The Novice Finds Out What OTB Means.

The Novice Finds Out What OTB Means.

Friday 14th February 2020

Lordstones

The Novice

The Novice returns to venture once again into the wilds of North Yorkshire, a land of ironstone and heather, forged by wind and weather, lofty precipices, remote valleys and ancient trails, intrepid cyclists boldly going forth, man against whatever nature can throw at him. Okay, so we were never actually more than a mile away from some sort of civilization at any point but Hollywood has prepared us for what happens to outsiders when they stumble exhausted into rural communities, as soon as we hear a banjo being strummed by an inbred yokel, we’ll be heading in the opposite direction. Today is Valentine’s Day, inspiring this well known poem; 

My bike is red,

Hers is too,

She’s gone to work,

But I’ll be out anyhoo.

Another windy day, to end a week of windy days, all this blow and bluster is playing havoc with my diesel consumption, perhaps taxation for bikes on roof racks is the answer, it’s the usual way of attempting to save the planet from weather-related armageddon, slap a tax on the problem. Global warming is having a day off today anyway, one of those lazy winds that goes straight through you, vital organs chilled like the contents of a serial killer’s freezer. We donned extra layers and headed out of Lordstones’ car park, giving The Novice a false sense of complacency by starting off downhill, on tarmac, close to being pushed off the road by a scourging sidewind as we headed downward. This dubious pleasure didn’t last, it wasn’t long before we were grinding up a gravel fire road on the back side of Cringle Moor, it is Valentine’s Day, a day of love and romance, so jokes about grinding up backsides will not be slipped in. 

We continued climbing until a sheltered trail through some woods was reached, for The Novice, a grand introduction to weaving between trees over a bed of russet-coloured pine needles, swooping downhill on a curving trail, nicely banked on the corners and never too steep; the only drawback being it’s brevity. Too soon we were on another fire road, vying for space with the entire pheasant population of North Yorkshire, obviously all hiding from a shoot somewhere instead of going out to do their duty. 

At the head of the valley, we performed a U turn, different from a ewe turn, which was one of The Ginger One’s specialities before a real woman appeared in his life (he is from Darlington) and headed down the opposite side of the valley, which, although predominantly downhill was directly into the wind. The Novice began to appreciate the energy sapping properties of sodden turf, mud and headwind, never being this exhausted since the time he went to work and found his trainee was having a shift off, where he discovered the four hourly readings sheets don’t fill themselves in. Continuing down the puddle-strewn track to Beak Hills Farm, we went uphill slightly to gain another off road track, accompanied by the sound of the bellicose Jack Russell. The farm recently changed hands and I thought the Jack Russell would move out too but it looks as though the irascible little bastard is part of the fixtures and fittings. The Novice managed this section with aplomb, sailing over the drainage channels which had La Mujerita somersaulting into the heather last week. 

A few miles of tarmac came next, downhill to join the Raisdale Road, followed by some uphill in the direction of Lordstones. The Novice was game for a bit of trail exploration and we spent some time looking for the start of a trail I’d spotted coming down the hillside but it must be a long way up, the search was abandoned in favour of a couple of runs down a narrow bridleway enclosed by young conifers, followed by a short section of enduro track which has berms, jumps and drops for our delectation. Waiting at the bottom, The Novice’s shouts of pleasure/agony/ecstacy* (delete as applicable) could be heard even above the wind, he came round the corner at a respectable speed, concentrating a lot harder than he ever has at work, letting the suspension soak up the lumps and bumps of the trail. Almost at the end, he misjudged a tree stump, or maybe relaxed because he thought it was all over and found out the hard way that OTB stands for OverThe Bars, finishing the trail laid on the grass like a hero in a half shell. It is gladdening to see someone keeping the standards of the Terra Trailblazer’s riding down to their usual level. 

The only injury was to his pride, soon healed by the curative properties of a KFP wrap in Lordstone’s cafe. (Kentucky Fried Pheasant, if you’re wondering).