Mind That Penguin...

The forecast reckoned we’d have a bit of sleet today, naturally this ensured only the most dedicated Terra Trailblazers would be out. Me and king of the wild crap, The Breadlad met in Hutton Village, during a snow shower which was strafing the woods. Making our way up through the woods on fire roads, it soon became apparent the trails were suffering from the constant precipitation of the past few days and our day looked like a fire road blast through the blizzards. Climbing up the steps to Newton Moor, we were hit by a particularly vicious squall. Just as the other day, Newton Moor was a vista of white, not a footprint or tyre track in sight. Can’t think why. We plodded on, eventually reaching Percy Cross Rigg and continuing up Codhill Heights in a face-shredding hail storm, still not a patch on the one a few years ago, at the same spot, which left actual bruises. More snowy fire roads took us to the Concrete Road at the far eastern end of the woods, we spotted a track snaking into the trees which looked as though it may have been an alternative downhill but it turned out to be a dead end and we had to do a bit of bushwhacking to get us back on track. A few patches of slush and ice made the Concrete Road a bit more exciting before we followed the old rail track back to Hutton Village. Another “Who Dares Wins” day.

Daddy Daughter Day

The offspring has returned from Australia for a visit, she arrived in the fine weather we were having a couple of weeks ago, complaining it was still twenty degrees colder than she is used to, which, apparently, is justification for knocking a large hole in the world’s limited gas reserves. Doesn’t she know there’s a war on? The recent plunge in temperature has traumatised her, although not as traumatised as I will be when the gas bill arrives. Anyhow, she managed to find a window in her busy schedule of visiting old friends, eating and drinking to have a few hours on the mountain bikes with her dear old dad. Probably for the first time in twenty years, so I was expecting a day of waiting at the top of hills because as we all know, gym rat fitness isn’t real fitness. Turns out I was wrong and it was her waiting for me at the top of the hills. Lack of confidence on the loose and rocky stuff held her back on the downhills though, so I wasn’t completely humiliated. We set off from Gribdale, which cuts out a fair chunk of climbing and headed straight up to Newton Moor, round the Lonsdale Bowl, down to Sleddale and (again) up Codhill Heights. The snow seems to be having a rest lately but the wind has returned with a vengeance, we could barely stand up on Highcliffe Nab, for some reason Becky was reluctant to linger, comparing it somewhat unfavourably with Bondi Beach where she has been living. I led the way down the gnarly track off the back of Highcliffe Nab and Becky followed, she almost made it too, bailing out at the steep turn around the gorse bush. A trawl around some of the less drenched Guisborough Woods’ trails followed before we trudged up the steps back to Newton Moor. The last time we did these steps together, she would have been about seven years old and I carried her little bike the whole way - she had no such luck today and shouldered her own bike. We retraced our tyre tracks back to Gribdale, around the Lonsdale Bowl and down Fingerbender Bank, finishing with the steep and slippery grass of Andy’s Track, her inner nine year old reappearing as she rode through the deep puddle at the bottom.

New Way - Of Suffering.

Just me and The Breadlad again, at Danby again on what promised to be a reasonable day, bright but windy. Our route was largely undecided as we set off, other than keeping the wind behind us, so we headed for Ainthorpe Rigg, climbing steadily across the moor to reach the lip where the panorama over Fryupdale unfolds. Decision time. The Trough House track would be good today, with a tailwind but the downhill beneath our feet was equally appealing. Normally, to do the Trough House track we would follow a track on the edge of the moor, keeping our height, until it joined the road, which is called New Way, cutting out four hundred feet of climbing. A heretical plan was formed, to do the downhill we were currently at the top of and ride the whole of New Way; hence a few minutes of pure pleasure was followed by thirty minutes of pure agony as we grunted and grimaced up seven hundred vertical feet of tarmac. We reached the gates to the Trough House track at the same time as the rain. The weatherman speak with forked tongue again. The Trough House track was every bit as good as we had anticipated, we were shoved around the twists and turns by a tailwind. At the dip in the middle of the track, The Breadlad suggested we “have a look” at the Glaisdale Corkscrew, one of the few trails on the North York Moors with genuine death potential. Beginning as an innocuous singletrack, steepening towards a precipice over the Fryup valley, it suddenly turns left to avoid going over a cliff and continues, following the cliff edge, steeply downhill, twisting and turning to follow the topography. I’m not sure if we imagined our skills had risen to such a degree that we would be able to ride this, or perhaps maybe the track had been somehow brought down to our standard but neither turned out to be true. Discretion beame the better part of valour and we pushed down to avoid bothering the air ambulance. The rest of the trail is eminently rideable, a grassy roller-coaster along the bottom of the valley, the rain went away to bother somewhere else and we had a superb ride to the road. We didn’t have the energy for a spin around the Yorkshire Cycle Hub track, the thought of battling the wind on the exposed uphill sections was too much for our delicate constitutions and we continued to Stone Beck Gate to take the bridleway through the fields, which was surprisingly dry and even better, nearly all the gates were open and the wind was behind us. An extra loop involving Castleton and Danby Park was proposed but shelved in favour of The Stonehouse Bakery.

"Now That's A Proper Bike..."

As one old biddy said to another, as they passed my bike.

Emerging from the bakers at the end of my ride, two ladies of advanced years were eying up my mud-covered bike. I thought they were going to have a moan about it leaning on the wall or something, when one uttered the words of this title, the other one agreed and they continued along the High Street. Who knows what their criteria may be for not a proper bike. Three hours previously I had left Great Ayton and rode to Kildale, prior to torturing myself with an ascent of the road known on Strava (for reasons I prefer not to dwell on) as Sexy Sheep Bank. It has been a while since I rode up there and it hasn’t become any easier. The first offroad track of the ride took me towards Captain Cook’s Monument, I turned off to ride the trail below Cook’s Crags, which turned out to be a mistake, unless you take a perverted pleasure in splodging through a foetid miasma of evil mud. Emerging somewhat muddier and smellier, I continued to Captain Cook’s Monument, the biting wind ensuring it was a brief visit. I rode a couple of trails to reach the fire road, one of which seems to follow part of the route of the long departed Pipeline, KInky Badger on Strava if you’re interested. Crossing the fire road, I had a quick exploration of the trails above Cockshaw Hill, finding an especially steep and slippery one to take me down to Gribdale. Retracing some of the Daddy Daughter Day route, I climbed up to Guisborough Woods via the Lonsdale Bowl and Percy Cross Rigg, meandering up and down a few trails until I reached Little Roseberry and had some fun descending the hidden trail down the side. The rumbling in my stomach told me it was grub time, a quick descent through Aireyholme Farm and Fletcher’s Farm and I was soon propping my mud-covered bike against the wall outside the bakery.