Nine Year Anniversary

 

Make It Easy On Yourself

Not one but two companions today as Charlie and Keith (aka The Geordie Mafia) made the trek down from the Mackem metropolis (Sunderland - where men are men and seagulls are sex objects) to reacquaint themselves with the whole bike riding business. Perfect candidates for my easy ride from Scaling Dam, it has been ridden a lot lately, two classic descents and less than a thousand feet of ascent; what’s not to like? The only downside being the mile and a quarter on the A171 moor road, sharing the carriageway with latent manslaughterers, cocooned in their safety cages and crumple zones as they pass us with millimetres to spare. Thankfully, it’s soon over, mainly owing to our athletic abilities of course; we’re not ready for mobility bikes yet. We turned off Robin Hood’s Butts onto the Sis Cross track, which is still in excellent condition, a few puddles have returned following a day of rain earlier in the week but it is still capable of a no dabs descent. Deprived of singletrack for such a long time, my companions were on it like fat kids on chicken nuggets, carving through the heather like slot car racers. “Poondin’ doon the trail wi nae clarts.” to use their vernacular. We continued on the partially paved Pannierman’s Causeway, climbing up to join the Danby Beacon road, which we followed to the beacon, a few drops of rain making themselves felt, just to remind us not to be complacent. We had a brief pause at the beacon to admire the view prior to the Roxby Moor singletrack (which is mainly doubletrack to be honest) another classic moorland outing. Pretty much dry all the way down today, apart from a lonely puddle, which wet my tyres and most of Charlie as he rode beside me. All part of the fun. I’m sure it won’t be the first time he’s been moistened by a strange man. We had a quick blast down a farm road to Scaling Reservoir, where a ride on the top of the dam, pedalling on a mixture of grass and goose shit, took us back to the car park. Despite my route being carefully planned to give the Sunderland contingent maximum enjoyment for minimal effort, (the story of my life) the highlight of their ride was definitely the Birk Brow cheeseburgers.

Summer Breeze

The 22nd of June and my first lone ride of the month, that has to be some kind of record nowadays, when describing erstwhile companions as dilettantes makes them sound over-eager. Only the dedicated few remain. Today is quite a significant anniversary for me, nine years ago, a bike ride ended with a week in hospital, when a split artery in my neck led to a stroke, wiping out a chunk of my grey matter. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending how you look at it, it only affected the part of my brain which controls balance, I literally couldn’t stand, let alone walk, so I had a nice lie down, read some books, did loads of crosswords and sudokus until another part of my brain stepped up and took over balance duties. The full story can found here. Nine years to the day I’m ambling up the road out of Swainby on a fine early summer day, a vague route in mind but nothing that couldn’t be altered by the lure of a tempting looking bit of trail. Which, I suppose, is the beauty of lone riding. I made my way up the Clain Woods’ steps, bike on shoulders despite the Strava moniker, “It Really IsThe Walk Of Shame.” I’m certain it would be renamed “The Bit Where That Old Bloke’s Heart Exploded” if I tried to ride it. Taking advantage of the windless day, I rode over Scarth Wood Moor without the usual headwind and down the other side to Cod Beck Reservoir. Owing to the close proximity of a car park, Cod Beck has more dog walkers than The Dogs Trust, a minority of whom object to their little fur babies sharing a path with cyclists, of course, their objections are typically British, passive-aggressive, non-verbal looks of complete disgust when they have to hold their evidently untrained animal for a few seconds as I pass. A climb up through the woods got me onto High Lane and I continued to Square Corner, on a mission to check out the old Dale Head farmhouse on behalf of a local thrash metal band looking for a ruined house to make a music video. The farmhouse at Dale Head has had numerous renovation attempts over the years, despite being fairly remote, reached only by a mud track and having no obvious mains services, most of the attempts were half-hearted and soon abandoned, it seemed to be being used as a bothy for a short while too. Several years ago someone made a more determined effort to bring it into the 21st century, having a builder living on site in a converted coach; how he drove that down the track is anyone's guess, until a fierce inferno laid waste to the building. Today only a few bits of walls remain and they look ready to topple at any time, just the intro of one Trendkill  song would bring them down like the walls of Jericho.

Not to worry because Dale Head has more attractions than a tumbledown farmhouse. The Dale Head singletrack, another North York Moors classic through the heather excursion, a low level traverse of the front of the mighty Black Hambleton on Locker Low Moor. More or less horizontal, it can be ridden in both directions, technical and usually (in parts) boggy, it was a joy today. It ends at the road between Osmotherley and Hawnby, which I followed, in a predominantly uphill direction back to Square Corner and High Lane, staying on the remains of the Drove Road for a splash through the ford at Sheepwash. Returning to Clain Woods, revenge was sweet as I plummeted down the steps I had laboured up a couple of hours earlier. From the bottom of the steps, Swainby and my picnic are a mere mile or so of downhill riding but  I was feeling energetic, it was still early(ish), so I continued on the Cleveland Way to Heathwaite Green, a pleasant gravelled track leading in a roller-coaster fashion to one of our local ‘Fields Of Heavy Gravity’. One of those fields which look like an easy pedal until you’ve run out of gears and find yourself panting like The Ginger One in a spelling test. But today I was going in the gravity-friendly direction, heading for the stream crossing at the bottom, which was barely a trickle today. A last bit of tarmac and I was sitting by the stream in Swainby, eating my sandwich and watching a mallard drake trying to control her brood of ducklings which were having the time of their young lives riding the current downstream.

Those Lazy Hazy Crazy Days Of Summer.

Third day in a row, a bit grey today but the BBC is giving us 0% chance of rain which is a good enough reason to leave the coat at home. Me and La Mujerita today, so there will be no Rod style near-death experiences, just gentle riding on wide tracks (mainly). A pleasant tarmac warm up from Great Ayton to Kildale started the ride. After passing through Kildale, which is all we ever do since the demise of Glebe Cottage cafe, we took a left over the railway and began the steep ascent up the Yellow Brick Road to Percy Cross Rigg. More climbing took us over Percy Cross Rigg to Guisborough Woods, pausing to check out a swallow’s nest I have been keeping my eye on for a while, two swallows were busily fly catching in the area but there didn’t seem to be any young in the nest. We entered Guisborough Woods through the gate at the top of The Unsuitables, trails leading off in all directions. Decisions, decisions. La Mujerita suffers from osteoporosis so a bit of rocky clattering about is just the thing for improving her bone density, on the other hand, there is a good chance of fractures if she has a tumble, hence the lack of technical riding in our excursions. I can’t have her laid up at home, finding out what I do all day. A few drops of rain - so much for the BBC and their 0% - made the decision for us and we headed for the shelter of trees. We made our way down through the forest on dried mud tracks and fire roads, I even managed to tempt La Mujerita onto a fairly innocuous swerving between the tree trunks trail. There wasn’t a lot of screaming and swearing from behind me, so I’ll assume she enjoyed it. The drops of rain blew away, taking some of the grey clouds with it, blue sky began peeking through. We continued through the forest, then climbed up to Roseberry Common, the last hill of the ride, well, more or less. Descending in the shadow of Roseberry Topping, we rode through Aireyholme Farm, stopping to look at a family of goslings, then continued to Fletcher’s Farm, where we stopped at the farm shop, where food and drink can be purchased to eat at tables in the barn. La Mujerita feels uncomfortable sitting in the main cafe amongst the dullards who somehow manage to spend time in the countryside without ending up dirty, sweaty, mud-splattered, bloody or bruised. It’s never been a problem for me. The Breadlad summed it up in a perceptive moment, on another occasion.

“We go out and do something, then go to the cafe. For these people, going to the cafe is the doing something bit - and that’s no way to live a life.”

I could only reply with what I usually say in these circumstances.

“They must have a phenomenal belief in reincarnation.”

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

In The Heat And Dust Of North Yorkshire.

 

Feeling Hot Hot Hot

For the third week in a row, I have a companion, The Breadlad is paying a fleeting visit to the moors of North Yorkshire, finding a gap between his career as a high flying executive in the glamorous world of industrial crumpet manufacture and being squire of his Cumbrian estate. We converged in Great Ayton, the parking spaces filling up with the promise of a fine day to come. The cool easterly wind which has been with us for weeks, was quite welcome today, particularly after our regular start, up through Fletcher’s and Aireyholme farms to Roseberry Common. We shouldered our bikes up the steps onto Newton Moor and rode across to Guisborough Woods, ready to ride the sun-baked tracks in the forest. The first couple of trails we enjoyed were way out of our league - we couldn’t even use the excuse they’ll be better in the dry because they won’t be any drier than today unless a cosmic event sends the earth spinning into the sun. We meandered through the forest, riding down trails and up fire roads, more felling activity has wiped out Screwball Scramble and Mintballz and looks as though it will spread to eradicate a few more trails before it is finished. The always muddy top track, known on Strava as ‘No dabs marsh’ is not even moist today, filling us with joy. We are easily pleased. More trails and singletrack took us to Codhill Heights for a wind-assisted descent on doubletrack before a tarmac climb up to Percy Cross RIgg. In my idle moments (employed a process operator for 41 years, there were many) I have pondered who Percy was and why he was cross, a quick Google tells us Percy was Ernald De Percy, Lord Of Kildale. Very grand. Me and Lord Of The Pies continued around the Lonsdale Bowl and down Fingerbender Bank to Andy’s Track, which drops down to Gribdale on a grassy trail through encroaching bracken. We both agreed there won’t be too many runs down Andy’s Track before the bracken usurps it until winter. Tarmac all the way back to Great Ayton, a brief diversion to the butchers before we joined the scattered humanity lounging on the grass beside the river, taking full advantage of the rare heat. 

The Boys Of Summer

Once again Me and The Breadlad, Danby this time, with a reprise of yesterday’s weather. All roads out of Danby lead up, our ride began with a stiff ascent on tarmac until we could access our first bit of off road track. This ride is essentially my easy ride from a couple of weeks ago, just starting in a different place, we joined it at the end of the SIs Cross track. Climbing to Danby Beacon via Clitherbeck Farm in the heat and dust - there’s a sentence I don’t write often - we paused at the beacon, looking at an impossibly blue North Sea a few miles distant. Wind is still blowing in from the Baltic but it is a welcome coolness on a day like today. The Roxby moor singletrack beckons, its firm curves tempting us to unsafe acts, riding at speeds which might be considered unwise for two gentlemen on the verge of middle age. Not that there is anything remotely technical about the track, it is just easy to get carried away, clip a pedal and end up rolling about in the heather like an extra from Braveheart. A quick pedal across the dam at Scaling Reservoir and we were ready for the nadir of our ride, a mile and a quarter along the A171 moor road in the company of some spatially-challenged retards in motor vehicles. Fairly quiet today for some reason, everyone seems to be heading towards Whitby rather than away from it and we reached the Danby turn off with less near-misses than usual. Which only left Robin Hood’s Butts and the Sis Cross track between us and the cafe. Sis Cross was the driest it has ever been, even the little stream crossings are completely dehydrated, the mud patches are wizened like the skin of an elderly bull elephant. Exceptional. Rather than finish down the road directly into Danby, we slipped in an extra trail, ‘link o flying bees’ so called from a sign which used to exist beside it. “Beware Of Flying Bees”, the perceived tautology used to infuriate The Pensioner to the point of profanity, or maybe not, his normal conversation would fill a swear jar an hour but it did annoy him enough to cast aspersions on the intelligence and legitimacy of the author. Much to our amusement. Sitting outside the cafe in the afternoon sunshine made a fitting end to this week’s riding, quite a slack week, with only two rides to record but even retired people are sometimes victims to the type of constraints endured by worker drones. 

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

Still Cold

 

Getting Silly At Silton

For the second week in a row I find myself with a companion, singular, gone are the days of threesomes and foursomes, as the pursuit of filthy lucre triumphs over the pursuit of singletrack. Despite the Monday morning sunshine, Square Corner and the surrounding area still shun any attempt at warmth, seemingly the epicentre of North East England’s contrary micro-climate. If we thought last week was cold, this week is striving to go lower in the temperature stakes, struggling to creep into double figures. Rod is off all week, his first break since our trip to Spain and I have a feeling I am going to be beasted all week. Nice easy start to the week though because he did a big ride in the dales yesterday, so special thanks to all at the Dales Bike Centre for tiring him out. We met at Square Corner and pedalled the short distance into Silton Woods, riding a variety of trails from sections of the old downhill track to some of Rod’s favourite projects, trails he is ‘improving’ for the benefit of all and sundry. Providing all and sundry are fans of steep and technical. Plenty of uphill and down dale as they say in Yorkshire. Unbelievably, between trails, we discovered some of the wettest parts of North Yorkshire under our wheels and in some cases, feet; as though all the water on a whole moorside has congregated in one spot. It hasn’t rained for weeks and we have wet feet. A few more trails led us back to Square Corner, where the sun shone brightly, doing its best to warm up a wind straight from the Baltic. 

Up Fryupdale And Down Westerdale.

My turn to show Rod around today, on some natural tracks, out on open moorland. We met at Danby, where it didn’t even pretend to be summer, cold, grey and breezy - only the uphill start stopped us donning extra layers, there are four roads out of Danby, they are all uphill. We chose the southerly option, pedalling through Ainthorpe before leaving tarmac behind to ascend Ainthorpe Rigg. At least it warmed us up a bit. Straight down the other side and into Little Fryup Dale, following a bridleway through fields which eventually turned right to ascend Raven Hill, a steep and rocky ascent, which saw even two athletes like us pushing after a while. Rod filed it away in his memory bank of future descents of a steep and rocky nature. From the summit, a few hundred metres of soggy moorland took us to a road, which we followed around Danby Head to the bridleway we know, with stunning unoriginality, as the Westerdale descent because that is where it ends up. Even more prosaically on Strava it is called Danby Head To Westerdale Descent. Nothing too technical, a diagonal track down a hillside, leads to a steeper drop down a grassy bank before the angle eases on some moorland leading to a farm. The bridleway weaves between buildings, through a gate or three then begins to drop again to cross Tower Beck. Flat riding takes us to the road at Broad Gate Farm, where we sit on a patch of grass and take our first snack stop of the ride and enjoy the view, looking back to the descent we have just enjoyed. It looks a lot steeper from a distance. Tarmac leads us around the outskirts of Castleton, under the railway bridge and up a short but steep climb to the entrance of the Danby Park bridleway. Danby Park doesn’t have swings, slides, a boating lake or paedophiles lurking in the bushes, although it does have bushes - and trees, it is merely the name of a small area of woodland above the section of Esk Valley railway between Castleton and Danby. We rode through the woods to open moorland, the usually muddy path across the moor dry and firm today. A last bit of singletrack took us to the road, two sharp ascents later and we were sitting in Danby Bakery surrounded by tempting goodies. 

A Trip To Tripsdale

Third day in a row with Rod and we decided to take advantage of the dry spell to enjoy The Fronts, a track which contours the faces of three hills, Cringle Moor, Cold Moor and Hasty Bank. A roller coaster trail between Lordstones and Clay Bank which suffers after prolonged wet conditions (i.e. normal weather) but a superb experience when it dries up. Lesson learnt from yesterday, extra layers on, we set off from Lordstones and enjoyed every second of The Fronts, all the way to Clay Bank. The hike a bike up the Carr Ridge steps was not quite as enjoyable. At the top, the choices are straight on, which is more climbing to Round Hill (highest point on the North York Moors) or left, on a bridleway which runs around the edge of Urra Moor. We call this The RIm which has given rise to any number of puerile jokes in the past - talk about bad taste - but we’re much too refined to indulge nowadays. We chose rimming, the trail is in excellent condition, dry and loamy, fine views down into Bilsdale, it ends at Medd Crag with a choice of up or down. Down goes to Chop gate from where we could climb back to Lordstones, which would mean a short ride or up which gives us numerous options. Feeling  uncharacteristically energetic (I was a process operator for 41 years, energy conservation was of supreme importance, ideally feet would only be taken off the table to put the kettle on) I suggested Tripsdale, the closest thing we have to Spanish riding. A long, loose and dusty descent, ending with some wide, sandy hairpin bends to cross a stream in the little visited valley of Tripsdale. The price for a few minutes of exhilaration is fifteen minutes climbing back to the moor - at least it isn’t hot like a proper June. We descended back to Bilsdale on the bridleway through East Bank Plantation which doesn’t appear to have received the dry and dusty directive, if anything it is more boggy than usual. A nice blast down to Chop Gate despite the wet feet. We made our way back to The Fronts via Beak Hills Farm, a steady drag up the valley between Cringle Moor and Cold Moor. It’s only a few days until ‘Ard Moors, the popular MTB enduro event held at Lordstones every year, a few teams are around, marking out sections of track, building ramps and suchlike. We returned to Lordstones on The Fronts, for some proper athlete nutrition, beer and sausage rolls.

Losing My Yearsley Virginity

Somewhere new today, the woods at Yearsley have become popular with mountain bikers over the past few years, Rod has been a few times, so it was time to introduce me to the delights on offer. Even better, we’re miles inland, giving us a break from the cold east wind which has afflicted us for weeks now. Dare I say it was almost like a summer’s day? We were soon shedding layers like a low budget Full Monty,  the first time being so under-dressed since we were in Spain. Rod did his best to familiarise me with every trail in the woods, I soon lost my bearings and the whole experience was condensed to up, down, fire road, sunshine and occasional views across to the White Horse at Kilburn or the Eton of the north, Ampleforth College. The trails are mainly dry, 99.9% anyway and riding so well even someone with my degree of ineptitude managed to get down them largely unscathed. Almost all the tracks are off-piste through trees, for the trail centre devotees they would be graded red or blue on the difficulty scale - when they are dry; these are not stone-armoured, all-weather tracks, wet roots and mud will take them to another level of injury potential. Despite the brevity of our route, we did a fair amount of climbing, a two snack ride to keep up the energy levels. Several times the ever-enthusiastic Rod pointed us back toward the car, then suggested “one last trail?” And I was enjoying it so much, I couldn’t help but agree. It was a very late picnic by the time we arrived back at the parking area.

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