A January Duo

A January Duo.

Pre-Flight Quicky

Monday 13th January 2020.

Clay Bank

The Breadlad

Met The Breadlad a bit earlier today because his international playboy lifestyle demands him to jet off to the slopes this afternoon, strap on a couple of planks and mingle with his Russian oligarch chums in the Pirin Mountains; casually traversing  moguls without spilling a drop of his shaken not stirred dry martini. Prior to dazzling white mountains he was slumming it at Clay Bank, where we hoped to be back at the cars before Storm Brendan put in an appearance, the wind already picking up but not enough to blow away the murk blanketing the tops. Like the fools we are, we marched straight up the hill into it, before long our visibility was reduced to a couple of bike lengths but our familiarity with the moorland tracks allowed us to continue undaunted, boldly going where many men have been before, like picking up a Boro lass in the Bongo Club. 

Eventually we dropped out of the cloud, the land below almost radiant in comparison, making our way to Turkey Nab for the ‘improved’ descent, ruined more like but at least we had the new trails in the woods to look forward. For The Breadlad a new experience, marred only slightly by a bit of misdirection at the start of the first one, well, these tracks through the trees all look the same to me. He was mightily impressed with our new discoveries, our oft-repeated winter mantra, “It’ll be great when it’s dry...” rolling off his tongue, his mind’s eye picturing us carving downhill through the loam, scattering dried leaves beneath our tyres as squirrels look on impressed by the cycling gods passing before their furry little faces, shy deer peeping around tree trunks, wondering if they can get 5:10’s to fit their little hooves. 

But that is in the Elysian forests of the future, where the sun blazes and a cooling wind caresses our gently perspiring brows, the present is more prosaic, slithering downward, the occasional wet root snatching wheels sideways while around us conifers creak and sway in time to the beat of Brendan. He has made his way across the Pennines specifically to blow in our faces for the next four miles as we return on the fire roads of Battersby and Greenhow Plantations, gradually climbing back to Clay Bank car park. The Breadlad packed his bike away eager to be off and rape the planet with another set of flights; when Governess Greta and the Children Of The Damned rule the world, he’ll be first on their list, seeing as he spends more time in the air than Eddie the Eagle.

First Ride This Year For One Of Us.

Wednesday 15th January 2020
Great Ayton
La Mujerita

First ride since November for La Mujerita and damp byways of North Yorkshire are a poor alternative to the dry, sunny trails of southern Spain where she last rode. Our road warm up had to be extended by a couple of miles as we detoured to avoid another of winter’s disadvantages - hedge trimmers leaving roads covered in thorny off-cuts. A curse for anyone still running tyres with inner tubes. One particular afternoon a few years ago, we had over two dozen punctures between four of us, after having to ride up a road literally carpeted with thorns. The Pensioner, who managed three or four in each wheel, like the rest of us, was especially unimpressed and gave vent to his displeasure in a typically vocal style, a profane monologue skilfully blending anger, commination and self-pity in one unpunctuated tirade, while removing wheels and ripping off tyres. 

With age comes wisdom and an extra hill later we made it, tyres unmolested, to the gate on Percy Cross Rigg and a chance to leave tarmac behind, climbing the rocky track and following it down the other side to the top of The Unsuitables. The weather was being kind to us today, some pleasant winter sunshine, although the wind was a little harsh, not too bad for January. From the Unsuitables, we skirted the top edge of Guisborough Woods and across to Newton Moor, by which time we had rode nine and a half miles of more or less continuous ascent and La Mujerita was still going strong. 

From the gate overlooking Roseberry Topping, we turned into the wind and rode to Gribdale, almost deserted today, unlike New Year’s Eve when it was like a free bar at a works do. The curving bridleway down from Newton Moor to Gribdale has a gate at the bottom, a recent addition, something to bear in mind for those with bigger balls than brains. Keeping with the downhill theme but on tarmac, we rode to Fletcher’s Farm for a late lunch prior to returning to Great Ayton, where, despite it being January, a bitter wind approaching gale force, hardy souls were on the courts of the tennis club. As they are almost every day, sun, rain, hail, snow; I would bet the Williams sisters are not that hardcore.