Pre-Christmas Pedaling.

 

Cold And Muddy But No Finer Place To Be.

For the fourth time this month, Redcar And Cleveland Council have relieved me of four quid for the privilege of parking at Pinchinthorpe, that’s £16 to ride some trails they don’t even bother maintaining anymore. I can feel a new year's resolution coming on. But we were meeting a person from afar and it is easy to find. In a complete change of personnel SuperBri’s son, Terry was borrowing his dad’s bike to give mountain biking a go along with SuperBri’s cousin Randal who is visiting the area from his home in the midlands. SuperBri has spent the past few weeks riding the settee owing to having a bionic leg fitted or something. In view of the recent mediocre weather, the woods seemed like a good place to have a trawl around, plenty of sheltered options and escape routes. An unseasonal amount of climbing took us (eventually) to the summit of Highcliffe Nab, from where it was, as the saying goes, downhill all the way. Terry handled the steep track off Highcliffe Nab like a pro downhiller, despite us both being under strict orders not to let any damage befall SuperBri’s bike. Being only nineteen, ink not even dry on his birth certificate, Terry embraced the gravity assisted part of mountain biking, steep, muddy, rocky, slippy roots, wet leaves, none of the subsequent trails fazed him. Randal was a little more circumspect, being closer to my generation, where falls generally equal months of pain and suffering, us folks on the verge of middle-age don’t bounce, although a few bits do wobble but I blame the Guinness. We flung ourselves down assorted trails for a couple of hours, until we were thoroughly wet and cold, then got ourselves to the cafe for a nice warm drink, except for Terry, who, despite wearing a minimum of clothing, opted for an ice cold can of coke. 

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like...

… a grey, wet, cold place in North Yorkshire.

 

Another day when the predominant colour is grey, rain was forecast for this afternoon, so I thought a quick whizz around from Great Ayton would have me back at the car before the wetness began. I pedalled, along with a multitude of roadies, to Ingleby Greenhow, leaving the  skinny-tyred weirdos behind when I turned off to Bank Foot Farm. The track to the gate on Turkey Nab has not mysteriously flattened over the past few weeks and the slog is still as much fun as a rectal examination. I had one of those once, the doctor gave me the thumbs up. Today the woods beckoned and the remainder of the climb up Turkey Nab was given a swerve in favour of checking out the trails through the trees. Last time we visited the trails were so overgrown they were unrideable - no such problems today, the all-encroaching bracken has died to form an orange carpet with a trail running through and a pleasant hour or so was spent reacquainting myself with them. More tarmac, to Kildale, more roadies and even more unwelcome, the rain arrived unfashionably early, a steady drizzle to match the gloomy sky. The climb up through Mill Bank Woods to Easby Moor, had more sticky patches than a celebrity marriage and the usually muddy trail which contours Easby Moor was exceptionally muddy. I could have hiked up to the monument but seeing as it was barely visible through the rain and cloud, I stuck with the mud - literally in some places. Beyond the infamous Red Run, the trail finished with a last rooty downhill, especially challenging in the moist conditions but the skills and techniques garnered from twenty odd years of mountain biking saw me floating over the roots like Cedric Gracia. Alright, I walked some bits. Soon I was back in a decidedly damp Great Ayton, roadies still passing through like the ghosts of Christmas future. How can anyone go for a bike ride and stay so clean? Where is the fun, or the adrenaline? It’s hard to understand.

The Last Ride In The Old 5.10's

What a way to spend Xmas Eve.

The last of the pre-Christmas rides and we managed a bit of a crew today for a companionable pedal through the clouds for Christmas Eve. The Youth almost joined us for the second time this year but cried off with food poisoning -  why he would want to eat poisoned food I’ve no idea. Which left Rod, Keith and The Breadlad, all meeting up in a dank and damp Chop Gate car park. The machine to pay for parking appears to be solar powered, the designers obviously not taking into account days like the past few, when sunlight appears less often than The Youth. The inevitable pay by phone signs are dotted about the car park - a car park without a phone signal. They may as well go back to the old dishonesty box, which people could ignore without the conscience-salving breakdown of modern technology. Starting down in the valley gave us the opportunity for a nice tarmac warm up, along the Raisdale Road to Lordstones before we rode a proper hill to the summit of Carlton Bank, over a thousand feet higher than where we had begun. The view from the trig point was limited to say the least, in fact the trig point was the view, everything else hiding behind a thick grey shroud.

A few snaps and we were away down the trail, all the climbing was worth it as we descended for miles, first along the moor, then down into Faceby Woods, riding the trails there and emerging at Heathwaite in Scugdale a lot muddier and wetter than when we started. My old 5.10’s are now cracked and worn, letting in water at every opportunity but through the magic of Christmas, I know that when Santa empties his sack all over our front room tonight, there will be a pair of size ten Impact Pros there. We rode across the road and climbed to Harfa Bank Farm, where Keith began to have some problems with his shaft, basically not staying up even when he tried jerking it up and down several times, luckily Rod was carrying a ring which fitted tightly around the base, keeping his shaft tall and proud for the rest of the ride. Seat post of course, who knows what was going through your mind but remember the first rule of Innuendo Club is that you can only enter via the back door. Anyway, puerile jokes about Keith’s shaft and Rod’s ring kept us going all the way up the long ascent to Stoney Wickes and further, up Barker’s Ridge and onto the moor, again we rode into the cloud, making our way to Cock Howe ready to descend moor’s classic - Trennet Bank. The Breadlad’s favourite and a treat for Keith who had never before had the pleasure. To be honest it was in pretty mediocre condition, water-filled ruts, mud, slippy shale, puddles and many a sketchy moment was had by all as we made our way down. One of the highlights of Trennet Bank is that it finishes in the car park, so a bit of pre-planning means hot coffee and sandwiches await. Four grown men, cold, wet and muddy, celebrating Christmas in their own peculiar way, enjoying another day avoiding adult responsibilities. 

Clicking on the route names will take you to the Strava page for the route. Where you can marvel at how slow we are.

The Xmas Toastie Ride and other stories

 The Xmas Toastie Ride and other stories

Gloomy Swainby

Kind of dull and cold when I met Miles in Swainby this morning, ready to introduce him to the delights above Osmotherley. But first the less than delightful Clain Wood steps had to be ascended (aka The Steps Of Doom), decidedly less fun in this direction, Miles made a valiant attempt to pedal the whole lot but gravity got the better of him and he joined the pedestrians. A splash through the ford at Sheepwash was followed by a trip along High Lane, passing former coaching inn, Chequers, now famous as the holiday home of Bob Mortimer and Paul Whitehouse in the Gone Fishing Christmas special from 2020. It is situated on the Hambledon Drove Road, where animals from as far north as Scotland would be driven to market. Following in the ghostly hoofprints, we made our way south along the Drove Road before veering into Silton Woods where we gave the downhill track a looking at. Muddy with the occasional fallen tree, so, just like everywhere else at the moment. Back along High Lane, we turned off onto Rod’s trails in the woods above Cod Beck Reservoir, The Colonel is getting a bit lackadaisical in his old age, we managed to ride over all of his traps and barriers. Two out of ten, must try harder. A last climb to the top of Scarth Wood Moor, gave us a pleasant cruise down again, all the way to the Rusty Bike Cafe which fulfilled our calorie replenishment quite nicely.  

Going Loco Down In Hartlepulco.

I would say the hardest part of retirement is thinking of where to go riding everyday, sometimes it’s ‘been there, done that’, so, for a change of scenery I had a local ride. Billingham to Greatham, then around Greatham Creek to Seaton Carew and continuing to Hartlepool marina. The weather was an improvement on yesterday, with clear blue sky and a stiff breeze, mainly behind me, which was good. Leaving Greatham, heading for the creek, I passed the piles of rubble which used to be a salt manufacturing factory, having various names over the years but most famous for being the place where Bisto was invented. Further round the creek is the Able Yard, once in the news for the controversial ghost ships, which were dismantled there, the place currently dismantles oil rigs, now the North Sea oil boom is winding down. When I was a kid it was Laing’s Yard, oil rigs were constructed there, mammoth structures slowly becoming bigger week after week until they were floated out to sea with great ceremony and towed to their workplaces. A further detour and I was on North Gare where the river Tees flows into the sea, another childhood playground, particularly during rough seas, when wave-dodging was our favourite game. Not the wisest way to have fun but it was in the late sixties when health and safety hadn’t been invented. The promenade from Seaton Carew to Hartlepool is popular with walkers and cyclists, no matter what the weather, today was no exception, but it is wide enough to accommodate everyone. A convenient tailwind pushed me toward the marina at Hartlepool but past experience told me I would suffer on the return leg and it was true, from cycling god cruising the promenade to battling the headwind with one 180 degree turn. Normally things improve leaving Seaton Carew, along Seaton Lane but today the wind had other ideas and it was in my face all the way back to Billingham. 

Danby Dawdle

A glorious December morning, I’m waiting in the Danby car park, totally killing this morning’s Popmaster while waiting for The Breadlad to appear. He was only marginally late and we were soon pedalling slowly up the hill out of Danby, there are four roads out of Danby and they’re all uphill, we were heading north to Clitherbecks Farm, I was trying a route for next week when we may have a visitor to show round. Still climbing, we made our way to Danby Beacon, taking our first breather, prior to hitting the Roxby Moor track, which was in fine condition, other than a squelchy start. We blasted through the heather, Scaling reservoir glinting in the sunshine like a puddle of lapis lazuli. Reaching the farm road at the end of the bridleway, we had a choice, The Slagbag or the Moor Road, both unpleasant in their own ways. The Slagbag is steep (exceptionally steep) and loose climb which ultimately leads to a lot more ascent and the Moor Road is a dickhead’s racetrack but a more direct route to our next objective, we chose the latter. Firstly we had nice flat pedal along Scaling Dam, passing a couple of blokes fishing, the only people we’d seen all day before enduring the mile of tarmac torture to the Danby turnoff. We left tarmac behind at Robin Hood’s Butts and made our way to another old favourite - the Sis Cross track. The gradual ascent to the cross was a bit soggy, the singletrack from the cross started well but soon deteriorated into a slippery mess, not helped by the low winter sun which made the edges of the narrow track hard to determine. It would be fair to say no records were broken and next week’s route was hastily reconsidered. Such a shame, it is a magnificent track when in condition. We finished down the ‘Link O’The Flying Bees’ and the weather was so spectacular we enjoyed our food on the bench outside the cafe, luxuriating in the winter sunshine.

The Xmas Toastie Ride 2021

There was a time when the Terra Trailblazer’s Christmas dinner ride was the most well attended ride of the year, before people realised winter in North Yorkshire is generally cold, wet and muddy, not to mention windy and the tradition died due to lack of robustness. Luckily, the ladies at the Branch Walkway Cafe introduced Xmas toasties which became an acceptable replacement, sausage, bacon, stuffing and cranberry sauce and we mustered a whole quintet of riders to indulge this year. The Breadlad, Bingo Bob, myself and Keith were joined by another recent retiree, former member of the thin blue line, Tony, stepping back from keeping the tsunami of criminal activity under control. We met in Pinchinthorpe Visitor Centre on a glorious morning, we thought yesterday couldn’t be bettered but here we were again, this time without a breath of wind. In change to the usual proceedings, The Breadlad took over as routemaster, once he had recovered from the trauma of paying four quid to park, leading us on a devious route which squeezed in some decent trails without recourse to the slop fest in Guisborough Woods. We pedalled up to Roseberry Common using fire roads, it soon became apparent Tony has not lost any fitness, only Bingo Bob on his electric bike was in with a chance of keeping up, us analog bike people were the B team. We went up the steps to Newton Moor and made our way to Gribdale via Fingerbender Bank and Andy’s Track, which was fun in the sun, followed by a climb up to Captain Cook’s Monument where we paused for the obligatory group photo. The ‘Rocky Descent’ to Mill Bank Woods proved Tony’s fitness might not have faltered but his mountain biking technique is a bit rusty. The routemaster dropped us down to KIldale, then back up New Row to The Yellowbrick Road to get us back onto Percy Cross Rigg, re-entering Guisborough Woods at the top of The Unsuitables.

Little Roseberry was the next objective and we took the track around the side instead of straight over the top, for a bit of variation and because Keith has never done it. A little muddy but pretty much okay, the track that is but it could describe us too, we regrouped at the gate on Roseberry Common, or most of us did, we seemed to have lost Bob, surely a six foot bloke, dressed in bright red, riding an electric bike can’t just vanish? A search party of two was dispatched while the other two “waited at the gate in case he turned up”. Me and Tony rode to the only other place he could have gone - he wasn’t there. We split up and I searched back up the track in case Bob was laid in a heap somewhere, already mentally sharing out his possessions between the remaining four of us. No sign of him. I rejoined the others, who were in remarkably high spirits considering we were potentially calling out the mountain rescue team but it turns out, through the miracle of modern technology, Bob had sent a message to say he was heading for the visitor centre after taking a wrong turn. Perhaps some prescience had alerted him to The Breadlad’s next trail, Clatter And Bang, which is a nice trail but may only be reached by ascending about two thirds of Roseberry Topping. When we reached the trail it turned out another smoother trail now bypasses the rocky drop offs.Shame. Another steep bridleway, through Newton Woods, brought us out on the Pinchinthorpe road and a bit of tarmac bashing before The Breadlad’s last surprise of the day - ascending the farm track toward Bousdale Farm, luckily only the first part, which was steep enough, breaking the two thousand feet barrier for the day’s ascent and almost breaking Keith. We turned off, taking a fire road back through Guisborough Woods to the visitor centre where we rejoined Bingo Bob for the highlight of the day - the Xmas toasties.  Again, it was so pleasant we sat outside, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across the fields as a festive robin used our bikes as a perch  waiting for us to drop a crumb or two.

Clicking on the route names will take you to the Strava page for the route. Where you can marvel at how slow we are.