September 2018 Round Up and Video.

September 2018 Round Up and Video

You lucky people - two for the price of one this month.

September 2018 Part One - clicky

September 2018 Part Two - clicky

My first month without gainful employment has passed in a blur of hills, heather, trails and pedalling, I’m probably buying twice as much diesel as previously but having ten times the fun. It did become apparent, fairly early on that rest days are required, riding day after day depletes performance, so I have had to calm down a bit but the freedom to take a day off, knowing that there will always be the next day or the day after, is immense. Mountain biking is no longer the meat in the work sandwich, it’s a whole man versus food pig out. And now I have more time to keep the blog updated and make videos, which explains why this month we have a double bill, so many rides, so much footage, despite a few rides where the weather was so rough I didn’t bother getting the camera out. A few storms hit us in September, mainly wind rather than rain but being Fans Of Outdoor LifeStyles (F.O.O.L.S for short) we were still there. It seems this retirement lark is settling down into a routine, two days riding, a day’s rest, two days riding, to days rest and repeat with variations. All helped by the weather holding up well, although the more sensationalist papers are already predicting a winter to rival Antarctica on a bad day. Apparently journalistic flights of extrapolation in 48 point headlines sell papers. 

The remainder of the past month’s rides are blogged below:

Cross Bike Ride

The Little Woman

24th September 2018 route

This week’s riding began with a flat ride to the seaside, Seaton Carew, the town made famous by one man and his canoe, via Greatham Creek, home of a local seal colony and passing through the ruins of the factory where Bisto was invented - there’s a bit of local history for you. Reaching Seaton at lunchtime meant a visit to The Almighty Cod was pretty much mandatory, eating chips on a bench looking out at the North Sea while an audience of seagulls scrutinised our every move, just waiting for a dropped scrap. Obviously the “don’t feed the gulls” signs mean nothing to them, rebellious little blighters that they are, blatantly disregarding an order by none other than the council. Riding home later, we were mysteriously drawn into a pub beer garden, must have been some kind of science fiction tractor beam which took control of our handlebars. All in all something approaching the perfect ride, no hills, chips and beer.

Mountain Bike Ride

All Alone

26th September 2018 route

The next ride turned out to be a Billy No Mates affair, setting off from Great Ayton and making up for the last ride’s lack of ascent by starting with a haul up to Captain Cook’s Monument, followed by a circumnavigation of The Matterhorn of North Yorkshire - Roseberry Topping. Then a steady ride back to Great Ayton with a detour to the butchers to correct the calorie deficit. 

Mountain Bike Ride

Benny The Brawl

27th September 2018 route

Hamsterley with Benny The Brawl the next day, he turned up looking like a dandelion clock after someone has blown on it to tell the time, apparently, it’s the most fashionable hair style of the moment. For a change, we missed out the Pike’s Teeth track and ventured out onto the moor to do the Doctor’s Gate track, leading back down to the forest at the top of Rocky Road. It wasn’t to his liking, rocks, uphills, wind, open air, it didn’t seem to gel with him. Plus the fact he has more ailments than a nonagenarian, always some incipient medical problem which means he can’t ride as well as he should, despite his gym-gotten gains. Once the delusion that going to the gym makes you fit wears off he might have a chance of becoming a normal human being. We took a few off-piste tracks before regaining the official trails, at Oddsox, continuing ever-upward to Poulties, K Line, Transmission, Accelerator and Nitrous. Chilling at the stone table, or possibly altar, at the start of Transmission, we chatted to a couple of guys who had came from Bradford, just to ride at Hamsterley. Benny (19) decided he couldn’t possibly make it up to Section 13, so a whole half of Hamsterley was left untouched and we took The Grove Link back to the car park before retiring to the 68 cafe to replace our energy.

Mountain Bike Ride

The Youth, Creaky Keith, Gary

28th September 2018 route

To round the week off me and The Youth met up with a couple of our Nissan Brethren for some XC riding on and off the Hambleton Drove Road, we drove up the road to Square Corner, where we were greeted with the sight of an energetic youth, jumping his bike around the car park in a way that us more mature gentlemen can only dream about. This turned out to be Gary, who had travelled down from the metropolis of Sunderland with our brother from another mother, Creaky Keith (named after his saddle, not his joints, we hope.) An ascent of the Mad Mile soon calmed Gary down, in fact it did none of us any favours, one by one we arrived panting and perspiring at the cairn, where my assurances no more climbs of that magnitude would be happening were greeted with some scepticism. We headed due south on the wide track, following in the footsteps of eighteenth century drovers who used this route to take animals to market, there is an interesting article from the Northern Echo here, if you can be bothered with all the adverts.

We took a detour down to Gallow Hill for the fun of the downhill before taking fire road back to the top of Boltby Forest, from where we continued to Dale Town Common, through many fields to the quaintly named Noddle End. 

“Sounds like something from The Shire.” said Keith. 

We didn’t meet any hobbits on our way down but encountered plenty of loose limestone on the narrow path, luckily dry today, as in the wet it becomes slippier than a gay orgy. From the bottom of the descent, we made our way through Peak Scar Wood, beneath the mighty, grey cliff which gives the wood its name, the venue for many a rock climbing adventure for me and The Youth.  A little tarmac toil took us to Hambleton Mosses and the tail end of The Escarpement at Boltby Scar, the view from here was complemented by the weather, an azure sky the perfect backdrop to fields and woods, a swathe of green stretching to the Pennines. 

Another diversion took us down the highlight of the Sutton Bank Fort Trail, the drop through the quarry next to Boltby Scar, we stayed a while to play about in the quarry, looking for steep lines to ride down as The Youth meandered up the vertical walls without the benefit of ropes or chalk. From the quarry the route arcs round to below High Barns and continues through a gate dropping into the woods below Boltby Scar prior to taking a zig zag path back to The Escarpement. Not willing to lose so much height, we pushed back to High Barns from the gate, emerging breathless at a spot about two metres away from where we’d started. The usual hunger pangs were beginning to develop, High Paradise Farm couldn’t come quick enough and it wasn’t long before we were relaxing in the sunshine, sat out in the courtyard surrounded by a multitude of dogs.

All that remained was to retrace our tyre tracks back along the Drove Road, stopping for a play in the bomb hole before the highlight of a ride of highlights, revenge on the Mad Mile, the beast which tortured us for one thousand six hundred and nine metres four hours ago,  now transmogrified into a ribbon of rocky rapture. It was delectable, dry, fast and not a walker in sight to spoil the fun. A grand day out as a certain cheese loving clay animation might say. 

This blog post is dedicated to Charlie who sadly passed into the clutches of domestic duties and missed a superb ride.

A Bit Blowy In Bilsdale.

Mountain Bike Ride

The Breadlad, Oz, Charlie of the Nissan Nomads.

21st September 2018 route

It looks like a storm a day, or every other day, is the default weather pattern for Britain at the moment, we’ve just seen the back of Storm Florence, which was one of the United States’ less popular imports and now we have some storms to call our own, Ali which blew a few trees down on Wednesday and Bronagh which passed through last night, leaving us a few puddles and a lot of twigs. Lordstones, once again, had the pleasure of our company, Charlie making the journey down from Sunderland alone, while his colleagues kept the wheels of industry turning. The plan was to repeat a ride we’ve done a few times in the past weeks, to introduce our Nissan Nomad to the delights of cross country riding in the North York Moors, this particular route will be forever known as the one where Ben got lost. Not, you’ll notice, the ride where we lost Ben because if a teenager can’t keep up with some blokes approaching sixty, there is a probably a bit of natural selection at work. No such problems today and we were pushed along The Fronts by a helpful tailwind. Considering last night’s weather The Fronts is not holding up too badly, puddles are getting deeper and more prevalent but still sparse compared to some years, it is probably the nearest we come to trail centre riding on natural tracks; a well defined line through the bracken with enough ups to temper the downs, cutting across the sombre North face of Cringle Moor beneath brooding crags and high above verdant patchwork fields. In the distance the North Sea, fringed by the industrial towns we call home, amongst steaming cooling towers and hulking factories. The trail was riding well and soon we arrived in the gap between Cringle Moor and Cold Moor with only a three hundred and odd vertical feet between us and the Cold Moor descent, two and half miles of pure pleasure. 

Fast forward to the top, you don’t want the boring details of the hike a bike. Our amiable tailwind was now a vicious side wind, blowing in from our right as we pedalled along the broad ridge of Cold Moor, our excuse for ineptitude on the technical sections. Some rain and then a few hailstones decided to join the party, sandblasting our righthand sides, freezing any exposed skin, fortunately a short lived attempt by the storm gods to spoil our fun. The trail dropped down into the lee of the wind, following an empty stream bed full of rocky drop offs and loose stones before changing to singletrack through grass and bracken, then a couple of shale tips before we reach a gate. Not the end of the track, merely a pause for breath before the trail continues downward, finishing through a wooded tunnel to pop out in the village of Chop Gate.

Seven hundred and fifty feet lower down, it was, as they say, a different world, warm and sunny, sheltered from the wind and we climbed back up Clay Bank, chatting in the pleasant sunshine. Mr. Tailwind reappeared as we made our way up Carr Ridge steps, onto Urra Moor, I’m sure Charlie has never experienced a ride with quite so much carrying and pushing but it’s good practice for the Lakes, we always say. Our next objective was the historic earthwork which skirts the western edge of Urra Moor, which we have christened The Rim, this usually is the cue for a plethora of puerile double entendres and today was no exception. This probably reveals a lot more than I’d care to know about the deviant minds of my companions and this report won't be sullied by repeating any of them. Being high and exposed, The Rim, was dry and firm, although the stream crossing, which is usually a shallow trickle, could almost be described as a torrent today. The track cleaves through purple heather and green bracken, the odd sheep looking on, idly chewing like Cleatus The Slack Jawed Yokel, as we pedalled past, enjoying the fine view down Bilsdale.

East Bank Plantation, or rather, the bridleway through East Bank Plantation is holding up well, a little soggy in the middle but still another grand descent and we didn’t lose anyone, always a bonus when it’s getting near cafe time. As a finale, we rode up past Beak Hills Farm, to retrace our tyre tracks along The Fronts, turning this morning’s ups into downs, arriving, mud-splattered and happy at Lordstones, eager for caffeine and comestibles.

We're Not Afraid Of Florence.

Mountain Bike Ride.

The Breadlad.

18th September 2018 route

Tropical storm Florence, which was downgraded from Typhoon Florence spent the last couple of days battering the land of the free and home of the brave and now, although depleted from the trip across the Atlantic, it is due spit its last gasps on the land of the lager and home of the Greggs. Using portentous triangles, the forecast warned of wind around the fifty miles an hour mark, danger to property, life and limb, flying livestock, witches with red shoes and “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore Toto” We definitely were not in Kansas but we were in Kildale, watching huge trees swaying ominously as we engaged in the usual car park faffing.  Lesser men would have stayed on the settee and let’s be honest, they all did, except for me and The Breadlad, who always prefers saddles to cushions. A cunning plan was hatched in the car park, ride out and up against the wind and return with the wind behind us, not really cunning, pretty standard for this weather and wind direction.

We left the car park and made our way on tarmac to Bank Foot farm and the drag along the old rail track to the relative shelter of Battersby Plantation, this mile or so from Bank Foot is always deceptively hard, slightly uphill and into a headwind, today we had a canny bit of wind. Attempts at drafting The Breadlad were thwarted by his bijou body, so we suffered the whole way along the track. Fire roads though the plantation were used to get us to the bridleway which goes from Clogger's Hall to Jackson’s Bank, a ‘shortcut’ to the moor top we have used occasionally, very occasionally as it happens. One of those tracks which somehow become blanked from the mind for five years or so until someone says “let’s go up this way; it wasn’t too bad” then you begin to ride and realise why you don’t use this route regularly. Our attempts at pedalling faltered within feet leaving us pushing and carrying up an ever-steepening, slippery track, onwards and upwards, until, some time later, we arrived on Urra Moor, where the full force of the wind made itself known. Despite the wind it wasn’t a bad day, the drizzle from earlier had blown away and the sun came out, so why the two walkers on the track looked as though they were trekking up K2 is a bit of mystery, full waterproof kit, hoods tightly fastened, walking poles, big bags, they seemed a bit taken aback to see a pair of shirt sleeved mountain bikers appear ahead of them, laughing like lunatics while attempting to stand up against the wind. 

Due to the cunning plan, the wind would be predominantly behind us now, for the next eight miles or so; we were blown over Round Hill and along to Bloworth Crossing, aptly named today. This lonely spot was once an actual rail crossing where the keeper, who lived there, was prevailed upon to open the crossing twice a day, apparently it was such an unpopular posting for employees it was nicknamed Siberia. Nothing Siberian about today, I think we even managed to get a bit of a sweat on as the wind pushed us up the track toward Burton Howe. Following the edge of Ingleby Moor to Tidy Brown hill, we had a side wind, gusts blowing us across the track. At Tidy Brown Hill, we turned north east, what is still one of my favourite tracks on the moors, from here to the Baysdale road, a superb double track, fast and flowing, today improved by an awesome tailwind. The road was reached in record time. 

The drop down the road to Kildale is usually worryingly fast for someone on the verge of middle age, today the twists and turns meant we were battered by the wind from all directions, we spent as much time going sideways as down, discretion being the better part of valour and all that, our descent turned a bit leisurely. Shortly after, we were in Glebe Cottage Tearoom surrounded by American walkers who seemed to be enjoying the North Yorkshire countryside as much as their native Colorado.

Retirement: Week 3.

Three weeks into retirement and the realisation dawns that spending most days cycling is pretty tiring and a body needs rest days, hence I’m sat here on a damp and drizzly morning writing this instead of turning the pedals on a damp and drizzly moor. Recovering from three days in a row;  the first day a pretty gentle ride along the riverside with The Little Woman, who is now kitted out like a proper cyclist with padded shorts, gloves and helmet. We rode from Billingham to Newport bridge, followed the south bank of the river to the Surtees bridge at Thornaby, crossed this and returned on the north bank, stopping for lunch at the Tees Barrage cafe. 11th September route here.

Mountain Bike Ride.

The Youth, The Breadlad, Rod, Oz.

12th September route.

A whole crew out today, almost like Xmas, with the exception of Young Briggs, who is still suffering from last week’s injuries. We congregated in a surprisingly busy Sheepwash car park, assembled bikes and settled down to wait for The Breadlad, whose lifestyle as a thrusting young executive in the merciless world of crumpet production means free time is at a premium and he is inevitably fifteen minutes behind the rest of the world. A couple of incipient dog fights kept us amused but not as much as the pensioner (proper pensioner, not workshy layabout like me) cruising the car park, looking for a space large enough to fit his Fiesta, before attempting a gear-crunching reverse parking manoeuvre which had the whole car park on tenterhooks, wondering which car he’d come within millimetres of scraping next. To be fair, he looked so old the Dead Sea was probably only sick when he was a boy.

We had our usual start, along the side of Cod Beck Reservoir, or what’s left of it, the water level depleted by this year’s excellent summer, a climb up through the woods to High Lane and more gently to Square Corner. 

The inexorable lure of the Mad Mile dragged us upwards, hearts-pounding, lungs-burning as we raced skyward, raced being a relative term, more of a dawdle really but we all made it to the top coronary-free, which, at our age, is always a bonus. After a quick breather at the top we headed south on the Drove Road, our destination today, Atlay Bank, a rhododendron filled gully dropping down from Gallow Hill on the outskirts of Boltby Forest to Kepwick. The theory/hope/expectation* (*delete as appropriate) being the good summer would have dried out the gully enough to give us a pleasant trip down. Up to a point this was true, that point being where the rhododendrons have grown into a tunnel above the track, almost complete darkness, with a Stygian slurry to ride through, the odd rock embedded in the mud just to keep things interesting. It did not go on for too long; emerging into the sunlight, we continued past Kepwick Quarry and into the small village of Kepwick. A few miles of tarmac brought us to Over Silton from where we entered Silton Forest and a long, steady drag upward on a fire road, this went on for so long we began to wonder if we were reaching another dimension. Eventually the top appeared and, as is the wont of mountain bikers, we immediately set off downhill again, a nice bit of woodland singletrack took us to the first section of the Silton Woods downhill track, which was despatched in fine style. Or what passes for fine style in our world - all limbs intact and no blood shed. 

Unwilling to lose any more height, we eschewed the next two sections in favour of a gentler fire road pedal back to Square Corner. Returning along High Lane, we continued straight down this time, picking our way over the rock steps down to the ford at Sheepwash. The old original, shut your eyes and go, right hand side line seems to have been eroded away, the drops are no longer rollable, not by us anyway and now a more convoluted line takes a path of least resistance through the drops, which we all rode with the skill and aplomb of Danny MacAskill - in our imaginations anyway,  we were just glad to make it to the bottom unbroken.

Mountain Bike Ride.

Rod.

13th September route.

The following day, a much reduced team gathered at Lordstones, just me and the ever-eager Rod. In the car park a couple asked us about the Lord Stones, despite coming here for more years than I care to admit, when it was a piece of open moorland, long before the cafe, my ignorance of the origins or even whereabouts of the stones was laid bare. I can recall seeing the stones during a power kiting adventure years ago but our bike routes don’t go near them, as for the history, a vague idea it might have been old parish boundaries or something but I wouldn’t rely on it to win The Chase. Five minutes research turned up this: “The name ‘Lord Stones’, derives from three landowning Lords whose estates met at this point on Carlton Bank.” So now we know. 

Our ride began along The Fronts, always fun even though the puddles are beginning to reappear, at Cold Moor we took a nice bit of singletrack over the shale tips, previously unknown to me but a Rod favourite. From The Wainstones, we skirted around Hasty Bank on little used tracks, which have some nice downhill sections but also a few bracken-bashing uphill pushes. Emerging at Clay Bank, we began climbing again, into Greenhow Plantation and stayed on the top track, past Jackson’s Bank, continuing into the woods, formerly a regular route for us, the wooded section has been spoilt by vehicles, deep mud-filled ruts slowing progress until we popped out into the sunlight beneath the shale cliffs of Botton Head, the track contouring across the hillside until it eventually drops down to the lower part of the woods. Despite the sunny weather, parts of the downhill track were slimy with wet mud, giving us an interesting slide down. 

 After Bank Foot farm, we began the ascent of Turkey Nab, or Ingleby Bank as it is known on the notice boards, Gruesome Bank would be a better name but when the Cleveland Way fingerpost comes into view it’s all over and a cruise across the moor above Greenhow Bank gives fine views down into the valley. Cruise being a relative term, it was still uphill and against the wind to Round Hill, from here the usual blast down to Medd Crag was tempered by the wind, moderate breeze, according to the weatherman, who might want to tear himself away from his computer-driven weather models and stick his head out the window now and again. 

East Bank Plantation had the pleasure of our company for the third time in as many weeks, without Benny The Brawl wandering off into pastures unknown, our descent was significantly faster. More descending on farm tracks to Chop Gate and then the unlovable three miles back up to Lordstones. We could have extended the ride further, put in more ascents and descents, took in a few more trails but as we were clocking on towards twenty miles and a leg-sapping amount of ascent, the enticements of the cafe were too much for our weakened bodies to resist.

Another Week In The Life Of A Retiree.

Mountain Bike Ride

Monday 3rd September route

The Breadlad, The Youth

Another trawl about Guisborough Woods, this time accompanied by The Youth and The Breadlad. Our route took in quite a few tracks in its relatively brief few miles and a boat load of climbing - 2,000ft in less than 12 miles but the weather was kind, continuing with the sunshine. The Breadlad’s new favourite track is Nomad 2, a typical example of the Guisborough trail fairies endeavours, steep with extra added steepness, he rode it with aplomb, The Youth’s descent was somewhat less nonchalant, he managed the first steep bit before engaging in what can only be described as a violent dismount at the bottom. Fair play to him, he went back to the top and rode it all again. My own efforts? As they used to say in the old News Of The World; I made my excuses and left. Later we moved on to The Chute, widely regarded as a Guissy Woods classic descent, its various incarnations have been keeping riders amused for a decade or two. The original gully which give it its name is changed beyond recognition, especially now all the trees have been felled, originally it was accessed straight off the fire road and finished with ride up and around the fence at the bottom, usually worryingly wet and slippery. The upper section came later, a brilliant piece of work complimenting the bottom section, this bit is still pretty much as it was, the lower part now threads a way through the detritus of tree felling but it is still a great ride and we enjoyed every bit of it. 

Feeling a little giddy from our (virtually) flawless downhilling, we decided to ride up the tarmac ascent out of Hutton Village to access some more trails. On the way towards the Roseberry Topping end of the woods we encountered a lost looking cyclist, on his first visit to Guisborough, slightly bemused by the complete lack of signage on the trails. Spending cuts, we explained before introducing him to a few tracks as we headed toward the cafe, the dual slalom was popular, on Les’s 3 I was able to demonstrate the correct way of using a bramble bush to break a fall and we finished with that old favourite, Hospital Corner, so-called because of a sign which some wag once placed at the top, one arrow pointing left along the fire road, saying Home, the other arrow pointing down the steep track saying Hospital. And then it was cafe time, sitting outside, toasties and coffee, sweaty, muddy, battered, bruised, thorn-slashed and nettle-stung, we all agreed it had been a great ride.

Cross Bike Ride

Tuesday 4th September route

The Little Woman

Just to prove it’s not all about blood, sweat and gears, today was a gentler ride, a couple of hours out introducing the little woman to the delights of the countryside by velocipede. I don’t call her the little woman to be patronising, it’s just she is a woman, or was last time I looked, she has a definite predilection for cushions and scented candles, and she doesn’t see a parade unless she gets there three hours early for kerbside place. She could maybe have done with a cushion on her bike seat by the end of the ride but the scented candle kept blowing out. We rode to the small village of Wolviston and continued by quiet lanes to Wynyard Woodland Park, or the Castle Eden Walkway, or Thorpe Thewles Station, I can’t keep up with the name changes. As would be expected from someone who rode to work for over ten years, eight miles a day, forty miles a week, she was fairly nippy on the roads and we set a fine pace. Less confident off-road, especially on the tree root-covered paths through the woods away from the walkway, part of a bridleway which cuts through to the Wynyard housing estate. Back on tarmac we rode through the estate, one of us impressed by the big houses, the other marvelling at the emptiness and sterility of the place, like riding through a film set when the crew have all gone to the catering van. More tarmac took us through the grounds of Wynyard Hall, once the family seat of the Marquess of Londonderry, whatever a marquess might be, I thought it was a chocolate biscuit. Or is that a viscount? we exited through the Golden Gates and made our way home. Over eighteen miles, pretty good for a first ride, a quick bite to eat and then she went to buy some padded shorts and a helmet.

Mountain Bike Ride

Wednesday 5th September route

The Breadlad, Young Briggs

Another day: another bike ride. Hamsterley this time with The Breadlad and Young Briggs, the day began a bit dull but soon developed into a blazing hot, sweat in the eyes sort of day. For a change we rode past Pike’s Teeth and out onto the moor to revisit the Doctor’s Gate track, nowadays suffering from some 4x4 abuse, deep trenches carved into the wide track. But hey, a downhill is a downhill and we were all grinning when we reached the gate back into the forest. A track through the trees was spotted to the right of the gate, in a temerarious frame of mind, we eschewed the brick-strewn Rocky Road in favour of a bit of exploration and were rewarded with a pleasant bit of off-piste through the trees, how it will hold up in winter remains to be seen. Probably a sloppy mess like most of Hamsters off-piste. Reaching a fire road, emboldened by our trail-finding success, we set off down another track we spotted disappearing into the trees, until a deep trench barred the way, complete with handily placed rock to launch ourselves over the void. A bit out of our league then. Lacking both body armour and balls, we returned to the top of the track with metaphorical tails between legs, where met Hamsterley legend Bobby Boyd, who introduced us to another off-piste track, which may or may not have been called Boltcropper, before demonstrating the aforementioned rock jump as casually as we might bump over a tree root, as he set off for home. 

We continued on the more usual tracks, all dry and enjoyable, except for the climbs, hot, sweaty and fly-blown. As the old saying goes “It’s all fun until someone gets hurt.” and Section 13 claimed a victim with Young Briggs whose attempts to keep up with a pensioner (no capital P) ended in calamity, a lot of limping and game over for the youngster. Luckily his bike was unscathed, as were the old blokes and we continued down Special K and Brainfreeze to rejoin Young Briggs in the car park. 

Mountain Bike Ride

Friday 7th September route

Charlie,Keith and Daryl. Aka The Nissan Nomads

Last time I rode with Charlie and Keith, it was beneath the blazing sun of the mediterranean, clattering down dusty trails on our most recent Sierra Cycling holiday; they managed to pick the worst day of the past three months to make the long trek south from the lawless realm of Sunderland, through the smoking spires of industrial Teesside to a damp and drizzly car park just outside Guisborough. And they had brought a proper rider with them, young, goggles, balls the size of ostrich eggs, he was in for a shock when he was introduced to what passes for extreme among those closer to sixty than they care to admit. This was Daryl, who seemed happy just to be shown some tracks he had not been on before; unlike the other two, this was not his first visit to Guisborough. It has been raining most of the night and intermittent showers ensured the trails, in complete contrast to Monday, remained just the wrong side of slippy. After the usual fire road slog up to Roseberry Common, I led them on a circumnavigation of Roseberry Topping, via The Bluebell Woods and The Elephant’s Hole to Aireyholme Farm and back up to Roseberry Common. From the gate we did the push/carry up the steps to Newton Moor, as I pointed out many of the tracks we could have been riding, given an unlimited supply of time and energy. Eagle-eyed readers, or just those who actually bother to read this rubbish at all, might notice some similarities between today’s route and Monday’s route - this was not unintentional. However the grippy and flowing tracks from four days ago were now slippy chutes to be approached with caution, apart from Daryl, who rode them as casually as suburban cycle tracks, while us slightly more mature gentlemen may lack his youth and talent, we make up for it in other ways not easily discerned; our riding skill so well hidden, casual observers might be fooled into thinking we were beginners. 

Track followed track as we snaked our way through the woods, damp and muddy, more slips and falls than a drunk on his first trip to an ice rink, Charlie in particular, managing some leg-trapping dismounts, as he threw caution to the wind on his first ride on flat pedals. Daryl had to leave us after The Chute, while we found the energy to ride back uphill into the woods to take in a few more trails before the cafe. We’d managed a good few hours in the woods and surrounding area, despite the showers but only managed a fraction of the tracks, without even considering Gribdale and Captain Cook’s areas. And after that, there is the rest of the North York Moors to go at, not to mention the Yorkshire Dales. I’m sure the Nissan Nomads will be venturing this way again soon.