The first bit of April
Now we can travel a bit further, a large crew, up to the legal max, found ourselves at Hamsterley almost twenty years to the day since the beginning of the last devastating pandemic to wreak havoc through the country - 2001’s foot and mouth disease outbreak. Most of the countryside was out of bounds, everywhere off road anyway, except for certain self contained areas, Hamsterley Forest was one such area and it became the venue of choice for many weeks, either that or road riding, which was permitted but frowned upon because of the potential for cross-contamination. The forest was a very different place back then, most of the routes we know nowadays had yet to be conceived, it’s all a bit vague in my old memory cells but let’s have a think. Pike’s Teeth was definitely present in a different incarnation but following the same route, as was Route 666, which in those pre-Oddsox days led into the gone but never forgotten Star Wars. Boneshaker existed in pretty much its present form, except for the uphill bit at the end. There was lots of off-piste stuff, most of which I didn’t know the names of, except Beehives; Cough Up A Lung Lane, I seem to recall, was a downhill part of the red route but I could be mistaken. The red route was a fire road extravaganza, taking unsuspecting outsiders to the far reaches of the forest and probably somewhere bordering on Scotland it went on for so long. I can still remember the excitement, some years later when Section 13 was being constructed. There are vague memories of a downhill course somewhere between the main car park and the present Skills Loop, coming down from a fire road to the river behind the car park. Brain Freeze and Special K could have been old routes resurfaced but I can’t remember anything about the Polties, K Line, Transmission, Accelerator, Nitrous hillside, I’m not sure we ever had a reason to go up there. Today we just had a blast around the Hamsterley Hotlap, showing the Nissan lads how to do the best official trails without miles of pointless fire road slog, today we did it in this order (although it’s not mandatory) Pike’s Teeth, Route 666, Odd Sox, the bit after Odd Sox who’s name I can’t remember, up to Polties, K Line, Transmission (first half only, the bottom bit closed for maintenance, as was Accelerator and Nitrous). Big climb up Cough Up A Lung Lane, then Section 13, Boneshaker comes next but we like to give it a miss in favour of Swiss Tony or some other bit of off-piste, followed by Special K and Brainfreeze. If we have any energy left a quick scoot around the Skills Loop might follow but the burger van had too strong an allure today. Why The Borrowers? The majority of our little crew, myself included are what might be politely described as ‘vertically challenged’, especially Charlie and The Breadlad, who are so alike in height, looks and colouration, you have to wonder if one of their dad’s had a bike and a swooning paramour in every town.
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| He's had more comebacks than Frank Sinatra |
After a refreshing four day break over the easter holidays, not riding because there’s no way we were about to join the hordes of day workers giddy with excitement at the prospect of a four day break, when I worked shifts we were only on a four day break when we weren’t on a ten or eighteen day break, so fours were nothing to get excited about. Once they were all safely back at work, we ventured out again, one shift worker, one retired shift worker and one soon to be retired shift worker, namely Oz, who is putting in one of his rare appearances in the land of mud and water. A fairly standard route, up the Raisdale Road to Lordstones, continue climbing up Carlton Bank, ride across the moors and down Trennet Bank. A grand, sunny day but the wind is vicious, luckily behind us at most of the high points. Approaching Lordstones, The Ginger One’s back wheel decided to come loose, an investigation of the skewer revealed some stripping of the threads, as The Ginger One is slightly less mechanically-minded than the average chimpanzee, this provoked a lot of head scratching and wild theorizing as to the probable cause, naturally skirting round the most probable; some dickhead didn’t tighten it properly. Refitted and securely tightened, we set off up the old gliding club access track, only for it to slacken again, this did not bode well for the rest of his ride but a further torquing and it remained in place. It appears his bike would rather die on the moors than return to Darlington, a sentiment shared by any rational person. All the tracks are bone dry, it has been cold and windy but actual rain has been a rare visitor for the past few weeks, we’re riding in dust for a change. April and May or normally the best months on the moors, after June things usually deteriorate, reverting to mud and slop. One of the highlights of the ride is the Head House singletrack, a narrow track through heather leading to the lonely Head House, nowadays a shooting house and store for bird feed but judging by old photographs, once occupied; no electricity or sewerage, probably no running water and only a fire for heat, they must have been hardy souls. We left the house behind and rode up toward the Bilsdale Mast, invisibly beaming daytime television to the braindead, then, heading back into the wind, we rode to Cock Howe, the starting point for The Breadlad’s favourite track, Trennet Bank. It begins as a selection of pick your line singletracks across the moor, gradually becoming faster until it drops off steeply down shale overlooking the village of Chop Gate. After the shale bit a grassy drop through fields leads to a magnificent finish through a network of gullies, dodging gorse bushes and the occasional dead sheep. A last section of track leads directly to the car park where we huddle in the lee of our cars, as gusts attempt to snatch anything loose and turn it into airborne litter.
Icy Wind Straight From The North Pole
A venture out with La Mujerita today, ice on the puddles and ice in the wind, April is becoming colder as the month moves on, this time last year our apple tree was in full blossom, surrounded by pollen-gathering bees, this year the buds have barely opened and snow is forecast for later in the week. Our route was a usual sort of start, we parked up by the Sean The Sheep bus shelter on the road into Castleton and rode down the side road towards Commondale, turning off onto a nice bridleway which leads directly to Commondale, where we turned left, passing through the oddly named Foul Green, we can only speculate as to the origins of that name, Google’s auto-suggest adds the word discharge to Foul Green, which shows the sort of information most people are looking for. Digging a little deeper, it turns out Foul Green was a failed attempt at an ironstone mine, the expected seam of ironstone didn’t materialise. We continued along the bridleway, passing some llamas, who seem quite happy swapping the mountains of Peru for a field in North Yorkshire; the bridleway continues to the road above Castleton, we crossed over and continued through Danby Park. The tracks are in perfect condition, dry and dusty, if only it wasn’t so cold. A climb out of Danby took us to Clitherbeck Farm, a gravelled track followed by more tarmac took us to Danby Beacon, fine views across to Scaling Dam and the North Sea beyond. A bit more tarmac to Robin Hood’s Butts, then a final couple of miles of riding on this 4x4 track took us back to the car. Robin Hood’s Butts has had a bit of work done over the winter, the massive puddles have been drained and filled with builders rubble, old bricks and suchlike, which should, hopefully, prevent it reaching the usual canal status in winter. Too cold to be hanging about today, straight in the car and off to Birk Brow to take advantage of the burger van, we even sat in the car to eat, like those strange couples we see all over the place, who drive out to beauty spots then just sit looking at the view through their windscreen.
Arnold Rimmer
Third day of riding, weather still cold but dry, met with Howard and SuperBri at Lordstones, Superbri got his first introduction to The Fronts and was suitably impressed. It is in pristine condition, a roller-coaster of hard-packed, dried mud, undulating across the north face of Cringle Moor. We turned off at Cold Moor, to ride some shale singletrack before dropping down opposite the Wainstones to rejoin the main track, even the usually nasty bit through the trees almost dry - only almost though. Eventually we reached the road at Clay Bank, crossing over and making our way up Urra Moor via “the electric bike alternative” a way through the plantation which reaches the top without having to tackle the stone steps of Carr Ridge. From the top, we joined the bridleway along the edge of Urra Moor, an ancient earthwork with protected monument status, known to us simply as The Rim, the source of a never ending stream of puns and innuendo based on the popular pastime of rimming. Not another word shall be said, it’s hard to speak when your tongue is... No, stop it. Now. The Rim is mainly peaty loam and rocks, the bridleway was diverted from the earthwork some time ago to protect the historical section, an entertaining downhill leads to a stream crossing before a more level track forges through heather and bracken toward Medd Crag above Chop Gate. We could have descended Medd Crag, which, despite recent sanitisation, is still a fun downhill but we thought we’d take advantage of the conditions and give East Bank Plantation a try. The steep, rocky drop in to the gate is now a steep and rocky bog, hard to understand when everywhere is so dry and this didn’t bode well for the rest of the descent. From the gate, a loamy path beckons through young bracken, a couple of turns to loose the unwary, we kept Superbri in the middle to avoid a repeat of the Benny The Brawl incident, when youth in his late teens couldn’t keep up with a bunch of blokes forty years his senior - on a downhill. The boggy bit in the middle is still boggy but mercifully brief and then it’s back to the sweet loamage until we emerge onto a farm track. More riding in a downhill direction until we reach Chop Gate and we finish with a tarmac slog up to Beak Hills Farm before retracing our start along The Fronts.
Day 4 of 4, Sunshine And Snow.
Last ride of the week, joined again by SuperBri, who is recovering from injuries sustained in a tumble from his road bike, a few days ago, he got through yesterday without too much trouble, so today ought to be okay. We met at our old favourite, Great Ayton, if I park there much more they’ll be wanting council tax. For a change, we made our way up toward the Red Run and along the side of Easby Moor on the limited use track, too muddy in winter and too much bracken in summer but today like Baby Bear’s porridge - just right and we sped along merrily, although some might have been more speedy than others, particularly the one who is not on his fourth day in a row. Sunshine and blue skies, coats off, sleeves rolled up, not quite budgie smuggler and flip flops weather but pretty grand for early April. We continued through Mill Bank Wood to Bankside Farm, then steeply uphill on tarmac to Coate Moor, not even pausing at the top to get our breath back, SuperBri still hasn’t got to grips with N.S.P’s (Natural Stopping Points). More climbing on fire roads took us to Captain Cook’s Monument, where a bit of a wind reminded us of the date, slightly icy and what’s that white stuff falling from the sky? Snow. In a very half-hearted way, a few meagre flakes. Time to move on, we rode Down The Wall, which was in pretty good condition, reaching the fire road, we crossed it and continued downward, Cook’s Descent, there is a tricky bit at the bottom where many an unsuspecting rider has come a cropper. I stopped and warned SuperBri, who sailed past and threw himself into a rocky chute, minus bike for most of the flight. That's probably not the sort of wound care they’ll have been expecting when he left A&E the other day. Sure enough, a first aid top up was required when we reached Gribdale. The climb to Newton Moor was about as much fun as having your scrotum turned into a coin purse, so nothing has changed there then. We continued around the Lonsdale Bowl and up Percy Cross Rigg, entering Guisborough Woods to avail ourselves of a selection of tracks, at the little doubles jump section, a bunch of pre-pubescents showed us how it should be done and we managed to slink away without embarrassing ourselves too much, using the tried and tested technique of not attempting a thing in front of kids. On another trail, SuperBri misjudged the depth of the only puddle in North Yorkshire and treated us to another trip over the handlebars; if he ever gives up being a teacher, I’m certain there’s a future for him in being a stunt double. Or a crash test dummy. Eventually, the lure of the butchers drove us from the hillside and we made our way back to Great Ayton, where incipient snow became explicit rain. A hurried bite to eat under the shelter of the tailgate and we went our separate ways; me, home to write this drivel, Superbri to A&E for a dressing change and doubtless a few nurses trying to understand how he’s in worse condition than when he left their care at the beginning of the week.
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