The First Bit Of February.

 

Sheltering From The Wind.

Honing our skills...

 

February is continuing where January left off, dry, sunny, windy; the wind was predicted to be ramping up to storm force (again) this afternoon, so a cunning plan was hatched to avoid open moorland and stay in the shelter of trees as much as possible. We could spend the day honing our skills (as if they needed it), sessioning tracks like the youngsters. Getting out of the car at Birk Brow, it soon became obvious, this afternoon’s wind had arrived early, unlike The Breadlad, whose eternal struggle crossing from the New Marske time zone to GMT is well documented. We set off from the car park, the lady in the burger van questioning our mental health and turned straight onto the Jenny Frisk road, another example of odd North Yorkshire nomenclature, there was no Jenny to frisk and it wasn’t a road. It may have been a road once, of the green lane nature but our wobbly-headed brethren have reduced it to a collection of vast puddles linked by muddy ruts. Thankfully we didn’t have far to go, soon hitting the Stanghow road, from where we accessed the bridleway into the forest above Margrove Park. Our plan was to ride a few of Old Ralph’s trails, although we had to do a spot of tree clearance in parts, the recent strong winds have given the place a bit of a battering. We rode a trail called Ripper, which took us to the bottom of the woods, before pushing up and doing another trail, Last Anthem. Near the start, we passed through an archway formed by a fallen branch, the trees around were swaying and creaking in the wind, one trunk was split vertically along its whole length, ready to join its companions having a little lie down on the forest floor. Just in case, we stayed upwind, apart from sending The Breadlad through the arch for a photo opportunity. Thirty seconds later we were back at the bottom of the forest, ten minutes of pushing for thirty seconds of pleasure - it’s the story of my life. We rode across the valley, passing the Margrove Ponds and into the woods behind the pub at Slapewath, these, more established trails, were by some quirk of topography, sheltered from the wind and it was more like a spring afternoon than the first day of February. We entertained ourselves on trails old and new, the loam dry beneath our tyres, getting a bit of old man’s air on the jumps, which is the same as normal air but lower and slower.

An awesome double (or is it a gap jump?) has been built by the trail pixies since we were last here, something to aspire to, when we are proper phat air, rad dudes, shredding the gnar and doing some sick hucking. Am I even writing English anymore? I’ve no idea. Hunger and a welcome tailwind pushed us back up Birk Brow, where, despite the brevity of the ride, cheeseburgers could not be ignored. Less than nine miles in length, this ride but almost sixteen hundred feet of ascent. It’s harder than it looks, this messing about in the woods business.

 

Like A Summer's Day...

...to start with.

 

As the title says, Ingleby Greenhow was positively basking in sunshine, blue sky, birds singing, only the occasional gobshite road cyclists pedalling past, communicating with their companions at full volume to spoil the idyll. There was plenty of time to take all this in while waiting for The Breadlad to escape NMT (New Marske Time) and enter the GMT time zone. Our ride was to be a simple up and downer but we threw in an extra loop, just to make things more difficult. Beginning by dragging ourselves up Coleson Banks, which is steeper than the steepest thing in steepland, to reach the Baysdale Abbey road, from where we immediately flung ourselves downhill on the Baysdale Bridleway, which, in common with most of the moors, is drying up nicely, in fine condition today. Unfortunately, it does end at Baysdale Abbey from where, as the song says, the only way is up. Girding our loins with our best girds, we climbed back up the road to join the Cleveland Way track. As we followed this upward, the sky greyed out like an unavailable option and a light drizzle moistened us as though we were delicate flowers which mustn't be over-watered. The summer weather usurped by Mr. Grey Sky, ELO’s less successful follow up single. We plodded on up to Burton Howe, from where our route went, pretty much downhill all the way back to the car, beginning with the Old Coal Road and continuing down Turkey Nab. The trails in the woods near Bank Foot Farm were a nice finish to the ride, pleasantly loamy now the all-encroaching bracken has died back. The proper finish to the ride was, of course, the cafe and the new coffee shop at The Dudley Arms didn’t disappoint, it even has outdoor sheds for filthy mountain bikers to sit, complete with a roof mounted heater for when the sweat begins to get cold.

Wynyard: The Most Expensive Dormitory In Teesside.

The last ride of the week was a local run out with La Mujerita, aiming for the Castle Eden Walkway which may be called Wynyard Woodland Park nowadays, they keep changing the name. It is one of those places where cyclists go when proper mountain biking all seems too much, or they're short of time. It’s a poor substitute for the moors but it does as a leg-stretcher. Our route took us onto a bridleway, which has recently been diverted owing to construction, although it has been left to the individual to find the diversion. All the signs have been removed. This bridleway leads into the housing estate of Wynyard, an aspirational postcode for some Teessiders, especially the type who feel there is some kudos to be gained from living near a footballer. It’s like riding through a film set, I don’t think I have ever been to a more soulless place - and we have listened to our lonely footsteps echoing around Dumfries town centre on a wet Monday night in winter. Wynyard is even more deserted, even in the school holidays there are no kids playing in gardens, or playing anywhere for that matter, a few vans from gardening and cleaning firms are buzzing around the empty streets. Next time we pass through, I’ll round up a few more riders, we can hold hands and have a seance to see if we can contact the living. The rest of our route passes through the grounds of Wynyard Hall, former home of the Marquess Of Londonderry - whatever a marquess might be. Probably some more mediaeval privilege bollocks we’ll be well rid of one day. From here it’s a steady ride home, a spot of lunch and then off to work for one of us. Not me obviously, that particular internment is long past.

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

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