Storming Through February. Terra Trailblazers, North Yorkshire, 2022.

Too many words? Video here.

If there’s one thing February 2022 will be remembered for, (apart from the incipient third world war precipitated by a bellicose ballbag with a nuclear arsenal at his fingertips) it will be wind. Three named storms in one week, the rest of the time the wind was content to hover around the forty miles per hour mark. Fifteen rides were ridden, alternately battling against gusts or being pushed along by the power of nature; we even squeezed in a trip to Whinlatter for a bit of Lake District action - a grand day it was too.

Taking The Long Way Home.

It’s car service time again, as usual I took my bike to ride home from the garage, which is somewhere on the far side of Middlesbrough, a pleasant ride along the Tees for most of the way. Leaving the garage things were not as pleasant as I would have liked, rain was falling from a leaden sky, chivvied along by a gusty wind. By the time I had pedalled the short distance to the Riverside Stadium, home of a local football team, things were improving, some blue sky visible through gaps in the clouds, rain easing and it was becoming almost springlike. I carried on to the Transporter bridge, still unfortunately awaiting funding for repairs - I wish they would hurry up, using it knocks a fair chunk off this journey, where I paused for a picture or two. Further along, at Teesaurus Park, home to a collection of metal dinosaurs and formerly, a colony of glue-sniffers who appear to have followed real dinosaurs down the path of extinction, as they haven’t been spotted for a while, a path cuts through to the riverbank, joining a gravel track following the south bank of the river upstream. By now the sun had got his hat on and came out to play. At Newport Bridge, I could have left the river behind and headed directly home but it seemed to be too nice a day to waste, so I continued along the cycle track towards the Tees Barrage. At Maze Park, beside the cycle path, there are a pair of small hills, which I had never ascended, today was just the day to put that right. Despite their relatively low height, the view from the summit of the largest hill is quite nice, the ponds and reeds of Portrack Marshes to to the immediate north, backed by the CF Fertilisers chemical plant, Tees bridges to the east and west, to the south a railway marshalling yard filled with graffiti-covered trains and the site of the former racecourse, Teesside Park, now a shopping centre. The ride down the other side was steeper than expected, a bit of excitement in a thrill-free ride. I continued my merry way, passing the Tees Barrage, fully open following some heavy rain, thousands of tonnes of brown water pouring over the weirs and into the tidal section of the river. After crossing the river via the Millenium bridge, I rode downstream, along the opposite bank back to Newport Bridge, where a singletrack follows Billingham Beck for a short while before turning to head towards Portrack, apart from the broken glass and graffiti beneath the A19 flyover, it could almost be in the genuine countryside, a thin ribbon of hardened soil between Portrack Marshes and the back of an industrial estate. Only cycle tracks left now, I chose the most direct, hunger, as usual, was the catalyst driving me towards home but it had been an enjoyable ride after an unpromising start.

Whipping Round Whinlatter

We managed to rustle up a small team to enjoy the delights of the Lake District’s premier trail centre, me and Simon T. met Charlie and Keith in the car park on a surprisingly delightful day, blue sky, sunshine, light winds. What is going on? We’re not used to this type of weather; especially in Cumbria. Our usual format of blue route, red route north, then red route south was followed. The trails hold up well to the weather, only numerous puddles to remind us we are in the wettest place in England. Should have had the sense to put a mudguard on really. Just after the first section of the blue route, Charlie suffered a mechanical, his gear cable had frayed to the stage where it was thinner than The Ginger One’s hair and had retired itself from derailleur operation. He was dispatched to the on-site bike shop in search of a new cable, while we continued on the blue trail, Quercus I believe it is called. For an easy route, there is a fair amount of climbing, as a few families were finding out, parents trying desperately to keep their offspring in sight, kids romping up the trail while the older generation began to have regrets about the temptation of the after-work settee. We caught up with Charlie again in the car park, traumatised from being charged eight quid for a gear cable - which he still had to fit himself. For that price It ought to be titanium with a gold end cap and come in a presentation box tied with a bow, some chocolates and a naked photo of your favourite cyclist. However, he was back on the chain gang as we embarked on the north loop of the red Altura trail. No surprises on the route, plenty of puddles though and as always the highlight is the finishing sections, Big Dipper and Grand National , perhaps it should be called simply Big And Grand because that’s what it is, a massively bermed zig zag track, going from forest to open fellside and back again several times until you arrive at the road grinning like a baboon who has just discovered the fun to be had throwing shit at zoo visitors. Straight into the south loop, the first section was closed owing to forestry work, we were diverted via a fire road to the start of the first zig zag climb. We will be using the diversion in the future, it cuts out a boring uphill section through forest which only features one small downhill bit in its whole length.The south loop is essentially up, up some more, a rest at a landing, then more up until the summit of a small fell is reached, or retched depending on how hard you’ve been trying on the ascent. A breather at the top for those who need it, which is everyone and then it’s pretty much downhill all the way to the cafe. An increase in exposed bedrock, isn’t that where The Flintstones live? Bedrock exposed!!! What Fred and WIlma really get up to with Barney and Betty when the cameras are turned off. Oops, I might have digressed a little there; that could be a disturbing insight into how my mind works. I can only apologise. The exposed bedrock means the top section has been regraded from red to black, in truth, it doesn't feel any more difficult and we were soon down at the landing, where the route becomes red graded again, this is the most awesome section of the trail centre, flowing down the exposed fellside, continuing into the shady forest until a fire road signals the end of the fun. There are another couple of short bits but they were diverted today, so it was directly back to the cafe for some much appreciated food.

Fifty Shades Of Grim

The last day of February dawned like the last day of earth, dull, wet, grey and decidedly uninspiring. Perusal of the weather forecast indicated a weather window between ten am and two pm. Easily enough time for me and La Mujerita to polish off her favourite ride, the one which goes from Square Corner, around Cod Beck reservoir, up to Scarth Wood Moor, back to Sheepwash before climbing back to Square Corner. On a day such as this, Square Corner is the epitome of existential bleakness, always cold and windy, no matter what the weather is elsewhere, today it was like a metaphor for purgatory in some seventeenth century Christian allegory. However, all this was forgotten as we rode down the road towards Chequers, helped along by a damp tail wind. Chequers was an ancient drovers’ inn, now well known for being where Paul Whitehouse and Bob Mortimer stayed during one of their Gone Fishing Christmas specials and were serenaded on the doorstep by the cast of the Only Fools And Horses Musical. A distinct lack of television personalities today as we cruised by, pedalling onto High Lane, passing the bushes where North Yorkshire personality, Budgie-Smuggler Man, can usually be found in his camping chair in more clement weather. High Lane took us all the way to the ford at Sheepwash, which La Mujerita rode through without hesitation - she must have been at the breakfast gin again. A short ride along the road beside the reservoir and then we were climbing the steep tarmac up Beacon Hill to Scarth Wood Moor, a private road which passes a couple of farms, terminating at the collection of antennas, which was always known as the Table And Chairs when I was young. A paved path heads down Scarth Wood Moor, never too steep but always fun, especially on a day like today when we had it to ourselves. All too soon we were back at the road and making our way toward the reservoir again, this time utilising one of the bankside tracks to reach the dam at the southern end. Crossing the dam, we rode into the woods and began the ascent to High Lane, from where a drizzling headwind harried us all the way back to Square Corner. No pleasant picnic in the sunshine today, bikes on roof and straight down to Swainby for the Rusty Bike cafe.