Two Hotties Hammering Around Hamsterley

Here we are, April more than half gone and only three rides done. It started so well too, me and SuperBri pounding around Hamsterley as well as two blokes either side of sixty can manage anyway. As you might have gathered by the fact SuperBri is loose, it is school holiday time, all the car parks were busy but it turned out the trails were not, which was nice. We embarked on another variation of our Hamsterley Hot Lap, riding up to Windybank Road via the Skills Loop see-saw. From the road we accessed Section 13, the first of four official trails on this side of the valley, it is followed by Boneshaker, Special K and Brainfreeze. These are some of the oldest routes in Hamsterley but regular maintenance keeps them mostly rideable, although a few puddles today gave those of us without mudguards the sort of moistness usually associated with geriatrics in a post office queue. From the end of Brainfreeze, the Grove Link takes us to, yes, you've guessed it - The Grove and the beginning of the long climb to the start of the quintet of quality, Polties, K Line, Transmission, Accelerator and Nitrous, all differing routes in terms of terrain but a phenomenal way to ride back to the valley floor. We chose to give the Pike’s Teeth/Oddsox combo a miss this ride in favour of the revamped Skills Loop. The circle of doom has been reinstated, in stone this time instead of wood, perhaps it is smaller than the previous incarnation, maybe it is these new-fangled 29 inch wheels, it is even possible my bike handling skills are somewhat lacking but anyway, it seemed harder than it used to be. Further on we mastered the new drop offs like professionals, not professional downhillers obviously, not unless they have brittle bone disease and acrophobia but we even managed the highest drop unscathed. We celebrated with a third go on the see-saw before heading back to the cafe, which was a fair bit more populated than the trails.

SuperBri Loses His Mad Mile Virginity.

It transpires that, despite having ridden with our motley band of shirkers and inadequates for quite a few years, SuperBri has never had the pleasure of the Mad Mile. For the uninitiated, the Mad Mile is a bridleway which drops down the shoulder of the mighty Black Hambleton, a hill which looms above Square Corner on the road between Osmotherely and Hawnby, It is part of the Hambleton Drove road, which was used to drive livestock from as far north as Scotland to markets in the south. We call it the Mad Mile because it is one mile from the car park at Square Corner to the cairn at the top. Today was the day for SuperBri to lose his Mad Mile virginity, both up and down; always keen to witness a spot of defloration, The Breadlad managed to find a window in his packed schedule of international jet setting to join us. Working on the theory it is always better to approach such a beast of an ascent with a warm up, we began our ride from Swainby, heading up through Clain Woods via The Steps Of Doom, SuperBri made a valiant but ultimately pitiful attempt to ride up the steps, while those of us who know our place in the pantheon of pathetic pedallers walked as usual. Pausing at the top of the steps, we checked out our spirit animal, a slow worm which was slithering across the track. We continued to Sheepwash, where countless Teessiders go to enjoy the countryside without actually being out of sight of their cars and along Cod Beck Reservoir, climbing up through the woods to High Lane, which is a continuation of the aforementioned Drove Road and headed toward Square Corner and the Mad Mile. There is a gate about a quarter of a mile after Square Corner, four hundred feet above us is a cairn, the climbing begins shortly after the gate, gently at first, rising steadily to a short level section, following which the track becomes rocky and loose, as well as ramping up to an angle steeper than the price of a pint in that there London. My bike took exception to this sort of abuse and began shedding its chain whenever any pressure was applied, which was most of the time, the other two disappeared into the distance as my bike began to be berated with outbursts of profanity and threats to its continued existence. If my bike had been a woke, sentient being I’d be in prison for a hate crime against velocipedes. Admitting defeat, I pushed the useless lump of metal and rubber the remainder of the way, where some investigation using the collective mind-power of around 170 years of experience was instigated, a collapsed jockey wheel bearing revealed itself to be the culprit. It turns out, if you scrap the bearing and replace the centre bushing, you can ride another dozen miles without any problem. Bearings? Who needs them? A little later than anticipated we were cruising along the Drove Road under a big sky, heading for Boltby Forest, dropping off the Drove Road on a muddy trail reaching the forest, only to ride back to the top on fire roads. Just outside the Boltby Forest boundary is a bomb hole which passes a few minutes of our time - it really is a bomb hole too, during the second world war my dad lived in Hawnby, which is close by, German bombers heading during the night, for the steelworks at Middlesbrough, confused by the blackouts used to sometimes drop bombs on the moor, prompting the local kids to hike up in daylight to check out the damage and look for debris. We retraced our tyre tracks along the Drove Road, ready for the main event of the day - down the Mad Mile, always a great deal more fun than the ascent, it must be said and we arrived at the gate at the bottom grinning like baboons. We followed High Lane to Sheepwash, through the ford and continued onward to take our revenge on the Clain Wood steps, nobody getting off to push in the gravity-friendly direction. We were soon outside the new cafe in Swainby, ready to replace today’s calorie deficit, only to find we were half an hour too late. Apparently it closes at 2pm on a Friday. Bizarre but true.

The North Wind Doth Blow

Third ride of the month and my first without companions, SuperBri has returned to educating Teesside’s youth, The Breadlad is back to crumpet fondling in the bread factory and everyone else has disappeared like Gary Glitter after his last court case. The forecast for today was dry with sunny intervals and fresh breeze, which is meteorological talk for greyer than a tramp's underwear, raining and blowing a hoolie straight from the North Sea. Undeterred, me and my bike, freshly equipped with a new pair of jockey wheels, set off from Great Ayton for a mooch about Guisborough Woods, heading up through the farms to Roseberry Common before taking shelter from the trees. Or what is left of them, Stripes and Chevronz have definitely bit the dust, or bit the mud more accurately as the logging continues through the forest. The trails I rode are showing signs of drying up slightly, which is amazing considering we have had the wettest 18 month period since the early nineteenth century, about the same time as The Ginger One was last spotted on a bike. Leaving the woods behind, I had a welcome tailwind for the Codhill Heights descent but somehow still managed to be 14 seconds slower than my PB, I finished off around the Lonsdale Bowl and down FIngerbender Bank (so called after one of The Pensioner’s unfortunate accidents), dropping down to Gribdale on what we call Andy’s Track known on Strava as Off The Brakes, which is rideable at present, in a few weeks the bracken will take over again and it will be lost to us for a season. All that remains is a few miles of downhill tarmac, tracing a path directly to the butchers, where a chunk of animal flesh wrapped in pastry is waiting for me.