Saying Goodbye To The Summer That Never Was.

The predicted heatwave failed to appear, in fact, the weather gods could barely be bothered to string two decent days together - did it deter us? No. Were we happy? Not entirely - but we did it anyway even though the trails are now in late autumn condition. We even managed rides in the Lake District and the Yorkshire Dales, working on the theory the weather might be better further west - it wasn’t. Let’s face it, in my 62 years idling about this planet, I can only recall two decent summers, the pinnacle being the summer of ‘76 - Google it if you are too young to remember and one sometime in the early nineties which happened to coincide with my 18 day break. We spent it in Borrowdale, even in the wettest place in England it was like having a proper holiday - in Britain! We are due a decent summer soon. Surely? But you haven't started this to read a bloke on the verge of middle age moaning about the weather, you want to read about blokes on the verge of middle age dicking about on bikes. Without further ado, here are the last four outings in August. Or if you can't be bothered to read all this bollocks, click here for the video.

The Raddest Dudes In The Whole Of Radland.

Hutton village start today and a nice easy pedal along the old rail track to Slapewath where we enjoyed ourselves attempting to make like teenagers and launch ourselves, with varying degrees of success, from assorted jumps. The landings are greasy from the recent poor weather which did nothing for our commitment but a few of the more amenable jumps were sessioned, just as you would expect from a bunch of gnarly, rad, young dudes. There wasn’t a bunch of gnarly, rad, young dudes in the vicinity, so we had to stand in. We moved back to Guisborough Woods while all our limbs were still intact, paying for our pleasure with a pedal up the concrete road, never an easy ride, breathing through every orifice as Howard and SuperBri pull away, still chatting. Making our way to the top of the woods, we rode down via as many tracks as we could find that weren’t too overgrown, finishing with Stripes 2, where someone has kindly felled a bunch of trees across the best bit, so it wasn’t the grin inducing downhill finish we envisioned.

Easy Cruising Sort Of Ride

A bit of easy riding today, doing my minimal climbing Scaling Dam route, just me, SuperBri and the drone, which came out for an airing. This route is basically from Scaling, a mile of Moor Road to the Danby turn off, Robin Hood’s Butts to Sis Cross, Sis Cross to Clitherbeck/Pannierman’s Causeway, Danby Beacon, Roxby Moor and back to Scaling Dam. Two canny singletracks with some nice riding between them, all with less than 800 feet of climbing. And today was no different, SuperBri performed admirably for the drone as it followed him down the Sis Cross singletrack. We had our first breather at Danby Beacon - that’s what it is like when you’re out with the fitties, rests are few and far between. They even need educating regarding the concept of NSP’s (Natural Stopping Points). There were quite a few people at the beacon, desperate to squeeze in another tick off the list before the holidays finish. People like SuperBri, whose summer of fun is coming to an end and he’ll soon be back in school, attempting to teach unwilling teenagers maths without bouncing a wooden board rubber off their nappers. The wooden board rubber, favoured ammunition of teachers throughout the seventies, along with knuckle raps, slippers, rulers, canes and the odd open-handed slap around the head. I daresay there might be a law against it nowadays. It might have hurt a bit but kids didn’t leave school as thick as they started. We continued with a blast across Roxby Moor, no filming, no photographs, just riding that groove all the way to High Tranmire Farm. A farm road takes us back to Scaling Dam, as it abuts the moor road, a field full of sheep has a strange notice on the gatepost - Danger Of Death. Keep Off. Killer sheep? A last pedal along the dam of Scaling Reservoir takes us back to the car park, ready for our picnic.

Not The Best Summer's Day We've Ever Had.

Hard as it may be to believe in this green and pleasant land, the already mediocre August weather has taken a turn for the worse, Clay Bank car park was fifty shades of grey, without the sexual deviancy, although what goes on up there outside of day hours is anyone’s guess. Just me and SuperBri again, venturing out into the cold, wet bleakness of a summer’s day in North Yorkshire. SuperBri wearing only a lightweight waterproof - there’s optimism for you and bare hands because he forgot his gloves. The old high level track, which passes through the top of Greenhow Plantation, high on Jackson’s Bank, curving round below the shale cliffs of Botton Head, was a disaster when me and The Ginger One attempted to ride it last year, when we blundered into a health and safety nightmare, not even a warning notice for us to ignore. Trees were being felled across our path as we pushed our bikes through a miasma of mud and tree branches until we gave up and turned back. Today was much better, in a way, the old singletrack through the trees has now gone, along with the trees, a wide mud road has been carved across the steep hillside, leading to the singletrack descent. Which is now a deep, rutted doubletrack descent, vegetated, mud-filled grooves, pedal deep but not pedal width. Another nice track ruined. It turns out SuperBri had never ridden up Ingleby Incline, well today was the day to rectify that, naturally he cruised it, disappearing upwards into the mist and drizzle, while I did it in the more traditional way. From the summit, we gained the wide, sandy tracks over Urra Moor, turning off at Cockayne Head for a little exploration along Cockayne Ridge, riding an unridden (by us anyway) track to Bloworth Woods and what a treat it was too, fast and wide to a dead end at a wall. A little diversion found a gate and a short track into Bloworth Woods, or Blowjob Woods as it was always known to The Pensioner and The Breadlad, one of their favourite trails in this part of the moors, mainly because The Breadlad once found twenty quid there, just laid in the mud - or so he says. We could have turned right at this point and followed the track to Bransdale to finish the ride with Tripsdale but that would have meant two big climbs in the unrelenting drizzle and SuperBri’s bare hands were already as blue as his windproof top, so we turned left and made our way through the woods to Rudland Rigg. More commonly known as ‘that fu*#ing awful Rudland Rigg’, ten miles of ascent whichever direction you ride it. Never mind studying black holes and dark matter, some of these scientist gadgies want to be turning their attention to the anomaly a bit closer to home. Cold, wet, hungry but curiously satisfied, we made our way back over Round Hill and down the other side back to Clay Bank for a tailgate umbrella picnic.

Could This Be The Worst Summer...Since Last Summer?

Has the weather improved since yesterday? Has it bollocks. I swapped SuperBri for a quartet of fresh cyclists - which shows how many people it takes to fill SuperBri’s shoes. The Breadlad, Simon T and Bingo Bob have all turned out to join Keith on his before work quickie. Snatching a few hours dicking about on a bike in the rain before he heads off to keep the wheels of industry turning. Five mountain bikers - luckily we are not covered by the Trades Descriptions Act - leaving behind a grey and drizzly Great Ayton, heading for the hills and the source of the drizzle, a blanket of grey cloud so low it engulfed the summit of Roseberry Topping. After almost a fortnight of constant moisture, the trails in Guisborough Woods would be akin to Teflon-coated playground slides, so we opted to ride more open trails, which hold up better to the weather. Still unable to source a pair of Elton John windscreen wiper glasses, I ended up having to remove my spectacles which led to a couple of interesting moments as my “I’ll be okay, I can still see the big bits” theory proved somewhat flawed. Eventually, after much fun, frivolity and cruel banter, we reached Gribdale and time to release Keith back into the care of his paymasters, while the rest of us opted for the long drag up to Captain Cook’s Monument, with the exception of The Breadlad, who selflessly opted to accompany Keith back to Great Ayton. From the monument, the remaining trio found a convoluted way back to Gribdale, mainly involving varying degrees of wet, muddy slipperiness prior to blasting our way down the road to Petch’s pie shop.