Suspiciously Dry.

 

The Coat Stayed In The Car.

If The Pensioner were still alive he would be viewing this late spring heatwave with more than a little suspicion, his naturally pessimistic nature would have hypothesised forces of cosmic retribution would make us pay for our pleasure by bestowing a “totally shit summer.” He never looked a gift horse in the mouth when he could stick his head straight down its throat. So confident was I of a day with zero precipitation, the coat stayed in the car as I rode away from an unusually quiet Birk Brow car park. A closed carriageway on the bank was being managed by a painfully slow traffic light controlled contraflow, obviously those in the know were simply avoiding the area. I managed to ride to Lockwood Beck on the road before a single car passed me. I turned off toward Moorsholm, later crossing the A171 and taking a farm road to Dimmingdale Farm, passing Freeborough Hill, where legend has it, King Arthur and his knights lie sleeping, ready to rise in England's hour of need. We’ll see how eager they are when Russia or China decide to bring us into line. The bridle way from Dimmingdale Farm to the start of Robin Hood’s Butts managed a few boggy patches but I still managed a no-dabs ascent. A quick blast along the Castleton road, then I turned off onto a track of dubious legality, which is an interesting alternative to Danby Park, bringing me out at the tail end of the Pannierman’s Causeway, above Danby. A brief road climb took me to the other end of Robin Hood’s Butts, which I pedalled back to famous North York Moors landmark, the Shaun The Sheep bus shelter. Obligatory pictures taken, I prepared to battle the Quaker’s Causeway, a roughly paved path across the moor, which turns many riders buttocks to jelly. I don’t mind it at all but some of my erstwhile companions, those who cycle so irregularly their arses are like unbaked bagels, seem to think it is akin to the morning after sharing a cell with Big Bad Benny, The Beast Of B Wing. Anyway, it was fine and dry, the speediest way to cross an open heather moor without resorting to tarmac. It wasn’t long before I was replenishing calories with the tastiest cheeseburger this side of Philadelphia. 

The Coat Stayed In The House.

The forecast is so good, the coat stayed at home, missing out on a trip to Swainby and a scrounge about the hills in the sunshine. It was a fairly standard route, beginning with the Clain Woods walk of shame, up the steps on the Cleveland Way, eventually meeting the road at the top of Scarth Nick bank, over the ford at Sheepwash, up onto High Lane, followed by more climbing to Square Corner and Silton Woods. Only a single car parked at Square Corner, very odd on a day like this. Managed a pleasant hour or so on a few of Silton Woods’ finest trails, all drying up nicely, you’ll be glad to hear. I reversed my outbound route, with a small diversion onto Scarth Wood Moor for photographs (selfies obviously, there seems to be an epidemic of MTB phobia happening currently) and a nice downhill. I finished my route with a classic downhill in Clain Woods, if you know; you know. A tarmac run back to Swainby was all that remained, precursor to a little picnic by the river.

Staying Dry And Warm.

Another dry one, despite the threatening clouds and another Great Ayton start. Squeezed in a few tarmac miles to check out the deer herd in a field near Kildale, continuing to New Row and a slog up the Yellowbrick Road onto Percy Cross Rigg.  Up and over the hill to reach the Unsuitables gate and straight into a route called The Forgotten Path - turns out I’d forgotten it is quite hard for a useless old bloke like me. A fair few routes followed, all drying up quite nicely but some so rutted it was like being on a Scalextric track, a legacy from many wet weeks, I guess. Gradually making my way along the woods towards Roseberry Topping was how I passed my day away and what a way to spend it, third ride in a row, dry trails, sunshine, windless. Retirement is heartily recommended. The Brant Gate bridleway, dropping down to Newton Wood was in tip top condition, drier than... No, I’m not going to lower myself to jokes about the private parts of nuns. I am so naive. I saw my first porn film last week, couldn’t believe how young I looked. The bridleway continues through Newton Woods, bluebells and garlic amongst the trees finishing close to Cliff Rigg Quarry, where young people congregate to fly through the air with the greatest of ease. I should have called in to get a bit of practice before next week’s half term holiday; when the kids are off school the chance of embarrassment is too great but the lure of pastry and meat concoctions from the butchers was too strong.  

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

More Dry Bits Than Wet Bits

 

The Coat Stayed In The Bag

The beginning of what turned out to be a lonely but dry week, most of the Terra Trailblazers can’t turn out often enough to be classed as dilettantes nowadays. Not exactly blistering hot but dry and sunny I’ll take all day, any day. Parked up in Swainby and made my way to the summit of Carlton Bank via Whorlton and Faceby Woods. No paragliders up there today but a few Coast To Coast walkers trudging along with packs the size of sheds, looking like they are trying to smuggle jockeys across the county borders.. From the trig point, broad sandy tracks took me across the moor towards the new Bilsdale transmitter mast, the people of Teesside will be back to normal with their Freeview service. The previous mast caught fire about 18 months ago, wiping out the signal to Teesside and causing a surge in demand for books, musical instruments and condoms - no, not really, it was cable TV. The thought of a television-less life just too much to contemplate. The situation wasn’t helped by 3 idiots on bikes who turned up the following day to check out the damage, riding unchallenged through the security cordon to stand watching buildings still smouldering much to the dismay of those assessing the disaster. Anyway, it all ended quite amicably and we were free to go without police intervention once they realised we weren’t spies from Sky or Virgin. I continued down to the abandoned Head House before climbing back over the hill to Barker’s Ridge and a superb descent down into Scugdale, parts of the trail hadn’t got the dry up it is summer message and I didn’t manage to finish the ride unsullied by ordure. My tailgate picnic beckoned, so it was straight down the road back to Swainby.

More Dry Bits Than Wet Bits

Things are looking up...

Yesterday’s lack of moisture emboldened me for a trip over the high moors, Clay Bank start, Carr Ridge, Urra Moor, Round Hill, all remarkably pleasant: wide tracks, big sky, superb. A couple of walking groups out and about, with the sort of numbers which would get them a dispersal order in some Middlesbrough housing estates. The Pensioner would have loved this route, wide open, nothing to impair his vision, no trees to suddenly jump out in front of him. I rode to the top of Ingleby Incline, carrying on to Burton Howe and down the Old Coal Road ending at the lonely valley of Armouth (or Armoth) Wath, hanging a left to cross Ingleby Moor, joining a nice bit of singletrack down to Turkey Nab, or Ingleby Bank as the Ordnance Survey insist on calling it. Ingleby Bank is gravel, stones and bedrock, always fun to ride down (not up - that’s the very opposite of fun) but someone has made a parallel singletrack through bracken which is an excellent alternative. A bit of exploring on some old trails above Bank Foot Farm concluded the fun part of the ride before the fire road drag around the horseshoe took me back up to Clay Bank. 

Better Than Working For A Living.

Ladies and gentlemen (drum roll) for the third day in a row we have blue sky, light wind and no forecast precipitation, another couple of notches on the thermostat and things could be almost temperate. Even parts of Guisborough Woods were dry, not all the trails though, some of those were still under the control of slip and slop. I rode up from Great Ayton and had the usual scrounge about the forest, in search of dry trails to ride, before taking Percy Cross Rigg to the Lonsdale Bowl. The decent weather has brought out a few moorland wanderers and even the occasional fellow mountain biker, taking advantage of the comparatively arid conditions. I descended to Gribdale, via Andy’s Track, getting the last few runs before bracken claims it for the summer. From the car park at Gribdale, I began the ascent towards Captain Cook’s Monument, turning off near the top to check which trails have survived the recent felling; the Gribdale Gobbler is as nice as ever, Pipeline is still weaving around the obstacles, a few others look okay from the starts. I climbed higher, eventually reaching the monument, a cool breeze discouraging lingering but not strong enough for a couple of paragliders struggling to get lift off the edge of Easby Moor. A steep and rocky track to me down the front of the moor, connecting with a bridleway, traversing north west toward Great Ayton. This is a limited use trail, too muddy in winter, too much bracken in the height of summer but today, like baby bear’s porridge - just right. The root-filled gully at the end of the trail even went dab-free today, no wet wood to sabotage my line choices. And then it was back to Great Ayton to eat food in the sunshine, on a bench by the river, trusty steed at my side, wallowing in the smugness of three dry rides in three days. 

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

 

Brown, Wet and Sticky

First ride since returning from Spain and it appears Britain is still squirming under the grey jackboot of winter. If anything, the trails are in worse condition than before we went away, retaining the slippery, sloppy messiness of the past eight or nine months, despite trees now being in full leaf. And it rains, at some point every day there is a shower, or sometimes, as they say on the weather channel, longer spells of rain. Stephen King’s dome is looking more appealing by the minute. Anyway, enough whinging. I started in Great Ayton and made my lonely way up to Guisborough Woods via Roseberry Common - without a coat, I wasn’t that optimistic, long trousers and long sleeves were today’s dress code and it was still a bit nippy. But, be bold: start cold and all that (even though it’s the middle of May). The climb to Roseberry Common got me suitably warmed up, ready for a bit of trail action. A scrounge around the fire roads, with the occasional deviation onto a trail was about as exciting as it got, making my way gradually to the eastern end of the forest, beyond Highcliffe Nab, climbing gradually until I made a U turn and rode back along the top of the forest. Mud and water my constant companions. At the gate leading on to Codhill Heights, ominous clouds were encroaching, threatening, turning the sky black and bruised. Maybe I could outrun it? Down Codhill Heights, flying along the cinder track, wheeling lapwings trying to divert me away from their chicks, up to Percy Cross Rigg, I could have bailed at this point and rode down to Kildale and back to Great Ayton on the road but the thought of four miles of tarmac was less appealing than being rained on crossing an open moor. Halfway around the Lonsdale Bowl, the first drops fell, teasingly insubstantial, not even nearly enough to justify dragging coat from bag; further on, approaching the water-filled ruts at the top of Fingerbender Bank, old Tefnut got serious, one of us was getting wet and it wasn’t the ancient Egyptian god of rain, moisture and dew. Egyptian god of rain? I bet he had less work to do than a process operator on nights. I finally relented and put on my eye-wateringly expensive coat for the remainder of the ride. The rock garden of Fingerbender Bank (so called following one of The Pensioners many tumbles which resulted in the aforenamed injury) was a lot less fun in the wet than its Spanish counterparts, Andy’s Track, steep grass and mud at the best of times, now with added moisture to increase the slickness was a slightly challenging finish to the trails. Back in Great Ayton, the sun appeared and I steamed gently while eating my pasty on a bench by the river.

It's A Slopfest

Managed to coincide with The Breadlad today, when he’s not being an international jet setting playboy nowadays he is at his country retreat in Cumbria, as befits his new status as a thrusting, young, management executive in the world of industrial bread manufacture. We met at Danby, usual time, which generally means he is fifteen minutes later than everyone else. Today was no different, he operates on NMT (New Marske Time). A plan was mooted. Up there, pointing vaguely toward the south, over the moor with the nice singletrack, along the bit by the farm where Keith fell off, up that bastard hill and then decide where to go after that. It would mean nothing to anyone listening in but made perfect sense to us. We climbed onto open moor, naturally, this was the point blue skies turned to grey and the wet stuff paid us a visit, also the point The Breadlad regretted leaving his coat in the boot of his car. With age comes wisdom, so they say, my coat was donned for the second time in 24 hours. Our descent was on wet grass, brakes squealing all the way to the road. “The bit where Keith fell off” is actually the bridleway from Stonebeck Gate Farm to Crag Farm, a pleasant traverse, through fields on the moorside above Little Fryup Beck. Today, unfortunately, still in December condition, squelchy and muddy, huge puddles where huge puddles don’t belong. By the time we reached Crag Farm, the shower had passed and the coat was returned to its rightful place. Crossing the valley, we climbed up to Danby Beacon, continuing past the beacon, to pick up The Pannierman’s Causeway, a semi-paved track heading down to Clitherbeck Farm. Crossing the road we followed the continuation of The Pannierman’s Causeway, no centuries old paving on this section, just our ever-present companions, slip and slop. The bridleway terminated near Danby Park, leading straight into our ultimate section of trail, (if you know, you know) before a little road pedalling takes us to the highlight of the ride - the cafe in Danby.

Can It Get Any Colder?

It’s getting ridiculous now, a blanket of low cloud has whacked temperatures back into single figures, a damp, cloying, mist surrounds us in the car park at Sutton Bank. The irony of a sign reading “Finest View In England 500m” is not lost on us. Just me and La Mujerita today, her first venture out for a while. We had a spin around the first loop, which takes in the pump track, giving the pump track a miss because we didn’t want to be embarrassed by the little kids whizzing around on their balance bikes. Exiting onto the road to pick up the start of the marked routes, we pedalled through ground level mist, as lorries and coaches drove past. This bit of road is not usually busy but a jack-knifed road tanker on Sutton Bank was causing traffic mayhem. We soon reached the safety of soil and gravel, following a selection of way-marked routes towards the top of Boltby Bank, where we did a U turn and headed back south on soggy singletrack. From High Barns a lovely drop down through an old quarry leads to a fast singletrack descent, normally always included in our rides, the state of the high trails didn’t give us any confidence in the lower ones, so we give it a miss and continued along the escarpment on more solid tracks. The escarpment is a joy to ride, even without the distraction of the view. It terminates at the self-proclaimed “Finest View In England” looking over Gormire Lake and Whitestonecliffe to Roulston Scar and the Pennines in the far distance; not today though, the cliff appeared intermittently through the mist and the lake was just visible below us.  We made our way back to the visitor centre on the green family route and continued on for a few attempts on the pump track, finding it much more difficult to get round without pedalling on my current bike. Perhaps it is the difference between 29” wheels and 27.5” wheels? Or maybe I really am crap. Another little kid on a balance bike appeared and put me to shame, so we departed for another spin around the green loop before retiring to the cafe for a late lunch.

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