The Middle Bit Of October.

 

Six rides to blog and four of them in Guisborough Woods, which shows a distinct lack of imagination, so I'll try and keep it brief. As usual, the titles are the Strava names, which can be found under my Strava pseudonym of Lordy Lardy.

Postdiluvian Leg Stretcher.

Alone

Putting leg over crossbar following an unprecedented five days rest, five days during which the heavens demonstrated they could throw more water on the floor than a toddler in a paddling pool. I set off from a soggy Great Ayton and decided on a few road miles to get warmed up, reaching Easby on the way to Kildale, a shower ensued, proper stair rods, a few road cyclists were taking cover in the lee of trees and buildings but Terra Trailblazers are made of sterner stuff and I pressed on. A pair of sheep watched me warily as they waited for Noah to pick them up. And then it stopped, leaving us mainly dry for the rest of the ride - the details of which are irrelevant, Guisborough Woods, puddles, fire roads, sloppy tracks, moody skies and back to the butchers before they sold out of pies.

How Much Rain Can One Sky Hold?

La Mujerita

The following day, an after lunch start from Gribdale with La Mujerita, Aireyholme Farm, up to Guisborough Woods, no sloppy tracks ridden, just fire roads, puddles and clouds. Legs suitably exercised, we returned to Gribdale and joined the day people as they turn the A19 into Wacky Races in their headlong flight to be home in time for Pointless.

Duller Than Golf

Alone.

Would you believe another grey and sunless day? Another Gribdale start, another scrounge about Guisborough Woods, alone this time, with only the drone to keep me company. Another section of trail has disappeared under the weight of fallen trees, as the crop is harvested. Muddy face, wet feet, back to Gribdale for a tailgate picnic, or actually a sheltering at the side of the car, out of the wind, sort of picnic.

Sloppy

The Breadlad, Howard.

The Breadlad needed a pre-ride trip to the bank in Guisborough - probably to loan them some cash, rumour has it he makes Croesus look like an impoverished pensioner, so we ended up riding in, yes, you’ve guessed it - Guisborough Woods. Joined by Howard today, who is having a couple of weeks off from attending to the sniffling masses. We introduced him to some of Guisborough’s newest trails, with careful cherry-picking to choose ones we had some chance of actually riding, as opposed to slithering down with less control than a scaffolder after twenty pints. We traversed the forest ending up at the One Man And His Dog area for a little play about, before making our way back at a higher level, exploring a couple of more trails on the way. I think we actually managed to shed our rain jackets at some point, which might count as a brief  improvement in the weather.

Crepuscular

The Breadlad.

Quite a pleasant, sunny start to today, but, like the story of my life, early promise was not fulfilled. The clouds were down to the moor tops, a dank grey miasma, moistening all it slid over, blocking out the light. Just me and The Breadlad today, meeting in a surprisingly busy Danby village hall car park, as a convoy of ramblers disgorged from their cars. We decided to revisit the Jack Sledge track, which we had attempted a couple of rides ago in similar conditions to today, except last time it was with the added seasoning of fifty mile an hour winds and lashing rain. This time we thought we would reverse it, climbing up from Danby Botton, over Danby Rigg and down to the road at Fryupdale. A straightforward, three miles pedal on tarmac took us to East Cliff, where we began the climb up a bridleway, the bridleway we ought to have come down last time if we hadn’t found ourselves temporarily misplaced in the countryside. Never use the L word. The zig zag path through bracken, bogs and rocks was a carry for us mere mortals,  cloud thickening again as we climbed higher, squelching through mini-swamps and wet bracken - what a way for The Breadlad to spend his birthday, half a century passed and he doesn’t look a day over sixty. The track down was a bit of a gem, narrow singletrack cutting diagonally down the hillside, not at all dry but not too muddy. The remainder of the ride was on more familiar tracks, moving across the valley to Danby Beacon, from where, if the route planning is exemplary, all trails lead to the Stonehouse Bakery.

Grim

Howard

Twenty two percent chance of rain, not bad odds until you realise it is still a hundred percent chance of getting wet. Me, Howard and constant drizzle met in Clay Bank car park and we were accompanied by Mr. D. for every inch of the ride. Another old favourite route, Clay Bank, Urra Moor, Incline Top, Burton Howe, the Old Coal Road, Turkey Nab, a couple of tracks in Battersby Plantation and the fire road drag back to Clay Bank. The trails in Battersby Plantation are new to Howard and holding up well despite the weather - if they were in Guisborough Woods it would be a different story, reduced to a mud-filled groove through the trees by over-enthusiastic bikers who don’t realise they are not riding a gravel and hard-core trail centre piste.  Cold, grey and windy (just like my underwear), it was not the sort of day which lent itself to leisurely breaks in the nominal sunshine and other than a brief inspection of the Ingleby Incline art work, we barely stopped and found ourselves back in the car park before the clock had struck one

The First Bit Of October.

 The First Bit Of October.

Not A Bad Start To October

The first day of October, time to wake up Greenday and here’s another thing: if octo is the prefix for eight, why is October the tenth month? October 2020 has begun bright and sunny, I had a lonesome ride from Great Ayton, making my way into Guisborough Woods via Aireyholme Farm. The trails are beginning to deteriorate, the amount of rain we have had lately not doing them any favours but a few were still rideable, linked up with puddle-strewn fire roads. The main plan for this day was to get some pictures of the autumn harvest, fungi, which love the damp woods and the most photogenic of all - fly agaric, the classic red and white spotted toadstool, seat of pixies and umbrella for elves. There are several good crops, some as big as dinner plates but the smaller ones tend to be more colourful. An hour of being stared at by curious ramblers later and a few shots on the memory card, my stomach was rumbling, so I packed up and got back on my bike. New research suggests that gut microbes control the brain, this explains why it’s impossible to pass the butchers in Great Ayton without swerving in for the delectable delights of pastry-wrapped meat. My brain has been taken over by microbes.

Starting To Get Muddy

The second day of October saw me and The Ginger One in Lordstones’ car park, an auspicious day because The Ginger One had actually turned down an overtime shift to be there. Not from any realisation of the irretrievable nature of time, each grain of sand in the grim reaper’s hourglass a lost bike ride but as a protest to highlight incompetence and lack of foresight from those higher in the chain of command. Nothing changed there then. A few trails around Cringle Moor led us to a moors’ classic, the Cold Moor descent, of course, this descent is preceded by a substantial ascent, a few choices but all hard, most involving a push or carry, except for superhumans or those with electric bikes. Being neither super, (nor human,  in The Ginger One’s case - he is from Darlington) and riding acoustic bikes, we resorted to pedestrianism to get us onto the long ridge which forms the summit of Cold Moor. 

Still looking for overtime.

Initially the track is a bit up and down, rocky singletrack, begins to descend down an old stream bed, filled with rocky drops, eventually becoming moorland track, new drainage has benefited what used to be a boggy middle section, singletrack leads down to a gate from where enclosed mud and grass tracks deliver us into Chop Gate. Definitely more mud than grass today on the last bits, we arrived at the village looking as though we’d been potholing. A long climb on tarmac got us back up Clay Bank, from where we rode The Fronts all the way back to Lordstones. In case anyone might be wondering, The Fronts is so called because it is a track which runs across the front of a trio of hills, Hasty Bank, Cold Moor and Cringle Moor, terminating at Lordstones. In common with a lot of other tracks, mud and slop are becoming predominant, unless there is a change in the earth’s axis putting North Yorkshire into the tropics, it will be like this for the next eight months or so, barring the odd cold day when the mud freezes. Something to look forward to. Despite the brevity of our ride, The Ginger One was more interested in the café than an extra loop - I can’t help feeling his newfound interest in golf has turned him somewhat effete, it won’t be long until he’s wearing a Pringle jumper around his neck like a the world’s shittest cape and boring everyone with talk of his long game. To quote a famous ball thwacker - “ (Ice) Hockey is a sport for white men. Basketball is a sport for black men. Golf is a sport for white men dressed like black pimps.” – Tiger Woods

No Rain Until 4...

Lying BBC bastards.

An excursion with La Mujerita today, weather forecast specifically saying minimal chance of rain until four pm. Driving to Kildale at ten am, windscreen wipers flapping all the way hinted at the fallacy of relying on the BBC weather forecast. We set off in drizzle, rode in drizzle, the drizzle lightened to mere dampness, then the sun came out, albeit with a background of black clouds. We had a scrounge Guisborough Woods, mainly on fire roads, as is La Mujerita’s preference. Most of the trails were in dire condition anyway, we have had a lot of water over the last few days. We finished with Codhill Heights and the Yellow Brick Road, soon back to Kildale for a car park picnic and a spot of bird watching.

A Bit Breezy On The Rosedale Round

Something approaching a full crew today, a whole four of us, me, The Ginger One (twice in one month!) and Rod, ready to introduce Keith to another North York Moors classic route - the Rosedale Round, a popular loop around the village of Rosedale Abbey, utilising the bed of the old ironstone railway for a good proportion of its length. Some epic drone shots were planned, sweeping vistas of scenic moorland, peppered with relics of bygone industry, four intrepid and mostly photogenic mountain bikers giving a sense of scale to the vastness of the moors. The wind, however, had other plans, ferocious gusts meant the drone stayed safely in the bag, even lower down in the valley it would have struggled. Every cloud and all that, it did mean our first seven miles, which, with this start, from Blakey Bank, are flat or downhill, were all with a tail wind. Less than eighty feet of ascent in seven miles, being pushed along by Mother Nature’s giant hand, even the tonnes of fresh gravel on the rail track couldn’t slow us down and we reached historic Ana Cross in record time. 

The antiquity of the cross was ignored in favour of some communal bladder emptying before the highlight of the ride, the drop from Ana Cross, down Spaunton Moor and Lastingham Ridge to the village of Lastingham. And superb it was too, fast, mainly dry, slightly rocky, still with the tailwind, only an aversion to hospitals reining in the speed. Well, in my case anyway. From Lastingham, the route does a U turn, heading north on varied trails just above the valley, a little more squelchy but still manageable. Rosedale Abbey was surprisingly busy for windy Wednesday in October and it was a little while before our lunch emerged from the kitchen of Graze On The Green but well worth the wait. 

Calories replenished, we set off again, unfortunately the majority of the route’s climbing begins from here and we were heading into the wind although the first climb was broken up with a lot of juvenile sniggering and posing for pictures by the Bell End (Farm) sign. Gradually we gained the old railway on Rosedale East Side, following it around another U turn as it snaked around the head of the valley back to Blakey Bank Top. With the cars in sight, we did the unthinkable and stuck on an extra loop, a quick blast down Cockpit Hill, behind the Lion Inn, to join the other rail track, the one which eventually arrives at The Incline and ultimately Battersby Junction. We did not have the inclination, or the time, for an epic ride, so it was a left turn for three quarters of a mile of easy riding back to our cars at Blakey Bank Top.

Feeling The Pace

Fourth day in a row for me today, unlike these full-time employment slackers who get out as often as their wheelie bins, the cumulative effect of miles, ascent, wind and cafe stops is beginning to make itself felt. I met Rod and Andy T. in a mist-shrouded Lordstones car park for another day of being ran ragged by two men who are far fitter than they ought to be at their age. Both were talking about the heavy rain during the night, although we all live in roughly the same area, I never heard a thing; as soon as we hit the trails it made its presence felt, vast puddles litter the fire roads and the flowing singletracks are flowing in quite a different way. We slogged our way up the side of Carlton Bank on the old gliding club access track, following the bridleway across the moor, past Brian’s Pond and onto Barker’s Ridge, some of the puddles were almost the size of Brian’s Pond but the low cloud was beginning to blow away, leaving the surrounding hills looking like half-opened presents. We continued to the singletrack bridleway which runs in a pleasantly downhill direction from Cock Howe to Head House, an isolated shooting house in the valley between Snilesworth Moor and Bilsdale West Moor. More irrigation channel than bridleway today, we all had wet feet by the end. I congratulated myself for being the only one with the foresight to strap on a mudguard while simultaneously bemoaning leaving the drone behind owing to the weather conditions when we set out, naturally it had, by now, brightened into an awesome autumn day. Back at Cock Howe, we readied ourselves for the Trennet Bank descent, another moors’ classic descent, starting with moorland singletrack to a steep drop on shale and mud, finishing through a series of grassy gullies, fringed with gorse bushes, delivering us straight into Chop Gate car park. Just a shame we were parked three miles away at the top of a hill. It won’t climb itself, as the saying goes and off up the road we went, detouring through Beak Hills back to The Fronts, just so we could have an offroad finish to the ride. We paused at Beak Hills Farm to peruse three tups in an enclosure, one of which had grown an impressive set of horns to make up for his lack of girth in the scrotum department, for some reason it made me think of Audi drivers.