The Coldest August Since The Last Ice Age

A Bit Of Lakeland Action

Tuesday 13th August 2019

The Breadlad

Following a four day break - from cycling, I threw myself into the deep end with a day trip to the Lake District for a ride up (and down) one of its fells - or hills as the rest of the world calls them. The Breadlad was ensconced in his caravan at Threlkeld, ready and eager to go by the time I arrived, the weather was doing a passable impression of early autumn not mid-summer, cold wind and the odd spot of rain but largely sunny. The Threlkeld to Keswick rail track cyclepath is still closed, which meant a diversion and an extra climb, whichever way we chose to avoid riding along the wacky race track which is the A66. We opted for Brundholme Road, which runs through the woods on the slopes of Latrigg, closed to traffic, it once was a public road, I can remember driving along it in the past, now overgrown by trees and bushes, the tarmac subsiding in places, it is reserved for cyclists, walkers and wildlife. 

We passed through Keswick and continued to Braithwaite, where we began the long climb up our chosen fell, firstly on tarmac, which turned to gravel, this lead to a grassy slope, upwards ever upward; eventually reaching a col and junction of tracks, naturally ours continued upwards, rock steps puncturing the path, shoulder the bike and make like a rambler, plodding upward towards the summit. The stiff breeze meant we only lingered long enough for a few pictures, enjoying a grand view over Derwentwater and across to the mighty Skiddaw, blue sky belying the unseasonable temperature. The descent is what we were here for and it didn’t disappoint, grass, rocks and gravel, downhill all the way back to Braithwaite; some steep sections necessitated a bit of pre-inspection, a more thorough perusal might have stopped The Breadlad’s headlong flight over the handlebars after one drop off, a handy cushion of thick bracken preventing any serious injury. 

From Braithwaite we made our way back to Keswick on minor roads, calling at the park cafe for a spot of lunch amongst throngs of people, it’s allegedly mid-summer but most are wearing fleece or down jackets and keeping a careful eye on the scudding clouds. Deciding to ride back to Threlkeld via Castlerigg Stone Circle, we set off, tarmac all the way and about five hundred feet of ascent to the stone circle which is almost as busy as Keswick town centre today. Whoever erected the stones chose exactly the right spot, there is three hundred and sixty degree panorama of fells and woods, it is like being in an arena with an audience of massif and ridge, slope and crag, and there is always an ice cream van for a cool down if things get a bit heated in the old pagan ceremony department. From here it is pretty much all downhill back to Threlkeld, gratefully accepted as we had clocked up over two and a half thousand feet of ascent. 

Height Profile.

Relive 'Morning Aug 13th'

 The Coldest August Since The Last Ice Age

Wednesday 14th August 2019
La Mujerita

Me and La Mujerita rolled up at Gribdale, car thermometer registering a temperature of fourteen degrees, grey clouds drizzling slightly, waterproofs on, bikes off and up the hill as soon as possible, just to get warm. Welcome to summer 2019. Sticking to wide and firm tracks, we made our way across Newton Moor to Guisborough Woods and had a trawl around fire roads, keeping the technical difficulty low and cadence high. A disturbing amount of puddles and mud is appearing, trails are reverting to the sort of state usually encountered in December, bikes are sporting mudguards and waterproof socks have been taken out of the winter clothing box.

Working on the theory that any sort of day out on bikes is better than the alternative - not having a day out on bikes, we enjoyed our ride through mud filled hollows under glowering clouds, managing to squeeze in a few decent descents to liven things up. A post ride lunch stop at Fletcher’s Farm was so busy we had to sit outside on the veranda, moving tables to shelter from the wind, La Mujerita wearing her winter down jacket while I shivered in a thin windproof, regretting my choice to dress by the calendar not the conditions.

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 Staycation My Arse

Thursday 15th August 2019
Alone

Sixteen years to the day since the very first Terra Trailblazers ride and I was in the same starting place, Square Corner outside Osmotherley, alone and with no plans to replicate that original ride mainly because the first section, in Silton Woods, has long gone. Instead another old loop was dragged out and held up to the light, to see how it fares with the benefit of experience. The Arnsgill Ridge route, which passes through Sheepwash to Scugdale, then climbs Barker’s Ridge to follow wide, sandy tracks across the moor, eventually down to Low Cote Farm, before finishing with the Dale Head single-track. 

The route went well, mainly dry and fairly sunny. Arnsgill Ridge, in common with a number of moorland tracks recently, has been smoothed out and sanitised, no doubt for the benefit of the shooting parties who pay a premium for the privilege of day on the drink with guns. They could probably get similar a lot cheaper in Middlesbrough but without the views. What I hadn't reckoned on was a most unseasonable wind, verging on gale force made the technical Dale Head track rather more difficult than it ought to have been. 

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 Autumnal August

Friday 16th August 2019
The Ginger One, The Youth.

Another day with the sort of weather forecast that would have lesser men putting themselves under house arrest, so it is surprising that I managed not one but two companions today. The Youth and The Ginger One were metaphorically bright eyed and bushy tailed despite the pervasive gloom blanketing Teesside and North Yorkshire, we had no trouble parking by the river in Great Ayton, not always easy in August - well, in a normal August anyway. 

Riding steadily upwards we passed through Aireyholme Farm, continuing up to Roseberry Common, which was awash with ramblers, obviously taking a safety in numbers approach to their ascent of the East Face of Roseberry Topping. We mooched about in the rain, sliding down a few trails and spending a lot of time at the top of hills waiting for The Youth whose impressive physical development obviously doesn’t extend to the cardiovascular system. 

It rained occasionally, the wind blew and we rode until the siren call of the cafe drew us down from the moors, reversing our route from Roseberry Common was fast, wet and messy, faces splattered with unidentifiable but definitely organic matter, I can vouch for this because the lump which ended up in my mouth certainly had straw as part of its composition. A few minutes later we were three wet and muddy wretches sitting amongst a legion of impossibly pristine walkers in Fletcher’s Farm cafe. How can people go on the moors and stay so clean? I can manage to look like a tramp just crossing a car park. 

Relive 'Morning Aug 16th'