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As month’s go, this March has not been the most conducive to cycling miles. More snow than an eskimo could shake a stick at, then the thaw, then the rain, not to mention the wind. Not so much, in like a lion; out like a lamb as, in like a polar bear; out like a porpoise riding a tsunami. Plus assorted illnesses and the odd domestic duty meant the monthly mile tally barely broke the century barrier. Let’s hope this ill wind blowing nobody any good is the harbinger of a decent summer.
Here’s a quick catch up on the rides which went unblogged.
New Bike Day
22nd March route
All alone
That time has come round again, when the cost of servicing the old bike becomes a consideration against the price of a new one and some bargain prices from Bike Scene meant a pre-retirement present was an offer I couldn’t refuse. I left the shop with a brand new stumpy and headed directly to Guisborough Woods to put it through its paces. Or as close to putting it through its paces as someone too rapidly approaching their seventh decade, with the lingering after-effects of a chest infection and a dodgy back can manage. The precipitation swamped trails didn’t help either, although for once it wasn’t actually snowing, or raining, or blowing a hoolie (as we used to say in the power-kiting world). The bike ran fine, lighter than the old one, without the wobbly, side to side play from the bearings or the unreliable seatpost. And it is red, guaranteed to be faster.
A few miles round the forest and moors, taking in some old and some new trails, mainly muddy but still enjoyable, as new bike day inevitably is.
Sheepwash Shenanigans.
23rd March route
Oz
The following day found me and my new baby at Sheepwash, the ever popular car park with countryside favoured by Teessiders who like to enjoy bucolic pleasures without straying too far from their vehicles. With a companion in the shape of Oz, where the rest of the feckless dilettantes are this month is anyone’s guess. Apart from The Breadlad, who has, again, decamped to sunnier climes for another holiday - we are beginning to suspect he’s a tax exile who cannot stay in the country for more than ninety days.
One of our usual Sheepwash starts, up the road to the antennas, was matted with a generous covering of thorn bush trimmings, effectively putting it out of bounds to any cyclist not in the mood for multiple punctures - this seems to be the country way. Even places which profess to encourage cyclists are not averse to shaving the hedges with a tractor and leaving the trimmings all over the road or track. We rode directly to Clain Woods and down the steps, a little damp and greasy but a fun start to a ride. Across to Heathwaite to begin climbing to Live Moor plantation, past the old shale tips, remnants of an old ironstone mine from the mid nineteenth century, (more details here) and then the superb singletrack through the woods to Faceby Plantation. The track, today, suffering from this month’s excessive precipitation, mainly muddy with the odd gloopy patch. At Faceby the full force of the wind became apparent, all the ride so far had benefited from the shelter of trees, unfortunately a head wind all the way to Swainby, a slight respite as we carried our bikes back up the Clain Wood steps, then more of the same back to Sheepwash, bringing back memories of The Sandstone Way, three days of fifty mph headwinds - what fun that was. At the car park, any thoughts of an extra loop or two were shelved in favour of the crusty dyke cafe despite our mileage failing to even reach double figures.
A Local Ride For Local People.
24th March route
All alone
Footage for this month’s video being somewhat scarce up to now, I thought maybe a local ride to show viewers the urban delights of Teesside might pad things out a bit. I left home in a slight drizzle which soon stopped as the sun tried bravely to force a few rays through the cloud. Not clouds, just cloud, one gigantic cloud which has covered the area for the thick end of three months now.
Today being Saturday there was plenty of action at The Tees Barrage White Water Course, kayakers and canoeists enjoying their hobby, a hobby where rain is an irrelevance - I can see the appeal. I had a simple ride along the river, through the little Venice of Teesdale to the Surtees Bridge at Thornaby and returning along the other side of the river. The full scale model of HMS Endeavour is being dismantled and taken to Whitby, a more fitting setting for the vessel of Captain Cook. A large group of swans - bevy, bank or herd for collective noun pedants - congregate next to the casino, maybe waiting for a flutter on the tables or possibly to mug lucky punters with their arm-breaking wings. As any child of the sixties knows, a swan can break a man’s arm; do mothers’ still issue this warning to their offspring? Or has the possibility of being in the presence of a swan been usurped by the vicarious pleasure of David Attenborough, where natures red in tooth and claw can be experienced through mega-pixels and UHD resolution.
I finished my ride on the excellent singletrack which skirts the northern boundary of Holme House Prison, it could be in Dalby Forest if it wasn’t for the Keep Out signs. And the sun was out by now, laughing at my winter layers, squeezing sweat from every pore, time for home.
30th March route
Oz, Rod, Andy T., Ernesto
Strange name Good Friday, what is good about it? I’m sure Jesus wasn’t too thrilled about it - and not just because the pubs close early. The good thing about this Friday was the weather forecast, which predicted a gap in the almost permanent rain for a few hours, hence, it came to pass a whole five of us found ourselves in Pinchinthorpe car park, two shift workers and three day workers, the three day workers are relishing a four day weekend. They were so happy, we didn’t have the heart to point out we consider four days off to be a short lull because it is not a ten or eighteen day break. Trailmeister Rod lead the way and we spent a few hours of climb, slither down muddy trail, fall of remount and repeat until the siren call of the cafe became too strong and we joined a legion of freshly released day people at the visitor centre.
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