The Slack Week.

The Slack Week.

 

Only two rides this week, for a variety of reasons, mainly having to do with clocking up another birthday, where I join my contemporaries, such luminaries as Morrisey, John McEnroe and Sean Bean, on the verge of middle age. Weather-wise, September has started pretty much the same as August finished, cold, grey and drizzling. A heat wave is forecast, probably the same one which was supposed to happen in August - there is a distinct lack of breath holding from all and sundry.

 

Almost The Sun

To misquote The Stranglers, who actually sang “always the sun.” Obviously they have never spent a whole summer mountain biking in northern England. It felt odd having the first ride in the week on a Thursday, my mind was convinced it was Monday. For some perverse reason, maybe because I was alone, a road warm up seemed a good idea, stretch the legs with a few easy miles on tarmac before hitting the rough stuff. Eight miles and around a thousand feet of ascent later I actually wondered whether thinking like this might be the start of dementia, apparently even youngsters like me can become victims. The tedium of the tarmac finished with a blast down the deteriorating Sleddale road, where the road turns to Sleddale Farm, our route goes straight on, ascending a gravelled doubletrack across Codhill Heights, which is an odd name for a hill but it seems Hutton Village, way down in the valley below Highcliffe Nab was formerly known as Codhill, when it was home to families of local miners. The ascent took me to the top edge of Guisborough Woods, where, after a little breather and a bite to eat, I launched myself down some of the woods’ finest off-piste with all the style and grace of an eel falling down a cliff. Not through any lack of skill or expertise on my part, of course, the constant dampness has left the trails greasier than the underside of Fat Betty’s deep fat fryer on fish and chip Friday and for anyone unfamiliar with Guisborough trails; 30% is flat, 45% is a slight slope and 90% is the angle where locals think trails begin to get interesting. It’s fair to say, I may have required the odd dab to get down some of them. But, as they say, experience is never wasted, a few new trails were stashed away in the bulging file named “Will be okay in the dry.” Even our new favourite descent out of the woods - Brant Gate  - had its moments of doubt and pain - to misquote some more song lyrics. (Sympathy For The Devil, The Rolling Stones) At least the Bluebells And Garlic path through the bottom of Newton Woods was in fine condition, having been nicely gravelled and straightened out last year. I could have finished the ride with a call into Cliff Rigg Quarry, to attempt a few of the jumps but the kids might not be all back at school yet and we can do without pubescent sniggering at our efforts, SuperBri gets paid to put up with a classroom full of that. So it was wheels firmly on the floor, all the way back to Great Ayton and the only decision left is Mr. Bun The Baker or Mr. Bacon The Butcher. Mr. Bun today, leaving the pies alone for a bit, after all I am almost old enough to qualify for a bit of middle age spread, or to give it its commercial name “ I Can’t Believe It’s Not Relaxed Muscle.”

September, December it's all the same these days.

“It was the third of September,

That day I’ll always remember

‘Cause that was the day we put the heating on”

It really is that cold, so we’re making our own indoor heatwave with the help of North Sea gas, which isn’t any cheaper considering the North Sea is only about six miles away as the crow flies. To prevent this blog becoming a litany on the shortcomings of the British weather, take it as read that it is cold, grey and drizzling unless you hear otherwise. The Breadlad dragged his aching back over the crossbar today, joining me in a ride from Ingleby Greenhow, to check out a track I spotted a few weeks ago on the moor above Turkey Nab. We could have went straight up to it but a 3 mile round trip is a bit brief even for us, so a circuitous route had us making our way up to the highest point on the moors via the fire road through Ingleby Plantation, a bit of steep road to Clay Bank, followed by a hike-a-bike up Carr Ridge before a final pedal to the summit of Round Hill on Urra Moor. Another ride beginning with well over a 1,000 feet of ascent. To be fair, it was all downhill from Round Hill, apart, of course, from the uphill bits, which were mercifully short. To squeeze in a bit of extra mileage, we turned off the Cleveland Way at Burton How and had a blast down The Old Coal Road and across Ingleby Moor, emerging back onto the Cleveland Way at a singletrack which leads to Turkey Nab - or Ingleby Bank to give it the proper Ordnance Survey name. The singletrack was relatively dry and we enjoyed a stretch of technical riding as a change from the wide, gravel tracks which have comprised most of today’s ride. At Turkey Nab we hopped up onto the moor where I had spotted the promising track, it turned out to be about as promising as an evening in a cut-price brothel staffed entirely by unconvincing transvestites. Just like in the aforementioned establishment, we had a couple of photo opportunities with a scenic viewpoint, then got the Hell out of there. The descent of Turkey Nab is slowly getting back to the slabby, rocky fun it was before sanitisation, water and 4x4’s are seeing to that; mere minutes later we were sat in a wooden shack at The Dudley Arms Coffee Shop, one of a number installed during the great plague of 2020, complete with a ceiling mounted electric space heater - which will be just the ticket for winter rides.

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

Saying Goodbye To The Summer That Never Was. August 2021 Round Up and Video.

 

Saying Goodbye To The Summer That Never Was.

 

The predicted heatwave failed to appear, in fact, the weather gods could barely be bothered to string two decent days together - did it deter us? No. Were we happy? Not entirely - but we did it anyway even though the trails are now in late autumn condition. We even managed rides in the Lake District and the Yorkshire Dales, working on the theory the weather might be better further west - it wasn’t. Let’s face it, in my 62 years idling about this planet, I can only recall two decent summers, the pinnacle being the summer of ‘76 - Google it if you are too young to remember and one sometime in the early nineties which happened to coincide with my 18 day break. We spent it in Borrowdale, even in the wettest place in England it was like having a proper holiday - in Britain! We are due a decent summer soon. Surely? But you haven't started this to read a bloke on the verge of middle age moaning about the weather, you want to read about blokes on the verge of middle age dicking about on bikes. Without further ado, here are the last four outings in August. Or if you can't be bothered to read all this bollocks, click here for the video.

 

 

 

 

The Raddest Dudes In The Whole Of Radland.

Hutton village start today and a nice easy pedal along the old rail track to Slapewath where we enjoyed ourselves attempting to make like teenagers and launch ourselves, with varying degrees of success, from assorted jumps. The landings are greasy from the recent poor weather which did nothing for our commitment but a few of the more amenable jumps were sessioned, just as you would expect from a bunch of gnarly, rad, young dudes. There wasn’t a bunch of gnarly, rad, young dudes in the vicinity, so we had to stand in. We moved back to Guisborough Woods while all our limbs were still intact, paying for our pleasure with a pedal up the concrete road, never an easy ride, breathing through every orifice as Howard and SuperBri pull away, still chatting. Making our way to the top of the woods, we rode down via as many tracks as we could find that weren’t too overgrown, finishing with Stripes 2, where someone has kindly felled a bunch of trees across the best bit, so it wasn’t the grin inducing downhill finish we envisioned. 

Easy Cruising Sort Of Ride

A bit of easy riding today, doing my minimal climbing Scaling Dam route, just me, SuperBri and the drone, which came out for an airing. This route is basically from Scaling, a mile of Moor Road to the Danby turn off, Robin Hood’s Butts to Sis Cross, Sis Cross to Clitherbeck/Pannierman’s Causeway, Danby Beacon, Roxby Moor and back to Scaling Dam. Two canny singletracks with some nice riding between them, all with less than 800 feet of climbing. And today was no different, SuperBri performed admirably for the drone as it followed him down the Sis Cross singletrack. We had our first breather at Danby Beacon - that’s what it is like when you’re out with the fitties, rests are few and far between. They even need educating regarding the concept of NSP’s (Natural Stopping Points). There were quite a few people at the beacon, desperate to squeeze in another tick off the list before the holidays finish. People like SuperBri, whose summer of fun is coming to an end and he’ll soon be back in school, attempting to teach unwilling teenagers maths without bouncing a wooden board rubber off their nappers. The wooden board rubber, favoured ammunition of teachers throughout the seventies, along with knuckle raps, slippers, rulers, canes and the odd open-handed slap around the head. I daresay there might be a law against it nowadays. It might have hurt a bit but kids didn’t leave school as thick as they started. We continued with a blast across Roxby Moor, no filming, no photographs, just riding that groove all the way to High Tranmire Farm. A farm road takes us back to Scaling Dam, as it abuts the moor road, a field full of sheep has a strange notice on the gatepost - Danger Of Death. Keep Off. Killer sheep? A last pedal along the dam of Scaling Reservoir takes us back to the car park, ready for our picnic.

Not The Best Summer's Day We've Ever Had.

Hard as it may be to believe in this green and pleasant land, the already mediocre August weather has taken a turn for the worse, Clay Bank car park was fifty shades of grey, without the sexual deviancy, although what goes on up there outside of day hours is anyone’s guess. Just me and SuperBri again, venturing out into the cold, wet bleakness of a summer’s day in North Yorkshire. SuperBri wearing only a lightweight waterproof - there’s optimism for you and bare hands because he forgot his gloves. The old high level track, which passes through the top of Greenhow Plantation, high on Jackson’s Bank, curving round below the shale cliffs of Botton Head, was a disaster when me and The Ginger One attempted to ride it last year, when we blundered into a health and safety nightmare, not even a warning notice for us to ignore. Trees were being felled across our path as we pushed our bikes through a miasma of mud and tree branches until we gave up and turned back. Today was much better, in a way, the old singletrack through the trees has now gone, along with the trees, a wide mud road has been carved across the steep hillside, leading to the singletrack descent. Which is now a deep, rutted doubletrack descent, vegetated, mud-filled grooves, pedal deep but not pedal width. Another nice track ruined. It turns out SuperBri had never ridden up Ingleby Incline, well today was the day to rectify that, naturally he cruised it, disappearing upwards into the mist and drizzle, while I did it in the more traditional way. From the summit, we gained the wide, sandy tracks over Urra Moor, turning off at Cockayne Head for a little exploration along Cockayne Ridge, riding an unridden (by us anyway) track to Bloworth Woods and what a treat it was too, fast and wide to a dead end at a wall. A little diversion found a gate and a short track into Bloworth Woods, or Blowjob Woods as it was always known to The Pensioner and The Breadlad, one of their favourite trails in this part of the moors, mainly because The Breadlad once found twenty quid there, just laid in the mud - or so he says. We could have turned right at this point and followed the track to Bransdale to finish the ride with Tripsdale but that would have meant two big climbs in the unrelenting drizzle and SuperBri’s bare hands were already as blue as his windproof top, so we turned left and made our way through the woods to Rudland Rigg. More commonly known as ‘that fu*#ing awful Rudland Rigg’, ten miles of ascent whichever direction you ride it. Never mind studying black holes and dark matter, some of these scientist gadgies want to be turning their attention to the anomaly a bit closer to home. Cold, wet, hungry but curiously satisfied, we made our way back over Round Hill and down the other side back to Clay Bank for a tailgate umbrella picnic.

Could This Be The Worst Summer...Since Last Summer?

Has the weather improved since yesterday? Has it bollocks. I swapped SuperBri for a quartet of fresh cyclists - which shows how many people it takes to fill SuperBri’s shoes. The Breadlad, Simon T and Bingo Bob have all turned out to join Keith on his before work quickie. Snatching a few hours dicking about on a bike in the rain before he heads off to keep the wheels of industry turning. Five mountain bikers - luckily we are not covered by the Trades Descriptions Act - leaving behind a grey and drizzly Great Ayton, heading for the hills and the source of the drizzle, a blanket of grey cloud so low it engulfed the summit of Roseberry Topping. After almost a fortnight  of constant moisture, the trails in Guisborough Woods would be akin to Teflon-coated playground slides, so we opted to ride more open trails, which hold up better to the weather. Still unable to source a pair of Elton John windscreen wiper glasses, I ended up having to remove my spectacles which led to a couple of interesting moments as my “I’ll be okay, I can still see the big bits” theory proved somewhat flawed. Eventually, after much fun, frivolity and cruel banter, we reached Gribdale and time to release Keith back into the care of his paymasters, while the rest of us opted for the long drag up to Captain Cook’s Monument, with the exception of The Breadlad, who selflessly opted to accompany Keith back to Great Ayton. From the monument, the remaining trio found a convoluted way back to Gribdale, mainly involving varying degrees of wet, muddy slipperiness prior to blasting our way down the road to Petch’s pie shop.

 

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