SuperBri Is Released Into The Wild.

Kids in the streets, teachers out on bikes, it must be half term, the time when SuperBri can decompress, away from the demands of teenage minds. Unusually the weather is on our side too, blue sky and sunshine but our old friend, the wind is still determined to make life difficult. We had a ride from, yes, you’ve guessed it, Great Ayton, so SuperBri could see for himself the decimation of Guisborough Woods. Shortly after we arrived at Great Ayton, it became apparent I had left my Camelbak at home, not something I make a habit of, so it was a quick dash into the Coop for a bottle of water and we were on our way. I have to say, losing the few kilos off my back made a difference to the riding, at times I almost kept up with SuperBri - only almost though. Our route was the usual mixture of fire roads and any dry(ish) trail we could find, eventually we arrived on top of Highcliffe Nab, being buffeted by the wind. A descent of Codhill Heights followed, slowed by a headwind. A pedal around the Lonsdale Bowl and a sketchy sun in the eyes bounce over the rocks of Fingerbender Bank took us to Gribdale and a few downhill miles back to Great Ayton. We stopped by the butchers for a selection from the cornucopia of pastry-wrapped animal flesh products, an adequate calorie replenishment strategy for athletes such as ourselves.

Afternoon Quicky With SuperBri.

As the saying goes, owing to circumstances beyond my control, this had to be an afternoon quickie. Me and SuperBri took ourselves to Swainby on what turned out to be another fine day. We rode uphill out of Swainby until we reached the Clain Wood steps, which are beyond even SuperBri’s pedalling power, where we shouldered the bikes and trudged upward. Further climbing took us over the ford at Sheepwash and up onto High Lane, which is part of the old Hambleton Drove Road, once used to drive animals from Scotland to markets in the south of North Yorkshire. An old drover’s inn, Chequers, still remains although it is now a private residence, more famous nowadays for being the accommodation in Bob Mortimer and Paul Whithouse’s Christmas special edition of their fishing programme. We continued upward, still following the Drove Road, until we reached Silton Woods, in the shadow of the mighty Black Hambleton. Silton Woods has also had an attack of deforestation but the trails have survived, we rode a couple of the higher ones, unwilling to drop all the way to the bottom of the woods and face a brutal ascent back to the Drove Road. After a bit of fun, we were retracing our tyre tracks along High Lane, dropping into the woods above Cod Beck Reservoir to ride a Rod trail through the trees. We finished off with the bridleway which runs parallel to Scarth Nick Bank, sloppier than we would have liked but still rideable. A short bit of tarmac and we were back in Swainby, arriving as the first few fat raindrops fell out of the sky. Perfect timing.

Tremendous Tripsdale

This will be the last ride of the week for SuperBri, for him half term will soon be over and he must return to his attempts at turning Stockton children into mathematical geniuses. For the last ride of the week, we gained a brace of companions, The Breadlad, taking a break from his crumpet fiddling activities and Keith, who has made the journey down from the metropolis of Sunderland, despite last week’s moments of borderline hypothermia. Today was vastly more amenable, as we converged in Clay Bank car park, ready to take on the classic Tripsdale route. Keith, as we know, has joined the battery boys, so the usual, up the steps start, to Urra Moor had to be bypassed in favour of the electric bike start, popularised by The Pensioner when he realised hauling a 30 kg bike upward without the benefit of a motor was out of the question. Some perusing of the maps yielded another route to Urra Moor, which was christened ‘the electric bike start’, although today it became ‘the “wish we’d brought a chainsaw” start’. Numerous fallen trees blocked the ascent, slowing our progress, until The Breadlad’s desire to emulate an incontinent bear in the woods brought all movement to a halt, all movement except bowel movement, that is. He rejoined us, somewhat lighter judging by the time he took. His arboreal excretions are now so regular, there is a suspicion he brings a newspaper and polishes off a sudoku or two mid-squat. We pedalled along the broad Urra Moor tracks, sandy highways built to service the grouse shooting industry, until we reached the long Tripsdale bridleway. A track in the ‘Spanish’ style, sandy and loose, dropping gently at first, the angle increasing until a set of steep hairpin bends set us up for the final plummet to the valley floor, crossing the beck via a rudimentary bridge of concrete. Naturally, there is a price to pay for so much pleasure, the climb out of the valley is brutal, the only highlight is looking across the valley, after gaining some height and seeing the track we have just descended carving through the heather for more than a mile. We climbed, more gently, back to the summit of Urra Moor and had some fun riding down the stone steps we had avoided at the start of the ride. Only The Breadlad managed a clean descent, his crumpet-fiddling fingers are just that bit more dextrous on the brake levers. And then it was all over, another grand day out in good company. We were polishing off our sandwiches at the picnic table when blue turned to grey and big fat droplets of rain scattered us into our cars. Perfect timing yet again.