The Wombat From The West.

What can be the opposite of The Beast From The East? Something warm and cuddly from the West, I don't really know if a wombat is warm and cuddly but it sounds better than The Wasp From The West or The Walrus From The West.

Mountain Bike Ride

18th February 2019 route

The Breadlad, Oz.

Pulled into Sheepwash car park this morning to find there were only about four parking spaces left. Oh bollocks - half term. We’re not used to this many people. It must be half term for dogs too and pensioners because the place was rammed with them, plus the odd kid here and there, obviously wrenched, kicking and screaming, from their Playboxes or Xstations, or whatever they do all day. We threaded our way through a minefield of carefully packaged dog excrement to the reservoir and pedalled up to High Lane, the people thinning out as we left the proximity of the car park. From High Lane we went straight back down again, on a recently rediscovered track to Cote Ghyll, which weaves through the trees at a very amenable angle. From Cote Ghyll, we began climbing and didn’t stop until we reached Scarth Wood Moor where we took another superb track through the woods, pine needles covering a soft loam base, in excellent condition despite it being February. A pair of walkers, resting and enjoying the view treated us to glares so hostile we might have been Jimmy Savile, Gary Glitter and a Catholic priest walking into the local playgroup. It wasn’t even as if we were spoiling their view, we passed behind them, they had to turn their heads like Regan in The Exorcist to give us the evil eyes. Undaunted we continued, enjoying the weather, it is staying warm and sunny and we are taking advantage. Through Clain Woods and down to Scugdale, gliding along familiar tracks. The steep climb up from Heathwaite is still steep but worth it for the singletrack through Faceby Plantation. Leaving the plantation behind, we crossed a field filled with mole hills, which prompted a conversation about moles disposing of soil, Great Escape style, hiding little bags of soil up their (obviously moleskin) trouser legs and surreptitiously sprinkling it in the field while casually whistling Colonel Bogey. Or maybe they use another method - who knows? Owing to our usual return route still being muddier than Shrek’s swamp, we returned to Sheepwash predominantly on tarmac, the only highlight being the diversion to the Rusty Bike cafe for coffee and cake.

Mountain Bike Ride

20th February 2019 route

The Breadlad, The Youth.

It’s been so long since The Youth swung leg over crossbar, we expected to see his stabilisers reattached and judging by the way he rode, they ought to have been. Within a mile and a half of leaving Great Ayton, he managed to crash into a poor old pensioner (moi), the pensioner, being made of sterner stuff, stayed upright, while The Youth fell off his bike, in the middle of the road, in front of a Range Rover. And that was only his first dismount of the day. We passed Fletcher’s Farm and made our way onto the flank of Easby Moor, passing beneath Captain Cook’s Monument, before a little explore took us up through the woods to Cook’s Crags, checking out some old, almost forgotten routes on the way. Easby Moor segues into Coate Moor, downhill tracks leading to Gribdale, a massive amount of tree felling has taken place,  old tracks are either changed or buried under the detritus of felling. 

We stopped to session (as the young people say) a section where The Youth surprised me and The Breadlad by plunging over a fairly big drop, only to realise he ought to have scoped the runout beforehand, he landed the jump well but a nefarious fusion of tree stumps, roots and mud had him on the floor quicker than a right hook from Mike Tyson. Floor 2: Youth 0. Some less eventful pedalling across Newton Moor took us to Les’s One, where The Youth had a sudden return to form and flew down the track as though he was being chased by a predatory barber, intent on trimming those lustrous locks. A few more of Guisborough Wood’s finest (well, least muddy) tracks followed in a similar fashion, me and The Breadlad ambling along while The Youth channeled his inner Danny Hart. An ascent of The Unsuitables followed and he regained his rightful place at the back. 

We continued round an unseasonably dry Lonsdale Bowl, have I mentioned the weather? Dry, sunny and forecast to be heading towards the high teens centigrade by the weekend. Mental. 

After descending to a busy Gribdale, it’s still half term and everywhere is littered with the burnt-out wrecks of teachers, trying desperately to forget the living Hell they will have to go back to on Monday, we soon found ourselves sat outside Fletcher’s Farm Cafe (because it was too full to get a seat inside) replenishing the calories. Calories were further replenished by an expedition to Great Ayton institution, Petch’s Pies, on the way back to the cars. 

Cross Bike Ride

21st February 2019 route

All alone.

No-one was able to come out and play today, so I thought it was about time the CX bike got an airing -  for the first time since mid-December. I chose a local route for local people. The weather is still nice and sunny but the wind was strong today and the novelty of riding for thirteen miles into a headwind quickly wore off. All things being equal, give me the mountain bike anytime.

Mountain Bike Ride

22nd  February 2019 route

The Ginger One.

A ride from Birk Brow always means one thing, extreme reluctance for anyone to attend, despite the attraction of the post-ride burger van. This is because rides from Birk Brow will inevitably finish with the Quaker’s Causeway, which, as well as being one of the best preserved pannierways in England, is a fine way of crossing the boggy moor. Most others disagree, despite the innovation of full suspension they still consider the causeway as being akin to a rectal examination by a ham-fisted medic with fingers like saveloys. Birk Brow car park was busy and breezy but the good weather is continuing, we did our usual start, braving the Whitby-bound traffic on the moor road to Swindale Lane, where we turned off. There is a large building project on the corner of the road, apparently an interceptor shaft for the Sirius Minerals project, a twenty three mile tunnel to transport polyhalite. As Sirius shareholders, through our investment club, we were somewhat disturbed by the amount of bodies sitting around when they ought to have been working, they ought to take a lesson from the land of process operations. We would never be sitting down if we could possibly be lying down. We made our way past the mysterious Freeborough Hill, home to many local legends (Google them, I’m not writing all that out again) and up to Robin Hood’s Butts, the track, in places, muddier than we would have liked. Robin Hood’s Butts is filling up with water but nothing like the canal impersonation it normally manages this time of year. 

At the Sis Cross bridleway, we took a right and headed to Danby, first slightly uphill to the remains of the aforementioned cross, then downhill on a sinuous singletrack carving through the purple heather and other assorted cliches. It was magnificent, men and machines in perfect synchronicity, swooping down the hillside in the sunshine, well, apart from the boggy bits. Continuing to Danby Beacon, we paused for a look at the view and a bit of carb replacement before heading down the track to the Oakley Walls road, or that should be, tracks, multiple lines of deep, rutted mud pools; the wobbly-heads in their 4x4’s have well and truly destroyed this track in the pursuit of their pleasure. 

We retraced our tyre tracks along Robin Hood’s Butts and soon there was only the causeway between us and the burger van. Pausing to lose another layer, we embarked on the causeway, riding slightly uphill on a mud track until we picked up the start of the paved section, still holding up well despite being many hundreds of years old. I thought The Ginger One was made of sterner stuff but it wasn’t long before the words jackhammer and anus were being used in the same sentence; I honestly can’t see the problem, suspension set on trail, plenty of forward momentum and it’s a glide across the moor. 

Soon it was all behind us and we were sitting on a bench in the sunshine, cheeseburgers in hand, observing the burger van regulars who obviously drive up everyday for a plastic cup of tea and a bit of social intercourse. 

“It must be a pensioner thing.” said The Ginger One. Thankfully it looks as though I haven’t reached that stage yet.

February Fun In The Sun. In England!

Another week in the life of a retiree, well, the cycling parts of it anyway. People sometimes ask if I get bored; I have to tell them I don’t understand the concept.

Mountain Bike Ride

11th February route

Oz, The Breadlad.

The Breadlad found a window to fit in a spot of biking in his peripatetic lifestyle, so we started the week in Clay Bank car park, which was only slightly below cloud level, gloomy and damp. Very strange, seeing as we had left blue sky and bright sunshine behind to be there. The tame rooster was, as usual, strutting his stuff around the car park, eliciting a stream of juvenalia about big black cocks. We can’t grow out of it. 

Making our way slowly up the Carr Ridge steps, our combined minds solved the NHS crisis, Brexit, the hefty cost of funerals and why people who go to gyms are actually less fit than three old blokes pushing bikes up a hill. Back on the bikes we plodded on over Urra Moor, across to Burton Howe and down the Old Coal Road. A lovely descent, in a non-technical sort of fashion, the sun decided to put in an appearance, shoving the clouds away to reveal a pleasant day. More tracks took us to Turkey Nab above Battersby and lots more descent until we arrived at Bank Foot Farm, slightly disappointed because we knew our fun was over, only the standard drag through the woods back to Clay Bank ahead of us. 

On the way back we went for a look at the site of the old ICI Discoverer centre, which was a sort of Outward Bound place, where all ICI apprentices were sent for a week of outdoor stuff and inter-trade bonding. It would be classed as human rights abuse nowadays, without even WiFi for the screen-dependent little freaks, modern apprentices. Oz was a somewhat reluctant attendee, or possibly inmate, back in the late Seventies - when trousers were wide, shoes were high and shirt collars were like the wings of a 747, like most of the apprentices finding life without the maternal touch a bit of a revelation. And generally not in a good way. Not much to see now, a few concrete bases and scraps of breezeblock being overtaken by nature, the dreaded bucket shower long gone, much to the delight of Oz. 

Mountain Bike Ride

La Mujerita

12th February 2019 route

More outdoor adventure for the little woman and for me, the second visit this week to Greenhow Plantation, although riding the opposite way to yesterday. We set off from Ingleby Greenhow, up the road to the plantation and kept climbing on fire roads. Fire roads which were draggier than Danny La Rue (I might be showing my age there but I don’t know any other drag artistes) and some of the softer bits were churned up by hooves. It was tough going but as they say in the spirit of mindless optimism, winter miles make summer smiles. 

Things began to head in a more gravity-friendly direction and we were soon at the bottom of The Incline, thankfully only looking up it, not riding up it. The Incline was where rail trucks full of iron ore from the mines of Rosedale were sent down to the main line at Battersby Junction and the old track bed extends to Bank Foot Farm, for us, slightly downhill with a tailwind, making up for the early ride torture. 

From Bank Foot Farm we went for a little recce of the the track which cuts through to the bottom of Coleson Banks; last time me and The Ginger One rode along there it was a disaster after the initial fire road section, like a small corner of Somme battlefield dropped into North Yorkshire. It looks as though some work has been done to stop 4x4’s and maybe some drainage has been added because it did not look too bad today. Riding back to Bank Foot we encountered a random cow - well, young bullock actually - just wandering the woods and fire road. It eyed us warily but let us pass ungored, as though we were cycling picadors. 

We looked for someone at the farm to inform them about the cow but nobody was around, so it may be still there now, turning into a feral bovine, hiding in the trees, breaking free from his herbivorous past, leaping out to tear passing walkers to shreds and gorge on their internal organs. Or maybe not.

Mountain Bike Ride.

13th February route

The Ginger One

It was supposed to be The Breadlad and The Ginger One meeting me at Gribdale but the demands of the high powered world of crumpet production meant there may have been the possibility of top crumpet executive, The Breadlad, actually having to do some work during his shift tonight, so he bailed on us. So it was just me and The Ginger One who hauled our bikes up onto Newton Moor in search of dry tracks on this unseasonably warm February day. We made our way to Les’s One, with a quick detour to The Hanging Stone, naked and alone, standing proudly erect  (the stone, not us) now the forest below has been felled. Les’s One is suffering from the weather and withdrawal of funding but still rideable, we continued along the path below the aforementioned Hanging Stone, then a circular mixture of fire roads and tracks took us as far as Westworth Woods and then back to Highcliffe Nab. From Codhill Heights, we pedalled up to The Nipple, now looking a lot less nipple-ish since the summit cairn was dismantled. 

The track down the other side was in fine condition, following narrow ruts, with plenty of traps for the unwary - rocks and little drop offs, twists in the ruts and startled grouse. The track is nicknamed Scalextrics for reasons which become obvious once you are riding it. We joined the Sleddale road and climbed out of the valley, before following Percy Cross Rigg and the Lonsdale Bowl, again relatively mud-free despite the season, before descending Fingerbender Bank, so called from one of The Pensioner’s more excruciating tumbles. The final descent, we know as Andy’s Track, so called to annoy The Pensioner because he actually discovered it, took us back to Gribdale, barely muddy, barely wet. Are we sure it is February?

Mountain Bike Ride.

15th February route.

The Ginger One.

The Ginger One out twice in the same week? Is he secretly in training for some prestigious event? Ticking another one of the bucket list? Or just can’t get any overtime? Regardless, he was here at Hamsterley, a sunny and warm Hamsterley because the good weather is continuing. I can almost hear the ghostly muttering of The Pensioner,

“We’ll pay for this later, you know. We can’t have weather like this in February and get away with it. It’ll be a shit summer.” 

Glass half empty: glass half full? The Pensioner never even had a glass. His dour pessimism ought to have been capitalised upon and televised like Ricky Gervaise did with Karl Pilkington. 

Hamsterley is surprisingly busy today for some reason, living up to the name of one of its Strava segments, “Wheezing Fat Men On 4K Bikes.” or some of them only barely wheezing because they are on 6K electric bikes. Taking advantage of the weather, we rode up to Doctor’s Gate, and across the moor on dry tracks, returning to the forest on a track which can only have been named by someone from Darlington, “Interfering With Sheep.” A couple more off-piste tracks followed then we broke with tradition and actually rode Route 666, just to see if it was the pointless diversion we remembered. It was. A mile of rooty ascent for about 5 metres of rooty downhill, we arrived at Oddsox, glad we’d be able to bypass Route 666 for another five years. After Oddsox, we began the long drag to Polties Last Blast, being overtaken by electric bikers as we panted upwards. We plunged straight into Polties, followed by K Line which is always fun, apart from the climb at the end. At the Transmission table, we couldn’t even get a seat for the numerous other bikers thronging the area, so without a pause, we embarked on Triple Tranny, the three routes, Transmission, Accelerator and Nitrous, reaching the valley bottom with aching forearms and burning brakes. And then it was climbing time again, up the aptly named Cough Up A Lung Lane to Section 13, actually passing some electric bike guys, more to do with their puncture than our athletic prowess I’m afraid. Another mixture of official and unofficial trails took us once again to the valley bottom before Mr. Extra Loop had us climbing again, to take in the skills loop, before we could call it a day.  After the skills loop I noticed my GPS had recorded an unfeasible 3,800 feet of ascent, some glitch there surely. The flat Gruffalo trail back to the car park added another 500 feet, then riding across the car park to our cars, we allegedly ascended another 200 feet. 4,500 feet in 13 miles, we can’t even manage that in the Lake District, either we are cycling gods or it’s time for a new GPS. 

Floundering In February - Week One.

Mountain Bike Ride.

The Youth

1st February route

The First Ride Of February. In defiance of the weather forecast, sleet and drizzle, me and The Youth found ourselves once again in Pinchinthorpe car park, a relatively snow-free Pinchinthorpe car park. Higher up, a picturesque layer of snow blanketed the moors, picking out the pathways and trails in a filigree tracery of white against green and brown, down below it was just brown gruel. We stayed on fire roads to Roseberry Common, hauled up the steps to Newton Moor, a snowy blast around the Lonsdale Bowl to Percy Cross Rigg. A worryingly fast drop on the snow-covered road to Sleddale followed, prior to ascending Codhill Heights to take us back to Guisborough Woods. All without a hint of sleet or drizzle, the sky even made an attempt at being blue, with about as much success as Cliff Richard trying a few Chubby Brown gags on an audience of born again christians. 

After a few slippery singletracks, we arrived on top of Highcliffe Nab for a breather and a couple of photos, a spectacular mass of cloud could be seen, rolling in off the sea, heading our way. It looked like we might be in for a bit of weather after all. We descended from Highcliffe, heading for further tracks to finish our ride, before we found them, the storm hit us, a brain-freezing headwind hurling face-shredding snow,  pedalling manfully into it, my thoughts turning to the real men who compete in Alaska’s Iditabike, The Youth probably thinking about ice cream or building a snowman. 

The first escape route to lower ground came up on our right, we were down it like the proverbial rats deserting a sinking ship, glasses plastered with snow, negotiating the bottom part of The Unsuitables like Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles having a day out in North Yorkshire. We stopped at the barrier, cleaned our lenses and continued to the car park looking as though  we had just dug our way out of an avalanche, helmets, clothes and bikes plastered with snow, we called it a day and made our way home on clear roads. Amazing what losing a few metres of height can do for the weather. Until we reached Billingham and the ‘great gridlock of oh nineteen’ as it will forever be known. A sudden localised storm had turned the roads to glass, cars couldn’t make their way up the slightest inclines and the place was chaos.

Mountain Bike Ride.

Oz

4th February route

After a restful weekend, which saw most of the snow thaw and drain away, me and Oz were at Sheepwash car park, trying to find the parking space under the least amount of water, or the shallow end, as we called it. It was shaping up to be a nice day, blue sky and a hint of warmth in the winter sunshine. The reservoir was covered in a sheet of rapidly thawing ice, the path along the shoreline still boasted some treacherous patches, some time was spent wondering if the ice would hold our weight if we skidded off the path into the water. Thankfully it remained hypothetical conjecturing and before long we had climbed up through the woods to High Lane, only to lose all the height descending to Cote Ghyll on a pleasant track through the trees. 

We climbed up again, to the top of Scarth Wood Moor, only to descend another nicely sheltered track through the conifers, rolling over a bed of autumnal pine needles, emerging lower down on Scarth Wood Moor, descending the paved track to the road, almost back at our start point. Even by Terra Trailblazer’s standards, it was too early to return, so we plunged (almost literally) down the Clain Wood steps and made our way along to Scugdale. We entered the plantation behind Heathwaite and followed the fantastic (firm and downhill, what more could a boy want?) bridleway through the trees,continuing through a muddy field to Faceby. Aware, from recent experience, that all the off-road routes back to Swainby are presently enough of a morass to make us morose, we took the tarmac option and made like roadies for a mile or two until we reached the roadie haven of the Rusty Bike cafe. 

Cake, coffee and an extended chat with a former colleague ensued before we reluctantly faced the return leg of our ride. Leg being the operative word, as we had to shank it back up the Clain Wood steps we had descended so timorously earlier. The extra loop option, so beloved of The Ginger One was dismissed in favour of an early bath, especially for Oz’s bike which was treated to a wash in the stream, in the style of The Pensioner, who never tired of telling us  - “I’m on water meter, you know.”

Mountain Bike Ride.

La Mujerita

5th February route

The following day was a little duller but still dry and perfectly reasonable for early February, me and La Mujerita went to Kildale for a bit of a leg stretcher, taking the road to Percy Cross Rigg, then the (for me) weekly crossing of Codhill Heights, to Guisborough Woods. We descended the fire road beside Highcliffe Nab, La Mujerita learning, to her dismay, that pulling too hard on the brakes actually makes you go faster on steep slopes. 

In the sheltered parts of the forest, ice still reigns, encrusting whole fire roads with white treachery. For probably the only time in my life, I was pleased to be going up The Unsuitables, I can barely believe I’ve just typed that sentence, even then a couple of sections were unpedalable and barely walkable but we reached the gate with all limbs intact. We continued up and over Percy Cross Rigg, breaking through a few ice covered puddles until we reached the tarmac, hard to believe it was completely white four days ago, today just a slightly damp road. 

At the turn off to the Yellow Brick Road we paused to allow a multitude of walkers to come up the track, they looked like a refugee exodus which had looted the local Go Outdoors on their way from fleeing persecution at the hands of a cruel anti-Goretex regime. What is with walkers going out mob-handed? Safety in numbers? Safety from what? It beats me. A quick descent of the Yellow Brick Road and we were in Glebe Cottage, slightly muddy - us, not the cafe, enjoying some hearty homemade soup.

Mountain Bike Ride.

The Ginger One, Oz

6th February route

Third day in a row for me, the thaw has totally taken hold, barely a scrap of snow left even on the high moors. I had the pleasure of both Oz and The Ginger One today, there must be something going terribly wrong in the rarefied world of chemical process operation when neither of them can find an overtime shift and are forced out of a cosy control room into the cold, cruel world. We set off from Lordstones, avoiding The Fronts because of its tendency to become a quagmire in these conditions, our alternative tracks were drier but still significantly more draggy than of late. The Ginger One suggested the Cold Moor descent, which of course is preceded by the Cold Moor ascent, so it was bikes on backs and plod up the steps. At the top a cold wind let us know it is still February while we sheltered in our usual hollow, taking on early carbs. 

The descent was predictably muddy and slippery in the parts which are usually muddy and slippery but still grand fun, following a rocky, dried up stream bed at first before switching to grassy tracks, then more enclosed riding between fields to emerge through a tunnel of trees behind the church in Chop Gate. A slog back up the Raisdale road follows before we make our way Raisdale Mill and eventually to Brian’s Pond, the pond still well frozen and our gender demanded we stop and test the integrity of the ice with increasingly larger stones until one breached the surface. By virtue of being the lightest, The Ginger One was chosen as the lucky person to test the ice’s weight-bearing potential but he impolitely declined. 

The wide sandy tracks heading to Carlton Bank were more mud than sand today, every pedal stroke was a battle, gears were shed, tears were almost shed but gradually, metre by metre, we gained the summit trig point on Carlton Bank, where we stood around before deciding it was far too cold and windy to be standing around and headed down the nicely paved, too good to waste on walkers, track. Despite the brevity of our ride, we headed down the old gliding club access track and straight into the cafe, The Ginger One speculating, perhaps accurately, that our sub-eleven miles had probably been harder than a fifty mile road ride. Definitely a lot more fun.

January 2019 Round Up and Video

January 2019 Round Up and Video

Too many words? Click here for video.

It’s January and like most people I’m not especially surprised to see a bit of snow and ice at this time of year, unlike the media who have managed to fill more air time and column inches than a mere smattering of the white stuff deserves. Despite being on the verge of a white apocalypse, fifteen rides were managed, every one off road, two hundred miles ridden with twenty one and a half thousand feet of ascent. Over four vertical miles.

Early in the month, when we’d barely recovered from the seasonal festivities, The Nissan Nomads joined us for a scrounge about some of the less muddy bits Guisborough had to offer, the remainder of the month was populated by those more enthusiastic souls who don’t let a bit of weather deter them. A sudden attack of efficiency on my part, meant the majority of the rides this month were blogged, except for the three below.

Mountain Bike Ride

The Breadlad, The Ginger One.

28th January route.

This was to be a BNQ (Before Night’s Quicky) for The Breadlad, his first shift back at the crumpet face, mining out delectable comestibles for our enjoyment. He is freshly returned from another of his globetrotting adventures, this time on Balkan ski slopes, whipping in and out of the trees, pausing only for a dry martini, shaken not stirred, like James Bond in The Spy Who Loved Me. A lightly dusted Roseberry Topping no match for snow capped Bulgarian mountains but he has his beloved bike with him, not a pair of hired planks, so all is well with the world. We were joined by The Ginger One, recovering from the lurgy which has been doing the rounds, the parking fee at Pinchinthorpe almost sending him a into relapse. Three quid is a bit steep, considering it’s not Hamsterley, the trails are no longer maintained - other than a parking space it’s difficult to see what we, as cyclists, are getting for our money.

Our route was the usual hotchpotch of fire roads and trails, mostly icy and slippy but not sloppy. No casualties were recorded other than a pedal to the shin which is always more painful than it ought to be. The sun came out, the ground stayed hard, a perfect return for The Breadlad. At the cafe it appeared that a mass eviction had happened from a local old folks home and we had to sit outside, luckily it was a pleasant lunchtime for sitting out.

Mountain Bike Ride

The Ginger One.

29th January route.

The following day was not as grand and the forecast couldn’t rise above sleet showers all day. Me and The Ginger One met up by the river in Great Ayton, slightly damp but not undaunted. We made like roadies to Bank Foot Farm, battling against the wind all the way, simply because The Ginger One wanted to repeat his once in a lifetime feat of riding up The Incline. For the uninitiated, The Incline is a relic of the industrial past of this area, part of the old Rosedale railway, wagon loads of iron ore would be rolled down the slope attached to a cable which dragged the empty wagons back up the hill.  Almost a mile long, at a one in five gradient, the rail wagons moved at twenty miles per hour, which was about ten time faster than our effort, although conditions were against us, the headwind now treating us to a faceful of snow as we crawled upward.

At the top we were almost in the cloud but luckily we turned our backs to the wind, riding along the Cleveland Way, ice covered puddles were coated with snow, cracking noises being our only clue that we might be in for a soaking. The diet must be working, or the ice must be thicker than we thought because wet feet were saved for another day. We took a diversion along The Old Coal Road, reversing last week’s ascent, it was excellent, the ground frozen and white, not too slippy, going downhill as fast as we dared in the limited visibility. From the end, we made our way back to the Cleveland Way and then got our once a decade descent of Coleson Banks done, we always think it may have improved somehow but what used to be a slightly sunken track now resembles an embryonic Grand Canyon, a muddy defile between twenty foot deep walls, like riding through porridge seasoned with rocks. Eventually the track opens to fields of pure mud, fortunately frozen for us today and drops down into the village of Battersby, from where we made like roadies again, swapping the snow for cold drizzle all the way back to Great Ayton.

Mountain Bike Ride

Howard.

30th January route.

Boom boom, back in the room. The next day was one of those winter days when you are glad to be alive, frozen ground, white trees, blue sky, another broken down lorry on the A19 flyover, so much for the early start. A little later than planned we were leaving Kildale station car park and heading up the Yellow Brick Road, today the White Brick road, Howard heading up significantly faster than my almost on the verge of middle age body can manage. His constant training is giving him what can only be described as an unfair advantage over us guys who consider the cafe the most important part of cycling.

From the top we plunged cautiously, if there can be such a thing, down into Sleddale and continued across Codhill Heights on grippy snow. At the top of The Unsuitables a bit of exploration took us to a trail called The Forgotten Path which, in Terra Trailblazers’ parlance, “Will be better in the summer.” In other words, a bit too hard but we can blame conditions, too icy, too muddy. We’ll think up fresh excuses in the summer.

A few more wintry trails took us across to Gribdale and the climb up to Captain Cook’s Monument, the fire road a sheet of pure ice, it would have made  a challenging descent. More frozen tracks took us back to Kildale, where  devastating news greeted us, owing to an icy slip, the cafe was closed.