Back To Reality

 

Back On't Moors.

Dry, dusty trails in the blistering heat, the smell of sun cream and burping last night’s San Miguel...Oh wait, that was last week. Now we’re back to reality, grim reality some might say but it is sunny, although somewhat colder than we have been accustomed too for the past week. Me, Rod and Miles met up at Blakey Bank Top car park, eager to begin riding and get out of the wind which is blowing directly from the arctic. I swear it smells of polar bear shit. We made our way, on road and bridleway, to the George Cap Causeway, a partially paved trod across the moors to the head of Fryupdale. Parts are still wetter than a Floridian swamp, which, incidentally, is where king of the jetsetters, The Breadlad, has skived off to for the next fortnight, wrestling alligators and fending off rabid bats. Or maybe not, the only thing he’ll be wrestling with is American portion sizes. After George Gap, Miles found himself being introduced to the Glaisdale Corkscrew, an infamous North York Moors test piece, steep and eroded, where a tumble to the right will be rewarded with a helicopter ride and a few weeks of hospital food.  Some pedestrianism may have been involved on our part. The roller coaster ride through the valley of Fryupdale was enjoyable though, until the part where we had to go up again, which wasn’t quite as much fun but returned us directly to the Trough House track, which we rode to the house, followed by a nice singletrack bridleway to the rail track. Almost flat around the head of Rosedale, we had one last pull up to the Lion Inn, to ride the short but sweet trail down to the other rail track from where it is an easy pedal back to the cars. 

This Time Last Week...

A lone ride around Guisborough Woods, beginning in Great Ayton, the lone ride theme set to continue for the following rides as the diletantes turn their backs on mountain biking to earn a living. Something I have only a vague recollection of, although earn might be too strong a word. Anyway, the wind was cold, the puddles were wet and the mud was sticky, welcome home.

Wet Stuff From The Sky.

Rain was forecast for this afternoon, which reduced the odds of having a companion today from no chance to snowball's chance in Hell. I parked at the Shaun The Sheep bus shelter and shivered my way down the bridleway to Commondale, wishing I’d put my coat on. I continued along the Box Hall bridleway, no llamas today, to the Castleton road. A brief climb up the road brought me to a tempting track of dubious legality leading across a moor, heading in roughly the direction I wanted to go, it would be rude not to. Beginning as a little used quarry track, it turned into some fine, technical singletrack, one section became too vague to follow through heather but I picked it up again on the other side for some more nice riding. Emerging onto more familiar territory, I made my way to the Danby road and along to Clitherbeck Farm, climbing gradually to Danby Beacon. At the beacon, a frigid wind precluded sunbathing and I was soon on my way to Robin Hood’s Butts via another little used bridleway. Approaching Robin Hood’s Butts, an overprotective curlew decided the bloke on the bike was too close to its nest and gave me a few warning swoops, not the most relaxing bit of the ride when something with a beak the size and shape of a scimitar is flying straight at your face. A significant amount of profanity and verbal abuse, which would ruin my chances of being a presenter on Springwatch, did nothing to deter my avian attacker, he (she?) only gave up when I was some distance past.  Robin Hood’s Butts was the same as usual, up, down, up some more, always into a headwind, slightly draggy but the puddles are almost all gone. Bike on car and directly to Birk Brow to replenish those lost calories with a bacon cheeseburger. With perfect timing, just as I picked up the burger from the counter, the first fat drops of rain fell, safely inside the car, burger in one hand, coffee in the other, the heavens opened and someone began throwing buckets of water down onto North Yorkshire.

Back Before The Rain.

Another day of lone riding, a few loops around Swainby and Cod Beck reservoir today, beginning in Swainby. No new trails today, just a few old favourites and one new favourite, Fifty Shades Of Brown. Still windy but a little warmer today. Nothing of any significance happened, in fact, I think I only saw two people the whole ride. Back at the car, I shared my sandwich with the local ducks, who are better than The Ginger One at sniffing out free food. Last mouthful swallowed, once again the first drops of rain began to fall. Perfect timing.

It's A Windy One...

Another day: another lonely schlep around Guisborough Woods, just as well, at least nobody was there to see me tumble into the undergrowth when an errant tree stump leapt into my front wheel. One second I’m riding along a narrow, winding trail through the trees, the next second, laid in a tangled heap of bike, bush and body; judging by the bruise on my left buttock, mere centimetres away from being anally raped by my own saddle. The remainder of the ride was less traumatic, the trails were mostly dry and tree stumps stayed where they ought to be. As usual, hunger forced me off the trails and back to Great Ayton. 

Looping Around Sutton Bank

La Mujerita decided the weather forecast was positive enough for her to venture out on a bicycle today. Because I know how to show a girl a good time, a whole £4.80 was lashed out to park at Sutton Bank visitor centre, so she could be introduced to the new sections and the pump track. The pump track didn’t seem to hold the same appeal for her as it does for us overgrown children, she fell off on the first slope and refused to engage in such foolishness ever again. The remainder of the ride unfolded much more pleasantly, we whipped along the new gravel track to the road, from where we followed a variation on the Blue route, ending up at the quarry section, which has some nice fast singletrack. I waited until she had completed it before telling her this is the section featured on many repeats of the helicopter rescue programme she likes to watch. Rather than stick with the official route, we pushed up the hillside, back to High Barns and followed the escarpment to the self-proclaimed finest view in England. To be fair, it’s not a bad vista, looking down on Gormire Lake, surrounded by trees, the honey sandstone of Whitestonecliffe glowing in the sunlight. The green Cliff Trail takes us pleasantly back to the visitor centre. Seeing as we had only ridden a modest distance, too early for the cafe even by Terra Trailblazer’s standards, we had a couple of spins around the skills loop, rode the first bit of trail again, continued to Dialstone Farm and repeated the Cliff Trail, bringing us to a more respectable dozen miles. A grand day it was too, apart from a reprise of the frigid wind which has been keeping temperatures down to November levels all week.

 

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

Costa Del Sol Capers.

 

Watch the video - click here.

After a hiatus of three long years we finally found ourselves back on the Costa Del Sol for a week with Sierra Cycling Holidays. Well two of us anyway, the Sunderland contingent decided they would rather stay at home and do whatever Sunderland people do when they are not building cars. Hint: it’s not polishing the silverware at the local football club, that particular duster has seen daylight since the early seventies. We did bring some new blood for an introduction to the delights of Fuengirola, in the shape of Howard. Our favourite South African, Shaun, was there too, so we had a nice little team to take on the worst the trails could throw at us. The RyanAir flight arrived too late for us to have an afternoon ride with the other guests, so we had no choice but to sit in the sunshine, drink beer and wait for Sunday morning when we could be let loose in the local sierra. 

Day One. Sunday 8th May.

22.78 miles. 1,463 feet ascent. 3,448 feet descent.

Following the usual magnificent breakfast, courtesy of Mary and Carmen, the four of us faffed with bikes before loading up the van and heading for the hills. Climbing up though the pueblo blanco of Mijas, the van continued in an upwards direction  - unfortunately, just not quite high enough because it came to a halt beside a huge abandoned quarry. A sight to strike terror into us regulars, Howard unaware of what lay ahead. This is the Helipad Start, 300 feet of ascent in just over half a mile, steep, loose and rocky, Keith’s nemesis as he always manages to spin out on some of the rubble which passes for a track in these parts. Surprise, surprise, as Cilla might have said, lots of the loose rock has been removed, the track is still steep but a lot easier to ride. We regrouped at the plateau, getting our breath back in the shade from a handy tree; from the plateau there are three options, two flat , one uphill - yep you’ve guessed it, up we went, panting to a second junction of tracks with another shady tree. After padding up, like the gnarly dudes we are, we were straight into our first trail, The Chain Ride, a typically Spanish downhill trail of loose rock, vegetation and magnificent vistas led to a short hike-a-bike section over rocks and a scramble down a rock slab using the nominative chain.

Back on bikes, we made it down the remainder of the trail before making our way into more familiar territory - Alhaurin Woods, dry loam, shade and rocks, the odd gully, all heading in the direction of one of Sierra’s favourite lunch stops - the BP. Petrol station that is. But what a restaurant, not a Ginster’s in sight, just a splendid selection of Spanish goodies. We all opted for local speciality, serranitos, a baguette filled with Iberico ham, roasted green peppers, aioli and chicken or pork fillet. Washed down with energy giving Fanta Limon. Our route back to Fuengirola is through an area known as Voltacado, one of the regular routes back into town, a varied trail utilising everything from minor roads, dirt tracks, rocky chutes and a dried up riverbed. Tom, our youthful and far too energetic guide, demonstrated his rubber saving technique of rarely having both wheels, or even any wheels on the ground, he was like a cycling version of Tigger from Winnie The Pooh, we followed in his wake like the bear, the piglet and the donkey. The dry riverbed became a wet riverbed, which we followed to the sea, riding across the bridge into Fuengirola and a well earned beer from the fridge in our house (all included in the price). Day one over, all limbs intact, a good start to the week.

Day Two. Monday 9th May.

18.12 miles. 531 feet ascent, 4,212 feet descent.

Today we were off to sample the enduro tracks near the village of Ojen, high in the hills behind Marbella, new territory to my companions but I had been here in November 2019,  when we had pedalled up the road several times to ride each of the sections. This time the van was used for uplifts, making it a much more amenable day, especially for the naturally bone-idle rider, like myself. The sections at Ojen run through woods and are more sandy than the higher mountains with not as much loose rock, there are a few test pieces which can be sessioned, boulders, steep chutes and gnarly rock drops. After several runs we reached the car park for the last time, loaded the bikes into the van and headed through the hills to the lower half of the SRAM test track, apparently known as Steve Peat’s Younger Brother. Even the best of us probably rode the track significantly slower than the test riders and one person in particular may have been moving like an especially tired sloth but I was having fun. The track, apart from one section of large drops, wasn’t as hard as I imagined and I made it to the bottom relatively unscathed.

We rode into Mijas for a late lunch, half chicken and chips for the ridiculously low price of 6.90 euros, £5.84 in sterling, cheaper than some sandwiches in the UK. Stomach filled to bursting point, we climbed back on the bikes and headed for Mijas BMX track, where Tom once again demonstrated his on/off relationship with gravity. If old Isaac Newton had been watching Tom sailing through the air instead of apples falling from trees, the universal theory of gravity might never have been published, gravity would never have been invented and we’d all be able to fly. Although keeping your breakfast on the plate might be a problem. Our attempts to emulate Tom were less than successful and it wasn’t long before we embarked on the descent to sea level, this time San Anton which uses fire roads and singletrack to return us to Fuengirola, passing, en route, through a frisbee golf course, who knew such a thing even existed?

Day Three. Tuesday 10th May.

12.37 miles. 1,905 feet ascent. 3,704 feet descent.

Another day: another helipad start to open the lungs and get the legs firing away. Luckily it was only to the plateau today, where we regrouped, our usual quartet, me, Rod, Howard and Shaun (his last day), plus our guide, Jumping Tom Flash. Alexis joined us for the day too, cruising up the climb on his electric bike while us analog relics puffed and panted, or some of us anyway. From the plateau, a welcome fire road descent took us to a trail known as Digglers, one we tried five years ago, a steep plummet through trees and assorted vegetation, on (yes, you’ve guessed it) a loose and rocky track with a few spicy drop offs thrown in to keep complacency at bay. Five years ago Digglers gave us a good spanking and sent us home with our metaphorical tails between our legs; this year (for me at least) things were marginally better, only resorting to pedestrianism on three or four occasions. Probably my new knee and elbow pads lulling me into a false sense of competence. After Digglers we rode through the forest a while, ascending to ride some of the Three Amigos trails, seeming almost like flow trails after Digglers. This was followed by menu del día at a local venta, after lunch a kind man in van transported us to the top of the next trails, which were Happy Days and some variants, more forest riding, this time with gap jumps and drop offs, the hardest bit being the start, a chute of rock rubble leading from the road to the trail. Another uplift took us to a similar trail which eventually led us into the town of Alhaurin de la Torre, where Alan was waiting to transport us back to Fuengirola in the van. 

Day Four. Wednesday 11th May.

12.94 miles. 1,557 feet ascent, 4,600 feet descent.

Today our quartet became a trio. Shaun was returning to his real life in that there London, to eat jellied eels with a pearly king and queen, watch Wimbledon and do whatever else it is they do in the capital. He stood forlorn, waving us goodbye as we set off in the van for another adventure. Malaga Bike park day today, not a bike park in the accepted sense, no carefully groomed pistes or signposted trails with graded elf and safety coloured warnings, just an awful lot of trails in a small area, so convoluted was our route I can’t even begin to attempt a description, suffice to say we pretty much covered every type of riding, from sun-baked fire roads to steep and loose switchbacks, even a bit of wall riding in a concrete tunnel. Tom’s masterclass on jumping was wasted on us, Gary Glitter gets more airtime than we do. Alexis joined us for the morning before resuming uplift duties during the second part of the day. We had a grand day’s riding on varied trails; at the end of the last run, Alexis and the van were waiting for us at a bar, a bar which sold pints of lovely cold beer to hot and dusty mountain bikers, parched from a full day under the cruel Andalusian sun. Like John Mills in Ice Cold In Alex, our cracked lips and dehydrated bodies savoured those first mouthfuls, revitalising our organs, giving us the necessary strength to order another round.

Day Five. Thursday 12th May.

18.5 miles, 2,214 feet ascent. 4,390 feet descent.

Apparently guides need an occasional rest day in their busy schedules and our very own bouncy boy abandoned us in favour of rest and relaxation. Clive drew the short straw and found himself lumbered with the power trio for the whole day, although it must be said we’re on day five now and the power might be waning. In contrast to Tom, Clive is a wheels on the floor kind of guy, who never once felt the need to launch into the air. Our first trail of the day is another Sierra classic, Anna’s Trail, somehow we had never ridden this trail before, a mellow singletrack snaking gently down a wooded hillside, the least rocky trail we had done all week, a nice cruise but we were glad when an alternative, more technical finish, appeared for us to stumble down in our own inimitable style. Back in the more familiar territory of Alhuiran Woods, the bikes found their way to the BP garage lunch stop without much help from us. More serranitos in the sunshine before the van reappeared, complete with Alexis and the new guys, another group of three, on their first visit to Sierra Cycling. The van took us to Mijas, from where a brief climb on tarmac brought us to the start of Quarter Telecom, one of the three routes down from the communications towers which are visible for miles around, high on a mountain top above the Costa Del Sol. The new guys quickly found the difference between English riding and Spanish riding, soon learning to be especially cautious with the back brake. Another descent of San Anton followed with Alexis and Clive pointing out all the select detours; the steep drops and technical singletracks, finishing along the Paseo Maritimo, or the prom, as we would call it. A couple of miles along the seafront in the afternoon sunshine, with a fridge full of cold beer waiting for us at home; can there be a better way to end a ride?

Day Six. Friday 13th May.

15.61 miles. 656 feet ascent. 4,544 feet descent.

Hard to believe but the final day is here already, six days have gone by like a timelapse video of loose rock, spiky bushes, dust, heat, beer, loading the van, bruises and banter. Tom returned, looking suitably refreshed from his day off, ready to push our limits for one more day. For the third time this week, the van pulled into the helipad car park but (phew) only to let the new guys out, they had that particular pleasure all to themselves, while we headed toward Benalmadena and a route called The Lobo, Alexis took us as high as possible in the van, leaving us to climb the last mile or so of the loose, quarry track under our own steam. Eventually we reached the mirador de la cañada del lobo, the viewpoint of the wolf’s glen, a life size wolf statue let us know we were in the right place. We didn’t see any wolf glens but the views were magnificent, along the coast to Malaga and beyond to the Sierra Nevada. Scenery gazed at, pads and helmets donned, GoPro’s on and away down the trail we went, another typical high mountain descent, loose gravel on a bed of sand, spiky bushes and sphincter-clenching exposure. Things mellowed lower down as the trail became wooded, a superb bermed section at one point showed us the Spanish also have trail pixies who come out when no-one is looking and make things even more awesome.

Alexis and the van were waiting for us at the end of the trail, ready to whisk us skyward, up the road to the telecom towers, over 3,000 feet above sea level, another magnificent vista along the coast. Full Telecom came first, me and Rod did this route three years ago, the riding isn’t particularly technical but the exposure was a bit unnerving, especially for Charlie, who had to sit down and give himself a talking to. It didn't feel too bad this year, mostly because the bushes at the side of the trail have flourished, blocking the view. As if a few millimetres of spiky twigs is going to prevent you plummeting over the edge and getting your best ever airtime. Definitely a two Elastoplast fall. Sooner than I expected, we were back at the road, pedalling briefly upwards until we reached the drop in for Half Telecom. A sandy start led us to an exposed track of loose rock, a few less bushes but essentially a reprise of what came before. And no worse for that. Deciding to have a very late lunch, we went straight from the end of Half Telecom into the San Anton descent back to Fuengirola, our last time for this trip. We ended the ride with a perfect combination of beer, tapas and sunshine, refusing to play the “this time tomorrow” game. 

And that was it, six days on the trot, every one a gem. Spain tested us, challenged us and quite often defeated us, discretion being the better part of valour and all that, especially for three blokes on the verge of middle-age. We rode mainly red and black graded trails but there are trail options to suit every type of rider. Another great holiday, all made possible by Alexis, Alan and the rest of the team at Sierra Cycling, surely the best value for money cycling trip on the planet. The final scores are in: 

Miles rode: 100.32

Feet ascended 8,326

Feet descended 24,898

My shonky maths reckons that is a three to one ratio of descending to ascending - if Carlsberg made holidays...