A Windy Duo

Blue Skies To Gray.

Wednesday 19th February 2020

Great Ayton

Alone

One of those rare mornings when a little thrill of anticipation occurs on opening the curtains, the sun was out, the sky was blue, there’s not a cloud in sight to spoil the view and it wasn’t raining in my heart, or anywhere else. Still windy of course but that is the way it is nowadays. Billingham twinned with Chicago, actually Billingham isn’t twinned with anywhere but it does have a suicide pact with Pripyat. Camelbak filled, bike on roof rack, coffee flask filled, sky not quite so blue anymore, clouds rolling in, positively grey by the time I parked in Great Ayton. Undeterred, I pedalled up to Guisborough Woods, via Aireyholme Farm and spent a couple of hours scrounging about the less muddy parts of the forest. The weather deteriorated further, rain and sleet getting a piggyback from the wind, arriving in time for me to turn into the wind and head back toward Great Ayton. The Codhill Heights descent, pedalling the whole way down, being blasted in face by a malign amalgam of hail, sleet and rain was the nadir of the ride; perhaps predictably there was nobody else riding beside me, this particular pleasure to a solo delectation. Tofu (Telly On, Feet Up) for the dilatantes. Back in Great Ayton, buying the essential pies and pasties, the butcher looked at my bedraggled clothing and mud-splattered face,

“By lad, that looks like savage enjoyment.” 

That about sums it up.

Just Like The Sandstone Way

Friday 21st February 2020

Gribdale

Alone

Another ride for the lone ranger or am I his indigenous sidekick, Tonto? Probably Tonto because it is Spanish for fool, idiot, moron, stupid or silly; what hints were the writers dropping there and who were they aimed at? Today’s weather is windy with a side of extra wind and a 50% chance of rain, that’s even odds it won’t rain, I can take that chance. Just in case, I parked at Gribdale and headed across Newton Moor, bound for the shelter of Guisborough Woods again and another couple of hours of very selective riding. I found some new and partially completed trails in the trees as I followed likely looking lines, one fairly new track was riding well until I came across (almost literally) a bunch of collapsed trees, scattered like a box of spilled matches. Crossing the obstruction, in a cacophony of howling wind and creaking, swaying conifers looked as though they might soon be joining their mates, laid about like process operators on a night shift and discretion became the better part of self-preservation. 

More open tracks were the order of the day for the remainder of the ride. If anything the wind was getting stronger, bringing to mind the three days of windstorm when we did the Sandstone Way, from Berwick On Tweed to Hexham, three days with a tempest trying to push us back to Berwick On Tweed. Further across the woods, I managed a bit of selfie filming down The Dogs Bollocks, another effort from Guisborough’s 78 year old trail builder, the middle section passes through the blackened remains of last year’s fire, which devastated a swathe of forest, charcoal branches everywhere. A big climb took me back to Highcliffe Nab, too windy to stand on top and take in the view today, still battling against the wind, I continued to Percy Cross Rigg and the top of The Unsuitables. More climbing into the headwind, (is this God’s way of punishing me for not sitting in front of the telly like my contemporaries?) to Newton Moor and the gate overlooking the mighty Roseberry Topping, one of the rare times it’s summit is lacking walkers. I can’t blame them, the wind atop the topping would be scary today. 

The flask of coffee waiting in my car was sending out signals, reeling me in like a Bisto kid, that’s one for us oldies who still have enough marbles to remember the adverts. Or any adverts, since the invention of the Tivo box, adverts are just a slight annoyance to be whizzed through as fast as possible. I often wonder if these firms with massive advertising budgets realise their creative masterworks are only seen in triple-speed fast-forward. Maybe they ought to make slow motion adverts which become normal speed when played in fast forward. Slow motion, a bit like me riding across Newton Moor, head down against the wind, splashing through puddles and tasting mud - let’s hope it’s mud. 

A stuttering descent of Fingerbender Bank came next, riding over rocks and drops as the wind tried to harry me into falling off. Andy’s Track finished the ride, it’s an idea to get as many descents of this track in as we can before the summer bracken makes it unrideable, although today, summer seems more of an unachievable concept dreamt up by a package holiday firm than a forthcoming season. The coffee is still warm and the rain has stayed away, trees are still dancing to the spluttering beat of the gale, shedding the occasional limb in their frenzy, arboreal dervishes harassed to perform by the bullying wind. I’ve had worse days.