Released Back Into The Wild.

Released Back Into The Wild.

After 57 days, 40 local rides and 850 miles pedalled around the epicentre of our little universe, Billingham, we are back on the moors. Boris relaxed the rules and decreed we could travel to exercise, much to the displeasure of rural communities, seaside resorts and mountain rescue teams. Understandable when it meant most of Teesside, using the mentality of day people on a Bank Holiday, went either to Whitby, Seaton Carew or Sheepwash and the majority of them were only in those places because they couldn’t queue up at the household waste recycling centre (the tip in other words) or shuffle round B&Q intent on improving their homes rather than their tiny minds. And Boris has generously allowed us to exercise with one other person not from their own household, which is a great relief for The Breadlad (not a fan of lonesome riding) who had been eying up my spare room like a labrador watching someone eat their dinner. We left it a few days until things quietened down before venturing out and chose easy rides in less popular areas, eschewing  Guisborough and Hamsterley which were overrun with forest rats. 

Our first meeting for 57 days, Blakey Bank top car park, The Breadlad slightly hairier but still as tardy, the weather bright but windy, scenery magnificent - not a chemical factory in sight. Our route was a truncated variation on the classic Rosedale Round, missing out the ‘easy’ section where I managed my first ever broken bone at the grand old age of 52, prompting numerous nurses to let me know they only ever see children with broken collar bones. I’m just a late developer. 

Our route took in somewhat more climbing than the Lockdown Locals we’ve been used to, the first 6 miles clocked up more feet of ascent than a local 25 miler. Mud, flies, sheep shit, nettles, brutal rock-strewn ascents, singletrack downhills weaving through heather, unbroken vistas of Farndale and Rosedale, only a cafe would have made our day complete. But Boris hasn’t gone that far yet, like good Boy Scouts we brought a picnic; after spreading our tartan rug and unravelling our damask napkins from their antique ivory holders, we tucked into quail eggs with truffle shavings, Beluga caviar and hand-crafted artisan bread, washed down with Moet and Chandon, followed by port and finest Cuban cigars. Taking great care not to torch the moors naturally. Or maybe we didn’t but it tasted just as fine, sheep even came to watch in between chewing some appetising grass. 

An old geezer rode off from the car park on what can only be described as a contraption; a bike with a two stroke engine fitted in the triangle and a dinky little petrol tank fastened to the cross bar. And off he went along the rail track in a cloud of exhaust fumes. 

The following day we met at a layby on the outskirts of Castleton, heat haze shimmering the heather, as we geared up for the alleged hottest day of the year (so far). A few of our old favourite tracks passed the day quite nicely, bone dry because there has been no significant rain for weeks, the Sis Cross bridleway particularly splendid, the usual mud wallows dried up - hopefully for the rest of the year. We continued to Fryupdale which is in similar exemplary condition, fields full of spring lambs, waiting as we were last week, to be let loose on the moors. 

Further on we ascended the rough track up to Oakley Walls where the almost forgotten skill of bike pushing was employed up the loose rocks, the unaccustomed sting of sweat in the eyes and aching calves reminding us it’s not a Terra Trailblazer’s ride without a push. A couple more tracks, safe and wide and we were back in our layby, ready for another post-ride picnic in the sunshine. It ought to have been San Miguel and ice cream on a Costa del Sol paseo maritimo rather than a redundant quarry surrounded by charred heather with a view of Captain Cook’s Monument replacing the blue Mediterranean. We spared passing motorists from the full sun-lounger and Speedos look, tempting though it was but it was quite pleasant lolling about, eating sandwiches and drinking coffee on what did turn out to be the hottest day of the year, not forgetting the all important, so far. Because there is probably a remote chance we’ll get another one and we’ll need it because it looks as though foreign travel will be off the agenda for quite a while, especially as from next month it will be a fortnights quarantine after returning from abroad, not much use to anyone who has a job. The Breadlad’s international playboy lifestyle is being severely curtailed.

Grouse Chick.