Unprepossessing

Unprepossessing: creating an unfavourable or neutral first impression. Definitely the word of the week for this week, every morning, wake up, excited to be able to squeeze in a riding day, leap out of bed, okay, shuffle out of bed, open the curtains to be greeted by the  dystopian greyness of a nuclear winter. Those type of days where dusk prevails and smothers enthusiasm, throw in a smidgen of that awful, pervasive drizzle and the siren call of the crumpled and cozy bed is hard to resist; the ultimate irony being the days I was unable to get out on the bike (circumstances beyond my control, as the saying goes) were marvellous. 

Mountain Bike Ride

9th January route

Oz

Met Oz in Great Ayton, arriving in, what can only be described as a cloudburst, watching water sheeting down the windscreen and contemplating the veracity of The Breadlad’s man-flu. By the time we were ready to ride, the rain had given up and the scenery reverted to monochrome, except for a pair of brightly water-proofed cyclists pedalling the country lanes towards Fletcher’s Farm. Onward and upward, through Aireyholme Farm to Roseberry Common and into Guisborough Woods to introduce Oz to a couple of recently discovered tracks. Wet roots, mud and rider incompetence meant Strava KOM’s were saved for another day as we slithered down the trails, occasionally tumbling off our bikes to give the trailside flora and fauna a closer inspection.  Returning to the relative safety of fire roads for a while, we pedalled beyond Highcliffe Nab before an open singletrack took us back into the woods for a more amenable track which we managed to ride with only tyres touching the floor. We continued to Codhill Heights, where we stopped to chat to a couple of fellow cyclists, who were also not letting the monotonous weather defeat them. The descent of Codhill Heights is always fun, whatever the conditions and it was not long before we had traversed the tarmac of Percy Cross Rigg and were cruising around the Lonsdale Bowl in a slight drizzle. Fingerbender Bank was negotiated without any fingers being bent, followed by Andy’s Track, steep and wet but rideable now the man-eating bracken has died down for winter. Gribdale car park was virtually empty for a change, we followed the road down to Dikes Lane, then the rough track back to Fletcher’s Farm, where coffee and food were consumed eagerly as  another heavy shower passed through. The rain had moved on to wet somewhere else by the time we left the cafe, we rode back to Great Ayton, trying to fool ourselves that the grey was slightly brighter, gone from gunmetal to merely ashen. Never even took a photo let alone get any footage for January’s video.

Mountain Bike Ride

10th January route

The Youth.

The next day, draw back curtains etcetera etcetera, forecast says it is going to stop by mid-morning, ditto yesterday. Oh well, waterproofs on, bike on car, pick up The Youth and drive through the drizzle to Lordstones, which is in the clouds today, along with the top of every other moor in the area. We plodded up the track toward the old gliding club, long gone now, although it was popular when I were a lad, the gliders launched by a tractor which hauled them along the runway until they took off. Even the buildings have gone, demolished a few years ago. We had a pretty standard ride, past Brian’s Pond and continuing to Barker’s Ridge, the usual view down the Scugdale Valley blocked by a leaden curtain, we rode onward, stopping only for gates, it wasn’t the sort of day to savour, Cock Howe came and went, then the clouds blew away and we could see our surroundings, some small pockets of cloud billowing about below us. It hadn’t gone to the excesses of blue sky and winter sunshine but things were improving. 

At Bilsdale mast we took a breather and polished off the last of the Christmas cake before the mile and a half of rough tarmac to the B1257 was despatched with a lot more speed than when we ride it in the unfriendly gravity direction. A bit of poor route planning meant we had a few more miles of tarmac to get through before we regained any proper riding. We pedalled through Cringle Moor Plantation, aiming for the bridleway from Cringle Moor to Lordstones when we were accosted by a lone walker, who turned out to be one of those time-rich, feckless shift-workers, idling the hours away by wandering about the moors, Chairman Whelan of the erstwhile Cafe Racers was easily tempted away from his ramble by a warm cafe and hot coffee. Shortly afterwards we were indoors, recounting tales of our various adventures and discussing the ineptitude of mutual acquaintances from the chemical industry universe.