Back To British Mud.

Owing to circumstances so far out of my control they may as well be on Mars, my first ride since I returned from Spain turned out to be exactly two weeks after returning from Spain. Two weeks without a bike ride is about long enough to rest after riding seven days on the bounce in Andalucia. Keith travelled down from the North East frontier of civilization, or Sunderland, as it is more commonly known, to join me for my return to (in)active duty. We met up in Great Ayton, just after I had collected my bike from Westbrooks, now proudly wearing a new drive train, along with a few suspension bearings which needed renewing. And the weather was bright and sunny, not too warm and with little wind - a perfect cycling day. We embarked on a fairly standard trawl around Guisborough Woods, beginning up through the farms, Roseberry Common, fire roads up to the top of the woods. It’s been a while since Keith was in these parts, the first time he has seen the extent of the deforestation. The hillsides look like sheep that have been sheared by Chris McCausland, lots of trails have been obliterated, Stripes, Chevronz, Mintballz, Screwball Scramble and many more are now just bare hillside, covered in mud, ruts and tree stubble. We doubled back, ending up on top of Highcliffe Nab, enjoying the view of Miles’ house where he was, no doubt, back on the metaphorical hamster wheel, beavering away while we played out like truanting schoolboys. I introduced Keith to a couple of more trails, both new to him; like the majority of today’s off-piste expeditions they were almost dry - only almost though. A few unwelcome slime pits reminded me in no uncertain terms I was back in Blighty. We had an exhilarating blast down Codhill Heights in the sunshine before we climbed up to Percy Cross Rigg, making our way back into the top of the forest, prior to heading through the gate onto Newton Moor. A short time later, we were on top of Little Roseberry, a small hill opposite the mighty Roseberry Topping, looking down to Roseberry Common, which lies between the two. Steep, rocky and rutted singletrack leads down the face of the hill, we blasted* down the track (* may be a subjective term) to Roseberry Common, no falls, no submissions. If the audience of walkers perambulating up and down Roseberry Topping had been any other nationality, they would have been clapping us and cheering in encouragement, being British, they turned the disdain up to max while pretending to ignore us. From Roseberry Common we retraced our tyre tracks to Great Ayton, not a bad little jaunt for the first ride in May.

No View Thursday.

And it turned out, I would again have to wait a whole week for another ride and then it was a late start following yet another morning in North Tees Hospital. I arrived in Swainby around lunchtime, on a very different day to the last ride, weatherwise at least. Nothing was visible above about 200 feet, not a hill or a tree, everything was in cloud, the wind was blowing straight in from the North Sea, bitter and baleful, colder than an undertaker’s girlfriend. It is as though we have bypassed summer and gone straight from spring to late autumn. My route was another standard journey, out of Swainby, up the Walk Of Shame steps in Clain Woods, up and across Scarth Wood Moor, with a helpful tailwind, down the other side to Osmotherley. I doubled back to the reservoir, low mist pouring over the dam wall and climbed back up into the cloud on High Lane. Square Corner was barely visible as I passed on the Drove Road, heading to Silton Woods. After a week of riding in Spain, where tree roots are the only only solid surface amidst the loose rock, I was hastily reminded British tree roots, on a wet and drizzly day, are treacherous tendrils of slippery insecurity, whose only purpose, is to throw unsuspecting riders into the undergrowth. And, I suppose, to give life to a tree. I retraced my tyre tracks back to High Lane, following the Drove Road down to Sheepwash, splashing through the ford, dropping down out of the cloud. One last track remained, the bridleway at Sneck Yate Bank, short but sweet, a trail above a hidden gully, running parallel to the road. Not totally dry but the best it has been for many months. Soon afterwards I was back in Swainby, second ride of the month done. Although rides have been few and far between for May, they are as enjoyable as ever.

It Could Do With Being A Bit Warmer

One of those blue sky days that lull you into a false sense of summer, despite it being half way through the merry month of May, temperatures barely scraped into double figures. But at least the moisture from the sky was taking a day off. I took myself to Scaling Dam, to ride some open moorland as a change from slithering down muddy chutes in the woods. From the boat club car park, I rode along the dam, just me and a load of goslings with their parents, not another soul in sight. Heading inland from the moor road, I pedalled through High Trenholme Farm to the “ford” in Hardale Beck . It's called a ford on the OS map although in reality it is a large puddle in a small stream. Large enough and deep enough to make you think twice about riding through it, particularly as it guards the entrance to The Slagbag, a brief but brutally steep incline which is a short sharp shock to the cardiovascular system. From the top, once normal service has been resumed in the breathing department, a thankfully flat ride across a moor leads to a downhill descent into the hamlet of Green Houses, although hamlet is probably glorifying the place a bit, two or three houses, none of which are green, and a lot of sheep. A few miles of tarmac from here take me along Oakley Walls to pick up the Clitherbeck bridleway, Watersplash Singletrack on Strava, a bit odd because it is not singletrack and there was no water today. No water! Even though it has been raining enough to have Noah floating in his grave. As the bridleway turns to farm track, I turned onto the Pannierman’s Causeway, another of the paved trods which criss-cross the moors, plodding slowly uphill to reach the Danby Beacon road. A steady pedal on tarmac to the beacon before hitting the heather cloaked magnificence which is Roxby Moor, a Terra Trailblazers’ favourite, a long and speedy downhill track across the moor, concentration constantly being tempted away by fine views across to Scaling reservoir and the North Sea a few miles beyond. Many times a lapse in attention has been rewarded with tumble in the heather. It isn’t too long before I am back in the car park, hurriedly packing away so I can head up to Birk Brow for the highlight of the ride - the burger van and some proper athlete food.

0% Chance Of Rain - Another Lie.

Opening the curtains this morning, the sight of non-existent rain greeted me, soaking the roads, splashing in the puddles, non-existent because the BBC weather said so, a firm 0% all day, despite the evidence of my own eyes. Weathermen, right up there with politicians and estate agents in the factual fellowship. My intended route, an airy blast across wide open moors, was ditched in favour of Great Ayton and a scrounge about Guisborough Woods. With impeccable timing, the rain in Great Ayton stopped as I arrived. For a change, I headed toward Captain Cook’s Monument, using the track which traverses Easby Moor, between the Red Run and Mill Bank Woods, as it is getting close to the time of year when encroaching bracken will render this particular trail unrideable. The novelty of thrashing through a sea of fronds like nits negotiating a head of green hair, while wondering how many ticks are crawling towards the warmth and moistness of your genitals, begins to wear a little thin after a while. Do they still have school nurses? Nitty Nora The Head Explorer ours was known as, although I would imagine it was the same in every school. Slight digression there, apologies. Today’s bracken is still young and tender, not unlike myself and the track is easily rideable. As a bonus, I spotted a track coming down the hillside which warranted further exploration, so I hauled myself and bike up it - just so you don't have to. The start is practically at the monument and will make a fine addition to our trail network. Captain Cook’s Monument on a day like today was no place to be hanging about and it wasn’t long before some choice bits of trail were funnelling me down to Gribdale. Crossing the road at Gribdale, I pedalled up to Newton Moor and made my way around the Lonsdale Bowl, heading for Guisborough Woods via Codhill Heights, entering the forest to the rear of Highcliffe Nab. Carrying on, I worked my way through the damp forest, cherry-picking trails as I went; a casual somersault into a bush, resulting from forgetting wet wood is the slipperiest thing in slippy land, calmed me down a bit for the remainder of the trails. The lure of pastry-wrapped animal-flesh became irresistible, so I headed back down the hill to Great Ayton.

Looks Like Bambi Didn't Make It.

Failed To Make It Back Before The Rain

Now here’s a thing, after almost a month of lone riding, I find myself with not one but two companions, SuperBri has been released back into the community for a week because it is half term and Rod is using up his holidays. Conditions are the usual early summer weather we have come to expect this year, cool, cloudy and grey, although the rain is not forecast to arrive until afternoon, hopefully by the time we are driving towards home in our expensive metal umbrellas. A pleasant tarmac meander to Battersby led to an unpleasant climb up Coleson Banks, bringing us, slowly and painfully, to pick up the Cleveland Way track at the Baysdale road. Heading south on the Cleveland Way we took another bridleway on our left which heads towards Armouth Wath at the head of a hidden valley. Armouth Wath used to be a coal mine in historical times, which explains why our next track is called the Old Coal Road by everyone except the Ordnance Survey who have it as Middle Head Top. As we were ascending this track the dank drizzle which had accompanied us for most of the ride turned up the unpleasantness a few notches and became full on rain. The latest shockingly expensive jacket came out of the bag for its maiden voyage and proved itself worth every penny. We continued on up to the tumulus at Burton Howe, rejoining the Cleveland Way above Greenhow Botton, usually at this point we would hang a left and follow the track to Bloworth Crossing and return via the Incline Top, as an extra loop to boost the ride mileage. Today, left would have meant a couple of miles directly into wind and rain, not a popular choice, so we took the wind at our backs option and headed downhill to Turkey Nab, or Ingleby Bank for those reading the map. It is a wide, gravel track, often used by 4x4 drivers, the Wobbly Heads, as we like to call them, who often find themselves stuck on a couple of sections. A fairly recent addition to the Turkey Nab descent is a pleasant singletrack through the bracken parallel to the main track, we all took advantage. At the bottom gate we met local cycling legend and trail builder, Bobby Boyd, who was part way through an ambitious thirty mile loop on a borrowed ebike. We moved on into the woods to ride some favourite trails before they disappear under bracken until winter; judging by the amount of markers spay-painted on the trees, they might be disappearing forever. Enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think, as the song says. We emerged from the trees onto the old Rosedale ironstone railway, near Bank Foot Farm, lorries were tipping stone to strengthen the forest roads, which can only mean they are expecting some heavy traffic and another hillside bites the dust. We made our way back to the car park in Ingleby Greenhow, where, in a reversal of the expected forecast, the rain dried up for the drive home.

Hamsterley Puddle Dodging.

Time for a bit of a trail centre action, sometimes it is good to just switch off and let the risk assessors and trail graders take away a portion of the adventure and uncertainty from a mountain bike ride, stick caution on the top shelf, so you can let the brakes off and have a good old hurtle around the trails. Like eating a KFC instead of healthy food or watching trash TV, trail centres are nice for a change but not something for every ride. Although, today we had Rod with us, for whom the carefully graded pistes are a mere aperitif before the proper drinking begins, leaving behind nicely gravelled trails for the slithering chutes of mud and wet roots which comprise the infamous off-piste, beloved of bicycling adventurers the world over. I would hazard a guess that even in the jungles of Borneo or Papua New Guinea you will come across a few berms or some shonky jumps constructed from logs and mud. Our Hamsterley Hotlap, originally conceived because the official Hamsterley red route seems to have been designed as an ordeal to weed out all but the most dedicated mountain bikers, miles of interminable fire road torment linking a bunch of awesome trails, our first hot lap enabled all the best bits to be done with minimal mileage. There have been so many variations we now have variations on the variations, today’s ride took that a stage further, Rod’s knowledge of what might be politely described as ‘esoteric’ trails, led me and SuperBri into the sort of places which got Little Red Riding Hood into so much trouble. No big bad wolves for us though, just big, bad tree roots, malign tentacles of terror, stealthily whipping wheels away with malicious glee as vengeance against those who dare intrude on their kingdom. Even the official trails harboured some harbour size puddles. We passed the ride away quite nicely, riding a variety of trails without mishap, well, without the sort of mishaps which require medical intervention. We arrived back at the cars in time for another curious British phenomenon - a sun shower; standing under the tailgate sheltering from a steady drizzle in bright sunshine. At least it kept the midges away.