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.