Getting About A Bit.

Tuesday Tree Swerving.

It does appear I have settled into a routine of long weekends off the bike, my week starts on a Tuesday now - or it does until someone wants to go riding on a Monday anyway. An unseasonably chilly June morning and we’re at Great Ayton (when I say we, I mean me and the bike). Great Ayton is the default “Can’t think of anywhere else to go” place for me. And it came to pass, as they say in God’s big book of mistranslated mythology, I was soon slogging up to Roseberry Common, ready to sample the delights of Guisborough Woods for the umpteenth time this year. Some old trails, a bit of trail exploration, led to a new trail, the usual uphill and down dale sort of scrounge about. I made my way to the summit of Highcliffe Nab and down the other side, heading for a descent of Codhill Heights, people-free today so the brakes got a bit of time off. Around the Lonsdale Bowl, Fingerbender Bank and Andy’s track finished the ride quite nicely, cold but sunny still, it would have been a perfect February day, shame it’s the first week of June.

Afternoon Exploration

Venturing to the wild West of England for a few days in a caravan with The Breadlad. We had a bit of a late start, so decided to check out an exceedingly local route I had hastily cobbled together the previous evening. Adjacent to the caravan site, in the valley of St. John’s In The Vale are conjoined hills, named with stunning originality, High Rigg and Low Rigg. In the interests of energy conservation, we went around the high one and across the low one. Almost all new territory to us both, apart from one section of nauseating steepness which I had rode previously on a Lakeland Monster Miles event. Our first bridleway, running parallel with the road to Thirlmere is a typical Lakeland mix of rocks and grass, well-defined but seemingly little used, mainly downhill with fine views along the valley to Castle Rock Of Triermain which stands like a sentinel at the southern end of the valley. Rather unfairly, the bridleway turns to footpath and we are funnelled onto the road via an ancient packhorse bridge. A bit of tarmac riding followed, taking us across the dam across the end of Thirlmere before we headed to Shoulthwaite on a wide forest road. Recrossing the A591 at Rough How Bridge, a bridleway led us around the western side of High Rigg, undulating until we reached the aforementioned climb, mercifully short but steep and loose. Some panting may have occurred. At the youth centre which lies between the two fells, we took a track over Low Rigg to Tewet Tarn, a steepish climb followed by a nice, moorland descent to the network of minor roads which all lead to Threlkeld. The Breadlad suddenly found an extra shot of energy and pointed his bike up the Old Coach Road, in search of a track a local lad had told him about. This involved ascending the scree slope track we usually descend, looking for “a flat bit near a quarry”. Quarries were easy to find, flat bits less so, so when the first flat bit presented itself, we followed it to a trail. It turns out we ought to have climbed higher to do the full trail but the portion we rode has potential - if it ever dries up. Our relatively clean bikes and bodies soon became unclean, splattered with mud and stinking ordure as we slithered down the hillside heading for the caravan site. And that was our first ride over, a nice little local ride for The Breadlad to have a spin round when he is visiting.

Hodge Close Revisited

We woke to another morning of excessive wind, grey clouds, incipient rain and the chill of a dank day in November. It’s a shame we’re approaching the middle of flaming June. British summer seems to be on hold for a while. Our plan today is to head south for a ride around the area between Ambleside and Coniston, so with bikes on the roof rack, we headed down the A591, aiming to begin the ride somewhere near Rydal. First we had to find a parking space, there were plenty in the car parks but we, like most other people by the look of it, refused to pay the price of a decent pub lunch just to stop on some gravel for a few hours. A spacious layby was the answer, even if it did mean risking life and limb riding a mile and a half along the busy road. After crossing the river Rothay at the southern end of Rydal Water, a much quieter road took us to our first climb of the day, passing Brow Head Farm before levelling out to become a pleasantly rocky bridleway across the southern flank of Loughrigg Fell. We dropped down to a road and made our way to Skelwith Bridge, from where a long, steady tarmac climb brought us to the Iron Keld bridleway. The climb up to Iron Keld is also long but definitely not steady and we were forced to sink to the depths of pedestrianism for a few sections. It was worth it for the descent though, proper Lakes riding, rocky and loose. Exhilarated, we crossed the road and began climbing to reach the plateau around Hodge Close Quarry, venue for many climbing adventures over the years for one of us and still an impressive sight, two hundred foot high cliffs dropping into an enclosed lake, the result of flooding the quarry after work had finished. Slate singing under our wheels, we descended a track through the spoil heaps and picked up the bridleway to Little Langdale, pausing to look in another of my old climbing haunts, Cathedral Quarry, taking our bikes along rock passages to airy caverns. Back on route, we were pleasantly surprised to find the bridleway between Little Langdale and Elterwater is predominantly downhill, our favourite sort of gravity. We had our favourite sort of snack stop in Elterwater, three letters, begins with P, ends with B; necessary calories for the next hill. The youth hostel is a welcome sight, not because we are youths but it means the climbing is over, from here it really is downhill all the way, beginning on tarmac and finishing on Loughrigg Terrace. Cutting across Loughrigg Fell, between the lakes of Grasmere and Rydal Water, the terrace is a white line of pure pleasure heading downward, quiet today, barely a walker in sight, which meant we weren’t treated like Jimmy Savile and Gary Glitter turning up at a five year old’s birthday party. A drop down to the river revealed a footbridge and a track which, by pure luck, emerged opposite the car. A grand ride, the sun even managed to put in an appearance, pushing the threatening clouds away for a while.

High Cup In A Hoolie.

Something a bit different today, a repeat of the High Cup Nick ride me and The Breadlad did back in March, when the weather was, quite frankly, much better. Last night was practically a storm, the caravan buffeted by wind and lashed with the sort of rain that disturbs slumbers. This morning is drier but the wind, as the saying goes, is blowing a hoolie. We met Rod and Andy T. at Dufton and took a back road to the village of Murton where the hard work begins, hundreds of feet of ascent on a wide, gravel track, luckily with some wind assistance leads to some more ascending on a grassy track across a moor. Back in March, the grass was dry and springy; today it was like riding over a wet sponge. Eventually we were riding high above the impressive gorge of High Cup Nick, slightly technical singletrack leading us down to the scrappy cliffs at the head of the valley. The wind was being funnelled directly at us but hitting the cliffs and going straight upwards, giving a few minutes of relative calm while we snacked and took pictures. The unseasonable cold precluded lounging about and we pedalled, not without some difficulty, along the opposite side of the gorge, into a gusty headwind which pushed bodies and bikes about like flotsam. A few rocky undulations and we arrived at the highlight of the ride - the downhill back to Dufton. But first Rod had to deal with the puncture he had picked up hurtling like a teenager down the previous rocky section. The remainder of the downhill passed in a blur of eye-watering wind, rocks and drops, loose gravel and a practical exploration of the relationship between fear and pleasure. All to do with the central amygdala apparently, a region of the brain named after its walnut shape; seeing as our brains are probably only the size of walnuts, we just went as fast as our cajones would let us. What seemed like seconds later, we were back on the main street in Dufton, the culmination of three days’ awesome riding.

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

Two Out Of Three Ain't Bad.

 

Está Lloviendo A Cántaros

In Spain it doesn’t rain cats and dogs, it rains jugs, jugfuls of water pouring out of the sky, which describes exactly what we had today. It started well, setting off from Miles’ house in Guisborough, we climbed up through the woods, under grey skies but no hint of the forecast rain. After crossing Newton Moor, we dropped down Andy’s Track to Gribdale and slogged up the fire road to Captain Cook’s Monument. Even though it is the last day of May, basking in summer sunshine is not an option today, so our visit was brief. The trails are still damp from yesterday’s downpours, the treachery of the wet root made itself apparent on more than one occasion, we were on the ‘new’ version of Pipeline when it began to rain. Under the trees it stayed fairly dry, at the end of the trail we sheltered for a while before realising this was no brief shower. Reluctantly we ventured out from our leafy umbrella, the rain had eased slightly, from torrential to just downpour. A couple more trails were ridden, heading down the hill toward Gribdale one of those serendipitous moments we love occurred. A new trail cut across the fire road, it would have been rude not to take a look, so we pushed up to the start and rode back down. Some of the features are a little out of our league but we convinced ourselves they would be okay when the trail is dry; naturally, when the trail is dry, we’ll come up with other excuses. From Gribdale, we climbed back over the moors to Highcliffe, the rain occasionally turning to hailstones for a bit of variation. We couldn’t have been any wetter, despite ‘waterproof’ clothing. Regardless, we squelched down another few trails, slippery mud and frictionless tree roots adding to the fun until we arrived back in Miles’ street, completely bedraggled but perversely happy.

70 Years Ago Today...

Video from Miles - click here.

The rain is behind us, a long way behind I hope and the sun is actually making an attempt at warming things up. Today is the first day of a four day holiday weekend to commemorate the platinum anniversary of the crowning of our unelected leader. While most of her subjects took to the streets in an orgy of Union Jack bunting and patriotic fervour, we shirked our forelock tugging duties and went mountain biking instead. An actual crew out today as well: Superbri because it is half term, The Youth making his annual appearance because it is a Bank Holiday, The Breadlad, newly returned from his jet setting and Miles, just because he can. It was a grand day for a ride, sunshine and banter in equal proportions, nothing too arduous trail-wise. Danby Beacon was being prepared for a light up tonight, when the whole chain of beacons around the country is to be ignited. From the beacon, we headed for Robin Hood’s Butts, via a bridleway, which begins as some excellent narrow single track through heather before petering out into unrideable grass tussocks and bog. Strange how it just stops in the middle of nowhere; unlike us who shouldered bikes and kept going. Robin Hood's Butts came and went, still the odd puddle here and there, we regrouped at the Shaun The Sheep bus shelter on the corner of the Commondale road, before making for Commondale utilising a partially flagged bridleway, which is a great descent unfortunately spoiled by gates. A quick spin along the Box Hall bridleway took us to the Castleton Road and my newly discovered T.O.D.L. ( track of dubious legality), starting as a quarry access track, it turns to rocky single track, gets a bit vague through a heather patch before reverting to rocky single track. A deep gully bisects the heather patch, some people thought they could forge an exciting route utilising the gully, they thought wrong but we were treated to a display of somersaulting from Miles and SuperBri which wouldn’t have disgraced the Olympic gymnastics team. If Tonga had an Olympic gymnastics team. From the end of the track we rode toward Danby Park and continued on the short but sweet trail me and The Breadlad discovered some weeks ago. After which all roads lead to the cafe, where we lounged on the grass outside, replenishing our vitamin D levels in the afternoon sunshine.

Friday Fun In The Sun.

The Bank Holiday continues and so does the sunshine but it was a much depleted team who gathered in Clay Bank car park this morning. Just me, SuperBri and (eventually) The Breadlad, we can’t complain, he was early yesterday by a whole forty five seconds. An old favourite route was on the agenda today, the Stump Cross Descent, or as we know it, The John Deere Descent, named after The Pensioner because he just went on and on, like a smokey old tractor, followed by Blowjob Woods, not named after The Pensioner but by him. A corruption of the proper name - Bloworth Woods. But first we climb, all the way to the highest point of the North York Moors before dropping down on a loose, rocky track reminiscent of Spain, past the Badger Stone from where a short climb leads us to a bridleway high above the remote valley of Bransdale. We paused at Stump Cross, which is genuinely a stump of a cross, prior to blasting along the narrow, singletrack bridleway opposite. Of course, blasting along is a subjective phrase and observers may have been inclined to describe our progress as mincing along but in our minds we were shredding the gnar. Narrow, rocky, steep in sections, it finishes with a drop down a shale gully to the road. A North York Moors classic. We headed into the woods, which aren’t really woods anymore, since the trees were harvested, following a deteriorating fire road which looks as though it has seen more landslips than an earthquake zone, climbing around the head of a short valley and continuing upward. Eventually we gained a high track which leads back across the moors to Cockayne Head, easy riding on broad sandy tracks took us back to the uphill section we had begun the ride with. The route back to the car park warranted a brief discussion of the options, the Carr Ridge steps won and away we went, bouncing down the steep rock steps all the way to the road. Back in Clay Bank car park, a mobile coffee seller has set up business and we partook of a rather tasty espresso before getting tucked into our tailgate picnic.

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