December 2020 Round Up and Video.

 December 2020 Round Up and Video.

Too many words? Video here.

Without a doubt, 2020 was a queer old year, the Covid 19 virus meant plans were torpedoed as the world went into lockdown. Always eagerly anticipated, annual trip to ride mountain bikes in the mountains of the Costa Del Sol with Sierra Cycling was the main victim, as were our forays North of the border into Scotland. The government encouraged outdoor exercise, even allowing bike shops to stay open as an essential retailer while the majority of non-food shops had to close. Broadly speaking our rides went ahead as normal, or abnormal, as anyone who has ridden with us might say, apart from during the main spring lockdown, when the motto was “No car, not far, no gnar.” This saw an unusual amount of close to home miles covered and a pleasant selection of new routes was sniffed out, secret bridleways, urban jumps and meandering paths threading through local industry. The Youth discovered it is just as easy to wreck yourself within a mile of home as it is on the moors. Then the countryside opened up again and we never wanted to see a stretch of red tarmac cycle path as long as we lived. Boris decreed we could meet in groups of up to six, as long as we were outdoors and socially distanced, not being devotees of kissing and cuddling during bike rides, this wasn’t a problem, although we did attempt to stay a bit sensible and not become a mountain rescue statistic. And this was definitely not the time to be visiting hospitals. Our post-ride cafe stops suffered, which, to be honest, are the highlight of the ride on some occasions, cafes either closed or became takeaway only. The Terra Trailblazers are ever resourceful, especially when it comes to the serious business of eating and drinking and the tailgate picnic became a thing, camping chairs soon joined track pumps and GT85 as car boot essentials. 

It’s now early January and a vaccine is being rolled out, should all be back to normal by Easter, they say; even if it is, it’ll be over a year we have lived with these restrictions. If anything has been learned from the past twelve months, it must be to concentrate on enjoying the things you can do and not moan about the things you can’t do. A lesson which seems to have bypassed a great swathe of the population who would rather sit on their arses in front of the TV, bemoaning their lost lifestyles and whining about their liberties instead of grasping the free time and using it to do something new or different. The habitual, routine, people for whom the concept of adapt, improvise, overcome is as far removed from their mindset as a computer would be to a caveman.  

Another Good Turn Out.

The inevitable Twixmas throng of vehicles in Clay Bank car park, as the day people attempt to burn off their Christmas excesses with a brisk walk. Us regulars, unused to full car parks and numerous bodies look forward to the end of January when most of the populace return to indolence and sloth after good intentions have been eroded by cold rain and clinging mud. Things were a bit fresh up on the tops, hoar frost coated the heather and puddles were rimed with ice. Paths mostly clear though, which made for pleasant riding, despite the clouds coming down to meet us as we pedalled upwards. The glorious views across snow-covered moors were reduced to a vista of socially-distanced men on the verge of middle-age, mostly stopping to empty their bladders as the cold took effect. Just remember the old advice about yellow snow. We did have young Olly too, bringing the average down by about thirty years, not yet old enough to be promoted into our motley crew of Captain Slackbladders. We made our way to the Incline Top, where we took a breather and my stories of when I used to play in the buildings which were here in the late sixties were trotted out again, while we inspected the cast iron model of the area in its industrial heyday. Continuing we made our way along to Burton Howe and down the Old Coal Road, taking care to watch out for icy puddles hidden under a coating of snow. Cutting back across the moor on another bridleway, we blasted down Turkey Nab, with all the brake-squealing rigidity that awareness of the consequences from a tumble brings once a certain age is passed. We turned into the woods to ride a final couple of trails, Tramlines 2 and Back To The Car,  lower and amongst trees, we left the snow behind and had plenty of time to session the tricky sections of Tramlines 2 - with, as might be expected, varying results. Near the end of the trail, we came across a fresh track through the loam, with berms and jumps, obviously fairly recent, following it back up the hill revealed another entrance, which gave a more direct start. More playtime followed, Olly became Airtime Olly, while the rest of us dug deep into the excuses sack, always ending with our usual mantra -”it’ll be alright when it’s dry.” We moved onto the final track, Back To The Car, which is more flowing and all rode it without a break, emerging onto the gravel road near Bank Foot Farm, where many cars were parked on the verge. Unfortunately none of them ours, we still had to climb up to Clay Bank.

On The Second Ride Of Twixmas...

Another day: another ride. Me and La Mujerita at an icy but busy Pinchinthorpe car park, we headed away from the visitor centre, leaving most of the multitude behind. The old rail track was less busy and when we climbed up into Guisborough Forest, we virtually had the place to ourselves. Making our way up the steep tarmac to Highcliffe Nab from the east side became an ordeal, steep ice, no traction, a slippery stroll in 5:10’s, shuffling upward using bikes as Zimmer Frames. And then we went down the other side, equally ice covered but judicious braking (La Mujerita) or sliding off the track into the snow at the side (me) got us down, more or less uninjured. The fire roads are deep and crisp and uneven as we make our way back through the forest, heading generally downward, aiming for the cafe by a circuitous route. Lower down things are starting to thaw and steady rain is helping to melt the ice, we ate our toasties sheltering under the eaves of the visitor centre when the picnic table became too swamped to be comfortable. 

The Last Ride Of 2020.

Last ride of the year and another well attended one, 48 hours after the previous ride, snow has been reduced to a light sprinkle here and there but sheet ice is the latest thing to add a bit of seasoning to our rides. We sat off up the Raisdale Road from Chop Gate, thankful we weren’t riding (or even driving) down it and turned off to Beak Hills, gradually climbing through the valley between Cold Moor on our right and Cringle Moor on our left, until we reached The Fronts. The weather is kind, with blue sky and crisp soil, freezing the usual mud. Skirting round the back of Cringle Moor, we rode a couple of tracks which led us to the road at Lordstones before climbing up Carlton Bank on the old access track which used to lead to a gliding club. Traction was lacking on the steep bits but we made it to the bridleway sign without too much trouble. Crisp snow crunched beneath our treads as we continued across the moor, passing a completely frozen Brian’s Pond and made our way up Barker’s Ridge. In the past we would have been daring each other to walk on the ice of Brian’s Pond but today we just rode straight past - is this a sign of old age? For a winter’s day, we had stayed dry and warm and ice had not claimed any casualties, despite a few heart in mouth moments as bikes slid in any direction but the intended one. Conversation inevitably turned to studded tyres or fat bikes but realistically we don’t have enough of this kind of weather to justify either. From Barker’s Ridge, we rode over Noon Hill to Cock Howe, girding our collective loins for the descent of Trennet Bank. The usual muddy puddles at the top are mostly iced over and it is possible to ride over them in a will they, won’t they, break, sort of fashion. The really steep bit, where the track drops down through shale had better traction than it normally would, frozen solid. Even the slalom downhill through gorse-filled gullies was improved by the drop in temperature, reaching the bottom without bike and body being coated in mud. And that was it, we were back at the car park, another year over and what a queer old year it’s been.

As usual the ride titles are the Strava names. Strava pseudonym Lordy Lardy.