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.
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