Two Rides:One Reservoir.

All Alone In The Woods.

Wednesday 8th January 2020
Square Corner
Alone

Teesside, home of The Smoggies, pollution, smoke and grime. Why is it then, quite often I find myself heading south into North Yorkshire, leaving brilliant blue skies (why is it always plural - surely there is only one sky?) behind and travelling towards low cloud and gloom? As it was today, left a passable Spring day at home and found myself in a slate grey land of gloaming and drizzle; mind you it was Square Corner, which has a perpetually dismal micro-climate at the best of times. The two Terra Trailblazers regulars are at work and the irregular is probably playing in his van, everyone else will be TOFU, not the tasteless oriental foodstuff which looks as though it is made from the collected squeezings of a thousand teenagers pimples’ pressed into a block but Telly On: Feet Up. 

So it was Billy No Mates me riding about all alone in the woods like Little Red Riding Hood today, not going to see grandma, not without a shovel anyway, like those Mexicans celebrating Day Of The Dead. Rather than messing about with dead relatives, I went to Silton Woods for a mess about on the downhill track, which is still present despite the clearance going on in the forest, features come and go but the basic track remains. Returning to Square Corner after four and a half miles of riding is a bit slothful, even by our pitiful standards, the car was bypassed in favour of a little exploring in the woods above Cod Beck, discovering a couple of previously unexplored trails and riding Rod’s new trail again, properly this time, finding the extension over the tree trunk. (If you know, you know). 

The continuation tarmac slog up toward the antennas was no easier than it was forty eight hours ago, this time heading straight onto Scarth Wood Moor and enjoying the paved descent all the way to the road. And that was the fun more or less over for today, only a climb back to Square Corner between me and the little picnic waiting for me. And the sun managed to put in an appearance, sheltering in the lee of the car, munching the last of the Christmas cake, it was almost quite pleasant.

The Sun Brings Them Out

Friday 10th January 2020
Sheepwash
Oz

For the third time this week I’m in the environs of Cod Beck Reservoir, today, owing to a bit of winter sunshine, it looks like we are sharing it with everyone in Teesside and North Yorkshire who is not at work. The car parks are jammed, people driving around looking for spaces, luckily me and Oz managed to grab two of the remaining spots. Oz? Yes, he has returned to the world of blood,sweat and gears, ready to conquer all the mud and slop a Northern winter can throw at us. Except today, today was really nice, virtually windless, sunshine and blue sky, what more could we want? Best not go into that, it’s a long list. Our ride used more or less than the same tracks as the previous two outings, just in a different order, as Eric Morecombe might have said. Anyone under fifty will have no idea what I am talking about. We warmed up by riding to Silton Woods and enjoying the top part of the downhill, somewhat slippier than Wednesday, only to be expected because it rained for about eighteen hours yesterday. 

Our next objectives were Rod’s tracks, a treat for Oz because they were new to him, quite sheltered in the trees, the trails were moist but not muddy which was a bonus. The long climb up to Scarth Wood Moor came next, following the tarmac road which leads to the antenas, third time this week for me but it doesn’t feel any easier, so much for riding makes you fitter. Or maybe it is the lack of wind assistance on this attempt. 

From the top, we rode down, first on a glorious track through the woods before emerging onto the moor, where we passed by another herd of cows whose toilet habits seemed a little more refined than Monday’s herd. They weren’t wearing nappies, perhaps there are gigantic cat litter trays hidden discreetly behind trees and rocks where they go to powder their noses.  Maybe things are not as ‘concentrated’ when there are acres of open moor to wander around, dropping out a few Tracey Islands as you go, or, possibly Monday’s cows live on a diet of curry and beer, has a similar effect on me, that’s for sure. See, it’s not all riding bikes up and down hills in the mud, intellectual conundrums such as these keep our minds from stagnating while we pedal. David Attenborough never touches on these quandaries in his documentaries. Anyway, as Cupid Stunt might have said, everyone remembers Kenny Everett. No? Oh well. Anyway, emerging onto the moor, we followed the paved path all the way to the road, from where it is a short pedal back to Sheepwash.