In The Bleak Midwinter

Peter Kaye famously milked a whole routine from misheard song lyrics, he never mentioned hymns but my whole childhood was spent believing the hymn was “In the Greek Midwinter”, which made the references to frosty winds and water like a stone a bit puzzling. Then again, I began my school life in a Catholic establishment, the whole religious people talking bollocks was nothing new to me, so I never questioned it. Anyway, today was without a doubt bleak midwinter as I pulled cautiously into an almost deserted but very icy Clay Bank car park in the middle of a hefty dump of snow. The animated weather map had shown this was to blow over and leave the rest of the day cloudless and sure enough, behind the grey mass lurked a sliver of blue sky. By the time I shouldered the bike up the Carr Ridge steps to Urra Moor, sunlight had flooded the land with brightness and I had miles of virgin snow to leave tyre tracks in. As a change from the mud and slop of Guisborough woods, today was a big sky day, riding across the roof of the North York Moors, passing its highest point at the summit of Urra Moor, using the wide tracks which criss-cross the moors. I made my way to the Incline Top and cut across to the Cleveland Way, not even a footprint marred the surface of the snow. At Burton Howe, I rode down the Old Coal Road in a world of blue and white, towards Armouth Wath heading back towards the Cleveland Way, my drinking tube froze solid yet I didn’t feel cold - only thirsty. Rejoining the Cleveland Way above Kildale, I would normally head for Turkey Nab, or Ingleby Bank as the OS call it, descending to Bank Foot Farm, then following fire roads through Battersby and Greenhow plantations back to Clay Bank. But today, that whole area was in the shade and here I was on the moor top in brilliant sunshine, it would be rude to waste nature's bounty, so I headed upward, eventually rejoining my outward tyre tracks, back across Urra Moor and down the steps I’d so painstakingly slogged upwards a couple of hours earlier. The steps are never an easy ride down, today covered with compacted snow and ice, there were a couple of sections where discretion became the better part of valour in the interests of making it to the bottom with all my limbs pointing in the directions nature intended. Back at the car, coffee and sandwiches waiting for me, the sun was already behind Hasty Bank, putting the car park into shadow while the upper rays illuminated the moor tops with a golden glow. One of those bonus days of perfect winter weather, yet I had only seen about five people all day and only one was a fellow mountain biker.

A Chilled Ride

In more ways than one...

The first ride of the year for La Mujerita, we started with a nice road warm up to get the legs loosened off. Another cold but bright day, we left Great Ayton and rode to Kildale, a little warily because there were plenty of ice patches lurking about the tarmac. From Kildale we continued up Percy Cross Rigg, climbing more steeply until we reached the gate where the tarmac ends. More climbing, on the off road portion of Percy Cross Rigg, tyres dragging through the thin layer of snow. We paused at the WW2 building before hitting what felt like the first downhill of the ride, still on PCR, to the gate at the top of The Unsuitables. The Unsuitables looked very unsuitable today - for walking or riding - the whole width being a sheet of solid ice. We turned left and followed the top track, skirting the edge of Guisborough Woods, crossing Newton Moor until we reached Little Roseberry. What we needed now was a descent route within the capabilities of an occasional mountain biker riding a hardtail, or failing that, an easy push down. The latter being the only realistic option. The trail which goes around the side of Little Roseberry has a few technical sections finishing with a long smooth run out, ice and snow made things a bit more challenging but we made it without calling out the air ambulance. La Mujerita did learn an important lesson however - 5:10 shoes, while great for gripping pedals, are useless for walking on any sort of slippery surface and she spent more time on her backside than the time we went snowboarding. Safely on Roseberry Common, it was a cautious downhill ride all the way back to Great Ayton where, being the gentleman that I am, La Mujerita was introduced to the delights of a Cooplands meal deal. Spoiling her I know but she has put up with my antics for over forty five years now, so she deserves it.

Another Friday Playday

Another brief outing with Miles, who appears to have unretired himself and re-entered the constraints of employment, making The Breadlad look like an amateur in the international travel department, the pair of them raping the planet with enough jet fuel to earn them a kick in the balls each from Greta Thunberg’s petite Swedish foot. The weather continues to be cold and bright, everywhere except Guisborough that is, which has all the light sucked away by a carapace of grey cloud. Miles living close to the woods is an advantage, despite the steep, no warm up start we chose and it wasn’t long before we were sliding down some of the One Man And His Dog trails at the far Eastern end of the woods, looking enviously at the bright sunshine over Teesside. Later we made our way to the top of the woods, pedalling all the way to Highcliffe Nab eventually, with detours to sample the frozen delights of a trail or two on the way. All the tracks are still solid, no suggestion of a thaw just yet and the game of “will the ice break?” as we rode over puddles kept us amused for the journey. It was too cold to hang about on top of Highcliffe and we headed straight down to the fireroad, where we bumped into (not literally) occasional Terra Trailblazer and colleague of The Breadlad, Richie, who was out having a wander about the moors. A quick catch up and me and Miles were off again, following a bit of the old Guisborough Woods red route, until we spotted a new (to us at least) trail heading in our favourite direction - down, which turned quite quickly into steeply down and then “hmm let’s just check this out first...” A steep chute of snow, ice and unconsolidated mud necessitated some inelegant slithering to reach the fire road, not always on the bike in my case. A quick time check revealed we had managed to squander away the thick end of three hours to amass the sort of mileage the average roadie might ride to reach the start of his route. But as the saying goes, it’s about the smiles: not the miles, we’d managed quite a few of the former and who’s ever seen a smiling roadie?