April Fools

 

A Proper Ride For Proper Bikers

After spending the whole month of March bereft of companionship on my rides, wending my lonely way over hill and dale like some sort of outcast - this is what happens when Santa didn’t fit an electric bike down your chimney. My first ride of April, appropriately enough on April Fool’s Day, I was joined by The Breadlad who managed to squeeze almost three hours out of his busy jet-setting existence to venture to Guisborough and check out some of the new trails which have appeared while he has been elsewhere. Our route is pretty much irrelevant, like all Guissy rides it involved going uphill on fire roads a lot, interspersed with trails. Magnificent condition trails., it has to be said, we haven’t had any significant rain for weeks, the farmers are already muttering the D word. Our brief interlude was soon finished as The Breadlad departed to fulfil some husbandly duties and I was left with my coffee and the same over-friendly horse as last time I parked here.

Just Me And The Birdsong

Normal service was resumed for this ride, back to Billy No-Mates. On a day like today too with a sky so blue it didn’t seem real. In a world full of mountain bikers looking longingly out of their respective windows, I was lucky enough to be out doing it. Scaling Dam car park was virtually empty when I pedalled away, cycling beside the reservoir until I was able to turn inland, climbing gradually until the steep drop to Hardale Beck, which is followed by an even steeper climb out (aka The Slagbag). Still climbing, I ended up at Danby Beacon from where I enjoyed a circular detour, taking in a section of the Pannierman’s Causeway before climbing back to the beacon. From the beacon, it would be rude not to partake in the Roxby Moor track, especially in these dry conditions - so I did. Shame about the headwind but it didn’t detract too much from the whole carving through the heather experience, which is what Roxby Moor us all about. Another ride across the dam and I was back at the car, ready to make the short journey to Birk Brow for the all important calorie replenishment.

Squirrel Chasing With Two Friends Of Billy.

In the theatrical world, there are many “friends of Dorothy”, in the mountain biking world “friends of Billy (Bosch)” now make up the majority of cyclists , especially in trail centres, where it sometimes seems normally-aspirated pedalling is an anachronism from another age. Today, I was the anachronism, joined at Hamsterley Forest by a pair of Nissan’s finest former employees, who have left the production line behind in favour of the indolent life of retirees. Our first visit to Hamsterley for a while and mainly because we were eager to try out the new Blue Route, Squirrel Chaser, opened a mere 24 hours ago. There are some superb individual trails at Hamsterley, which can hold their own when compared to any others in this country but the convoluted routes to join them together leave a lot to be desired. The new Blue is short and sweet, if you don’t follow the official route signs which lead unsuspecting punters along a mile or two of uninteresting padding until the start of the new section is reached, after that things are pretty enjoyable, some nice berms, a couple of climbs and descents. The route is roughly circular, it finishes close to the start, so it's handy for sessioning a few times. We spent the rest of the day fitting in all the other man-made routes, which include a lot of climbing - only a problem for one of us. We returned to the car park for a tailgate picnic, after which Billy Bosch’s boys went out again for another crack at Squirrel Chaser. My analogue legs were lacking enthusiasm for any more climbing, so I did the sensible thing and headed home.

The Full Rosedale Round

Another day of tailwind/headwind and the wind was in the opposite direction to normal, so the ride hurt in places it doesn't normally. Plus the recent warm weather seems to have abandoned us, leaving beyond its cold, grey cousin, more like a pleasant January day then halfway through April. It has been a while since I did the full Rosedale Round but it was to be my last ride for a fortnight, owing to other commitments, so a few miles seemed like a good idea. From my parking spot, Blakey Bank Top, the first few miles seem like a very good idea, eight miles downhill with a tailwind, on dry, dusty tracks, beginning on the old rail track, four miles to the road at Chimney Bank, open moorland to Ana Cross, then a steep blast all the way to Lastingham. Through Lastingham, then a U turn to head back along the valley to Rosedale Abbey. A dozen or more years ago, I broke my collarbone riding a gully on this section of track - I still can’t see how. I stopped for a quick snack beneath the mighty oak tree on the village green in Rosedale Abbey. A tranquil spot, hard to believe it was once the home of thousands of unruly miners, a place where the pubs opened at six in the morning to quench the thirsts of the night shift. Leaving the village behind, I continued northwards on tarmac, passing Bell End Farm, a favourite of The Pensioner, who would pant up the road, sniggering at the signs. A short but steep climb and I am on Rosedale East rail track, which passes a number of relics from those industrial days, huge crumbling kilns where iron ore rock was once burned to make it lighter to transport, the remains of trackside buildings and the ever present railbed, now gravelled over but it is still possible to make out the imprint of old sleepers. A headwind and a slight gradient made this section hard work but the magnificent views more than made up for it. The track takes a huge loop around the head of the valley, another U turn in our route, reclaiming the tailwind all the way back to Blakey Bank Top and the finish. And the end of riding for a couple of weeks, the next blog will be coming from sunny Spain courtesy of Sierra MTB, our eighth year of hooning around the sierras of Southern Spain, a happy conglomeration of sunshine, dust and beer.

Clicking on the route names will take you to the Strava page for the route. Where you can marvel at how slow we are.

Marching Out Of WInter

 

Top Of The World

Reaching the top of the world in North Yorkshire only involves driving up a big bank, providing there isn’t a lorry jack-knifed across the carriageway, which is not an unusual occurrence. Today, however, was a clean run and I parked up opposite the “This way to the finest view in England “ sign. A bold statement which is difficult to challenge. Sutton Bank is where the moors stop, abruptly; an escarpment of cliffs and trees looking across a flat valley which doesn’t rise again until the Pennines. As well as the finest view, there is some fine mountain biking on the plateau, greatly improved since it became part of the Sutton Bank Bike Trails network. The old bridleways we rode for years have been properly resurfaced to make them more weatherproof and they have added a cyclocross track and a pump track in the woods adjacent to the visitor centre. All the marked trails begin by passing through this area, so it is always worth a quick lap or two of the pump track as a warm up before continuing around the cyclocross track, except today - the cyclocross track was closed while the forest is being thinned out a bit. The marked routes diverge just after Dialstone Farm, which is reached by a road and a parallel off-road track. This bit of trail runs alongside some gallops and today I was treated to the sight of huge horses, ridden by fun-sized jockeys, thundering along beside me. My own route was a mix and match mash up of trails up and down the escarpment, utilising bits from all the marked routes, my outward journey taking in the singletrack in and out of Boltby Scar, High Paradise Farm, the Hambleton Drove Road and Boltby Forest. The return route was more direct, following the edge of the escarpment until I reached “The finest view in England” According to the signage on the approach, this view may only be enjoyed by pedestrians, so the bike had to sit this one out, left hurt and dejected like a wife in the club watching her husband play snooker instead of performing his husbandly duties, while I went on foot to take some pictures. Not that it was an especially spectacular view today, the weather was grey and gloomy, with low clouds and less sunshine than the inside of a teenage computer gamer’s bedroom.  Only the last mile or so of the green Cliff Trail remained before we were back at the car.

A Necessary Evil.

Route sections of this nature remind me why the road biking got knocked on the head years ago. Two and a half miles of uphill tarmac, it might have been in a beautiful setting, cutting through the heather moors of North Yorkshire but it was only marginally less boring than those death by Powerpoint meetings endured back in the days of gainful employment. At least this interminable slog had been preceded by an exciting off-road descent, down the steep side of Ainthorpe Rigg and it was leading to the Trough House track, a moors classic. Unlike every road ride I ever did, where the only things to look forward to with pleasure were the cafe in the middle and the pub at the end. Apparently, beating your Strava time on a bit of smooth road is one of the few things to get excited about when you’re a roadie and beating someone else’s Strava time brings with it the genuine possibility of premature ejaculation. So long as skinny saddle induced penile numbness hasn’t consigned erectile function to a distant memory. Anyway, some time after embarking on my tarmac trauma, the welcome sight of the turn off onto The Cut Road came into view. The Cut Road is definitely not a road but a gravel track around the head of Farndale, passing the lonely stone hut, Trough House, which is why it is more usually known as the Trough House track. A quarter of a century ago it was regarded as one of the finest technical trails in the North York Moors, a veritable smorgasbord of rocks and ruts, sanitisation has tamed it nowadays but it is still a pleasant blast high above the valley of Fryupdale. For those in search of more adventure, a side trail, halfway along takes you to The Glaisdale Corkscrew, a steep descent into the valley with the potential of a helicopter ride to James Cook hospital for the unwary. A trail to sort the men from the boys. Being a big boy, I stayed on the Trough House bridleway to its end, where a short bit of downhill tarmac took me to another off-road descent. This one also seems to have had the attention of the gravel fairies, definitely a lot smoother than it used to be. A road so minor it has grass growing along the middle runs along Fryupdale, passing isolated houses and farms until I eventually arrive at Duck Bridge, where I have a breather and snap a few pictures around the bridge. More minor roads take me back to Danby and a sandwich in the sunshine, sitting on the grass outside the cafe.

Life Choices

What a day for a bike ride, in deference to those unfortunate enough to still be employed, I won't mention the windless blue sky or the dry trails or the warmth of the sun, well, not much anyway. In the interests of fitness or maybe masochism, I put in a long tarmac start, from Great Ayton, through Kikdale, up Percy Cross Rigg, down to Sleddale, then off-road up Codhill Heights to the back of Highcliffe Nab. Downhills earned, it was time to take to the trails. The open trails are beginning to dry up nicely, in the woods the more popular routes are not faring so well, winter riding has reduced parts to water filled ruts. Or might it be these heavy beasts, ebikes, which are so popular nowadays, or perhaps it is the heavy beasts who ride them. Although most people I know who have bought an ebike come out less than they did previously, so maybe not. Anyway, it was a grand day, trails were ridden; going by the old maxim “If you’re not falling off, you’re not trying hard enough” I must have been trying very hard because more than one unplanned dismount occurred. The ride culminated with a bridleway around the base of the mighty Roseberry Topping and through Newton Wood before heading back into Great Ayton and the lure of pastry-wrapped animal flesh. 

Off-Camber Slipperiness

Guisborough Woods again today but in an attempt to wean myself off the calorific delights of the butchers, I took a sandwich and parked at Hutton Village. No tarmac warm up to break the legs in gently, straight into a loose and muddy off-road climb, fortunately only as far as the Blue Lake, which is currently hosting an orgy of fornicating frogs. Leaving the amorous amphibians behind, I crossed the culverts and entered the woods, intent on exploring some new trails which have appeared in this area of the forest. Pushing up through the trees, I spied a few new trails heading downhill, either towards the Blue Lake or further across the hillside to above the cow field at Hutton Village. Mentally filing them away for later, I continued upward and soon reached familiar territory, one of the main fire roads through the forest. Starting from Hutton Village misses out the road warm up from the Great Ayton side, so the choice is either a short but intense session of up and downs on the trails or a longer meander on fire roads and moorland tracks interspersed with trails. I opted for the latter and had a grand tour around and about, riding up under Highcliffe, continuing on towards the east end of the woods before U turning and heading back along the top track. The top track is usually muddy and puddle-ridden, today was no different, it doesn’t seem to have joined the dry trail trend like the rest of the woods. Moving out onto open moorland, the descent of Codhill Heights was speedy and lacking the usual death-wish sheep for a change. I made my way back to the woods via Newton Moor and dropped down the hillside on a few carefully chosen trails, eventually arriving at the trails I had pushed up at the start of the ride. It was time for a bit of an explore. There were some enjoyable bits until the end section of the last trail I tried, which was where I met my nemesis - steep switchbacks. All I can say is despite spending a week in Spain every year, riding switchbacks down large mountains, our own local steep and muddy variety are still ridden, by me anyway, in the style of a piano falling down a spiral staircase. Never mind, they’ll always be there for another day. And I had coffee and sandwiches waiting in the car. A horse joined me for the tailgate picnic, taking no interest in garlic sausage butties but quite keen to eat my elbow, until I moved out of reach when it turned its attention to my tail light, trying to chew it in between giving me blasts of its silage breath. Luckily someone turned up with carrots and the beast quickly ditched me. 

Clicking on the route names will take you to the Strava page for the route. Where you can marvel at how slow we are.