Here, There And Everywhere.

Here There And Everywhere

Monday 20th May 2019

Alone

A lone ride today, or a solitary ride, as that ought to be, seeing as loneliness is perceived as something negative but solitude is considered more of a mindful decision. Now, I don’t mind riding alone, sometimes quite enjoy it if the truth be told, when there are no one else’s foibles to take into consideration, it can be grand sticking in the extra hill or pushing up a track to see where it comes from or following a track to find where it goes, if it stalls in a tangle of briar and brushwood, nobody to whinge about it. 

Accidental injury, is of course, the downside to lone riding, being in a little frequented part of the moors with a broken pelvis or deep in the woods impaled on a conifer by a branch through your lung would probably spoil your day a bit and you could miss the cafe. I like to carry my trusty whistle for a bit of old school rescue action, six blasts with a minute gap between each set of six is the recognised signal. You might have to do it more than once, six blasts doesn’t summon a helicopter like Aladdin and his magic carpet, which is just as well, seeing as mountain rescue teams are seeing an increasing number of calls from people who are “wet and cold” who don’t understand they’ll be even wetter and colder waiting for a rescue team and they would be better off keeping moving and getting off the hill. 

Anyway, the ride began and ended at Gribdale, heading over Newton Moor and Codhill Heights, taking in a few of Guisborough’s finest tracks, with a fair amount of selfie-filming thrown in. It’s true what some film directors say, it is the only way to get a better class of performer, another advantage of solitary riding. When I arrived back at Gribdale, the ride felt a little brief, so the fabled “extra loop” was tacked on and I powered up to Captain Cook’s Monument - powered up definitely being a relative term here - before making my way back to the car using one of the trails through the trees which has survived the felling. How long before the whole forest is harvested is anyone’s guess, so get them trails done while you can. 

Relive 'Here, There and Everywhere.'

A Pedal To The Costa Del Seaton Carew
Wednesday 22nd May 2019
La Mujerita

Appointments, like employment and bureaucracy are the thieves of time, colluding to munch through minutes and hours like a plague of locusts inflicted by the gods of mundanity to swarm through your day, thwarting attempts to do something as simple as a bike ride.  This is how me and La Mujerita found ourselves riding to Seaton Carew when she had finished work, just to get a ride in. It is a twenty mile ride with the merest hint of ascent, passing through the old salt marshes of Greatham to the coast. The seal colony at Greatham Creek is usually sunning itself on the mud, juxtaposed against a backdrop of chemical industry at Seal Sands but there was only one seal half-heartedly watching us today. They all seem to be elsewhere when the tide is out, which it is at this moment. A short bit of tarmac and we were passing through the gates to the North Gare car park, picking up the bridleway along the edge of the golf course, taking us the rest of the way into Seaton Carew. 

Even though it is mid-week, mid-afternoon on a sunny but cool day, there is a still a queue outside The Almighty Cod, we stuck it out for two chip butties and a can of shandy, scoffed on a seafront bench, next to the remains of the old building which housed Coasters Bar, as well as a cafe and amusement arcade. Many a Saturday night was spent in Coasters, listening to my mate Peter doing his best Ratpack songs on the karaoke. 

We finished our late lunch and rode back to Greatham via Seaton Lane and the A689 before reversing our route home. One side of Seaton Lane is an estate which used to be known as Little India because all the streets are named after Indian cities, or what they used to be called before they ditched colonialism and reverted to Indian names, Hartlepool legend has it that someone kept a horse in the bedroom of one of the houses. I’m not sure of the veracity of this tale, isn’t it horses that can’t do stairs? Or is that cows? Definitely Daleks but they are probably rarer than horses.

Relive 'A Pedal To The Costa Del Seaton Carew'

“Let’s Ride To The Mast” they said.
Thursday 23rd May 2019
The Ginger One, Howard

If I was to say that the weather is sunny but cool today would anyone be surprised, cool enough for a gilet, or "one of them waistcoat things" as The Ginger One puts it - he's from Darlington, you see. I managed a brace of companions today, Howard squeezing a last ride in before he’s dragged back to the other side of the world to minister to the needs of lonely oil rig workers and The Ginger One who has managed to tear himself away from overtime and nineteen fifties sports long enough to cock leg over crossbar. We set off from Lordstones and rode some fine dry trails, culminating with the Cold Moor descent, all the way down into Chop Gate. The descent was in awesome condition, even the usual boggy bit half way down is bone dry thanks to some new drainage and a lack of rain. We stood by the church in Chop Gate, pondering our next move when The Ginger One decided he fancied a challenge and suggested riding up the mast road, or to put it more accurately, the coronary-inducing, tarmac purgatory which leads to the Bilsdale Transmitter, a private road but they don’t appear to have a problem with bikes, more's the pity. Now, as anyone who knows The Ginger One, will tell you, if he fancies a challenge he ought to have a go at joining the twenty first century but Howard immediately concurred, leaving one lone voice of dissent, somewhere at the back. And so it came to pass, a short time later, I found myself panting up the hairpin bend at the sort of gradient I might well have roped up for back in the rock climbing days, heart rate approaching the segment on the rev counter that’s in red for a reason. Damn you forty two tooth cassette, why didn’t I buy the fifty like Howard who was spinning away into the distance? Eventually the summit appeared and I was able to use my remaining energy to collapse on the grass beneath the huge support cables and shove Midget Gems into my face. 

After the sugar had kicked in, I dragged myself back onto the bike and we pedalled more easily on wide, sandy tracks to Cock Howe, a descent of Trennet Bank was mooted by The Ginger One but his enthusiasm waned when he realised he would be alone. We continued on similar tracks, returning to Lordstones via Barker’s Ridge and the old gliding club track with enough appetite for our new Lordstone’s favourite meal - the KFP wrap, Kentucky Fried Pheasant, an absolute feast, just the job for us hungry cyclists.

Relive '"Let's Ride To The Mast" they said.'

Happy Days At Hamsterley
Friday 24th May 2019
La Mujerita

The following day me and La Mujerita went for a day at Hamsterley, where it was sunny and warm - actual warmth, heat from the big yellow ball in the sky, something we’ve not felt for a while. Our route was somewhat convoluted mainly because her skill and confidence are not up to most of the red trails and I don’t know anywhere easy other than fire roads and the Grove Link. 

We made our way up to Windybank Road, then down Cough Up A Lung Lane to the old Descend hut, where we picked up the part of the Red route which is little used except by people who have never been to Hamsterley before and are following the red arrows, which is a long way round to find all the best bits. After a mile or two, we came to some arrows for the blue route, which was a surprise to me - I didn’t even know there was a blue route. It is mainly fire road through the forest but apart from one gruesome climb, very pleasant and undemanding, although the sun has brought out a variety of insects, all determined to sample my O negative as though it is fine wine from the cellars of some French chateau. 

In a while we reached a point which I recognised and we slipped in a Ginger One style extra loop by riding up to do the second half of Transmission and the whole of Accelerator, both of which La Mujerita enjoyed much more than last time we were at Hamsterley. A quick blast along the Grove Link and we were sampling the new cafe, well, the old cafe under new ownership - and very nice it is too, sitting outside in the sunshine, on the balcony. 

Relive 'Happy Days At Hamsterley'