressed to a disappointing volume of water, aided and abetted by the vicious east wind. Time for The Little Woman to find out what mountain biking is really like, to be fair she endured the cold and wet stoically, while I cursed and raged at the BBC, the met office, Wincie Willis, the weather gods and anyone else I could think of for misleading us onto a wide open moor in a face-shredding hail storm. If they could have got their act together I would have chose a nice, sheltered forest, a pair of winter gloves and my hands might not have been frozen to the handlebars by the time we got back to the car. It was a grand little route too, finishing on the singletrack across Roxby Moor. 

Tuesday. Actually managed a rest day this week, although I did spend some time in a bike shop, so the day wasn’t completely wasted.

Mountain Bike Ride

The Breadlad, Howard.

21st November 2018 route

Wednesday. Me and The Breadlad went to Hamsterley, once the daily A19 traffic jam had cleared, the place where every morning and evening day workers go to crash into each other. We met Howard, who has temporarily forsaken time trialling for some proper cycling. Whatever time trialling is. The Terra Trailblazers idea of a time trial is getting to the cafe before it shuts. The forecast wasn’t good, we went prepared to get wet and get wet we did but mainly from puddles rather than precipitation, it has rained for days now and there seems to be a permanent dusk, like living in the aftermath of a fabled volcanic eruption which blocks out ninety percent of the light and leads ultimately to the death of mankind except for a few survivors for whom sunlight is unknown because they spend all their time in darkened rooms playing computer games. They will repopulate the world, when they find the disproportionately small cadre of surviving female gamers, finally losing their virginities to produce a new human race of myopic, hunch-backed beings with giant thumbs and ultra-sharp reflexes but the muscle-tone of a jellyfish, who survive on energy drinks and artificially-flavoured corn snacks. But I may have digressed. 

We rode some wet trails, not straying off-piste because we didn’t fancy sliding downhill in sloppy rut, the official trails hold up well in the winter because they have money spent on them, something Guisborough Woods don’t seem to have grasped and that money comes from the car parking fees, something the trail-burglars of Bedburn don’t seem to have grasped. For anyone especially interested we did, Section 13, Special K, Brainfreeze, nobody is interested in Boneshaker since the uphill finish was added. A quick blast along The Grove Link before the long drag to Polties Last Blast, which segues nicely into K Line, then the triple tranny, which isn’t one of the films The Ginger One watches on that laptop which looks like a plasterers radio, but Transmission, Accelerator and Nitrous. By then we were pretty much soaked through, so we retired to the 68 Cafe for warmth and sustenance. 

Mountain Bike Ride

22nd December 2018 route

The Breadlad, The Youth

Thursday. Back to the dystopian future of drizzle and mist, Blakely Ridge is once again cocooned in grey sky and greyer tarmac - nothing else to see, if it wasn’t for the wind, we could be in a steam room somewhere. Instead we’re at Blakey Bank Top, all wishing we weren’t but not ready to admit it. Me, The Breadlad and The Youth set off along the railtrack before plunging down the hillside, on the track which leads to Dale Head Farm, or more importantly, Dale Head Farm Tearoom. Even by Terra Trailblazer’s standards, ten minutes into the ride is a bit too early for bait time, so we turned off onto the first of Rosedale’s three Daleside Roads - must be a bit confusing for the postman - this one is Daleside Road (track) on the map and I’d like to say it is a pleasant, technical downhill over which the trail fairies have sprinkled easy jumps and flowing berms. I’d like to say that but it would be about as true as what our wives think we paid for our bikes, in reality, it is a muddy plod across fields full of incontinent sheep and an interminable amount of gates, until we reached Daleside Road (#2) which is tarmac and probably only used by residents, or so it would seem to the bloke in the Range Rover who came flying round a corner to see three cyclists; canny brakes them Range Rovers. 

This road continues in a generally downhill fashion to Rosedale Abbey, which we passed through and began the climb up Knott Road, passing Bell End Farm (cue ghostly tittering from The Pensioner), taking the left turn and climbing up to Hill Cottages, where we faced a dilemma, continue on tarmac directly to the tea room, or climb up onto the old rail track on Rosedale East Side, as per the Rosedale Round and drop down to the cafe en route. After some moments of indecision, The Breadlad’s belly won the day and we set off along our third Daleside Road of the day to introduce The Breadlad to the delights of Dale Head Farm’s self-service approach to catering and some shelter from the permeating drizzle which has been our constant but somewhat unwelcome companion all ride. Caked up and coffeed up, we slithered up the half mile of muddy bridleway to the rail track, which we followed in the tyre tracks of the previous two weeks, around Rosedale Head, testing ourselves on some muddy sections before re-entering the mist for the final mile or so back to Blakey Bank Top, where conditions were pretty much as when we left this morning. Grim.

Mountain Bike Ride

23rd November route

The Breadlad, Howard

Friday. Awoke to the fifth day in a row of rain, another perfect day in paradise but by the time we’d met up in Pinchinthorpe car park, me, Howard and The Breadlad a curious glistening orb crawled it’s way into the sky with all the eagerness of a haemorrhoid sufferer going for a rectal examination. And apart from the occasional few seconds of cloud cover, it stayed up there for the whole ride. We availed ourselves of the less muddy tracks in and around Guisborough Woods, trying to keep some flow going but mainly trailing along in the wake of Howard who has an unfair advantage over the rest of us, cheating by unethical practices such as training, time trialling and duathlons, although we’ve never even seen him with skis or a rifle. It was a grand day, out of four days riding, we managed one reasonable day, defined by not returning home wetter than an otter living in Michael Phelps' trunks.