Moist Hamsters And Other Assorted Adventures

Moist Hamsters

24th June 2019

The Breadlad.

Freshly returned from one of his frequent trips across the Atlantic, where he even indulged in a spot of bicycle related bear dodging, The Breadlad thought he could utilise his remaining days off by emulating us retired folk and having four mountain bike rides in a week. Dipping his toe into the bleak harshness of retired life, the constant grind of turning pedals in mud, rain and wind, day after day, cafe after cafe, will he be able to hack it? We began the week at Hamsterley, lots of standing water around following a wet weekend and more rain to come, forecast for two pm, with a bit of luck we’ll be in the cafe by then. We stuck exclusively to the man made tracks, not being in the market for mud and wet roots, it is June supposedly. Riding up on fire roads to Windybank Road, through swathes of open ground that were forest a few weeks ago, we passed the entrance to The Pensioner trail and continued to Section 13, plenty of puddles but otherwise good as usual. Bypassing Boneshaker because that is the Terra Trailblazer way, the next two sections are Special K and Brainfreeze, both damp and slippery but nothing riders of our calibre couldn’t handle, mincing down  as hesitantly as two tramps heading for a shower. 

One side done, a quick blast along The Grove Link and begin the long drag up the other side, passing Accelerator to the NSP (Natural Stopping Point), the green box before the muddy, rooty climb to the next level, where we paused to take on calories while the midges realised dinner has arrived and begin freeloading there own sustenance. It’s hard to imagine what part midges play in the grand scheme of things, vicious blood-sucking little bastards that they are, Hamsterly midges are especially butch, fearlessly zooming at any bare skin, despite slapping hands decimating their family. You would think seeing your grandad and a few of your cousins being pulverised would serve as a warning, engendering some degree of caution but no, just dive in and get as much blood as you can. Which can’t be much, how big can a midge’s stomach be? So why does the extraction of a fraction of a millilitre of best O Neg leave an itchy spot of such disproportionate size and irritation? Natures idea of a joke? 

Sweaty, steamy and itchy, we continued to the start of Polty’s Last Blast, which segues neatly into K Line, a short climb and we’re into Transmission and the stone altar NSP, a very brief sit down before the midge legions sniff us out and boom, we’re off down Triple Tranny as it is known, Transmission, Accelerator and Nitrous. Accelerator and Nitrous are now linked by a handy berm, which saves you going out onto the fire road and in again, shaving valuable micro-seconds from that all important Strava time. Seeing we probably have more chance of becoming leader of the Tory party than getting Triple Tranny KOM’s, it was wasted on us but it does improve the route; we reached the bottom high on endorphins, if we were Americans we might have high fived or fist bumped with a-whooping and a-hollering but we settled for something more Northern.

“That was alright.”

“Aye canny.”

“Cafe?”

“Can do.”

In the cafe the forecast rain arrived bang on time, a proper deluge, monsoon stair rods, Noah waiting impatiently on the gang plank as the snails edge towards the ark. The rain is supposed to stop in about thirty six hours, so that’s tomorrow cancelled, something else The Breadlad needs to learn, when you’re retired missing a day owing to bad weather is not a problem, there are plenty more days to go at.  

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Thank God For EasyJet.

26th June 2019
The Breadlad

Now this country is beginning to take the proverbial micturition, the end of June and the thermometer in my car is reading ten and a half degrees, it’s damp and drizzly, the car park is a mud slick and I’m on the Easyjet app looking for cheap flights to anywhere warm while I wait for The Breadlad to show up. We had a full day of rain yesterday and it looks like its little brother, drizzle, is coming out to accompany us today. 

Undaunted, we pedal onto the moors, which are mostly nestled beneath a cosy blanket of cloud, our true Brit stoicism getting us up Three Sting Hill to Warren Farm, from where we dropped down to the old chimney in Leven Vale before ascending a very soggy Field Of Heavy Gravity. Across the moor to Baysdale is rocky and technical, some of the drop offs are bigger than they look, which goes some way to explaining a bloke on the verge of middle age laid on a cushion of wet heather wishing his knee pads were on his knees instead of in the car boot. 

The bridleway from Three Barns in Baysdale is mainly puddle and it is a relief when we get to the road above Hob Hole, even though it signifies a few miles of mainly uphill, tarmac; drive trains grinding away because the dry lube hasn’t survived. How could we be so stupid, dry lube in June? Over towards Gribdale we spent some time searching for a hidden bike track, so well hidden we couldn’t find it, if it even still exists, before we powered up the hill to Captain Cook’s Monument, powered being a relative term at this stage of the ride. 

A mandatory stop at the monument, consuming calories in the cold, shivering in the chilly wind prior to descending by a little used track, wet branches, slippery rocks and squelchy ground dropped us to a fire road, then steep, skiddy tarmac through Bankside Farm soon had us at Glebe Cottage. Where, remarkably the weather decided to improve itself, not actually going as far as beaming sunshine but some lightening of the greyness with a slight rise in temperature tempted some hardy souls to sit outside. 

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 What A Difference A Day Makes...

27th June 2019
The Breadlad.

Hold on a cotton pickin’ minute, as Deputy Dawg used to say, put the EasyJet app down and rescind the emigration papers, something funny is going on with the weather around these parts. The temperature has risen by at least ten degrees and there is a big ball of burning gas shining down on Square Corner. How can twenty four hours make such a difference? The Breadlad is on day three of his audition for retirement and not faltering yet, even with an ascent of the Mad Mile to begin the route, although he could hardly complain seeing as it was his idea. Breathless and panting at the top but another dab-free ascent in the bag, we continued along the Drove Road on this fine, sunny and virtually windless day (I bet I don’t write that too often), eating up the miles as we sped along wide track. 

At the junction with Kepwick Bank we headed down Arden Bank a short way, then turned off onto a grassy track across Dale Town Common which lead us to a field edge bridleway, gradually downhill to Noddle End. The bridleway continues steeply, turning to limestone-strewn singletrack, treacherous when wet but today enjoying a bit of a respite. A fire road takes us through the woods below the climbing area of Peak Scar, deserted today despite the fine weather, probably the head-height nettles which blanket the access to the bottom of the crag during summer have something to do with it. 

We took the road, heading towards Dialstone Farm but turning off to gain the escarpment, the view magnificent, patchwork fields and toytown houses far below us. The escarpment runs north to south and is good ridden either way, we headed north, making our way towards paradise, well, High Paradise Farm, or more importantly, High Paradise Farm tearoom. 

A quick diversion onto the quarry drop section of the Sutton Bank blue route, turned into a slow diversion when we had to go back and search for my missing GPS but it turned up, definitely investing in a tether for future use. The new Heineken pump in the cafe was put to good use for some essential rehydration, while we sat outside on the patio with three dogs and a family of ducks, all enjoying the weather. 

Reluctantly we left paradise behind and pedalled back along the Drove Road, four miles of undulating track leading to one mile of pure pleasure, the Mad Mile in the fun direction. And grand it was too, loose and rocky at first changing to hard pack gravel for the long run out to the gate. Sunshine, blue sky and a mile long descent; some people actually choose to be at work on days like this, they will probably make a psychiatrist very rich one day.

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 A Quick Ride Around The Rim

28th June 2019
The Breadlad.

And in the red corner, for his fourth appearance this week, comes The Breadlad, still going strong although he is playing the old “got to be back early” card so his last day as a trainee retiree is not too arduous. An old favourite route came to mind, along The Fronts from Lordstones, up the steps, around The Rim, down Medd Crag and back up the road to Lordstones, about ten miles, just right for a short day. The weather is continuing to be amenable, not quite as hot as yesterday as we set off from Lordstones, red arms slathered in the factor 30 we forgot yesterday but warm enough to work up a sweat on the first hill. The Fronts still harbours a few puddles and some deeper mud hags especially in the tree-shaded sections. The last bit, below the cliffs on the east end of Hasty Bank, has been felled and the formerly rocky downhill is now a motorway, wide and fast but lacking the enjoyment it used to have. After crossing the road, we shouldered our steeds for the hike-a-bike up the Carr Ridge steps, at the summit The Breadlad finally succumbed to the siren call of his week old Mars Bar as the rigorous demands of riding four out of five days depleted his calorie reserves. 

The Rim, as we call the track skirting the edge of Urra Moor, is part of a prehistoric earthwork, used to mark historic boundaries in the landscape, the earthwork is a scheduled ancient monument and the path we follow was moved slightly a few years ago to avoid damage. It is a good ride, undulating, on grass, rock or loam, looking down into Bilsdale, some of the usually muddy sections were suffering from the recent wet weather, it will take more than a day and a half of sunshine to dry them out but it was all rideable. Medd Crag is another of those descents which has suffered from sanitisation in recent years, instead of a feast of pick your line technicality, we now have a downhill blast between the gates. Fast but like so many other tracks on the moors lacking the enjoyment of the old days. 

Still we’d had another day of mountain biking and as we began the long haul up the Raisdale Road, The Breadlad confessed to feeling the pace, I had to give him the disappointing news that he is not prepared for retirement unless he can manage four days a week and it looks like another fifteen years or so at the crumpet face for him.

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A Week In The Lake District

A Week In The Lake District

Video here.

A Small Sample Of Whinlatter

Monday 17th June 2019

La Mujerita

After an unseasonably cold weekend in Keswick, a few lashing showers and sky the colour of a tramp’s underwear, things began to pick up today, with the forecast hinting at improvement for the remainder of the week. Which is good because we are here all week, although a centrally-heated cottage next door to a pub does take the sting out of the weather somewhat, it is still better to be able earn those pints of Jennings with an activity a bit more energetic than walking round the shops. Under blue sky and threatening clouds, La Mujerita and me set off from Whinlatter car park to introduce her to the delights of the Quercus Trail, Whinlatter’s Blue route and a good introduction to trail centre riding in general. Wide tracks, berms, the odd rollable hump, nicely graded climbs, all of which she coped with well apart from the odd bits of North Shore, which in the spirit of The Pensioner, she walked across.

Emboldened by her new-found confidence, we segued into the start of the south loop of the red graded Altura Trail, leaving the fire road and embarking on quite a tricky uphill grind through trees, with a few rocky rooty humps to negotiate before things settled down to a zig zag climb, which gains a lot of height without ever being too steep. We reached the fire road where the route bifurcates, turning right takes you to the black graded top section, which returns to this same spot; a left turn returns to the visitor centre on a superb downhill track, designed to be ridden at any speed from gravity-assisted pootle to full on, big-ring, balls out mental. By the end, La Mujerita was beginning to loosen up and find her flow, discovering the enjoyment of swooping around berms and snaking through the trees, made even better by the awesome Lake District backdrop. 

Exhilarated, we returned to the start of the Quercus Trail to ride the initial section again, where the improvement in her confidence and technique was obvious. Satisfied with our few hours riding, we made our way back to the all important cafe, pausing to look at a some llamas, (or maybe alpacas) which reside on site; apparently they can spit a green slurry of partially-digested food up to fifteen feet when unhappy or displeased, fortunately their mood today was mellow and we were spared a shower of masticated grass and camelid saliva. 

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Around Skiddaw

Tuesday18th June 2019
La Mujerita

The forecast is looking, well, reasonable, low chance of showers but still cooler than we would like for mid-June, we were up and out early to ride the Skiddaw House/Dash Falls route, a classic Lakes cross-country route which essentially circles the Skiddaw massif, a wrinkled lump of rock, earth and grass that supports England’s fourth highest mountain.  Riding the route in an anti-clockwise direction gives a few starting options, most of which involve the trail over Lonscale Crags, narrow, rocky and featuring a potentially life terminating drop down one side, for some reason La Mujerita did not seem keen, so we opted for the longer but less traumatic start from Threlkeld around the side of Blease Fell, into the Glenderaterra Beck valley. 

But first we had to get from Keswick to Threlkeld, formerly a gentle pootle along the old railway track, a pleasant, scenic (and more importantly, flat) four miles, through tunnels and over bridges. Storm Desmond put an end to that, wiping out two bridges and destabilising another, while repairs are effected, detours are in place, all of which involve steep climbs. We opted to winch ourselves up to Castlerigg Stone Circle, a kind of pound shop Stonehenge, which has awesome views of the surrounding fells, very popular with photographers. Working on the theory that any view can be enhanced with a bike in the foreground, I took a few shots before we continued down to Threlkeld. From Threlkeld, a steep tarmac climb takes us (eventually) to the Blencathra Centre, which marks the start of the off-road section of route, following a wide track contouring a steep-sided valley, still climbing slightly until a glorious plunge down to cross the beck at a bridge. 

What comes down, must go up and all that, a mile or so of rocky ascent took us to the highest youth hostel in Britain and probably the most remote. We sat on the grass outside for a bite to eat and viewed our next climb which is “not as bad as it looks” and “definitely the last climb of the ride” I was going to slip in the old favourite of the Spanish guides, “just a ten minute climb” but I could sense La Mujerita’s belief in might be waning, seeing as we had already climbed about two thousand feet on this “flat, cross-country route.” 

Okay, perhaps I may have glossed over some aspects of the ride but let’s concentrate on the splendid scenery and the awesome descent to come. And the descent is one of those that stays in your memory long after you have completed it, curving down beside Dash Falls, today in full spate after the weekend rain, dropping nine hundred feet in two and a half miles, it might not be technical singletrack but for sheer exhilaration it can’t be beaten. The downside being a few miles of main road back to Keswick, although a swerve into the tea rooms at Dodd Wood breaks the journey up a little.

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The Whole Of Whinlatter.

Wednesday 19th June 2019
The Ginger One

Today was supposed to be the day of our third annual scattering of The Pensioner’s ashes, where we visit a favourite riding spot of his, fling a desiccated version of him around the area and have a reminisce about his wholly individual outlook on life. Contrary, cantankerous, curmudgeonly, many words beginning with C were habitually used to describe The Pensioner but he was always amusing, is still missed and he is usually mentioned a few times on every ride we do. The best laid plans of mice and men and all that, it didn’t happen today but will be rescheduled without a doubt. 

Which left only me and The Ginger One to flog our way around Whinlatter, the full Whinlatter today. Altura North, Altura South followed by Quercus Trail. Usually we do the blue Quercus Trail first, as a warm up, riding it after the other two is surprisingly taxing. Today was all about the riding, no filming and a minimum of photographs, barely any rests even, we were like two machines, eating up the trails, pausing only for flapjack and midget gems. The trails were drier than Monday, we saw very few other riders and I was able to fully test the MIPS impact protection of my helmet with an unscheduled dismount complete with floor roll and headbutt in the style of a Glasgow street fighter. If only some boffin could come up with MIPS for the rest of the body, I might have less bruises and full use of my left arm today. Yes, I know they already have, it’s called a car, heard it all before. 

Sticking to the forecast, the weather is improving marginally and towards the end of our ride it even became, dare I say it, a little warm. We had flown around the routes in (for us) record time and as we relaxed on the cafe balcony in the sunshine life made perfect sense. Why would anyone want to be doing anything else? And then The Ginger One departed back to the promised land of Darlington, ready to recommence his struggle for overtime in the avaricious world of process operation.

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Leisurely Last Day At The Lakes

Friday 21st June 2019
La Mujerita

Yesterday’s “rest day” proved a little more taxing than it ought to have been, so we opted for a leisurely ride today. In the interest of full disclosure (or before I am outed), I have to admit we went for a walk yesterday, yes, a walk! And we managed without red socks, walking poles or a map case, one of us wearing jeans and carrying our lunch in an “Open All Hours” carrier bag. Plodding along, one foot in front of the other, quite relaxing but a bit boring, don’t think it’ll catch on. Today we rode from our rented cottage in Keswick, wrenched ourselves away from the gravitational pull of the pub next door would be a more honest description, to Braithwaite, through the village and surmounted the merest foothill of Whinlatter Pass to pick up the track which leads to Force Crag mine. 

This heads gradually uphill for a couple of miles to reach the head of the valley, surrounded by fells, framing a photogenic view backwards to the mighty Skiddaw. Waterfalls carve their way down Force Crag, which is dwarfed by the bulk of the fells behind it, Grasmoor, Hopegill Head, Crag Hill, the head of the valley is shaded and the gusty breeze soon has us donning windproofs for warmth. Force Crag mine was the last working metal mine in the Lake District, last closed as recently as 1991, the remaining tin-roofed buildings are still firmly secured, perhaps awaiting a rise in the price of zinc and barytes which may see it return to production. The National Trust host several open days a year at the mine, which I am eager to attend, just to see what is hidden in those buildings. 

Our return along the mine track is downhill and wind-assisted, significantly quicker than the outward journey and after what only seems like a few minutes, we are  at Scotgate campsite, almost the scene of my untimely demise when my little toddler head was dragged underwater by the force of the current in the stream. I can still remember this vividly despite it being around the same time the Beatles were about to begin their climb to fame with Love Me Do, the water rushing past my ears, the stones on the stream bed, the weight of the water stopping me lifting my head up, then my dad’s trousers and socks drying on the bank after he had jumped in to drag me out. Nothing so dramatic today, just a quick sandwich in the cafe.

Anyway, enough of this digression, we took a more circuitous route back to Keswick, passing the minor fell of Swinside, through the hamlet of Ullock to join the Portinscale road, the usual finish of the Lakeland Monster Miles route, seeming much easier after a leisurely half dozen miles than forty five brutal miles on a cyclocross bike. Our last ride at the lakes, for this week anyway, over with, drop the bikes off at the cottage and retire to The Pheasant (our next door pub) for some essential rehydration.

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