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.”