Tuesday 31 January 2017

January Round Up and Video

January Round Up and Video

Video click here

The first month of 2017 over and done and we never experienced the sub-arctic cataclysm eagerly predicted by the pensioner-troubling tabloid press. In fact we had some days which would not have been out of place in late spring, although other days were filled with mist, mud and water. A respectable 16 rides and 276 miles were polished off, probably my best ever January since the beginning of my MTB career. Hamsterley Forest saw a few visits, mainly for the mud-free tracks which hold up a little better in the wet than our natural tracks on the North York Moors.


Just a couple more months of winter’s dusky mantle and (hopefully) spring will arrive, fresh green leaves will begin their job of sucking the earth dry for us. Never mind this lungs of the world nonsense - get them trails crisped up because it looks as though firm, man-made trails are set to be even rarer in North Yorkshire. Allegedly the Guisborough Woods graded routes have been declassified, no longer red, blue or black routes but just forest paths to be shared with everyone, a catastrophe in the making, particularly as there are already reports of militant walkers antagonising cyclists. What are we paying our £1’s for? At least the cafe and the bike wash still welcome cyclists.


So let’s look forward to a few more weeks of rain, wind and mud, bodies brutalised and bikes ravaged as we plough through the winter, that old Terra Trailblazers’ aphorism repeated like a mantra.
“At least we’ll be fit for the summer.”








Friday 27 January 2017

Four Rides In Four Days

Four Rides In Four Days.

24th January, Danby with Olly and Trainee#2. Route

25th January, local ride alone. Route

26th January. Hamsterley Forest with Rod and Trainee#2. Route

27th January. Guisborough Woods with The Breadlad, Oz and Rod. Route




Another month: another ten day break. How do day people manage to have any sort of meaningful existence? Some of us managed a quality quadruple of rides, taking advantage of cold and dry weather, which made a change from arriving home dripping with mud.






Our first ride began in Danby, our first visit this year. Only Olly and Trainee#2 turned up, not strictly true because Oz turned up too but in a car park a mile or so away, which we have not used for about 15 years, phone signal not being one of Danby’s strong points, his desperate missives were lost in the ether and went unheeded. After waiting half an hour, we hit the road, pedalling upward, out of Danby, toward Clitherbeck, where we went offroad onto a thawing track, breaking ice on the puddles. Another steady pull on tarmac took us to Danby Beacon and a quick breather to take in the view, prior to entertaining ourselves on the sublime singletrack cutting through the heather across Roxby Moor. Still in reasonable condition despite a damp winter, it was over too soon and it was not long before The Slagbag reared up in front of us, its’ shaded flanks still sheathed in ice. A determined effort saw it despatched (by some), we continued over the moor, dropping down to Green Houses, briefly rejoining tarmac before the tedious gravelled ascent of Lealholm Rigg back to Danby Beacon. Trainee#2 was less than enamoured with the route so far, misguidedly imagining he’s in Southern California (where all mountain bikes are designed to be ridden) not North Yorkshire (where mountain bike genocide occurs by erosion). Morose mud-plugging and annoyed ascending equalled pouting pedalling. It was a grand day too, blue sky and ice-breaking through the puddles. The descent which followed, down the moor to Oakley Walls, is usually rutted and muddy but okay if you stick to the righthand side, however, it looked as though a phalanx of four by fours had taken their perverted pleasure at the weekend and the track was trashed but worse, thawed. To say some falls occurred is like saying America’s new president has been in the news a bit. By the time Trainee#2 caught up with us his pram was bereft of toys and his dummy was covered in sheep shit and heather. Most importantly, the rest of us had enjoyed the track in a strange perverted way. A more amenable downhill brought the smile back to his face and all that remained was a little tarmac bashing before we were sampling the myriad delights of The Stonehouse Bakery.




A lone CX bike ride for the second day of riding, on tracks local to Billingham, doing a bit of filming to show the area is not all steam and industry. Bits of rural singletrack, farm roads and the soulless fantasy land of the Wynyard estate, million pound dormitories fronting empty streets, barely ever a soul in sight, never a kid playing in a garden or someone washing a car or leaning on the fence chatting to a neighbour. Some serious mud about today, away from the tarmac and gravel, a field near Thorpe Thewles, the usually decent track had seen the ministrations of a tractor wheels and my poor little bike wheels struggled to force through the mire. Reaching a better track on the Castle Eden Walkway, things were not becoming any less arduous, then I noticed the back tyre was actually flat - as well as being covered in mud. Handfuls were scraped from the tyre before taking it off, finding a thorn the size of a weapon, fitting another tube, inflating with a gas canister (I’m a process operator, manual labour is frowned upon by the union), then struggling to refit the wheel for some reason, not having my glasses made it difficult to see the fine details of what was going on. Eventually it slotted into place and the ride recommenced - for about two hundred metres, by which distance the tyre (or albatross around my frigging neck, as I now thought of it) was flat again. Bollocks. The whole pantomime recommenced, a genuine new tube fitted this time, last gas canister utilised and I was on the way again. At the end of the track, braking at the main road it became apparent that a) the road was not that busy and b) there was no longer a rear brake on this bike. Somehow one of the brake pads was no longer in the caliper, lost in the mud somewhere no doubt. Straws, camel’s backs and all that, hunger gnawing, an executive decision was made and the most direct route back to my kitchen was followed.

Third day in a row saw us at a sub-zero but curiously frost-free Hamsterley Forest, apparently we’re experiencing cold but dry air which explains the lack of the white stuff. Another trio ride, me, Rod and Trainee#2, happy to be on man-made tracks. Our usual winter Hamster’s Hot Lap commenced, Pike’s Teeth, 500 feet of ascent in a mile to reach the start, a good warm up is one way of looking at it; a lung-searing purgatory the more realistic view. A bit of Rocky Road, Oddsox with it’s massive berms before it plunges into the dark woods where Trainee#2 stalled, hit a tree root and some rocks and came up with the best excuse for poor performance ever heard in the history of mountain biking:
“My gloves are too thick.”
This is on par with amatuer snooker player, The Ginger One, blaming his lack of prowess in a game against two neophytes on the cloth, the cushions, the chalk and his opponents not playing properly.
A change of gloves fixed the problem for Trainee#2, a change of hobby did likewise for The Ginger One. Unfortunately Trainee#2’s run of bicycle-related bad luck continues, pedalling up the aptly named, Cough Up A Lung Lane, his bike coughed up a crank arm, exposing a definite lack of dexterity in the one-legged pedalling department: socks were probably too thick. Some bodging with Allen keys and multi-tools occurred and the crank arm was reattached with all the skill and expertise of an industrial fitter - slacker than a bag of bolts. Undaunted, Trainee#2 and his loose crank made their way to Section 13 and proceeded valiantly (and probably in breach of several elf and safety regulations) down most of the south side downhill tracks including the jumps and we only had to stop twice to fettle the crank arm again.

Another cold one, for the fourth day of riding, although not to The Breadlad, freshly returned from -20 deg C in Bulgaria where he’d been for a skiing holiday. A slightly nippy Pinchinthorpe could not compete but we still shivered and complained bitterly. Joining The Breadlad and me were Oz (who managed the right car park on the right day at the right time - result) and Rod. All the tracks today nicely frozen, not icy enough to be slippery but firm enough to take out the slop. No real plan had been formulated, other than visiting The Elephant’s Hole, at the top of Cliff Rigg Quarry. The weather was splendid, cold but sunny unlike the grey shrouded Teesside we’d left behind. Several trails which would normally be left until the dry days of summer were ridden with varying degrees of competence but maximum enthusiasm all round. Some bits were even tried twice, something we believe the young people call sessioning, just like us to be getting down with the kids. Eventually hunger called for a time check, despite the brief distance covered, it was well past our lunch time and a return to the cafe (via another track or two) was wholeheartedly agreed upon. The Branch Walkway Cafe is warm and friendly, filled with all manner of delicious comestibles and refreshing drinks - if it had a settee and an alcohol licence we’d probably never leave.














Wednesday 18 January 2017

A Two-Wheeled Trilogy



Mountain Bike Rides

16th January route, The Fireman, The Ginger One, The Youth, Trainee#2
17th January route, Trainee#2, Olly
18th January route, Trainee#2, The Fireman, Howard.


Cycling? Three days in a row? In January? Only a couple of us could manage the full three days, others managed an almost infinite variety of pitiful excuses, none of which involved missing limbs, exploding organs or sudden death. The mediocre weather forecast was never cited but may have had some influence.

The venue for our first day out, Guisborough Woods, was not at it’s best, blanketed in dense cloud and drizzling steadily but we still managed a team of five, eager and raring to go - to the cafe - just the inconvenience of a couple of hours mud-plugging beforehand. An uphill start on fire roads, followed by a carry up the steps, took us, eventually, to Newton Moor, from where we skirted the edge of the woods to the top of The Unsuitables, arriving  mud-splattered and wet, barely into the start of the ride. Continuing up and down Percy Cross Rigg, things began to go a bit wrong for Trainee#2 whose gear shifter decided it was being grossly overworked and seized up solidly, leaving it with slightly less movement than The Ginger One on a nightshift, stuck in the second lowest gear, fine for the uphills but less practical for descending, his little legs were spinning round faster than a hamster hitting his wheel after a wrap of whizz. Disconnecting the cable plunged him, Trainee#2 not the hamster, into the thigh busting world of constant top gear, which calmed him down a bit. The myth of only one more hill kept him going; by his fourth, stood up on the pedals ascent, a realisation may have dawned that some economy with the truth had occurred. The long awaited descent arrived and proved more of a disappointment than our last bonus, the usually speedy track was so draggy pedals had to be turned the whole way down, through face splattering mud and puddles, all the way to the concrete road, where, we were finally blessed with a bit of gravity assistance. Some mainly flat riding took us back to Pinchinthorpe Visitor Centre, where we took turns at jet washing each other.






The next day we had a crew change and found ourselves at a mostly deserted Hamsterley, gaining an Olly but losing a Fireman, a Ginger One and a Youth. Emergency repairs meant Trainee#2 no longer had less gears than ears and was back in the business of trying to keep up with an eighteen year old. Our usual ‘hotlap’ ensued, now with the addition of the new track, Polty’s Last Blast, starting with five hundred feet of ascent in less than a mile to Pike’s Teeth. All the tracks were suffering from the weather, which is dull and drizzly and has been for some days now, even the man-made tracks were greasy and required some circumspection, nobody told the youngsters who spent the majority of the day chasing one another down the trails like playful kittens. Over enthusiasm resulted in a tumble or two no names will be mentioned to protect the guilty. Once again we arrived back at a car park literally dripping in mud, considering it never actually rained we were in a disgraceful state. A complete change of clothes later, we were tucking into enormous plates of food in the 68 cafe, some of us fuelling up for tomorrow.

For the first time in what seems like weeks we set off for a ride on dry roads, if only the trails could have risen to the same standard. A bit of a cheeky route today saw us doing a lakes style hike-bike up to the summit of Carlton Bank, to ride the mostly paved track south west, undulating over Gold Hill, then down Knoll’s End to Faceby Plantation.



The numerous water water bars claimed a victim when The Fireman pinch flatted on one of the fun sections, the weather, being marginally better than of late made the wait bearable. We followed the same route through Faceby Plantation, to Faceby, then skirting Whorl Hill, as we did eight days ago, this time without being caught up in the local hunt. After passing through Swainby, Trainee#2 was visibly relieved not to be repeating Scarth Nick for the second time in just over a week, instead we took the bridleway into Clain Woods and headed for Scugdale via the former Cow Shit Farm, now greatly improved since the day The Ginger One plunged his bare leg into half a metre of evil-smelling slurry which had to be negotiated to cross the farmyard. (TTB 012).




Onward and upward, we made our way along the Scugdale valley, climbing up past the crags to a very boggy Clough Gill Top, black peat hags sucking our wheels as we battled towards the better track at Brian’s Pond. A final effort, us three day warriors feeling the pace now as the draggy track once again turned skyward over Bilsdale West Moor. Thankfully the last mile or so is in at a more gratifying gradient and we reached Lordstones with sand-blasted faces and large, if somewhat mud-stained, grins.



Tuesday 10 January 2017

A Couple Of Muddy Ones

Mountain Bike Rides

9th January 2017, Howard and Trainee#2, route.

10th January 2017, Oz and Trainee#2, route.


The Daily Express weather Armageddon has still not arrived, although we live in fearful trepidation for the day alarmist tabloid headlines actually come true, we force ourselves to keep on riding. Especially while the weather is mild and mainly dry.


Our first ride was from Kildale station car park, just assembling bikes left us filthy before we even started riding, it is very ‘rural’ for a car park. Howard joined us for this ride, his first since the 2015 Xmas dinner ride, naturally he played the unfit card before we set off - I wish I was that unfit, we spent most of the ride looking at the back of his head. Our route took in some of Guisborough Woods’ finest and slippiest tracks, there is a plethora of mud about at the moment, we chose as wisely as possible but some sideways action was unavoidable. Sadly, when the bottom of the woods is reached, the only way is up and we hauled ourselves slowly upward to the top of The Unsuitables, from where we headed to Gribdale to extend our suffering by ascending the fire road to Captain Cook’s Monument - into the freshening wind. Too cold to hang about at the top, a swift retreat was called for and 500 feet of descent later, Howard was sampling the best Glebe Cottage could offer, managing to out-eat us as well as out-ride us. Well, he’s a growing lad.



The following day, we swapped a Howard for an Oz and Kildale for Sheepwash - a North Yorkshire countryside amenity for Teessiders who like to enjoy the great outdoors without actually losing sight of their vehicles. One of our old three loops rides being dusted off for today’s ride out, trying to keep away from the squelchier regions. The first loop, a quick circuit of Scarth Wood Moor, went well, pretty much on firm tracks the whole way and it was not long before we were passing through the car park again to cross Cod Beck and take the path beside the reservoir. Trainee#2 attempted to give us a demo of his uphill skills on the initial steep bank but poor gear selection let him down, unfortunately right in front of the camera. The climb up to High Lane inevitably followed just so Trainee#2 could descend the lumpy slabs back to the ford at Sheepwash, which were conquered with more success for some than others. With age comes wisdom - or wimpiness. The second loop finished with crossing the ford, a short bit of tarmac took us to Clain Woods for the descent of The Steps Of Doom, worrying combination of loose gravel and wet wood; the more mature took a circumspect approach, while youthfulness did not even hesitate - we remember when The Ginger One was like that, until a few crashes crushed the courage.


Continuing through Scugdale to Heathwaite, we began climbing again, up through Live Moor Plantation, shouldering the bikes to scale the greasy steps to reach the singletrack which traverses the hillside through Faceby Plantation, speedy and predominantly dry, it was over too fast, no doubt owing to our downhill dexterity, or maybe, skill compensating bikes. From Bank Lane, on the outskirts of Faceby, we turned left to cross the fields beneath Whorl Hill and found ourselves caught up in the local hunt, beagles on the scent, totally dedicated to their task, completely ignoring us and demonstrating their fence hopping skill. The horse people seemed to do more waiting waiting about chatting than we did when The Captain used to come biking with us. Although biking with us would be a bit of an exaggeration, he was usually so far behind he could only be seen with a Tardis. We followed the hunt toward Whorlton, where they paused for another sit about, while we continued through Swainby and (bit of poor route planning here) rode up Scarth Nick, where the tortoises left the hare in a way which would have made good old Aesop proud.


For the second day running, a ride culminated in three grown men - some admittedly more grown than others - mud-splattered and starving, which was handy because we had a new cafe to try. Swainby’s Rusty Bike Cafe qualified as a Terra Trailblazers’ eatery, mainly by the virtue of being actually open - not a popular concept amongst a lot of cafe’s nowadays. Anyway it was very pleasant, some cycling memorabilia scattered about, original paintings (or perhaps prints. Do I sound like Brian Sewell? Let’s hope not.) on the walls and a log burner pumping out the heat. Drinks and cakes at the moment but hot food is in the pipeline. I can recommend the date slice.

Friday 6 January 2017

Filthy Hamsters

Mountain Bike Ride

6th January route

The Ginger One, The Youth, Trainee#2, Oz



“Another year over, a new one just begun.” sang John Lennon, a little better known than his less well reported last words, “Is that a real gun?” Not even the first ride of the year for most of us either but the first group ride of the year and what better place to kick it all off than good old Hamsters. Some man-made tracks which are holding up better than the forest mudfests which we suffer during this season of bleakness. The forecast was none too promising but better for Hamsterley than the North York Moors; consequently 4 riders met under grey skies in the car park, where we were eventually joined by our fifth, a Trail Burglar, who parks outside the forest to save himself the parking fee, preferring to invest his cash in John Smith’s Creamflow and suspect trousers. The remainder of us rode with clean consciences and more conservative legwear.



For a change we began on the south side of the forest, riding up by the Skills Loop and onward and upward to the aptly named Windy Bank Road - it’s a bank and it’s always windy, today not too windy so a pleasant alternative to Cough Up A Lung Lane, our usual route to the top of the south side. A quick swerve off the tarmac and we were at the start of Section 13, ready to emulate the young people and take some phat air in a gnarly fashion, like the posse of dudes we undoubtedly are. Section 13 succumbed without incident but only just judging by the girly screams. Boneshaker followed, surprisingly dry considering the puddles scattered about and the gentle drizzle dampening everything but our enthusiasm; a little play on our favourite drop off before we were spat out onto the road. Ready for the always unexpected climb to Special K, our third track of the ride. Being rocky, it’s holding up well, although only The Ginger One opted for The Bomb Hole (he’s got the trousers for it) and we all give the wooden wall ride a wide berth. The final section, Brainfreeze, was also plenty firm, The Youth failed to repeat his infamous ride off the wooden drop off platform, in fact his reluctance to entertain us with his slapstick attempts at black graded trail features, is becoming noticed, old blokes are now doing bigger jumps than him.  


The Grove Link took us to, yes you’ve guessed it, The Grove and we began the long ascent to the transmitter mast and beyond to take in Hamsterley’s latest track, Polty’s Last Blast, a nicely bermed flow through the woods, spoilt a little by the uphill finish but still worth doing. The intermittent drizzle/rain and the muddy fire roads between tracks was taking it’s toll, everyone and everything was liberally spattered with mud, filming on the move was out of the question, lens’s were dripping with slurry within seconds. The always anticipated trio of Transmission, Accelerator and Nitrous went by in a blur of mud stung eyes and sliding rubber, too soon we were back at The Grove. Reversing our usual route didn’t seem such a good idea now we realised the climb up to Pike’s Teeth still needed doing but a steady pedal got us there, breathless but indomitable. The wet roots on the Pike’s Teeth track made things a little more challenging but no casualties were reported. We continued down a bit of inevitably muddy off-piste stuff which may or may not have been Green Man, which took us to the forest drive and, seeing as some of the Terra Trailblazers’ irregulars were feeling the pace, we headed directly to the car park.

The Hamsterley Forest Cafe, being open slightly less often than Albania’s borders, was naturally closed, so we hastened to the cafe on the A68, the neon sign in the window glaring a blunt message: CLOSED. It wasn’t even 2pm. Five hungry and disappointed would be patrons left the car park, completely baffled by the business model of small catering establishments.