Going Local.

Going Local

Tuesday 21st January 2020

Local

The Novice and The Ginger One

The Novice and The Ginger One going local, not loco down in Acapulco. Similar weather though and it looks set to continue for the rest of the week, weird for January but we won’t complain. We have a novice, another indolent process operator eager to exit the big comfy chair and see what life is like outside the obscure world of chemical production, which mainly consists of sitting in the aforementioned chair, clicking a mouse, pointing at things on a screen and wondering if anyone else but you can actually work the kettle. Our neophyte turned up, along with The Ginger One, ready for a gentle pootle around the urban lanes as an initiation into this riding a bike business. Our route set off passing the very place where their colleagues would be sitting watching millions of pound’s worth of chemical plant churning out acid while plotting to backheel as much of their work as possible to the next shift. The Ginger One gazed longingly at the glittering minarets of the absorption columns and the steaming cooling towers, bereft because he wasn’t there on overtime. 

Cycle tracks and faux-rural lanes took us towards Thorpe Thewles, where we stopped at the old railway station for the inevitable coffee, it’s cruelty expecting process operators to go longer than an hour without a hot drink. The Novice was doing well, keeping up without any trouble, some hidden cardio training going on somewhere we suspect and buttock-related complaints were at a minimum. We left the cafe and rode along the old railway for a short distance before turning off to indulge ourselves in the descent from Grindon to Fulthorpe, unfortunately wrecked by heavy machinery, now just a lumpy mess of rocks and mud. Not too bad for those riding full suspension mountain bikes but for the idiot on the cyclocross bike... 

More country lanes followed, always in sight of the chemical plant. My companions bear a physical resemblance to Simon Pegg and Nick Frost, as if Shaun Of The Dead is being remade on bikes, with a backdrop of chemical factories, which wouldn’t be a bad idea, there are quite a few zombies about at the end of a twelve hour night shift. We continued into the village of Norton, the new Yarm some say but Norton is still the sort of place where you can see a dog’s footprint in a human turd, so it has a way to go yet. Just outside Norton is a little area of rooty drops and steep banks, which goes to show, if you look hard enough on any bike ride, there will always be somewhere to a: hurt yourself, b: get covered in mud and c: relieve the drudgery of roads and cycle tracks. Some people ride bikes for years and never have this fun  - they are called roadies. Never be tempted. 

This is a perfect place for a postulant to prepare for proper off-road riding and for The Ginger One to demonstrate his skill at pointing a bike downhill while gripping the handlebars very tightly and hoping for the best. A few hundred metres later we were in my back garden, drinking brews in the sunshine, The Novice realising padded shorts will be his first bike-related purchase, after all, he wouldn’t be able to do his job properly if couldn’t sit down for a full twelve hours.