Pedalling Through The Pandemic...or maybe not.

Squeezed One In Before The Lockdown.

Monday 23rd March 2020

Danby

The Breadlad.

Mother’s Day weekend 2020 will be remembered as springlike, warm, sunny and responsible for countless deaths as thousands of halfwits ignored the social distancing protocols, thronging beaches and resorts as though there is no such thing as coronavirus. Finally realising a significant section of the great British public have the intelligence of  brain-damaged baboons, Boris pulled the plug and grounded everybody with new legislation, effectively semi-lockdown, which, of course, can never be enforced because police numbers are so reduced they don’t have the manpower to deal with regular crime let alone rounding up retards. Bit of an own goal there government. Already, instead of staying home if they can and stopping the virus spreading, people are looking for loopholes and alternative interpretations so they don’t have to alter any aspects of their lives. I guess some people will only take this seriously when there are armed soldiers patrolling the streets, keeping them indoors. I wonder if they kept the rubber bullets and water-cannons from the bad old days of Northern Ireland? Just a thought.

“There is no life without change. The real tragedy is that we are always fearful of change and resist it vehemently.”

― Debasish Mridha

Genuinely observing social distancing, two metres apart at all time, The Breadlad swapped Las Vegas for Danby and we had a cautious ride over the moors. This is no time to be ending up in hospital, never mind the strain on the NHS, to my mind hospitals are gigantic germ factories, If we could see germs, as though they were,say, cockroaches, I always imagine every surface in a hospital covered in crawling insects; walls, door handles, seats. See, nothing wrong with me a good psychiatrist couldn’t solve. Danby was deserted, no amusement arcades or chip shops to attract the lemmings I guess, a grand day too, slightly cool wind but sunny and bright. 

We rode up the road to Clitherbeck Farm and followed the bridleway across the moor, joining another road which took us to Danby Beacon, where we saw our first human of the day, some bloke in a camper van. Next came the Roxby Moor singletrack, drying up a treat, followed by The Slagbag which is never a treat, a near vertical climb on grass and gravel. Reaching the top, lungs like punctured bagpipes, we took a breather before continuing across the moor and down to the hamlet of Lealholmside, beside the road there is a ramshackle building, a barn by the look of it, with the date 1680 engraved on the door lintel, 440 years old, amazes me how it escaped being ripped down and replaced with a carbuncle of asbestos sheeting. The stones were laid when Charles II was on the throne and will probably still be there when Charles III (if he ever gets the throne) is gone. 

Bit of a digression there, back to the ride; a bridleway through a field and a riverside track took us to Lealholm, where we saw another couple of people, sitting on a bench in the sunshine. A few miles of road took us to Crag Wood, in the distance a lone child sat on a swing in front of a farmhouse, as soon as he spotted us he scurried into the house, no doubt shouting, 

“Ma, Pa, get the gun.” As they do in all the best post-apocalypse dramas. Keeping a wary eye out for the glint of a telescopic sight, we carried on through fields to Stonebeck Gate, ready to shoulder the bikes for the ascent of Crossley Side onto Ainthorpe Rigg, a plod but worth it for the descent. Not a soul in sight at the top as we took a breather before embarking on the descent, no Strava PB’s today, just a steady roll back to Danby, where the bakery was still doing takeaways, with sensible precautions. 

It looked like being a fine week and we planned to have more socially distant rides while we could, until half eight when Boris addressed the nation and suddenly we can only exercise once a day, either alone or with a member of our household - The Breadlad immediately began packing his bags ready to move in with me, until he found out my room rates. The remainder of the time we stay at home except for essential shopping or medical stuff, or work for some unfortunates. Theoretically it is permitted to drive somewhere to exercise, still alone or with a household member but probably best not to, the hills will still be there when this blows over and we’ll soon be out there again enjoying the smell of heather and peat, the sound of tinkling laughter as so called friends watch you going over the bars when your front wheel sinks into a mud-filled trench. The trails in the woods ought to dry up and recover now they are not being wrecked by people riding them while wet. In fact everything could be dried up by the time we are allowed out again. So for me and La Mujerita it’s going to be local loops, from the front door, passing through the shadow of the chemical factory and into the urban rurality that surrounds us. Keep up the banter on the WhatsApp group, an insult a day per person seems about right, photos, rides, walks, generally talking bollocks - it’s what the internet was invented for.

See you on the other side.