Still Waiting For The Heatwave.

September 2021 Round Up And Video.

Click here for video.

“All the months are crude experiments out of which a perfect September is made.” said Virginia Woolf and to be honest this wasn’t a bad attempt at a September, the much-publicised Indian summer failed to materialise - just like every year but it didn’t rain too much and the trails remained dry. Mostly. There were a few illogically wet areas, remaining muddy despite the clement weather, my theory is members of the IRA (Irate Ramblers Association) are sneaking about in the dead of night with fire hoses and water bowsers, drenching popular tracks to deter mountain bikers, I wouldn’t put it past them, it’s probably less effort for them than dumping logs and boulders across the trails, I daresay they’re not getting any younger.  Here are the write ups for the last three rides of September.

TTB@YCH

A single ride week, owing to mini-breaks and boat trips, only a mere day of bicycling related japery could be had this week, it’s just a shame it had to be the windiest day of the week. Rod is enjoying another week off from attempting to drown oil rig workers, so we met at Danby village hall to make the most of the sunshine. Our start was the same as almost a fortnight ago when me and The Breadlad had Another Hot And Sweaty One, up Ainthorpe Rigg and down the other side, along the road to the Yorkshire Cycle Hub. This time the new track is open, we filled in the disclaimer and paid our two quids to be let loose on the mini-route. To lure unsuspecting punters in, the start is downhill, skirting the edge of the property, a couple of tight Z bends lead into a small wooded section before coming into the edge of the field below the cafe. Then there is a climb. Innocuous at first, it soon began zigging and zagging upwards, the bends becoming steeper with each turn, today being an exceptionally windy one, we swapped from headwind to tailwind every few metres. As the track levels, a small jump track has been built, which takes you back to the bottom of the zig zags, reasoning it would be better to do it now and repeat the climb early - before we were too tired from shredding, so we gave it a blast. Our jumping skills being more akin to a pair of heavily tranquilized grasshoppers than world cup downhillers, we couldn’t really do the track justice but we made it down unscathed. The woods section is more our level, although there are a few alternative lines with some pretty spicy jumps, which we’d probably have to work up to with practice, or maybe a few pints of performance enhancing ale.

We had an enjoyable hour or so, sheltered from the wind by trees before exiting the wood for another section of gravelled track that led us back to the start. We zipped along the first section again but this time, the following climb was eschewed in favour of the cafe. Once we had found a sheltered table, it was quite pleasant, sitting in the sun looking across Fryupdale. The new trail is a definite asset to the area, something a little different from the miles of natural stuff on the moors. If you are expecting another Hamsterley or Dalby it will come as a disappointment but for a bit of mid-ride fun it can’t be beaten. Not without some reluctance, we continued our ride, returning down the road to Stonebeck Gate farm and following the bridleway through fields to Crag Farm, before the climb up Oakley Side to Oakley Walls and the Clitherbeck bridleway. Joining the Pannierman’s Causeway, we rode to Danby Park, a nicely varied track, taking in a small rock garden, some pleasant singletrack, a short incursion into someone’s garden (yes, really) and a stream crossing before dropping down towards Danby Park. A brief bit of tarmac and we were back in Danby, too late for the cafe - or we could have made it a Terra Trailblazer’s utopia - the two cafe ride.   

The Lost World is lost.

Following a wet and windy weekend, I found myself alone in Great Ayton. Why do we say that? I found myself? I wasn’t lost, I wasn’t looking for myself, like a hippy wandering between ashrams on the Indian subcontinent. It is one of the unwritten characteristics of our gender that men can never be lost, temporarily misplaced perhaps but never suffering so much geographical confusion that we’d actually ask another human being for directions. The odd sheep may have been asked, rhetorically, something along the lines of “Where the shitting hell am I?” But, to be honest, in the style of teenagers, sheep can only do two things, eat or stare vacantly and they can’t do both at the same time, so helping misplaced travellers is never going to be high on their agenda. Considering I am alone and free to choose my route up to the off-road playgrounds, I probably need to give myself a firm slap around the head for today’s start. Climbing all the way up to Gribdale, then losing all the height down to Oak Tree farm and Lonsdale Beck before climbing again, up Nab End to Percy Cross Rigg; a bit of respite with a plunge down to Sleddale and back on the pain train, ascending Cod Hill Heights to a well earned rest on the seat behind Highcliffe Nab. It is still a little windy and the odd drops of rain are trying to ruin the day but not succeeding - yet. Trail time, I climbed a bit higher and launched into The Riddler, turning right a little way down, into Lost Riddler, which descends nicely to cross the fire road straight into The Lost World, a slightly technical route through the trees at the topmost boundary of Guisborough Woods. I emerged from the trees of Lost Riddler, crossed the fire road only to find the track into Lost World barred by fallen trees, it was then I looked up and realised the moor has been shorn and The Lost World is truly lost. Trees are a crop and this crop has been harvested, judging by the number of pink topped marker posts, it ain't going to stop there. Better get the top bits of Nomad done while it is still standing. In the usual fashion for a Guisborough Woods ride, more tracks were polished off, mainly with the style and elegance of a sack of potatoes being dropped down a fire escape but I was having fun, regardless of what it looked like. Not that there was anyone around to see it anyway.  I took advantage of the empty trails to indulge in a bit of selfie filming for September’s video, which is in danger of being almost a one-man show this month, which brings me nicely to the three quarter year attendance figures. Rod and Keith are tying for third place with sixteen rides apiece, The Breadlad is currently second, owing to his bulging wallet spinal disc, which has curtailed his figure to a mere thirty rides this year so far. Topping the leaderboard is SuperBri with thirty five rides, although his meteoric rise through the ranks may be thwarted by his attempts to educate the youth of Redcar five days a week from now until christmas. As for the also-rans, the retired, the halt and the lame, some fingers need to be firmly pulled out. The rain came just as I got back to the car, which always feels like a victory somehow, the steady drizzle while I ate my sandwich became a torrential downpour later in the evening.

Bare Legs And Nettles

I managed to blag a companion today, King Of The Crumpets, Duke Of The Dough, Yeoman Of The Yeast, Earl Of Unpunctuality, they're all one and the same - The Breadlad, freshly returned from testing out the Terra Trailblazers new mobile fun palace; the party caravan. The height of luxury for us refined gentlemen of discerning taste, featuring a jacuzzi, to soothe away the aches and pains after a tough day in the saddle, a fridge full of beer and a machine dispensing hot pies. Satellite TV comes as standard, tuned by default to the Red Bull channel. Our food and drink will be served to us by bikini-clad supermodels, eager to enter the exciting world of mountain biking, expecting no more payment than us passing on our world of knowledge and expertise in all things bicycle related. Before you all get too excited, please remember it is only a 4 berth, any extras will have to sleep in the awning with the bikes and the supermodels. And no drooling on the bikes. We deprived Redcar And Cleveland Council of four quid by parking at Hutton Village, there were no cows in the field this time, on the last occasion I parked here a herd of them spent a few hours leaning over the fence and giving my car a good licking. Why? Who knows, it’s not even green. For a change, we started our ride by passing the Blue Lake and continuing up to the crossroads in the middle of The Unsuitables, a distinctly harsh start, character building some might call it, especially if that character is a wheezing, panting, wreck of a man, resorting to sweary-power (© The Pensioner) and handlebar biting to get him up the hill. When our breath returned we rode to the east end of the woods, taking in the odd trail and back to the west end of the woods, again, trail-picking as we went. There were a few puddles following yesterday’s rain but mainly everything was in decent condition.  We worked our way across to the Hanging Stone, where The Breadlad was introduced to The Old Man’s View, one of Old Ralph's more recent trail building extravaganzas; it met with The Breadlad’s approval. Continuing generally downward, we entered a network of woodland singletracks which I began exploring earlier in the month, still muddy and slightly overgrown, we selected a different track to the ones I had done previously, virtually identical though, it took a few hundred metres before I realised it was new to me. Slippy singletrack and encroaching vegetation, a high percentage of which is nettles, lined up along both sides of the path, eying up my bare legs with the gleeful menace of a gang of parents waiting for the local paedophile to walk by the school gates. The nettles showed no mercy, before long my legs felt as though they had been sandpapered, never has a fire road seemed so inviting. Another couple of trails and we headed for the Branch Walkway cafe, sitting outside in the late September sunshine, watching legions of small children dragging their teachers on a series of never-ending toilet visits. We suffered for our parsimony by having to cycle, full of food, back over a hill, back to our cars. 

Clicking on the route names will take you to the Strava page for the route. Where you can marvel at how slow we are.