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.