Mountain Bike Ride
The Pensioner, The Ginger One, The Bread Lad.
For a tiny village in the middle of nowhere, Gunnerside is certainly popular, we managed to bag the last parking spaces in the village, a bit of sunshine brings them all out apparently. Almost a team today, just like the old days when mountain biking was more popular than whatever else it is that everyone does nowadays. The Pensioner, The Ginger One and The Bread Lad, all of us eager to sample a Pensioner route, which he assured us is of the highest quality.
Leaving the village behind, we rode up the minor road to Dyke Heads, pausing to become voyeurs as an extravagantly horned bull became amorous with some bovine beauties, regardlessly blocking the road in his lust crazed frenzy. Perhaps we were like that once - or maybe not. Climbing steadily up Jingle Pot edge, the scene of The Ginger One's monochrome moment back in 2004 (TTB 17) when the strain of the ascent left him a broken man, laid in the heather, bemoaning the fact his vision had turned black and white, something only previously experienced in brief flashes before he grabbed the remote and changed to a channel showing more contemporary programmes. Fitter now (hopefully) than that ride 12 years ago, we plodded upward, taking a right turn at Botcher Gill Gate onto a singletrack high above Gunnerside Gill, looking down into the valley at the old mine buildings and spoil heaps along the riverside. Dropping down to cross the river, obligatory pictures taken on the slab bridge, a gruesome Lakes style push/carry ascent took us out of the valley, The Pensioner’s electric assistance was not much use here and he soon went from Bionic Man to Neanderthal Man, grunting, panting and cursing as we made our way upward, topping out into the lunar landscape of Melbecks Moor, acres of barren spoil heaps, the odd bits of old mining machinery still scattered about.
Leaving the village behind, we rode up the minor road to Dyke Heads, pausing to become voyeurs as an extravagantly horned bull became amorous with some bovine beauties, regardlessly blocking the road in his lust crazed frenzy. Perhaps we were like that once - or maybe not. Climbing steadily up Jingle Pot edge, the scene of The Ginger One's monochrome moment back in 2004 (TTB 17) when the strain of the ascent left him a broken man, laid in the heather, bemoaning the fact his vision had turned black and white, something only previously experienced in brief flashes before he grabbed the remote and changed to a channel showing more contemporary programmes. Fitter now (hopefully) than that ride 12 years ago, we plodded upward, taking a right turn at Botcher Gill Gate onto a singletrack high above Gunnerside Gill, looking down into the valley at the old mine buildings and spoil heaps along the riverside. Dropping down to cross the river, obligatory pictures taken on the slab bridge, a gruesome Lakes style push/carry ascent took us out of the valley, The Pensioner’s electric assistance was not much use here and he soon went from Bionic Man to Neanderthal Man, grunting, panting and cursing as we made our way upward, topping out into the lunar landscape of Melbecks Moor, acres of barren spoil heaps, the odd bits of old mining machinery still scattered about.
Soon we were descending again on a sublime track on the opposite side of Gunnerside Gill, culminating in a grassy blast to the pleasantly named Barf End, which prompted some unpleasant alcohol-related reminiscing from The Ginger One. More pleasant off ride riding took us to Surrender Bridge, where we joined the track to The Old Gang Smelting Mill, another industrial relic from the days before health and safety. Pausing at the old buildings for a breather and snack, we gazed at the devastation around us caused by the ancient method of mining known as hushing, where torrents of water are released, usually from man-made reservoirs, flooding down the hillsides to strip away the soil and subsoil to expose the ore-bearing rocks beneath. Enough to give present day environmentalists a few sleepless nights.
The hardest climb of the day ensued, a brutal but thankfully brief haul up Ash Pot Gutter where we joined the track from Moor House for a spectacular downhill blast back to Barf End. But first we had a to cross a slippery ford, scene of one of The Pensioner’s previous accidents, he approached it with a degree of trepidation entirely disproportionate to a centimetre of water, although at his age a broken hip would probably end with with euthanasia. Perhaps before the end of the ride. The next track, back to Gunnerside, was the definite highlight of the day, steep, fast, varied and simply magnificent, beginning on grass and finishing in a tree-shrouded rock garden which spat us out, grinning from ear to ear on the famous electric gate road.
After negotiating said electric gate, which, it must be said seems an extravagant way of keeping sheep off the main road, we made directly for the cafe, which The Pensioner was almost as keen to show us as the ride we had just done. The Ginger One and The Bread Lad were keener to stow their bikes back in their cars first. This proved a big mistake, returning ten minutes later the Curse Of The Closed Cafe was upon us. The sight of a sweaty pensioner in lycra lurking about outside the establishment was doubtless too disturbing for the staff, they had the sign turned round as soon as our backs were turned. Being denied his post-ride pot of tea (pot, not cup, cafes serving cups of tea are no longer on The Pensioner’s list of preferred suppliers) is unthinkable for The Pensioner, so we retired to The Dales Bike Centre for replenishment.
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