Before The Deluge Quicky

Before The Deluge Quicky

Tuesday 18th February 2020

Swainby

La Mujerita

In defiance of the forecast, La Mujerita and me slipped in a quicky before the monsoon restarted. Weekdays lately consist mainly of wind and rain, with the odd sunny spell; weekends are reserved for whatever storm is bowling in from the Atlantic, I think we are up to one beginning with E or maybe F, dumping gallons of water onto already sodden land, turning the rivers brown, burst banks and flooding by mid-week when the water flows off the hillsides. We began with a ride up to Whorlton Castle, no wonder it is abandoned, who is going to walk up that hill after a few pints down in the village? The imposing ruin is the 14th century gatehouse, little remains of the actual castle except a few cellars. After a bit of look round, we freewheeled back down the hill to Swainby, passing through the village and climbing to Clain Wood. 

An undulating section of the Cleveland Way took us south east along the side of the Scugdale valley, almost pleasant in the shelter of the trees. The trail drops down to a stream, which can be crossed by a bridge but where would be the fun in that? The water, unsurprisingly, a little deeper than usual, is easily ridden through, although La Mujerita took a little persuasion, Evel Kneivel was probably less apprehensive when he jumped the Snake River Canyon. Climbing again, we passed the hamlet of Heathwaite, continuing upward to enter Live Moor and Faceby plantations, where we did a spot of sessioning (as the young people say), sharpening up La Mujerita’s downhill skills on a variety of surfaces, from mud and rocks, to shale to spongy loam. Some of the trails are accessed by a steep push up a muddy slope, the pleasure of these downhills does not outweigh the hideousness of the ascent, sessioning them was not on the agenda. 

A misjudged front wheel lift over a fallen tree, had said front wheel skidding sideways, the bike ejecting me onto the muddy trailside, putting my skills (or complete lack of) in perspective. Like the Zen tree falling in the woods which may or may not make a noise; if a mountain biker falls off in the woods and nobody sees it, did he fall? La Mujerita was struggling through a patch of mud around the corner, so she was none wiser. When she caught up I was able to demonstrate a textbook example of surmounting trail obstacles of the fallen tree variety. 

Pleased with our couple of hours in the wilds, we battled a headwind back to Swainby and The Rusty Bike cafe, where we rewarded ourselves with coffee and cake. Seven miles doesn’t really justify cake but the only way I am going to have a smoking hot body is in a crematorium, so what the hell. When we were safely back in the car, the rain had permission to begin and it took full advantage, deluging the North Yorkshire countryside with the sort of rain that is like being inside a waterfall. Just keeping the rivers topped up until the weekend storm arrives.