January 2021 Round Up and Video

 January 2021 Round Up and Video.

Too many words? Video here.

Almost an actual winter this month, lots of snow and ice, road closures, disruption, the schools would probably have been closed if they weren't already owing to the lockdown. It didn't stop huge droves of people driving to the countryside for a bit of sledging on the nearest snow-covered hill. Our first two rides of the month were curtailed because the snow was too deep to ride through, the remainder were mostly cautious affairs as ice made large sections of trails a bit “challenging”, even to walk across never mind ride. In true Terra Trailblazer’s fashion, legs still turned, miles were clocked up, the hardcore of regulars said a firm no to couch and central heating, heading out in all but the most dire forecasts. And it was worth every frozen finger and wet toe to be out on the moors, away from the huddled masses and their strange need for crowds and passive enjoyment.

I’d Rather Be On The Moors.

Another ride around the minor roads and cycle paths of industrial Teesside for me and La Mujerita on a cold but thankfully dry day. It started well, apart from some sheets of ice, which are at the brittle and crunchy stage, like riding through broken pottery - except for the sneaky bits which are still slippier than an eel in a bucket of Swarfega. We made our way on minor roads to the A689 end of the Castle Eden Walkway and headed toward the old station, all hatches battened down for the duration of the virus. Picking up the continuation cycle path after Thorpe Thewles, from Hardwick to Hartburn, or heroin to Hennessy, depending on your drug of choice. Dodging dog walkers and docile pedestrians all the way, we must have come within two metres of dozens of people because they have no concept of social distancing or single file, ploughing their own furrow, oblivious to anyone else. How can this be safer than being on a wide open moor? At one point a gaggle of chattering women were walking four abreast, all the way across the track, looking at each other rather than ahead, when they realise there are people coming towards them, not even the hint of an apology just looks of complete disgust that the conversation is interrupted and they have to move aside slightly. Less populated tracks took us through Stockton, to the Tees Barrage and onward, alongside the river to Newport Bridge, where we left the waterside and continued home, skirting the Nitram tower and along Haverton Hill road to New Road, once a stinking miasma of chemical smells from the old plants which used to line the route, nowadays no different to any other industrial town. 

Deadly Ruts.

In contrast to the previous outing, I expanded the concept of local to include twenty minutes drive from home and had a much safer day, barely seeing a soul and definitely not being within two metres of any of them. I set off from Great Ayton, practically deserted today and had a bit of a road warm up to KIldale before hauling myself up The Yellow Brick Road from New Row to Percy Cross Rigg. Cold and slightly dull, the weather that is, although it is a valid description of the current government, there are some stretches of ice lingering the higher the route goes. But strangely, most of this ice has friction, maybe a slight thaw or something, of course some bits are still treacherous which makes for some cautious riding, especially at the top of Percy Cross Rigg which could host an ice hockey match for dwarves. The advantage of all this chill is normally muddy and unrideable tracks are frozen and even flow quite well if you can stay out of the ruts. I cherry-picked a few of Guisborough Woods trails to hurtle down in my own inimitable style, imagine a world cup standard downhill racer, carving  berms and floating over roots, now imagine a sexegenarion with doubtful balance, mediocre eyesight and a fear of hospitals and try to guess which is nearer reality. But I enjoyed myself. Eventually hunger took over and I rode back up to Roseberry Common, a light dusting of snow still clinging to Roseberry Topping and took the track down to Aireyholme Farm. A deadly rut, frozen and unyielding, took control of my handlebars, like riding a Scalextric track made from iced cow shit and mud, inevitably throwing me out like a rodeo bull tossing off a cowboy - and not in a Brokeback Mountain sort of way. Amazing how frozen mud can still be soft enough to cover one side of your body. Mud stained but undaunted I headed home for food. 

More Drag Than Cherry Valentine.

Who is Cherry Valentine? Only the best looking woman to come out of Darlington. And she’s not even a woman. What does she have to do with a bike ride? Nothing whatsoever but the majority of the tracks we rode today were a drag, soft, thawing snow and a lot of rain have left them sodden, even hard packed gravel and sand was tough going today. “Is my back tyre flat?” being the most common question of the day. A mile or so of road riding took us to Coleson Banks, no snow this time but riding the whole thing still beyond the capabilities of our meagre lungs and legs. At the top we turned onto the Cleveland Way, heading roughly south up Battersby Moor, looking to the right I could see my house, nestled behind the chemical plants, can’t get anymore local than within sight of your home. Continuing on the Cleveland Way, we pedaled along the draggy track, riding up into low cloud, blindly turning pedals with no end in sight, eventually reaching Burton Howe, eager to plummet down the Old Coal Road to Armoth Wath. The straight and usually fast downhill track was like riding through glue today, we had to pedal most of it, surrounded by grey clag so we couldn’t even appreciate the views. We turned left and headed down the bridleway towards Baysdale, dropping out of the mist but finding the ground beneath our wheels turning to water, there were even lingering patches of snow in the sheltered plantation. A last downhill through a muddy sheep field brought us to Baysdale Abbey, which is actually a farm, not a nun or a monk in sight. Do nuns and monks even exist anymore? This idle speculation was nothing more than prevarication before we tackle the road out of Baysdale, continuously steep, it’s never a popular choice despite the quality of the downhill tracks leading into Baysdale, the enjoyment of which is always tempered by the thought of the ride back out of the valley. We reached the top and retraced our tyre tracks slightly before heading off on the singletrack bridleway to Turkey Nab, the sun even starting to put in an appearance. The ride finished on the trails in the woods behind Bank Foot Farm, which are continually being improved by unseen trail pixies, making it more amenable to the younger contingent, who for some reason, prefer launching themselves over chest height drops to mincing down a trail with brakes squealing like tortured cats.

As usual the route names are the same as the Strava names. Strava pseudonym Lordy Lardy.