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.