D Is For Drizzle
Another day scrounging about Guisborough accompanied by nothing but grey clouds and drizzle, although it did manage to dry up a bit later in the ride. Despite the precipitation, the trails are beginning to firm up as the trees come out of hibernation and recommence sucking up moisture from the ground. Around the Lover’s Ledge area, drizzle became actual rain for a short time, just as I was checking out an old track we have always called Rod’s Ridge but Strava has it as Goat Track or Ruthergate. It is fair to say there has been a bit of overgrowth, mainly gorse bushes, which make it less exposed but trickier to ride and the alternative route, which some may describe as a chicken run, in the gully to the right, has completely disappeared. This little bit of exploration landed me at the bottom of the woods, on the wrong side of a big hill which meant a climb back, all the way to Newton Moor, via the tarmac road out of Hutton Village and The Unsuitables, all for the fun of descending the trail round the back of Little Roseberry. A few technical sections on the trail have a steep drop to the right before it becomes more amenable, all under the watchful gaze of the mighty Roseberry Topping, dropping down to Roseberry Common. From Roseberry Common I had a relatively clean run through the farms back to Great Ayton and the pastry wrapped delights on offer in the butcher’s shop.
Steel River
One of the dubious pleasures of being on the threshold of middle-age is the increasing amount of time spent in the clutches of the NHS. Like today, an afternoon appointment gave the choice of no ride or a local ride. It is a bright and breezy sort of day, so off I went into the post-industrial wasteland we call home, heading for the banks of the river Tees, passing my former employment, the chemical factory which is funding my layabout existence. Firstly I crossed Newport bridge, continuing on the south bank of the river to the iconic Transporter, which is not actually a bridge but a suspended platform which used to ferry cars and pedestrians across the water. I say used to because it is currently having a sabbatical until finances become available for the repairs needed to make it functional again. Retracing my tyre tracks along through the industrial units, I come to the Teesaurus Park, where it is possible to return to the riverside. Teesaurus Park, or as it more commonly known, The Dinosaurs, is a collection of life size metal dinosaurs, beloved of generations of Teesside children. The riverside path leads back towards Newport Bridge, beginning opposite the old Furness shipyard at Haverton Hill, slipways where ocean-going ships were constructed now bare and empty. From Newport the path carries on to the next bridge, the Tees Barrage, which maintains the water level in the Tees, the cyclepath continues into Stockton, where I cross the river using one of the footbridges and head back the way I came on the opposite bank of the river. The path on this side of the river terminates at Newport Bridge, peeling off leftward to follow the A19 back to Billingham, which is handy, that being where I live.
Don't Touch My Easter Eggs, I'll Be Back On Monday.
It’s a mystery why today is called Good Friday, I’m sure the blokes on the crosses weren’t exactly sensing any aspect of goodness from their experience, not unless they had shares in a fish and chip shop or a chocolate factory. I joined a steady procession of vehicles on the moor road, the majority of them heading for Whitby to spend one of their precious days off wandering aimlessly around the quaint narrow streets, shoulder to shoulder with a few thousand like-minded loafers. I peeled off at Scaling Dam where it became obvious the bright sunshine beaming over Teesside was struggling to extend its rays this far into North Yorkshire, ominous dark clouds massing to the south like football hooligans waiting for the opposing team's supporters to arrive. Taking a chance to remain coatless for as long as possible, I headed inland on farm tracks until I found myself at The Slagbag, an infamous steep and loose adventure in exertion. Soon my lungs were having their own adventure in exertion, fortunately it is quickly over and I’m pedalling over the moor, before dropping down to the hamlet of Green Houses. Normally from here I would follow the road to toward Lealholm, turning off at Oakley Walls for a couple of tarmac miles until the Watersplash Singletrack, today I took advantage of a decent tailwind and slogged up the gravel of Lealholm Rigg, all the way to Danby Beacon. This effort was just to ride the track which goes from the beacon to Oakley Walls, recently resurfaced after being closed to vehicles for many months, it has reopened and the wobbly heads have taken advantage, it must have been resurfaced with meringue or something because it has rapidly reverted to being a muddy, rutted replica of a First World War battlefield. I think it is called Shooting The Shit on Strava, which about sums it up. Being in a particularly masochistic mood, I decided to hit the SIs Cross track for an extra loop; it wasn’t in prime condition, today the flowing singletrack carving through purple heather was a furrow of mud and water for the most part. And the clouds began to shed their load, time to drag the coat out. Probably still more fun than walking round Whitby though. Another climb took me back to Danby Beacon, ready for Brown Rigg singletrack, with a tailwind, I’m sure I was on for a PB until a rainbow appeared right in front of me, if there had been a pot of gold at the end, I’d be writing this from somewhere sunny and mud-free instead of in a back bedroom with a view of a chemical factory. So my PB took second place to taking pictures and hunting for pots of gold. The rainbow began to fade away and shortly after I was preventing myself from fading away with a tailgate picnic in the car park.
