Mountain Bike Ride.
The Pensioner.
Hoping I’d recovered from Friday’s sufferfest, me and The Pensioner met at Lordstones for what would hopefully be a substantially gentler ride, at least the weather was more promising. Gentle wind and fairly sunny. The start of the route was less amiable, straight up the Gliding Club track on Carlton Bank, although the Gliding Club has now gone, I suppose it will always be the Gliding Club track. I can remember when it was a popular venue, gliders being launched by a tractor which dragged them along a roughly made runway until they had enough speed and height to jettison the tow rope, a quick think back brings me to the unpleasant realisation this would have been between forty to forty five years ago. Am I really that old? I can remember exploring the caves at Thackdale (actually an old jet mine) and the crags in Snotterdale and Scugdale with gliders banking and cruising overhead: it does not seem that long ago.
We cruised up that hill like two lumbering B52 bombers as opposed to lightweight gliders sailing on thermals but we made it without too much distress. The view down the Raisdale Road opening up as we gained height, Cringle Moor and Cold Moor to our left, the bulk of Carlton Bank at our right shoulders. We made our way to Faceby Plantation via a track of dubious legality, then followed the bridleway across a field and onto an unusually dry Bank Lane. Entering Faceby I was harassed by a very small dog with the attitude of a much larger canine, luckily it’s aggression was purely verbal. Oddly enough it completely ignored The Pensioner, perhaps some doggy sixth sense realising it had met it’s match in the snappy-tempered curmudgeon department.
Continuing on road for a while, we passed through Swainby, climbing gently into Clain Woods and through the fields to Cowshit Farm, or Harfa House to give it it’s proper name. It will always be Cowshit Farm to us after The Ginger One’s unsuccessful negotiation of the slurry filled farmyard some years ago, bringing up the rear, as we all watched his shaky progress, he stalled and put his foot down, plunging his bare leg calf deep into the stinking ordure. Much to the amusement of those spectating. At the end of the track, we lounged in the sunshine, taking on a bit of energy and daring to think spring might have sprung. Tarmac took us to the end of Scugdale and the hideous push/carry up the bridleway from Scugdale Hall to above Barker’s Crags and eventually Brian’s Pond. A touch more uphill over the moor and we were soon taking withdrawals from the Bank Of Gravity, retracing our tyre tracks down the Gliding Club track at a significantly brisker pace than our ascent. All today’s tracks had been gloriously firm, with very little mud and only the occasional puddle, conditions could not have been better. Of course Eeyore the gloomy pensioner had to put a dampener on it. “Aye, it’s alright now, wait until the summer comes and it all turns back to mud. We always have a drier spring than summer.”
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