Mountain Bike Ride
The Pensioner.
Dragging himself from his death bed after being struck down by the worst case of man-flu since the Great Plague thinned out the Cockneys (now there’s a promising storyline for Eastenders), The Pensioner made it to Lordstones car park, emerging from his Yeti coughing ferociously and hawking up gobbets of multi-coloured phlegm. The weather was sunnier than yesterday but still marred by a cold wind, which, of course, is all part of life’s great plot against him.
We headed for The Fronts, the track which runs along the side of Cringle Moor, Cold Moor and Hasty Bank, which, as we anticipated, was in good condition, mud dried up and puddles almost gone, running nice and fast and for a pleasant change, pedestrian-free, which gave us a good run. At Sheepshagger Bank, we took a left onto the bridleway towards Beak Hills, stopping to photograph newborn twin lambs. The Three Howes Zigzags calmed us down a bit, having to resort to carrying up the steep and loose track for a while, eventually we made it to the top, the broad ridge along the summit of Cold Moor, which becomes The Cold Moor Descent, leading steadily downward all the way to Chop Gate. With a complete lack of deference to The Pensioner’s opinion, the descent dissented, having some serious wheel-suckingly deep, muddy patches despite The Pensioner’s assurance that this track is always dry.
At Chop Gate we pedalled back up the Raisdale Road and as The Pensioner was feeling no worse than usual, (well, he wasn’t moaning any more than usual) decided we could squeeze in another hill or two, a decision some of us may have regretted plodding slowly up from Raisdale Mill cottages to the summit of Barker’s Ridge, over 600 feet above. After another breather, sandy moorland track was followed to Cock Howe, where we turned right onto the bridleway to Head House, a narrow ribbon of singletrack across the moor, dropping gradually down to a small beck before rising slightly to the shooting house of Head House, always in view of Bilsdale Mast, beaming afternoon television to the type of people who feel life is long enough to watch daytime telly. We returned to Barker’s Ridge via Arnesgill Ridge, a steady climb into a Northerly headwind straight from the Arctic Circle. On Arnesgill Ridge another cyclist came the opposite way, literally the first person we had seen during the whole ride. Where is everyone? Watching Loose Women probably. Barker’s Ridge in the opposite direction was a lot more fun than climbing up it.
A well ridden path over Carlton Bank, passing Brian’s Pond came next and it was not long before we were haring down the old gliding club access track at a speed which some might consider dangerously excessive for a partially-sighted sexegenarian. Shortly afterwards the car park was once again being resurfaced with phlegm as the contents of The Pensioner’s infected lungs were forcefully evicted, prior to the mandatory cafe visit.
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