The start of what is predicted to be another fine week, judging by previous years’ weather patterns it seems British summer is now late April and early May, so let’s make the most of it. So why do I find myself alone? The Breadlad has gone to enjoy a romantic break in the Lake District: if this caravan is rockin’; don’t come knockin’; I guess everyone else is partaking in that barely remembered pastime known as work, a necessary evil for too large a part of the lives of most people. Alone days are generally good days for a spot of selfie filming, the only way I can guarantee some real talent in front of the camera and a performer who doesn’t mind spending an hour on the same section of trail. Which is how I came to find myself in Guisborough Woods repeating chunks of a trail called Screwball Scramble, the trail has recently been altered, formerly it was out of our league, amateurs that we are, sporting some scary north shore and large gap jumps, now it has been brought down to our level and is an enjoyable excursion through the trees. I rode there from Great Ayton, enjoying another fine day of weather, plenty of walkers and the odd biker kicking about but nothing like the numbers from a couple of weeks ago when the whole world seemed to have nowhere else to go. Shops and beer gardens are open now, so a lot of people are putting this countryside nonsense behind them and reverting to urban pastimes. Which is where they belong, for the most part. Filming “in the can” as they say in the movies, I made my way back to the car via a few more trails, everything is in such good condition at the moment, we can’t use the old ‘too slippery’ excuse any longer, we’ll either have to get more creative with our cowardice or commit to the trails.
Second trip to Hamsterley this month, it’s about time I got some us out of my car pass, even my creative mind struggled to class Hamsterley as local riding during the lockdown. Simon T. has not visited the place for years and was keen to try out all the ‘new’ trails. Like an amnesiac whose memory is returning, he kept having little flashbacks as we rode round, recalling snippets of fire road or sections of trail. Once again it was up to me to show someone around the Hamsterley Hot Lap, we began on Pike’s Teeth, which is one of the old original tracks, although it has been improved vastly. We moved on to Odd Sox, bypassing Route 666 which he remembered, quite correctly, as a rooty, uphill, waste of time. Odd Sox was brand new to him and something completely different, the section immediately after Odd Sox kind of replaces the much loved but long gone Star Wars, rocks and roots through the trees in near darkness. We popped out on the fire road and rode past The Grove, ready for the long, long and I mean long, climb out of the valley and up to the start of Polties Last Blast, zipping down the fabulous five, Polties, K Line, Transmission, Accelerator and Nitrous, leading us back in a pleasurable fashion to The Grove. These trails range from speedy gravel paths to rock gardens and everything in between, a revelation for Simon, who vaguely remembers Transmission. Naturally, all that joy comes at a price and we were soon ascending Cough Up A Lung Lane, something which came as a shock to Simon, who was usually in the Descend uplift bus back in the day. Top car park reached, breath recovered, we embarked on the delights of Section 13, loving every inch. The next trail on the ‘official’ route is Boneshaker, which was missed out in favour of a bit of off-piste stuff; Boneshaker was never much to get excited about, unless your particular brand of excitement encompasses loose fillings and detached retinas, the trail’s end was redesigned so instead of dropping to the road it now turns steeply uphill in a most disappointing fashion. The steep roots and loam of Swiss Tony are a worthwhile alternative. Back on track, we did Special K, the voice of The Ginger One ringing in our ears (even though nowadays he’s out slightly less often than The Pope buys condoms and probably at work anyway) with his parrot-like exhortation,
“The bombhole, the bombhole, do the bombhole.”
Bombhole done, the trail continues downward to a fire road, from where a slight uphill leads us to the ultimate trail, Brainfreeze, the wooden jump which gave the trail its name has been removed, doubtless because it was the cause of more injuries than The Taliban, the whole trail is worn and rocky, Simon definitely remembered this one from his past. We even had enough energy for a spin around the Skills Loop, not that I need the practice you understand but I thought Simon might have been a bit rusty. That only left the Gruffalo Trail to complete the set, once completed it was takeaway sandwiches from the cafe and a flask of coffee from the car. The perfect end to a grand day.
Another Hard Day At The Office.
A day of spectacular weather, pristine, dry trails and big skies. Bingo Bob and myself set off from the Sean The Sheep bus stop and rode along Robin Hood’s Butts, aided by a gentle tailwind, as far as the Sis Cross bridleway. Swapping gravelled motorway for rutted singletrack, an imperceptible climb takes us to Sis Cross, not actually a cross at all but a metre high stone pillar, which possibly was a cross in previous centuries. The view across the moors between Danby and Castleton is spectacular, a picture of nascent verdancy but we had a trail to ride. From the cross, a groove of singletrack cuts through the heather, heading down toward Danby, always a joy, more so today because the mud hags were dried up, baked and cracked like a drought appeal before the six o’clock news, all too soon we reached the road and climbed back up slightly to gain the Pannierman’s Causeway near Ciitherbeck Farm. We pedalled up to the road on the semi-paved path, another example of a North Yorkshire ‘trod’. Our next objective, Danby Beacon, wavered in a heat haze as we rode toward it, the ethereal voice of the resolutely pessimistic Pensioner in my head:
“We won’t get away with this, you know. It’s still only the middle of April. We’ll have a shit summer now.”
A quick photo opportunity at the beacon before we headed down Lealholm Rigg to get onto the Roxby Moor bridleway, another superb track in exemplary condition, dry and dusty, in the distance Scaling Dam reservoir, glinting blue like a scale map of the Mediterranean sea, we sped across the moor, well, as fast as two men on the verge of middle-age are ever likely to be speeding, eventually arriving at a farm road. If the crossing at Hardale Beck becomes any deeper or wider, a ferry will be the next step, as it is it can still be crossed via a side tributary. Which leads us straight to The Slagbag, well named, a steep incline of grass and loose stone, Bingo Bob whizzed up on his electric bike and I followed more slowly on my acoustic bike, arriving at the summit wondering whether a heart could actually explode. We made our way back to Lealholm Rigg, this time plodding up its full length until we were back at Danby Beacon, choosing to ride the 4x4 track down to Oakley Walls, the ban on 4x4’s, instigated some time ago, seems to have been about as effective as Catholic contraception, it was like riding through a first world war battlefield, balancing on the solid ground between the trenches. Lower down the track is rockier and less susceptible to ruts which makes things more enjoyable. A quick dash across the Clitherbecks bridleway and a bit of tarmac and we were back at Robin Hood’s Butts, unfortunately the wrong end from where our cars were parked, a steady plod and we were soon picnicking under the watchful eye of Sean The Sheep.
Making The Most Of The Summer - While It Lasts.
Another day of unnatural heat and dryness, well, for North Yorkshire anyway. A bit of a late start today owing to some work-related appointment for La Mujerita, (Work? I can’t quite remember the concept), so we had a pre-emptive strike on the butchers as we left Great Ayton. Climbing steadily we made our way to Guisborough Woods, sticking more or less to fire roads, La Mujerita’s aversion to riding proper trails is well documented, so we’ll say no more. Still climbing we reached the old wartime building on Percy Cross Rigg, where we sat in the sunshine demolishing the contents of the butcher’s bags, pies and pasties followed by fruit pies, all splendid, laid in the sunshine, making sure we were upwind wind of the building, whose original wartime use has now been repurposed as a public convenience and home to the world’s largest collection of empty Fosters cans. A quick glance inside, the cans have gone but the place still smells like a tramp’s underpants. We carried on around the Lonsdale Bowl and curved back onto Newton Moor from where there are fine views of the mighty Roseberry Topping, resplendent in the sunshine, people looking like stick figures converging on its stony crown. We rode back into Guisborough Woods and rode down The Unsuitables before another whizz round the fire roads, La Mujerita was tempted/tricked/mislead/deceived* (* delete as appropriate) into riding a trail, Loam Sweet Loam, a wide track through trees, not technical or overly steep but a bit lumpy; she was still on her bike when she reached the bottom, not a cut, bruise or mud-stain in sight, so I’d count that as a success. One last hill took us back to Roseberry Common from where it is more or less downhill to Great Ayton, although we did stop at Fletcher’s Farm shop for ice cream and refreshments in the sunshine, where a pair of turkeys with faces like melted wax on the outside of a candle bottle made their presence known with a lot of loud vocals, uttering similar sounds to those made by aggrieved walkers when you pass them while enjoying a bike ride on ‘their’ trails.
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