Fat Betty and Little Linda.

Everything Is Rosy In Rosedale

Wednesday 22nd January 2020

Blakey Bank

The Breadlad

In the blink of an eye The Breadlad has returned from his sojourn in snow-covered Bulgaria leaving pristine pistes for the foul trails of North Yorkshire. Basking in another marvellous sunny morning, we discussed route choices at Blakey Bank Top, attempting to predict the least muddy options before we set off.

“Well” he said “I’ve always wanted to go down on Fat Betty. I’ve been up but never down.” 

Before your smut encrusted brains go into overdrive, he’s not discussing his current erotic fantasy but rather a bridleway which begins (or ends depending which way you travelling) with an old moorland cross known to everyone as Fat Betty. The official name of the cross is White Cross and originally marked where the boundaries of three parishes meet, Westerdale, Rosedale and Danby. Our first trail was not as inspiring as the weather, the usual excellent singletrack today muddy ruts and deep puddles, we reached the road hoping the remainder of the day was not going to be similar. Our next track was the aforementioned Fat Betty and The Breadlad wasted no time in mounting her for a photograph before things went downhill, as we followed the rutted bridleway down to another road, less slippery than the previous track, it was a worthwhile detour. Some road work took us to our next trail and it is a beauty, officially a bridleway but little used and we like to keep it that way, so it’s personal invitations only or used twenties, non-sequential, in a brown paper bag. All I can say is we had to stop part of the way down to give our arms a rest. 

This was followed by a trail so muddy it had to be ridden because walking was not an option, unless undignified arse-sledging is your idea of fun. We made to the self-service cafe at Dale Head Farm looking like a pair of clay miners, the weather is so pleasant we sat outside in the garden, taking in the view across Rosedale and eating home-made cakes, our appearances of no interest whatsoever. Working on the old cyclo-cross adage, green is grip, we made our apprehensive way back onto the old railway track and followed it more easily around Rosedale Head to The Lion Inn, unfortunately not for steak sandwiches and beer but to ride another trail down the moor at the side of the pub. Like most of the trails today, it was, yes, you’ve guessed, muddy but deceptively fast which gave a few sphincter-twitching moments before we reached the bottom. Obviously, fast in this context is a relative term and I’m certain those with the benefit of speedy youth would be sniggering from their acne-ridden faces,if they were party to our performance. 

We had another bit of rail track to do and then we were back at the car park, having a read of the informative information boards which have appeared at various sites around the rail tracks, detailing industrial past of Rosedale and this area of the moors. 

Messing About In Some Woods

Friday 24th January 2020
Ingleby Greenhow
La Mujerita

A sunny shorty to end a sunny week, I think we’ll be renaming this month Juneuary the way things are going. Me and La Mujerita parked up in Ingleby Greenhow and rode the short distance to Bank Foot Farm. She had expressed a desire to move away from fire roads and easy bridleways onto some proper trails and I knew just the trails to start her on. But first we had to get in a bit of ascent, climbing around 250 feet in half a mile, enough to get the lungs opened up and the old ticker revving into the red zone. 

The first trail, a ribbon of moist loam and dead leaves, undulates gently through conifers, with a couple of steep but safe drops to liven things up, La Mujerita balked at these but some lesser drops were conquered after a bit of sessioning, i.e. repeated until she could manage them without falling off, crashing into trees or stopping mid-trail for no apparent reason. We spent an amusing hour or so in these woods, well amusing for me, La Mujerita seemed less inclined to see the humorous side, in fact our next bicycle accessory might have to be a swear jar. She expressly forbade me from filming any of these antics, which lost us a small fortune from Harry Hill but a swear jar could go some way toward recompense. 

We gradually worked our way down the trail reaching the fire road at the bottom, from where we made our way to another, similar track where her newly acquired trail skills were given an airing. A lot less falling, which is good because she has gained so many bruises today she looks like a dalmation, but still some inexplicable hesitation. It had been a good couple of hours, even though we’d only actually rode about two and a half miles. To avoid this being the shortest ride in the history of short rides, we had a pootle along the fire roads towards Clay Bank, then followed the road almost all the way back to Ingleby Greenhow. I say almost because who can resist a stream crossing? Fifty percent of our little party it seems, one of us had all the fun of riding through the water while the other took the bridge.