The Summer That Never Was, it tried occasionally but mainly, it was a pretty mediocre attempt at a season.
Video
here, don't be fooled, I only filmed on the good days and it doesn't show how cold and windy it was.
Mingling With The Day People
Monday 26th August 2019
Rod/Andy T./Jeff
A Rod Route, on a Bank Holiday, on one of the hottest days of the summer (there haven’t been many hot days this summer) and an early start to beat the crowds. A Rod Route, as anyone who has had the pleasure will tell you, is generally an experience, utilising obscure trails in an attempt to find something different from the usual, lots of vegetation, insects, climbing, usually a few miles further than we are used to riding and quite often an encounter with an irate gamekeeper. This is a world away from groomed trail centre riding, the difference between a Red Route and a Rod Route is similar to the difference between a gentle stroll up Roseberry Topping and bushwhacking through the Amazon rainforest to reach the summit of an unknown peak just to see what is on the other side.
And it came to pass, that, on this glorious warm day we found ourselves in a shaded forest, alternately riding a roller-coaster trail through the trees or splodging through the type of mud which will only dry up when the sun goes supernova. And even then it’ll be doubtful. Leaving the woods behind, we climbed through bracken on a little used track, before a more conventional track led us across the moor to Brian’s Pond, eventually ascending Barker’s Ridge to Cock Howe, where Rod let us have a rest.
A pleasant breeze kept us a little cooler and despite being a Bank Holiday, there were few people about - probably all queuing up to get into Whitby, such is the weirdness of day people, spend five days a week sitting in traffic jams, then spend their extra day off sitting in a traffic jam until they can be abused by seagulls and watch drunken scaffolders fighting in the streets of a seaside town.
The Breadlad’s old favourite, Trennet Bank came next, pity he was slaving over a hot crumpet machine, we enjoyed every second of it though, moorland singletrack, a few rocks scattered about, then a steep shale drop before a network of gullies, filled with bracken and grass lead to Chop Gate. A long hot drag up tarmac awaited us and we made our way to Beak Hills Farm where the consensus went against the ever-enthusiastic Rod, the decision that Cold Moor was one ascent too far today welcomed by all. Straight back to the cafe via The Fronts, firm and dry and not too many pedestrians, only a first aid stop after Andy’s unplanned shin/pedal interface slowed our headlong flight towards beer and pies. Proper athletes us like.
Well, summer didn’t last long...
Wednesday 28th August 2019
The Ginger One, The Youth
Lordstones again, Monday’s team was swapped for younger models and off we went, same start, making our way through the woods to Heathwaite, a nice roller-coaster route through the trees, the muddy bits still muddy. A long push/carry/ride up from Scugdale took us to Barker’s Ridge and decision time, routes to the left of me, routes to the right of me, stuck in the middle with two.
The weather began deteriorating, the ever-present wind now carrying some substantial drizzle, waterproofs were donned by those of us not from Darlington and we carried on down the broad and sandy Arnesgill Ridge, working on the theory the rain would soon blow over and we could find something more exciting on the way back.
The weather had other plans for us, turning from drizzle to full-blown rain, precipitating persistently, unwilling to lose our height, we stayed on wide tracks back to Carlton Bank and a sketchy ride down the old gliding club track, wet gravel and fogged up glasses. We reached the car park completely soaked through in spite of “technical fabrics”; some car park nudity followed, luckily without any attention from the pervert patrol, as we changed into dry clothes before venturing into the cafe.
Flatlining to the chip shop.
Thursday 29th August 2019
La Mujerita
Something a little easier today, a flat ride through the urban countryside of Teesside, Billingham to Seaton Carew, via Greatham and Greatham Creek. We didn’t factor in the wind, which made the return journey as laborious as any moors hill. Once, it was customary to give directions using pubs as the landmarks, when pubs were more prevalent; this ride uses factories.
We rode past the ammonia and nitric acid plants where I toiled for many years to fund my current lifestyle of indolence and extravagance, continuing past the crisp factory and onto Cowpen Village, a rural idyll in the shadow of industry. Over the railway lines brought us to a brace of sewage works, never let it be said that I don’t show La Mujerita some awesome places. I wonder if my little deposit from three hours earlier has reached here yet? A small bridge crosses what used to be known as Stinky Beck when I was a kid, industrial pollution rather than anything sewage related but it is now clean and wholesome.
We followed a farm road which brought us to the small village of Greatham and out onto the salt marshes, riding through the remains of what used to be the Cerebos factory, allegedly where Bisto was invented, nowadays reduced to a few piles of bricks. A grassy dyke weaves above the mudflats of Greatham Creek, open to the full force of the wind, fortunately at our backs mainly. We pedalled toward our next factory which produces titanium dioxide, the chemical which makes white paint so blindingly white. A section of broad boardwalk, already being overtaken by brambles and bulrushes, gets us off the busy road for a short while, until we rejoin the road at Graythorpe, passing Able UK, which was Laings Yard when I was young, where oil rigs the size of skyscrapers were constructed before being floated into the estuary and out to see. Today it is the opposite, a salvage yard where ships and rigs are dismantled. From here we ride along the Zinc Works road, the zinc works have long gone but I still remember the purple and blue sand dunes which may have been a legacy from the process; nowadays the Frutarom factory is on the site, producing flavours and fragrances for the food industry.
With the wind at our backs, we crossed the golf links and continued to the metropolis of Seaton Carew, still busy despite the howling wind, the end of August, the height of the British summer, everyone wearing coats or hoodies, the seafront benches mainly empty as people huddled in the lee of any solid structure. A few families braved the beach, kids running onto the sand, buckets and spades at the ready, parents trudging behind like Lawrence Of Arabia battling through a sandstorm, hoods pulled up against the sand being blasted across the beach. The kids have a half-hearted attempt at building sandcastles but soon give up as eyes and mouths fill with sand and exposed skin is flayed. We return home via built up areas as some shelter from the wind but there are still a few sections where we meet the full force, giving us an unscheduled workout to help burn off our lunchtime chip shop excesses.
Tempestuous Tripsdale
Friday 30th August 2019
The Ginger One
And still the unseasonable wind continues, a tempest straight from the bowels of Hell, I blame Boris Johnson, it wasn’t like this before he became Prime Minister. Just me and The Ginger One today, planning a whizz round Tripsdale, he declares proudly this is his fourth day of activity on the trot, not bad going for someone usually languishing twelve hours a day in a big chair in the torpid world of process operation. First we had to endure the slog up Barker’s Ridge onto Urra Moor and upwards, ever upwards to Round Hill, the highest point of the North York Moors, today, also the windiest point on the North York Moors. The usual NSP’s (Natural Stopping Points) were eschewed and we kept riding on the broad, sandy, treeless tracks which cross the open moors, favourites of The Pensioner, we still call routes like this Pensioner rides. At Cockayne Head, we turned into the full force of the wind, dropping down to the Badger Stone only to climb up again, eventually gaining the bridleway which crosses Slape Wath Moor and Hagg House Moor, the beginning of a mile or so of descent culminating in loose rocky hairpins leading into the remote valley of Tripsdale. The climb out on the other side of the beck is equally loose and rocky but nowhere near as enjoyable as the descent, gradually we winch upwards until we are overlooking the Bilsdale valley, the sacred totem of the television addicts, Bilsdale Mast, towering above the village of Chop Gate.
We make our way back to Round Hill and take a break from wide tracks by riding down Jackson’s Bank, steep singletrack peppered with hidden hazards, drop offs and loose rocks lurking in the bracken and heather. Only the fireroad through Greenhow Plantation remained for us to do and The Ginger One was moaning because he had finally remembered to bring his portable pressure washer and our ride had been mud free. His wishes were soon answered as parts of this track have suffered from the actions of vehicles and equines, leaving long stretches of wet mud and water-filled ruts, practically within sight of the cars, our clean bikes suddenly looked as though they had just been ten miles through a bog. Which pleased The Ginger One greatly.
