Making Like Teenagers. The Fourth Week Of March 2021.

 Like A Couple Of Teenagers Playing In The Woods.

One of those Spring days when deciding how many layers to wear is tricky, pleasantly sunny but, as the saying goes, the wind had teeth and by the time we reached the high moors, we were glad of the extra clothing. Rod has managed to escape from work for a week and was probably wishing he was back by the time we were hauling ourselves up Coleson Banks onto Battersby Moor. The chilly wind accompanied us along the Cleveland Way track until we turned off along the stony track which leads ultimately to Armouth Wath on what is known as The Flagged Road, normally we ride this track the opposite way, the ascent from the crossing of Black Beck always comes as a nasty surprise on a track we normally consider almost flat. It’s weird how your mind blanks out the unpleasant bits of trials until they appear in front of you like uninvited relatives. Turning into a headwind, we pedaled back up the Old Coal Road to Burton Howe, where we hung a left and made our way to Bloworth Crossing, just to get a few extra miles in our legs. The broad tracks are drying up nicely, a few puddles here and there, the odd muddy patch but mainly superb, especially if you like easy riding with fine views. From a blowy Bloworth, we followed the old rail track back to the Incline Top before hopping up onto our original track and riding in the opposite direction, back to Burton Howe, continuing to Tidy Brown Hill and embarking on what is still one of my favourite tracks on the moors, the section of Cleveland Way which leads to Baysdale. It is not in any way technical or even that steep, simply a gravelled doubletrack with a few drainage humps but you can pretty much throw caution to the wind and ride as fast as your cajones allow. A singletrack bridleway leads off from this track, rutted and wet, heading down to join Ingleby Bank, or Turkey Nab as it is more commonly known, steep and fast, just remember to slow down before the gate. From the gate we went into the woods, ready to make like youths, sessioning bits of trail, searching out hidden sections, maybe having the occasional dab, slithering about in moist loam and generally having a grand time for an hour or so until hunger forced us back to the cars. Back in the valley, sheltered from the wind, it was like a summer’s day, the camping stools came out of the boot and we enjoyed a proper tailgate picnic.

White Men Can’t Jump.

Another Great Ayton start, we took ourselves directly up to Aireyholme Farm, braving the Fletcher’s Farm puncture run and continued into Guisborough Woods. Almost immediately heading onto the trails, which are beginning to dry up slightly but not as much as is ideal. Some sliding and slithering ensued, a few falls and more than one refusal at the first fence, or jump in our cases. One trail which was felled out some time ago has been reinvented as a mini jump park with a set of doubles, a gap jump and some steep drop ins, we played on the slopes, while young Olly attempted the doubles with a confidence we could only dream of. Moving on to an ascent of The Unsuitables calmed us all down a bit, reaching the top as panting wrecks, we met Bingo Bob and his mate on their electric bikes, they seemed unimpressed by our leg-power only ascent. Probably because we could barely speak. We continued over Percy Cross Rigg and around the Lonsdale Bowl, heading along to Newton Moor to the gate opposite Roseberry Topping, ready for an epic descent beginning with Little Roseberry. The wind was howling in by now, as we began the drop, we caught the full force of the gale, pushing us sideways off the track but we all managed to get down unscathed. Gravity still on our side, we continued downward, curving round the base of Roseberry Topping on rocky tracks and stone steps until we reached Roseberry Lane. Moving on, we went to Cliff Rigg Quarry, one of those places where people on the verge of middle-age go to be embarrassed by teenagers. A few pitiful attempts on the nursery slopes ensued while youngsters flung themselves into the air like a flea circus. (Google it, it was a thing in the days before entertainment), they then kindly demonstrated ‘the cliff drop’ for us, dropping off a ten foot precipice onto the slope below, even stopping to tell us how easy it is, “just roll over the edge and pull up a little bit...” I’m sure if I tried it, I’d just roll over the edge and lay there a little bit - until the air ambulance arrived. Entertained but slightly humiliated, we left the youths to it and headed toward something we could polish off without any hesitation or practice - our picnics.

More Smiles Than Miles.

Seeing as the nice people at Lordstones have left their car park open for us to use during lockdown, it would be rude not to start from there now and again. Of course, we would much rather the cafe and shop were open too but that’s for a future time. Another what to wear sort of day, sunshine with a blustery wind, the threat of a shower ever present but hopefully not materialising. A good drying wind, as my mother would say and it is having the right effect on the trails, The Fronts, as far as Sheepshagger Bank was fine and dry, apart from the occasional muddy puddle to catch out the unwary - just call me Mr. Unwary.  The Fronts is the name we give to the track which runs across the north faces of Cringle Moor, Cold Moor and Hasty Bank, terminating at the Bilsdale road, opposite Clay Bank car park and Sheepshagger Bank is a steep gully where we once rescued a sheep, stuck by its horns in a wire fence, some compromising photos may have been taken, as an unnamed Terra Trailblazer approached from the rear, fortunately in the days before digital cameras and social media. Unfortunately the alleged photos are now lost in the mists of time and only the name remains. The shale singletrack around the front of Cold Moor is a bit of a hidden gem, normally bypassed in favour of the wider track below, let’s hope it stays that way. From the end of the singletrack, we shouldered bikes for a plod up onto the ridge of Cold Moor, ready for that North York Moors classic, the imaginatively named Cold Moor Descent. A smorgasbord of bicycling delights, from grassy singletrack to a rocky streambed, multiple lines to choose, constantly interesting, the antithesis of groomed trail centre riding and predictably enough avoided by the shiny bike and full face helmet crews. The trail finishes down in Chop Gate, down being the significant word here, with the options to continue the ride being up, or up, or even up some more. Occasionally the odd lunatic (usually The Ginger One, who has been keeping a low profile this month) suggests the Mast Road, which is a coronary-inducing, private road leading to Bilsdale Transmitter mast, the giant totem of the herds who worship television. Thankfully that option remained un-mooted and we pedaled up the Raisdale Road, then more steeply off Raisdale Road to the col at Stoney Wickes before climbing a bit more, around the head of Scugdale to Brian’s Pond. More climbing took us to the summit of Carlton Bank with fine views across Teesside to the North Sea, the CF Industries cooling towers belching out plenty of steam, keeping my pension topped up, just behind the cooling towers - my little house. Can’t get any more local than a ride where you can still see your house. A couple of nice singletracks, followed by a fast fire road and we were almost back at Lordstones but not before we’d stopped in the shale tip play area to channel our inner teenager. Playing on jumps again - for the third time this week, it’ll all end in tears - eventually. Using a cunning combination of cowardice and caution, we managed to find a few kindergarten jumps which were more in our league. They say start small and work up, when it comes to jumps; I’ve been in the start small phase for over twenty years now.

Sunshine And A Shower.

The forecast was predicting 40 mph winds and hailstones, interest in a moors ride was muted to say the least but there is always the local, before work, quickie with La Mujerita option to fall back on. It is definitely windy and rain is lurking in every gust but we managed to stay dry for a spin around the urban rurality in our locality. We even managed to squeeze in enough off road tracks to qualify it as a gravel ride rather than (heaven forbid) a road ride. For those familiar with the area, we rode from Billingham to Norton, along Station Road to where road becomes rutted track, passing a few small farms and riding stables, an ascent of the Stony Bank brought us back to the outskirts of Billingham. Turning left, we continued toward Wynyard, dropping down the Golden Gates bank and climbing up again on Blakestone Lane, making our way to a section of the Castle Eden Walkway, another old railtrack utilised as a cycle track. Time was against us, so we turned off at Carlton, rode through the village and down to Thorpe Thewles, returning home along the Wynyard Road. Being proper cyclists, not calorie-counting, skinny-tyre weirdos, the lure of our local Greggs was too strong to resist and some of their finest comestibles formed the basis of a hearty lunch. 

Clicking on the route name will you take you to the relevant Strava page.

Could Spring Have Sprung? The Third Week Of March

 I Can Think Of Worse Ways To Spend A Monday.

Bereft of companions, I find myself pedaling a lone furrow through the byways of North Yorkshire on what turned out to be a magnificent spring day, warm and dry enough to dispense with a coat. And everyone else working, my heart bleeds for them. Although I don’t imagine they envied me, slogging up the Baysdale Road, hard work even with the benefit of a 52 tooth rear cassette and a tailwind. From the Kildale road to the second cattle grid, one mile and four hundred and twenty feet of ascent and my legs felt every inch of it. After the cattle grid, I rode the bridleway which goes down the moor into Baysdale, doing a bit of selfie-filming along the way, taking advantage of a dramatic backdrop of burning heather. This is a corker of a trail, which, hopefully, will never suffer from overuse because there is a big climb to reach it and a big climb out again after the fun is over, all on natural tracks, which will deter the trail centre rats. I continued down to Baysdale Abbey and rode along the valley, passing the Three Barns to join the road above Hob Hole. The track is a lot dryer than it was a few weeks ago when me and The Ginger One rode it, it’s now individual puddles rather than one continuous canal. More climbing followed, as the road hill heading for Crag Bank Wood and Percy Cross crossroads was surmounted. At the crossroads I could have turned left and headed straight back to my picnic box but not being a road rider, I rode straight up Percy Cross Rigg, all the way to the gate which leads to the open moor. The weather is still holding up, almost everyone I passed was happy and smiling and the trail around the Lonsdale Bowl is dry. Even better, it was the last hill of the ride, it’s strange how the aching quads and cramping calves become better when the end is in sight and I positively romped across the moor and down Fingerbender Bank to Gribdale. The car park was rammed, don’t they know there’s a national lockdown on? I continued to Great Ayton and had my lonely lunch on a bench by the river, savouring the sunshine and hoping for plenty more to come.

Creaking To The Creek.

Yesterday was a bit of a climb-fest, so I was quite pleased when La Mujerita was called out to work this afternoon and the planned route became a before work quickie. A quickie with as little ascent as possible, it can be done. We pedaled to Wolviston, continuing to Greatham, using the track which passes Cowpen Bewley Woodland Park, which has greatly improved since being “the stinky beck” as we knew it in my childhood, even though the sewage works is still there, swilling the contents of Billingham’s toilets about. From Greatham, we crossed the rail track and went through the remains of the old Cerebos factory - where the world famous Bisto was invented - and continued to Greatham Creek, riding a grassy dyke to the road bridge. It is low tide and all the seals are elsewhere, leaving the mud flats to wading birds and a noisy flock of black headed gulls which are repopulating one of the islands. We were able to follow the coastal path back to Port Clarence, a lot easier now sections of it are not covered in a foot of iced water. From Port Clarence, in the shadow of the mighty symbol of Teesside, the Transporter, it's only a couple of miles on flat roads to home.

Could Spring Have Sprung?

Another day when the weather is almost verging on pleasant, although we were never without the feeling things could go either way but it was coats off from the start which is always a good way to begin a ride.  Me and SuperBri left Great Ayton behind and made our way to Roseberry Common via Aireyholme Farm in what could possibly be described as warmth, the continual ascent adding to our glow. We had a quick scout about Guisborough Woods, still climbing until we reached Highcliffe Nab, before some long awaited descent, down Codhill Heights to Sleddale and then it was time for more ascending, even SuperBri was beginning to question the amount of climbing. The Terra Trailblazer’s often quoted cliche was trotted out, “We’ll be fit for the summer.” Not that SuperBri needs it and to be honest, we never feel any fitter in the summer. We plodded on, up Percy Cross Rigg and over to Newton Moor where the fun began with a descent of the rocky and rutted Little Roseberry, steeply downhill in the shadow of Roseberry Topping, to Roseberry Common. We continued straight ahead, following the varied bridleway to Roseberry Lane, everything from muddy singletrack to greasy rock steps, payback for our deposit in the gravity bank. Soon after we were making another deposit, this time in the calorie bank, as we replenished essential food supplies, sitting by the river in the spring sunshine.

Another Exciting Episode.

Twenty one hours later, back in the same spot, waiting for The Breadlad to leave the New Marske Time Zone and enter Greenwich Mean Time, things couldn’t have been more different. All the surrounding hills were covered in grey clag, a steady drizzle was dampening more than our spirits and the temperature had halved. Undaunted, we sallied forth, laughing in the face of the capricious weather, waterproofs and mudguards doing their job. For a change, we rode directly to Gribdale, powering up the hill like cycling machines, or maybe, panting up the hill like nuns in a cucumber field. More panting, up to Newton Moor and around the Lonsdale Bowl, glasses off by now because they are not fitted with a set of Elton John style windscreen wipers. We made our way up and down Percy Cross Rigg, teased by glimpses of sunshine before the greyness resumed, followed by a rare (we normally ride up it) descent of The Unsuitables, down into Guisborough Woods, where we rode a carefully curated selection of trails. Most of the place is still too muddy to be fun. The Breadlad was being careful due to his back complaint, (which is different from his back passage complaint, which we can’t go into here, people might be having their tea, suffice to say, if he was a terrier, someone would have to carry a decent supply of those little bags dog walkers like leave all over the countryside) and didn’t want to push his luck by riding too far. Guisborough Woods was left behind and we slithered uphill onto Roseberry Common before slithering down again to Aireyholme Farm, the clouds finally beginning to lift and maybe even a little sun peeking through. From late spring to late winter in twenty four hours, how typically British. 

As usual the route names are the Strava ride names, find us under the pseudonym Lordy Lardy.

Sticks Like Ordure To An Eiderdown and other stories. The second week of March.

 Sticks Like Ordure To An Eiderdown.

Another of those days which fails to fulfil its early promise, beginning with bright sunshine, ending in gloom and dampness. Me and The Ginger One rode up Raisdale Mill lane, on a pleasant spring morning, turning off at the cottages, we ascended to Stoney Wickes, the col between the valleys of Bilsdale and Scugdale. Still climbing, we made our way across the moor, passing Brian’s Pond, gleaming blue in the sunlight, continuing on sandy tracks to the summit of Carlton Bank. So far about five miles distance and over a thousand feet of ascent - who says we don’t know how to have fun? As a reward we took advantage of a paved section of Cleveland Way, skirting the moor edge in a fine position, until we could return to the sandy tracks which criss cross the moor where the gliding club once stood. The old access track gives a speedy descent to Lordstones, where we were surprised to find the car park open, albeit with limited hours. The cafe and shop were closed though. We had a little scrounge about the tracks behind Cringle Moor, finding a large chain has been suspended between trees on one section, obviously to stop people riding the track but why put the chain halfway down the trail? Surely at the beginning would be more sensible? We took the hint and moved on. Our original plan for the day was the Cold Moor descent, all the other tracks were just foreplay, so we shouldered the bikes and began plodding up the steps, the wind began to increase, bringing a tsunami of ominous grey cloud. The top of Cold Moor was indeed cold, about a ten degree temperature drop from down in the valley and now we were riding into a headwind, a moist, drizzly headwind, wetter than an apprentice's excuses. The Cold Moor descent is a classic, starting on moorland singletrack, undulating to a rocky ridge which turns to a broad track of sand and puddles before the highlight, the drop down the rocky riverbed. Multiple lines, choices between boulder drops, loose rocks, rutted singletrack and hidden hollows, today slippery and moisture coated, a bit like my glasses which made line choice a bit more confusing. The Ginger One was away like a balding, middle-aged, borderline-alcoholic doing a poor Danny Hart impression but he still left me in his wake as I minced down the track like Mr. Magoo (for those of a certain age - if you are too young just Google it). Lower down the track becomes more enclosed and muddier, some of it that peculiar texture which sticks like dung to a duvet, or ordure to an eiderdown or any other combination of colon contents and bedclothes you can think of. Two relatively clean bikes soon became two mud-covered bikes as we rolled back into Chop Gate, even The Ginger One’s battery operated pressure washer proved ineffective against North Yorkshire’s finest clay and he resorted to old-school washing in the river. All so he can get straight in front of the telly when he gets home instead of washing his bike properly.

Mostly Windy.

Yesterday, when we all stayed home, it was storm force winds and rain, today was storm force winds without rain - seems safe to venture out then, so long as we keep things vaguely tree related (for the shelter) everything ought to be okay. Some hardy souls met up at Gribdale, ready to take on whatever Mother Nature could throw at us: sixty mile per hour gusts allegedly. Even with wind assistance the climb up Nab End is gruesome, from the barn at the bottom to Percy Cross Rigg is almost three hundred feet of ascent in half a mile, all rideable too, since the resurfacing. And rode it was, maybe not with SuperBri’s alacrity, he soon disappeared into the distance but our feet remained on pedals all the way up. Attempting to stay with the tail wind theme, an ascent of Codhill Heights followed, leading us to Guisborough Woods and the relative shelter of the trees. Remaining trees, that is, by the look of the preparation work going on, a lot more are going to the great woodpile in the sky. Or the biomass power station which is where most of it seems destined. Despite the main tracks seeming relatively dry, the previous twenty four hours of rain has taken a toll, making them clingy and draggy, the trails through the trees are still in dire straits, merely muddy ruts slithering down the hillsides. We went along to the One Man And His Dog trails, which are more open and dry quickly, not quickly enough though, still too slimy to be enjoyable, like jellied eels, which apparently are the staple food of Londoners. They can keep them. Climbing slowly back up into the wind, we made our way through the forest and onto Newton Moor, buffeted by gusts, sticking to a straight line was a struggle. For a last bit of excitement, a descent of Fingerbender Bank was chosen, a lot drier than lately but straight into the wind, which calmed us down a bit. The slope down to Gribdale provided a muddy but downhill finish to the cars, where our picnics await.

The Rosedale Round Reduced.

Another blustery day, the wind whipping powerful deluges in from the west, the exposed car park at Blakey Ridge taking the full force. As quickly as we could, we dropped down onto the slightly sheltered rail track and cranked out a virtually flat four miles to Chimney Bank, passing a hardy soul who was pedalling in shorts despite the windchill dragging the temperature toward zero. At Chimney Bank, the old Royal Observer Corps installation was given a thorough inspection by us, it is part of a network of underground bunkers built during the Cold War to monitor the effect of a nuclear blast, we once spent some time dissuading The Ginger One from breaking in to this one in search of leftover ration packs because the lure of free food was just to powerful for him. Turns out the whole installation is flooded anyway, more info can be found here. As we were only riding a truncated version of the classic Rosedale Round, we were able to give our brakes a comprehensive testing descending Chimney Bank, which is so steep there is a possibility of serious injury for the incautious; we descended as carefully as a bloke shaving his balls with a hedge trimmer. A few miles on tarmac lay between us and the next section of rail track but first The Breadlad availed himself of the facilities, relishing the luxury of Climbing Simon’s favourite convenience, rather than squatting behind a tussock of grass on the open moor. 

We passed the titter-inducing Bell End Farm (ghostly smirking from The Pensioner) and climbed through Hill Cottages, leaving the road behind,  climbing even more steeply through a farmyard filled with ducks and chickens to gain the rail track. The wind was still fierce and swirling in unexpected directions, the tailwind along the east side of the valley never happened, most of the way seemed to be a struggle. Pausing on one of the embankments, we watched water being blown up a waterfall by the wind, it's that sort of day. Pedaling around the head of the valley, we took the full force of the wind, memories of the Sandstone Way came back like a barely remembered nightmare, where we had three days of fifty mile per hour headwinds, from Berwick On Tweed to Hexham. We rode up to the Lion Inn, still sadly closed because of the lockdown and fantasised about steak sandwiches with chips and a refreshing pint on a hot summer’s day. No sandwiches, no chips, no pint, no hot summer’s day. It’s the middle of March and cold enough to freeze teeth. The loop behind the pub, usually an amenable downhill over dusty rocks is straight into the wind today and filled with puddles, at the bottom we turned left and headed for Blakey Bank along more old rail track. We stormed up the last few feet of Blakey Bank, propelled by a tail wind which was like being pushed by God all the way back to the car park. Back on top of the ridge, gusts blasted in like a nuclear wind, so strong we could lean into it, cars were turned into the wind to prevent the doors being ripped off. Gusts were probably coming in at around fifty miles per hour, which, coincidentally is the average wind speed of the windiest place on earth, Commonwealth Bay, Antarctica, where proper windy days top out in excess of one hundred and fifty miles per hour. Just imagine how many clothes pegs they’ll need to put their washing on the line.

As usual the route names are the Strava names. Find us under the Strava pseudonym, Lordy Lady.