Colder Than A Penguin's Toenails.

Once again I am joined by the jet-setting crumpet-fondler for a blunder about the moors and lanes on our pedal bikes. We set off from Swainby on a bitterly cold morning, for what turned out to be one of my fairly standard routes and it was none the worse for that. We eventually ended up in Silton Woods, I say eventually because there was a slight delay while The Breadlads bowels took precedence over peddling. Google tells us crocodiles have the fastest digestion in the animal kingdom but obviously Google doesn’t know about The Breadlad. The downhill track in Silton Woods was not as frozen as we would have liked, a few treacherous patches would have caught out mere mortals but we are Terra Trailblazers and overcome danger. Mostly by moving slower than grannies in a post office queue. Our return route was as familiar as the outward journey, pausing only to inspect the remains of Rod's trails above the reservoir. It wasn't long before we were enjoying some calorific confections in the Rusty Bike.

Surf's Up

I was so excited to see a 0% chance of rain forecast, I didn't think to check the wind speed, an omission which was regretted within 5 minutes of beginning this ride. The whitecaps lashing up the wall of Scaling Reservoir ought to have given me a clue but all doubts were dispelled with alacrity as I battled the wind toward High Tranmire Farm, I was heading for the farm, the wind was doing its utmost to push me back to the Moor Road.. It was harsh and energy sapping, bringing back memories of The Sandstone Way, when we rode into 50 mph headwinds every day for three days. The dip to Hardale Beck and up the other side, aka The Slagbag gave a brief respite from the wind but then it was back into the full force, as it blasted across open moors, haranguing me all the way to Oakley Walls. I finally got a tailwind at Danby Beacon, which meant riding the Roxby Moor singletrack was as though a heavenly deity had taken pity on the non-electric biker and given him a push along the track. When I got back on the farm road, another cyclist was battling up the road, as I had done two or three hours earlier. He seemed glad to stop for a chat, apparently he does this route regularly and it was the hardest he had ever found it. I could only sympathise before being pushed back down the road to the car park, where I took the wheels off the bike and stuck it inside the car; too windy to trust it on the roof rack.

Coatless In February

One of those anomalous February days, when the temperature suddenly ramps up into the high teens centigrade and coats are relegated to their summer places. My sudden attack of popularity appears to have waned and I am back on my lonesome, as I was the previous ride. The Breadlad has returned to crumpet fondling and I assume everyone else has resumed hibernation, seeing as they ride their bikes less often than Gary Glitter gets invited to open new primary schools. As far as I can recall, this ride was a standard scrounge about Guisborough Woods, I didn't see another biker all ride until I decided to have a look down Guisborough classic, The Chute and met three people, all about to embark on its varied delights. Great minds think alike and all that. Things are beginning to dry up nicely at the moment and some of the tracks have escaped winter overuse and avoided being turned into a muddy groove, which makes them more enjoyable. I am struggling to recall anything else that might have happened on this ride but I’m pretty certain the butchers was involved.

To The Monument

Another Great Ayton start, this time making the climb up to Gribdale and the continuation, all the way to Captain Cook’s Monument, more as a test of my recovering fitness than anything else. All I can say is, pedestrianism didn’t occur, breathlessness, aching legs, burning lungs and a pounding heart but no walking - so I’m not ready to go electric just yet. On Easby moor the sky might have been blue today but the wind was bitter and I didn’t hang around the monument for long. A couple of trails took me back down the hill to Gribdale and more climbing, onto Newton Moor and around the Lonsdale Bowl, followed by yet more climbing, Percy Cross Rigg. I wonder if this is why I am Billy No-Mates? Percy Cross Rigg drops down to Guisborough Woods, where I made acquaintance with a few more trails prior to heading back to Great Ayton.