Twenty Years Of The Terra Trailblazers.

 Two Decades Of Mud, Sweat and Gears

Click picture to enlarge
names at end of this article

Twenty years ago today saw an inauspicious gathering which turned out to be the inaugural ride of the Terra Trailblazers, a whole three of us in Square Corner car park, beneath the mighty Black Hambleton in the North York Moors. Two of us had been biking for a few years previously, me and The Pensioner, who wasn’t a pensioner in those days and went by the nickname Blind Bob, owing to his poor eyesight (we worked in industry, before the snowflake generation, nicknames could be brutal).

Another process operator colleague joined us, eager to sample the fun of rampaging about the moors like a lunatic. His name was Simon Robson but soon became Granny Ring Robson after his performance on this ride. He soon realised that being two decades younger and playing football once or twice a week in between his regular ‘sports’ of snooker and darts doesn’t actually make you fit for mountain biking.

His fitness improved to the point where his nickname became The Ginger One after some unkind person suggested he had only been employed by our firm to fulfil their quota of gingers.

The Terra Trailblazers name appeared a few months later, when our numbers had been swelled by a few more of our colleagues, the firm we worked for was called Terra something, industries or fertilisers and we were given the name, with sarcasm so heavy it could have grounded a 747, by one of our less energetic workmates.

A website followed, to document our adventures, or as adventurous as a bunch of blokes (The Ginger One excepted) in their forties and fifties can get. Shift workers from other industries twigged on to this weekday fun and soon we had a regular cadre of riders, taking advantage of the benefits of shift work  - the days off, empty trails, traffic-free roads. Our particular shift system at that time was two mornings, two afternoons and two nights followed by six days off. How we laughed at the day workers, going giddy with excitement at the thought of a Bank Holiday weekend with three whole days off at the same time as everyone else, stuck in their rush hour traffic and the whole work, tv, sleep, work, lifestyle stealing the majority of their existence. And we still do, to be honest. 

I daresay there are folks reading this who have no idea what a process operator is or does. In industry, process operators are the elite, although other trades will disagree, they are the guys actually in charge of running chemical plants, usually with a mug of coffee in one hand, both feet on the desk and a careful eye on the control panel - or more likely computer screen nowadays. Monitoring temperatures and pressures, pH’s and flows as multi-billion pound plants churn out tonnes of product.

Generic shot of process operators hard at work

 

The primary focus of the Terra Trailblazer’s soon became riding bikes to cafes rather than merely riding bikes. This was driven by The Pensioner, for whom not having a cafe stop was unthinkable, mainly because it gave another avenue for his perpetual grouching, although he would never leave a cafe until every crumb of food and drop of drink before him was consumed.

Cafes which supplied a pot of hot water with every pot of tea were a particular favourite and it was not unusual for him to sup ten or twelve cups of tea in a sitting, drinking a brew so diluted it was almost homoeopathic by the time the pot was empty but he physically couldn’t leave the cafe with stuff he’d paid for left on the table. Although his actions pale into insignificance compared to a former member (who must remain nameless, mainly because he is still alive) who was, shall we say, frugal to the point of obsession, parsimony being his religion and could never bring himself to leave a tip in any cafe. He would collect the money to pay the bill, with instructions to put the change in the tip jar, or whatever they had, the change would go straight into his pocket. After a while, people naturally objected to this behaviour, so he would bring the change back to the table and let someone else put it into the jar because he couldn’t bring himself to do it. This was from a bloke earning two to three times the national average wage, well, earning is probably too strong a word for it, we were all process operators after all.

We became regulars at quite a few cafes, most because we enjoyed visiting them but some were the only cafes available on the ride, so we had no choice. In our little group cafe stops became mandatory, either midway through the ride or at the end. In fact the cafe experience formed an integral part of the ride, from the mighty doorstep sandwiches of Glebe Cottage and the Hawnby Tea Room Daily Special, (which was the same every day but so good we were pleased it never actually changed), to the Granny Magnet, garden centre cafe we called Zombieland owing to the large proportion of shuffling geriatrics making up most of the clientele, The Pensioner used to say.

“I love it here, everyone is old and knackered, just like me, I fit right in. They might be old biddies to you but they're hot chicks to me.”

Another place (which will remain nameless, despite no longer being a cafe) where the owner, nicknamed ‘Fat Bastard’ by some less eloquent members of our team, was so blatant in his lack of enthusiasm for the hospitality trade he would turn away patrons who wanted meals, directing them to the local pubs instead. We always got the impression he would be happier if customers came in, put some money on the table and buggered off. 
Or there was the one, beside a busy A road in County Durham, where entering after two thirty on an afternoon was greeted with narrow-eyed hostility and the blunt message, “We’ve turned the ovens off, you can only have cold food.”

The highlight of the year was always the Xmas Dinner ride, which became the most well attended ride every year. We would spend a few hours slithering about in the cold mud of a North Yorkshire December before retiring to a local hostelry for a full Christmas dinner.

Despite the ride’s popularity, numbers began to dwindle until it was eventually shelved in favour of the Festive Toastie Ride facilitated by the Branch Walkway cafe at Pinchinthorpe Visitor Centre. Sausage, bacon, stuffing and cranberry sauce between two slices of toast, the only time of the year anyone is willing to lash out four quid to park in the visitor centre car park.

 

Becoming a Terra Trailblazer is easy, all you need is bike and willingness to squander your free time messing about on the moors or in forests, or cafes and sometimes, even pubs. Some lighthearted banter, a willingness to see the funny side of every situation and a proficiency at swearing, both inter and intra word, will ensure you fit right in.

Actual prowess at mountain biking or competitiveness will be viewed with distrust. As will unwillingness to recognise one of the Terra Trailblazer’s ride staples, NSP’s, Natural Stopping Points; gates, hilltops, gullies, boulders, in fact any type of hazard, as well as interesting flora and fauna, a nice view, caves or holes of any description, especially holes in someone else's flesh. NSP’s will always be accompanied by a minute or two of chatting and maybe a snack. 

 

Membership of the Terra Trailblazers is achieved by attending two rides and that’s it, two rides and you’ve been recruited, there is no choice. Two rides in the same year gets you a highly coveted place on the video intro. According to my admittedly pretty vague records, we have had fifty eight people eager enough to join us more than once. Quite a few more ventured out on a single occasion and never graced us with their presence again, for varying reasons, like suddenly discovering mountain biking is harder than it looks, or on the opposite end of the scale because we weren’t hardcore enough for them. As if a bunch of blokes, predominantly on the verge of middle-age could be lacking in the gnarly department.  

 

In April 2010 our numbers were swelled by a contingent from a local bread factory, who turned up mob-handed to sample the Trailblazers life. Some attended again, a couple came regularly for a few years but only one kept the faith, becoming the most regular and enthusiastic member, squeezing rides into his jet-setting playboy lifestyle, this is The Breadlad.

Legendary for his distaste of paying to park anywhere, hatred of fruit and perpetually arriving at the meeting point fifteen minutes later than everyone else, despite usually being the one who lives the closest.

As much as we love the North York Moors, our local patch, jolly boys outings were always a treat, especially the multi-day trips, cruelly abandoning wives and families, shirking domestic responsibilities to spend whole days with nothing to occupy our time but biking, food and beer. We have stayed in all types of accommodation from camping pods (wooden shed, six blokes, largely carnivorous diet plus beer, more methane than a landfill) to hotels, guest houses, caravans, Travelodges, Premier Inns and on one memorable occasion, an actual stately home.

Always in the north of England or southern Scotland until 2017 when we had our first trip to Spain, courtesy of Sierra Cycling, which has continued annually (apart from the covid years) ever since.

It was during one of the Spanish trips, I had a chance to reconnect with former neighbour Charlie, who was also at Sierra with a few of his buddies from the Nissan car factory in Sunderland, our two groups gelled and they have been irregular attendees ever since.

Me, Rod and Oz took ourselves along the Sandstone Way in June 2015, a ride from Hexham to Berwick On Tweed or vice versa, unfortunately we did it vice versa, into the prevailing wind, which unluckily for us chose the week we rode to be around 50 mph every day. A pleasant multi-day ride across the wilds of northern England became an ordeal to be endured rather than enjoyed. 

In the past twenty years, many people have come and gone but we lost two permanently, both too soon. The Pensioner’s love of unfiltered rollies caught up with him in the worst way possible, he didn’t smoke for twenty years of his life, the first ten and the last ten, which gave the nicotine nasties almost fifty years to get embedded in his lungs.

And Les Guest, work colleague, road cyclist and occasional mountain biker, who organised an awesome charity ride , a modification of the Way Of The Roses, which goes from Morecambe to Bridlington, this variation departed from the usual route at York and continued to Whitby. Any bike ride which starts in a pub and continues across the width of the country with two or three pub stops per day is always going to be special.

Twenty years and almost every ride documented, photographed and immortalised on video, (links at bottom) an archive of incompetence, mishaps and misdemeanours, broken bikes and broken bones, cuts, bruises, spectacular scabs.

In the days before GoPro

Sunshine and snow, mist, blasting wind and the inevitable rain - all part of the fun. Not forgetting mud, our ever present companion except in the driest months, enough mud for every hippo in the world to happily wallow in.

We have had fun, some people more than others, it must be said, but up to now, no-one has travelled home in a body bag and the emergency services have remained untroubled by our antics.

Being proper men, we have never been lost, not ever, temporarily misplaced at times maybe but always made it to civilization before the cafe closed. Let’s hope it continues another twenty years. 

Photo key

Top Row

1. Adam Boult

2. Andrew Briggs

3. Andy Tyas

4. Andy Sergeant aka The Breadlad

5. Adam Rhea

6. Mike Barnett

7. Benjamin Grey

8. Becky Lavelle

9. Bob Manwaring aka Bingo Bob

10. Bobby Boyd

11. Charlie McCaffrey

12. Chris Reacroft

13. Chris Feenan

14. Chris Harris aka The Captain

15. Corey Bennett aka The Boy

Second Row

1. Simon Whelan aka Climbin’ Simon

2. Darren Hatfield

3. Dave Briggs

4. Dave Weedall

5. Dominic White

6. Gary Robinson

7. Geoff Marsden

8. Martin Godfrey aka Godders

9. Howard Neale

10. Ian Routh aka Rocky

11. Ian Trotter

12. Ian Hunter aka Piggy

13. Jonathon Wood

14. Jordan Foote

15. Keith Henderson

Third Row

1. Alan Kennerley aka Kendo

2. Kev McDermott

3. Les Guest (R.I.P.)

4. Colin Hodgeson aka Little Col.

5. Linda Lavelle aka La Mujerita

6. Mark Dixon

7. Martin Garrett aka The Fireman

8. Bob Briggs (RIP) aka The Pensioner

9. John Lavelle aka Chief Hillfinder

10. Miles Walker

11. Neil Fairless aka The Cruncher

12. Olly Hellyer

13. Austin Lilico aka Oz

14. Paul Sturrock

15. Peter Jasper

Fourth Row

1. Richard Wall aka Richie

2. Rod Graham

3. Ross Matthews

4. Scott Bonas aka The Youth

5. Sean Weedall

6. Shaun Brown

7. Simon Robson aka The Ginger One

8. Simon Trenholm aka One Eye Si

9. Steve Hughes aka Crankshaft

10. Brian Stephenson aka SuperBri

11. Tim Bell

12. Tom

13. Tony Oliver

14. Ian Brown aka Uncle Ian

Links

Website (pre 2014)

Blog (2014 to present)  

YouTube

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