Just When You Think It's All Over

Mountain Bike Ride.

Oz.

8th March route.

The Beast From The East has been and gone, wiping out half our ten day break but today the roads are clear and it is merely drizzling lightly as the bike is put on the roof rack for the first mountain bike ride in a while. Riding in snow is okay up to a point - that point is generally about hub height, when pedalling becomes impossible and even walking has its moments. At Marton, the rain had coalesced to big sloppy snowflakes, by Great Ayton, winter wonderland had returned, as welcome as Gary Glitter at a primary school nativity play. 

Two brave souls pressed on into the wilderness, riding from Great Ayton to Kildale on increasingly sketchy roads, slithering through slush. At New Row, we left tarmac behind and climbed to Percy Cross Rigg using the Yellow Brick Road, snow-filled despite the tree shelter. It wasn’t long before we were pushing - a theme that was to continue the remainder of the day. Percy Cross Rigg was an expanse of virgin snow - soon marred by the tyre tracks of the only two idiots blundering about the moors. Onward and upward - we actually rode most of this bit, tyres biting through the snow to the tarmac below, the off-road section, after the gate, was a different story, old, uneven snow was covered with a new layer of the white stuff, impossible to see a sensible line, it would take better men than us to ride through this - back to pushing for us. We imagined things might be easier on the downward slope - from the wartime relic building to the top of The Unsuitables - but no, keeping bikes in a straight line proved an arduous task, trying to move downhill without actually steering. It was difficult to see where the land ended and the sky began, the sky probably slightly less white than the snow, which, oblivious to the calendar, still fell.

We followed the fireroad across the top edge of Guisborough Woods and out onto Newton Moor, managing to pedal the majority of it. The steps down to Roseberry Common seemed fair game today, snow-covered and devoid of pedestrians, Roseberry Topping only just visible across the common, complete with lunatic fellrunner performing a barely controlled fall down the hillside. On the opposite side, we mirrored his descent but with significantly more falls, hidden holes and patches of deep snow snatching our front wheels, pitching us into the drifts, impromptu snow angels marking our progress down the hill. Continuing along the track from Roseberry Common to Aireyholme Farm, some of the snow turned to mud and water, the lower altitude warm enough to begin a thaw. I don’t think we have ever been so pleased to see mud, our speed may have even reached double figures for the first time today. Despite waterproof shoes, socks, trousers and jackets, we were still dripping from the waist down, mainly from riding through huge puddles. Fletcher’s Farm beckoned us and we were powerless to resist, before long we were pooling water onto the floor as hot drinks made everything right with the world.

The grey sky began to brighten up, patches of blue trying to sneak through as though snow eased off. The snow-covered roads we had started our route on were now canals of melt-water, steaming gently in the afternoon sunshine.  

February 2018 Round Up And Video

February 2018 Round Up and Video.

Too many words? Video here.

Light snow and mud to play in for the majority of February until the last few days of the month when “The Beast From The East.” stormed in and stopped play. Maybe now is the time to lash out on a fat bike? Or depart to sunnier climes? We managed a healthy selection of rides around the moors, sticking predominantly to well-surfaced tracks where we could. It seems a lifetime away as I sit here on the first day of March, daffodils on the calendar, looking out at a white world. 

We squeezed in a couple more mountain bike rides before the “Beast From The East”  inundated us with snowflakes upon snowflakes; scrotum-scraping drifts and gridlocked roads ensued, not helped by the terminally stupid stranded in their Teutonic chariots. It’s all very well to buy a car you know can’t be driven in winter conditions but then to go out in the snow anyway is definitely a sign of mental inadequacy. 

Squelching From Square Corner.

The Youth, The Ginger One.

20th February route

The Square Corner microclimate still exists, despite it being a reasonably mild day (for February), the first blast of wind when exiting the car came straight from Siberia. We hurriedly assembled bikes and took ourselves into the shelter of Silton Woods; as a change, we eschewed the downhill track and explored some of the less well-frequented bridleways which criss-cross the plantations. They proved to be rather soggy but not as horrendously muddy as they could have been, extensive tree-felling meant half-remembered tracks became “I wonder where this ends up” tracks. A recognisable landmark eventually turned up and a nice bit of downhill dropped us into Over Silton. A few tarmac miles followed, through Kepwick and Cowesby to Brick Shed Cottage, where the barely rideable track up to the moor was, today, wholly unrideable and barely walkable, especially to the clowns wearing smooth-soled 5:10’s in the middle of winter. One step forward and two steps back would have been a luxury. 

The track across the moor, which leads to Boltby Forest was resurfaced as part of Sutton Bank’s Paradise Trail; the dire prediction of The Pensioner has came to fruition, after inspecting the quality of the materials, he said it wouldn’t last and he was correct, the track has reverted to its previous existence as a swamp. We battled through the mud and standing water and continued climbing Windygill Ridge to Gallow Hill before reaching the Hambleton Drove road where it enters the North edge of Boltby Forest at Steeple Cross. Near the gate is a bomb hole, which may well be a genuine WW2 bomb hole, my father lived in nearby Hawnby during the second world war and the Luftwaffe, having failed to find the steelworks of Teesside, often jettisoned their bombs on the moors before returning home. Anyway Germany’s loss is our gain and we played in the bomb hole for a while before peddling our way along the Drove Road, into the wind, which blew, uncharacteristically, from the north. Even the Mad Mile required some pedal action to make it worthwhile.

A  Winter’s Ride From Lordstones.

The Youth, The Fireman.

21st February route

A fine day, blue sky and light winds - in Teesside, the moors, however, were enveloped in low cloud and gloom, as we approached Lordstones, driving up Carlton Bank we saw paragliders launching from the cliff edge, which (I think) boded well for the weather. The Ginger One was swapped for a Fireman today, so the conversation should hopefully rise above character assassination of assorted work colleagues and the delights of Fray Bentos pies. Generally, starts from Lordstones are either up or across, across being what we call The Fronts, the track cutting across the face of Cringle Moor, continuing past Cold Moor and Hasty Bank to the road at Clay Bank, it requires a decent dry spell to make it worthwhile, today probably out of the question. Which left up, ascending the steep gravel track which used to lead to Carlton Bank Gliding Club, popular when I was a kid, the gliders being dragged down the bumpy bit of moor that passed for a runway by an old tractor until they reached enough speed to take off. After a few minutes lung-burning minutes, two panting blokes, closer to 60 than they would like to be, were waiting at the top for a 22 year old, an allegedly fit 22 year old. Must have stopped to tie his shoelace or something. 

The wide tracks across Bilsdale West Moor were draggy today, the sandy surfaced moist and sticky, we passed Brian’s Pond and made our way up Barker’s Ridge and onward via an even draggier track to Cock Howe. It’s frustrating, struggling along a track which is usually a blast. Cliche of the month is winter miles make summer smiles, which we  repeat with varying degrees of irony to justify the graft we are putting in. We arrived at the singletrack which leads to Head House at the same time as the sun, a pleasant bit of riding ensued, the narrow track wet in places but rideable all the way. It was pleasant enough to stop and fly the drone for a short while, on the track and at Head House while my companions (and reluctant film stars) lounged in the sunshine. All good things must come to an end and we reluctantly began ascending again, onward ever upward on tyre-sucking tracks and into the wind. Our aching legs were given some respite at Cock Howe before we descended a soggy but enjoyable Trennet Bank to Chop Gate where we took a rest from mud and pedalled the Raisdale Road all the way back to Lordstones.