Welcome To The Jungle.

Trail finding with Rod.

First ride of a new month and It has to be said, vegetation likes it warm and wet, which pretty much sums up the recent weather, showers and sunny intervals. Me and Rod, who has wangled another week off work so he can beast an older fatter bloke, met at Gribdale because he had been on the Dales Bike Centre shop ride yesterday and was feeling the pace. No stamina these young gadgies. We began in a rain shower, plodding up the track to Captain Cook’s Monument, glasses steaming up with the humidity, fortunately it didn’t last too long. We spotted a track, uncovered by recent tree felling activity and had a bit of an old explore, finding a couple of bonus trails down the hillside; they were just how Rod likes them - steep, rooty and virtually unrideable for those of us on the verge of middle-age. We scrounged about, riding trails old and new, circumnavigating the monument, battling through pervasive bracken so dense some trails will be unrideable until winter comes around again.

Gradually we made our way back to the road at Gribdale, after spending over an hour to ride a distance of four whole miles. Even by Terra Trailblazer’s standards we hadn’t done enough to justify a food stop, so we hurtled up the hill to Newton Moor, although it was more hurted than hurtled. We made it to the top without the inconvenience of a coronary and continued to Guisborough Woods for more trail finding adventures which mostly involved bracken, insects, nettles, bramble, more bracken, the occasional wet mud patch and jumps which,more often than not, failed our dynamic risk assessment. In between all that are some lovely sections of bone dry trail, carefully crafted by the local trail pixies for maximum enjoyment. Gradually the lure of a tailgate picnic enticed us back to Gribdale, reaching the car park by what will probably be the last descent of Andy’s track this season, the bracken is encroaching, shrouding the trail and making Triffid-esque grabs for handlebars and flailing limbs. It is only a matter of time before one of our vertically-challenged compatriots disappears into the greenery, emerging years later with tales of a strange moorland tribe who inhabit the secret places, where they were lured in by beautiful sprites with the bodies of supermodels and forced into breeding programmes to strengthen the elfin gene pool. Which explains why it took them years to find their way two hundred metres to the road.

Wuthering Heights

Another day: another bike ride. A couple of weeks ago, me and Rod pushed up a steep and rocky bridleway, exiting Little Fryup Dale, remarking on its suitability as an enjoyable downhill - today was the day to test the hypothesis. The proximity of the bridleway to Danby would have made for a brief ride, I was tasked with including it into a decent length outing. A bit of tweaking to an old route from years ago and it was game on. Although it didn’t take long to realise why this was an old route from years ago - two massive climbs. The first begins from the car park, up to Danby Beacon via Clitherbeck, an equally long descent from here, down the wide, gravelled, motorway of Lealholm Rigg, then road through Lealholm Side to Park House Farm, still descending until we reach a dubious looking ford through the River Esk. So dubious we opted for the nearby footbridge rather than taking our chances on broken concrete and green slime submerged beneath fast-flowing water. We had reached the nadir of our ride and as Yazz sang in 1988, the only way is up, although I’m pretty certain she wasn’t contemplating almost 7 miles of climbing with 400m of ascent over into a headwind over some of the most exposed parts of the North York Moors. Or was she? A steadily uphill road took us into the village of Glaisdale, straight on at a crossroads until tarmac turned to gravel on Glaisdale Rigg, three false summits later, we were back on tarmac. There was a brief downhill respite, very brief, the anti-gravity option soon reasserted itself, all the way to the entrance to the Cut Road - or as we know it - the Trough House track. Unfortunately taking it east to west, a direction which The Pensioner would insist was the wrong way, usually with maximum vehemence and extreme profanity, both barrels aimed squarely at the route planner. He wasn’t far wrong though, this direction is probably 80% uphill. Twenty odd years ago this track was described as one of the finest on the moors, rocky and technical with stupendous views down into the Fryup Dales. Now only the views remain, the track has been smoothed out, widened and gravelled to the point where it wouldn’t be out of place in a suburban park, no doubt for the benefit of weary-footed Coast To Coast walkers. Trough House, a solidly built, stone shooting house, is visible from miles away, it just never seems to get any closer, until after one last pull up an incline, we’re riding past it, the zenith of our ride. It was a relief to be heading downhill, even if it was on tarmac, kamikaze sheep seemingly intent on death by bike, hopping into the road.

The bridleway sign came into view and we set off through the heather, aiming for a gate to Raven Hill, some deep holes lurked surreptitiously on the track, covered by long grass and heather. At least we had a spongy landing. From the gate, Raven Hill begins as a narrow singletrack, steep and rocky, just up Rod’s straße, the trail becomes loamy, still steep, as the inevitable bracken takes over, much thicker than last time we were here, just a few weeks ago. At one point, it ripped my fingers from the front brake lever, giving me an impressive but wholly unwanted turn of speed until I could regain control. The descent ends at an open area of shale tips, where we turn left to follow the bridleway through open fields and farm tracks to the road. Following this takes us to Stonebeck Gate Farm, where we can enjoy a last mile or so of off-road riding before tarmac returns us to our start point and more importantly, the cornucopia of calorific delights presented by the Danby Bakery.

Good day Sunshine

Once more me and Rod find ourselves with a whole day to fill - and what better way to do it than riding bikes in the sunshine. A Swainby start this time and a definite leave the coat in the car day, even the optimistically packed Factor 30 was slapped on before we ventured out. Steady riding took us across fields to Scugdale, passing through the former Cowshit Farm, much improved from the slurry-filled mess where The Ginger One had his unfortunate (for him) but hilarious (for us) incident back in the February of 2004, when a wobble while riding through the ordure filled farmyard resulting in his bare leg going knee deep into the foul smelling muck.

Dry as a bone and clean as a whistle nowadays - that’s cliche corner done for today. The steep bank up to Raikes Farm hasn’t become any less steep but at least there is no longer a snarling dog straining at the limit of his chain to greet you at the top. We pressed on to the head of Scugdale before the ride/push/carry* (delete as appropriate) up to Stoney Wicks. A wide sandy track took us past Brian’s Pond, across Bilsdale West Moor toward the summit of Carlton Bank, turning off to drop down into Faceby Woods. We indulged our inner teenager on some of the more amenable jumps in the woods for an hour or so, while marvelling at the audacity of some of the less amenable jumps, including the one where the rider flies between two trees after clearing a barbed wire fence. Whatever sort of cajones are required to even attempt jumps of that nature we don’t possess. The thought of another trip to hospital is too much to bear. When our elderly legs began to feel the strain of pushing up trails, we headed out of the woods, returning to the Scugdale valley to retrace our tyre tracks back to Swainby for a stream-side picnic in the sunshine.