Not A Bad Turn Out For A Monday.

Even if we had to bus them in from another county.

Me and Miles were joined, in Great Ayton, by two of our northern brethren, Keith and Dan, eager and ready to sample the best of what Guisborough Woods has to offer. They had been tempted down from the farthest reaches of England by reports the trails were dry and running like a dream. It was a bright, sunny morning, a little cool as one would expect for February but an improvement on the past two days which have been damp and drizzly. A regular tarmac warmup followed by a climb to Roseberry Common, got us to the moors - or rather shouldering bikes up the steps got us to Newton Moor. Percy Cross Rigg afforded us a welcome bit of downhill, after Sleddale, one last climb (believe that and you’ll believe anything) took us over Codhill Heights and eventually to the start of Superchute, which was a little damp but not too bad. Our next trail is called Three Drops and was in excellent condition - a week ago; today it was disastrous, the top surface a thin layer of mud which was like riding on ice. Disappointing, instead of flowing down the trail, we were more like a Wallace And Grommit stop-motion video. The Walker’s Path was better and raised a few smiles by the time we landed on the fire road. The Brant Gate bridleway, down the side of Roseberry Topping was almost as bad as the day me and The Breadlad rode it a couple of weeks ago, we slithered down towards Newton Wood, Dan summing things up by asking if this was called The Porridge Trail. The gravelled trail, Bluebells And Garlic, was more enjoyable, finishing near Cliff Rigg Quarry. Seeing as it isn’t quite half term, the possibility of being embarrassed by pubescents is low, so we ventured into the quarry for a play. The jumps look as though they are on steroids, bigger every time we visit, reaching heights and widths way beyond the limited skill set of blokes on the verge of middle age. By weaving about a bit, we could link some lesser mounds into a sort of course, which passed half an hour for us, sometimes managing as much as three or four inches of air beneath our tyres, maybe not both wheels at the same time but we were having fun. Eventually, the lure of food dragged us back to Great Ayton, where the bakers had the pleasure of our cash today.

Jets And Walkers.

It’s a disappointing start to the ride when you get your days mixed up and pick a start on a day the cafe is closed. We were in Swainby, the Rusty Bike is closed wednesdays and thursdays and it is a wednesday - schoolboy error. Another cold but sunny day, me and The Breadlad made our way upward, ever upward, through Clain Woods, past Sheepwash, along High Lane eventually arriving at Silton Woods for a quick spin on the downhill track, in common with the previous ride at Guisborough, it was greasy and slippery. We rode back to High Lane and pointed ourselves down a few of Rod’s tracks, which were a little better, being more sheltered and it looks as though Rod’s nemesis, The Colonel, has been having a few days off, the trails remarkably free of strategically placed branches. A quick detour into Osmotherley for some post-ride food came next, we eschewed sandwiches in favour of some pasties, which we stashed in our bags ready for the end of the ride. For a cold Wednesday in the middle of February, there were an awful lot of walkers about and jets ripping through the sky like starfighters. The pilots no doubt looking down at us, wishing they could be idling through their days away riding mountain bikes across the moors instead of blasting about at the speed of sound. The Breadlad is threatening to ride three days in a row this week - not quite like us retired folks but it’s a start. With this in mind, we missed out the hill up to Arncliffe Woods, sticking to tarmac back to Scarth Nick, heading for Clain Woods and The Steps Of Doom. Before we reached the steps, a trail was spotted through the trees at the side of the fire road; it would have been rude to ignore it and after a couple of false starts trying to find the beginning of the trail, we made the acquaintance of Fifty Shades Of Brown. Very pleasant it is too, gently flowing down the hillside to the road below Scarth Nick. A short pedal and we are soon back at the cars. Settling down to eat our pasties on a sunny bench beside the stream, we are immediately joined by the local mallard flock, scrabbling around our feet for pastry crumbs from what were probably the worst pasties we’ve ever eaten. The filling was some kind of minced meat, with very few of the traditional pasty vegetables, the texture was coarse and greasy, tasting mainly of uncooked onion. Worse than the time I was late for the Cannibal Society dinner and they gave me the cold shoulder, even the ducks turned their bills up at the filling, although they enjoyed the pastry.

Blowing In The Wind

Sunny, cool, windy, dry. And forecast to be proper windy later, the sort of wind which has roofing and fencing firm owners rubbing their calloused hands together. Our plan was to get round before it appeared. Just me and The Breadlad today - day two of three for him, meeting in the car park at Danby, the wind already significant. In an attempt to avoid North Yorkshire’s mud problem, a route mostly utilising decent (but boring) tracks was agreed on. The wind was mainly behind us we made our way along the Clitherbecks track and up to Danby Beacon, continuing on tarmac for a short while, we then turned off onto the northern section of the Pannierman’s Causeway, which allegedly leads across the moor to the A171 near the Danby turn off. The first part, which I did previously, was really nice, a firm ribbon of peat, carving through the heather, slightly downhill and the added bonus of a firm tailwind. At the lowest point there is a small bridge over a boggy patch, which could really do with being a much larger bridge, as we soon found out, splodging through the sphagnum with water seeping through our 5:10’s. The bridleway splits in two around here, our trail continues due north - on the map at least; on the ground, a faint disturbance through the bog grass which may or may not be a track is all we have. Although it is pretty difficult to be lost when the road you are aiming for is only a few hundred yards away, filled with cars and lorries speeding toward Whitby. A combination of pedalling, pushing and paddling soon saw us at a little used gate and we climbed up to join the road for the worst five minutes of the ride, motorists doing their best to force us into the grass verge. Not without some relief, we turned off onto the minor road which goes to Danby, we could have stayed on the road and been in the cafe in ten minutes, but not hard core dudes like us, we headed straight into the teeth of the wind, riding the full length of Robin Hood’s Butts as the wind attempted to push us backwards. When I say us, of course I mean, me, as my companion’s dubious drafting technique ensured his turn on the front happened less frequently than he arrives on time. The sanctuary of the Shaun The Sheep bus shelter couldn’t arrive fast enough. We enjoyed some relief from the wind while replacing burnt calories before the next leg. Surely a tailwind must occur at some point? Still into the wind, we headed toward Commondale, first on the road, then down the partially paved bridleway which leads to the centre of the village. Turning toward the oddly named Foul Green, the wind became our ally along the bridleway to Box Hall, we passed the resident llamas, who don’t seem to be pining for Peru too much and after crossing the road (us not the llamas), we continued through Danby Park, spying a few sneaky tracks emerging from the trees. Something to check out another time. Usually we stay on the bridleway after Danby Park until it reaches the road just outside Danby but today The Breadlad spotted another track heading down the hillside. Well, why not, it’s headed in the right direction. Apart from a deep gully cutting across the track it was another good find - that’s two new tracks in two days, we’re on a roll, a roll down the hillside and yet again a nice finish to the ride. Obviously not as good as the cafe, which is so sheltered from the wind, we were able to sit outside in the sunshine to eat our sandwiches.

The Rosedale Half Round.

Another decent turn out, even though, once again we have to fetch them in from the industrial wastelands of the frozen north - or Sunderland as some people know it. We were starting at Blakey Bank Top today, high on Blakey Ridge, a long way from anywhere, particularly Sunderland, so we met half an hour later than usual, of course The Breadlad, who lives almost round the corner compared to everyone else, arrived three quarters of an hour later, while we passed the time breaking the ice on the puddles in the car park. The plan was to do the Rosedale Half Round, which is, for the lexicographically challenged, half of the famous Rosedale Round; it begins with a track named on Strava, Aldi Lager Decent (sic) and as a descent it is quite decent, especially for Keith and Charlie, who have never had the pleasure before. From the bottom, a bridleway leads through sheep-filled fields to a minor road which emerges at the bottom of Chimney Bank - the steepest road bank in England, luckily our route heads the opposite way, down not up, into Rosedale Abbey. Of course, we still had to climb to reach the old railway track on Rosedale East side to continue our route, as usual this involved a photo stop at the improbably named Bell End farm, whose original occupant was either unpopular or a member of the cabinet. Further climbing gained the rail track and we rode past the remnants of the ironstone industry, huge kilns and derelict huts, passing long disused junctions until we reached the bridleway which leads to Dale Head Farm tearoom; the path down is steep and recently gravelled, becoming muddy approaching the farm, all good fun until we released we had to come back the same way. The tearoom boasts the finest view of any tearoom in the country, surrounded on three sides by hills, the fourth side has a vista along the Rosedale valley; despite the cool weather we sat outside in the winter sun. Charlie and The Breadlad had rejected mugs in favour of genteel flower-patterned tea cups for their pot of tea and were sitting drinking like a pair of upper-class ladies who lunch, while arguing who was the tallest. Seeing as they both look like the product of a hobbit orgy, there wasn't much in it. The climb back to the rail track was as steep and hard as we expected, mud-filled tyres picked up as much gravel as they could hold, stopping wheels turning, carrying was equally onerous, the extra weight more than noticeable. The remainder of the rail track passed without incident, we turned round the head of the valley into a headwind, gentle compared to the past few days. After some prevarication, our usual extra loop was added on, a quick descent behind The Lion Inn to rejoin another branch of the redundant railway which leads us back to Blakey Bank top and our vehicles. The end of a pretty decent week for February and three days on the trot for The Breadlad - a bit of retirement practice for him.