A Selfie Sort Of Day & Other Stories

A Selfie Sort Of Day.

A dearth of willing or able riders saw me arriving at a surprisingly busy Lordstones for a lone ride. At least, not having to worry about anyone else’s time constraints or Strava PB’s meant I could indulge myself with a spot of selfie filming. As we all know, it’s the only way to get true talent in front of the camera. 

I even took the drone, with which I have such a love/hate relationship, it doesn’t find itself on the moors as often as it should. In the past the phone app was so unreliable, it was usually a fifty fifty chance it would connect to the camera on the drone, leaving the option of flying blind, not knowing what was being filmed or messing on trying to connect until the drone batteries ran out. Naturally the chances of it working were always inversely proportional to the distance from civilization. Lately, after many app updates, things are working a lot more smoothly. 

After a circuitous route, I ended up on top of Cold Moor, where I put the drone in the air, even though it was probably a bit too windy - can anyone explain where these winds are coming from in August? I had a fly around, got a bit of footage before breaking out the GoPro’s for the descent. The Cold Moor descent is one of those North Yorkshire classics which seems to be better with more traffic, making a more defined line, some improved drainage in the middle section has helped too. From Chop Gate it’s a long slog up Clay Bank, followed by a brutal climb onto the track through what is left of the plantation on the side of Hasty Bank. Previously rutted and rocky, it has been smoothed out and gravelled to aid access for conifer harvesting - it ought to be easier to climb now but unfortunately it is still as steep and I think sometimes less technical climbs seem harder because there is nothing to take your mind off the agony of aching legs and burning lungs. A quick zip along the Fronts took me back to Lordstones, where I had my little picnic in the scenic grassy overflow car park, watching half a dozen paragliders circling around the summit of Carlton Bank.

PS. Selfie Sort Of Day cycling top from Switchbacktrails, awesome clothing from a local firm.

Going Local

Not Going Loco Down In Acapulco but Going Local Down in Teesside and there the similarity ends, unless Acapulco has thick grey clouds, the threat of rain and the constant backdrop oa a chemical factory. Me and La Mujerita had a little scout about Norton, up to Thorpe Thewles, Bishopton, Stillington and back to Billingham, squeezing in quite a few off-road tracks along the way. It was a bit of a leg-stretcher, the rain stayed off and we were home in time for lunch in the garden. Not much else to say really.

Slogging Up The Slagbag.

Scaling Dam was the venue for our next ride, me, The Breadlad and SuperBri, introducing him to the Slagbag, that short but savage climb up from Hardale Beck to Thorn Hill. Of course, it was no problem to SuperBri who rode it with aplomb compared to our maladroit meanderings; panting like perverts in a playground, we reached level ground and continued across the moor. The weather is having a diffident foray into the realms of summer, almost a factor 30 sort of day, or at least, getting towards it. We made our way to Lealholm via Lealholmside and Underpark Farm, continuing to Crag Farm where we paused for the perusal of some curious cows, where we perusing them or were they perusing us? It was hard to say. One especially jaunty beast tried to get a game of piggyback going but the rest of the herd seemed to prefer eating grass or staring at the strange brightly-clad humans. 

We continued up through fields of staring sheep to Fryupdale and paused again before the ride/push/carry up Crossley Side onto Ainthorpe Rigg. SuperBri was under pressure after we told him about the time we saw a lad ride up the whole track, could SuperBri be the second person we see doing it?  He made a valiant attempt but even his superhuman stamina wasn’t up to the task. The ascent by me and The Breadlad was more in keeping with our subhuman stamina - make it to the usual high point, then walk the rest. 

The track across Ainthorpe Rigg is downhill but not too steep with just enough rocks and gullies to keep it interesting, all the drop offs and jumps vanished last time the trail was sanitised - it used to be a dried up stream bed, so the full face helmet and Power Ranger suit guys go elsewhere, which makes it a bit difficult to understand the sign which has been placed at the bottom telling us not to build jumps. 

A quick down and up - well maybe not that quick - got us to Danby Beacon, from where we had a supreme finish along the Roxby Moor singletrack, someone has even been along and filled in some of the holes in the wheel ruts. It looks like some of the estate managements have spent the whole lockdown buying gravel and spreading it across the moors. Once we reached Scaling Dam, it only remained for us to hotfoot it to Birk Brow and hope the burger van was still open. It was and all our gains from a few hours of healthy exercise were soon devastated by a mixture of unidentifiable meat, cheese, grease and onions which, at that moment, tasted finer than anything a Michelin starred chef could knock up.

What A Day For The Rosedale Round.

Another Friday: another hottest day of the year. It seems summer only happens on Fridays this year. A North York Moors classic route to look forward to, some might say, the moorland classic route. Utilising the track bed of the old Rosedale ironstone railway for around half its length, it is a less than arduous circular route. Starting from Blakey Bank Top gives the easiest start of any ride, all the way to Lastingham with barely a foot of ascent. Blakey Bank Top was warm but windy, being high on a ridge it is rarely calm, we headed straight onto the rail track and headed toward Chimney Bank, a few patches of over-generous gravel application making things harder than they ought to have been. Industrial relics from the mining days went by in a blur, the massive air shaft for Sheriff's Pit, remnants of buildings and the arches of an old calcining kiln at Chimney Bank top, as we powered through the countryside, well, SuperBri powered, this particular industrial relic just panted along trying to keep up. 

Ana Cross

We crossed the road and continued to Ana Cross, where we caught our breath before the descent to Lastingham, a bit of a headwind keeping speeds down to verging on sensible. From Lastingham, the route does a U turn, heading back up the Hartoft valley to Rosedale Abbey, passing High Askew farm, which always raised an inexplicable snigger from The Pensioner, inexplicable until we found out “I ask you” was the catchphrase of some comedian or other from the days of music hall. The Hartoft singletrack is also well remembered as the place where my collar bone became two halves of a collar bone, just after I had thought to myself; ‘there’s nothing to worry about on this section, let the brakes off.’ Which I did, only to find myself laid in a battered and broken heap shortly afterwards. 

Hot and sweaty, we rolled into Rosedale Abbey for a civilised lunch at the Abbey Tearooms, sitting outside in the sunshine, chatting with other cyclists, all intent on an ascent of Chimney Bank - on the hottest day of the year, rather them than me. We had plenty of ascending to do ourselves after lunch, firstly up to Bell End, cue ghostly Pensioner titter from somewhere above, up again through Hill Cottages, then more steeply up through a farm yard filled with hens and ducks, until we gained the east side of the rail track. 

The gently ascending track runs around the head of the Rosedale valley, in a huge U turn, passing more ruined buildings, the views along and across the valley are spectacular, patchwork fields of yellow and green, purple heather, streams exposing the rusty red of the iron ore bearing rocks beneath their surface. It is hard to imagine this bucolic valley was once the workplace of six thousand people, steam engines shunting back and forth along the tracks, smoke and noise as the mining industry worked hard to supply the raw material of the Industrial Revolution. The car park was full when we returned, mainly people sitting outside (or inside) their cars, enjoying the view, not adventurous/brave/stupid (* delete as appropriate) enough to be cycling the thick end of twenty miles in the blazing heat of the hottest day of the year.