It looks as though the heatwave has arrived, well, what passes for a heatwave in this country, the sun popped out sometime yesterday afternoon, the earth did a spin and when it turned back, the sun was still there. Actually blazing too. I passed a bloke wearing a huge sombrero while cutting his garden hedge, like Pancho Villa catching up on a few gardening jobs between revolutions. Great Ayton was filling up as I parked, although most of the kids are back at school which thinned out the crowds a bit. Back to my Billy No Mates existence today, everyone is either at work/school/can’t be arsed* (*delete as appropriate). The standard start, through Fletcher’s Farm, up to Aireyholme Farm and on to Roseberry Common, saw me arrive at Roseberry Common sweating like a nun in a cucumber field (my daughter told me that joke many years ago, I can only blame the school for her tendency to impious depravity, it can’t have came from me). I shouldered the bike and hiked up the steps to Newton Moor, the unaccustomed feeling of sweat running down my back and into my eyes.
From the top I pointed the bike towards some of Guisborough Woods’ finest trails, pretty much all in grand condition, although the woods are still hanging on to some squelchy bits, just to make sure enjoyment is not total. Gradually, I made my way toward the east end of the forest, before climbing up onto the top track and heading back west. The section where Screwball Scramble and Mintballz begin is rarely dry, today was no exception, despite the relentless heat, huge puddles were slopped along the track like gravy spills from a giant’s dinner. A little more climbing, to the very top of the woods, where a singletrack runs parallel to the fence with the moor. This side of the fence is bike heaven, the other side of the fence, bikes are not tolerated. Ignore the signs and armed men driving quad bikes or Land Rovers will appear from nowhere to make you aware of your transgression before they return to decimating the raptor population. Not wishing to incur the wrath of the landowner’s lackeys, I stayed on the permitted side of the fence and dropped into the relative coolness of The Lost World, a shady trail through a small plantation. After The Lost World, a speedy descent of Codhill Heights followed, even the wind rushing by didn’t do much to cool me. A last climb took me to Percy Cross Rigg, which only left a quick scoot around the Lonsdale Bowl and a blast down Andy’s Track to finish. The bracken is taking over again and the track won’t be getting many more descents between now and winter, when the green jungle turns to a squashy, orange carpet.
Birk Brow today, for a change, mainly changing from butchers and bakers to burger van - nutrition is very important for us athletes. Another day of solitude ahead of me, as the workers work and the shirkers shirk, here’s me slapping on the factor 30 in Birk Brow car park, anticipating another scorcher. A bit of a breeze makes it a little more bearable than yesterday. First step, the Quaker’s Causeway, that infamous North Yorkshire buttock buffetter, detailed on this blog many times before. Unlock the suspension and keep pedalling, nothing to it. The muddy bits between the paved sections are in pristine condition today - barely a puddle in sight and it wasn’t long before I was off the moor and heading down the road towards Commondale, picking up the short bridleway into the village, where I turned left to Foul Green. Another bridleway leads to Danby Park, passing a couple of llamas soaking up the sunshine in a field. Down here in the valley it is windless, the sun’s full heat concentrated on the lone cyclist as he pedals uphill and down dale. Through Danby Park, which is really little more than a small plantation, the bridleway heading for Danby is joined by the Pannierman’s Causeway, another bridleway which we normally ride down to this point. In a fit of masochism/boredom/stupidity* (*delete as appropriate) it seemed to be a good idea to ride up the trail for a change. So, all the downs were up and the ups were down and it wasn’t too bad, only the steep and rocky section, just before the bridleway runs through someone’s garden (yes, really) had to be carried, the remainder was perfectly rideable and kind of enjoyable. A definite alternative to the road bank out of Danby, which I joined at the top of said bank.
Staying on the tarmac took me to Robin Hood’s Butts, from where another trail found itself being ridden the wrong way, which, of course, could be the right way depending where you are heading. The bridleway we usually take from The Jolly Sailors pub to Robin Hood’s Butts works just as well in the opposite direction, better in fact, seeing as it is mainly downhill this way, the problem is when you reach the moor road, the A171 and it’s constant stream of traffic. Less than a mile later I was turning up a farm road in the shadow of the mighty mound of Freeborough Hill, where legend has it, King Arthur and the knights of the round table are sleeping, ready to arise in England’s hour of need. Obviously nothing worth setting their alarm clocks for has happened in the past fourteen centuries, a few invasions, a couple of world wars, the odd pandemic or two, Margaret Thatcher, not exciting enough to oil the armour and sharpen the swords. The road leads to Dimmingdale Farm, from where a bridleway carries on across a boggy moor to Three Howes Rigg and the Sean The Sheep bus shelter. A little bit of tarmac and I was soon retracing my tyre tracks across the Quaker’s Causeway - because real mountain bikers, with buttocks like a well worn Brooks saddle can do the causeway twice without flinching.
And still it continues, at Scaling Dam in any case, for many other areas the heatwave has been replaced by heavy rain and thick cloud but it looks like we are on a roll. Keith travelled down from Sunderland to join me today, local riders are so scarce we are having to import them from 25 miles away, or maybe it’s because I promised him an easy ride - the now legendary Scaling Dam ride, 13 miles, two excellent singletracks and less than 750 feet of ascent - just the thing for a scorching day. It is just a shame we have a mile or so of moor road to contend with at the start. The route has been described many times in this blog, I’m sure you don’t want to read through it again. The first singletrack - the Sis Cross track is in fine condition, only the deepest mud wallows remain and they are all rideable - another no-dabs descent. We crossed the road to join the ‘Link O’the Flying Bees’ named after the tautological sign farther down the track. A sign which used to so deeply offended The Pensioner’s sense of logic it was worthy of a thirty minute moan. We turned left and followed a section of the Pannierman’s Causeway, another partially paved moorland ‘trod’, up to the minor road which leads to Danby Beacon. Formerly RAF Danby Beacon, from where the first enemy plane to be shot down over English soil was tracked, only a few paths and roads remain, which we passed as we rode up to the beacon and our first proper breather of the ride. We sat beneath the beacon and languished in the fact almost all the climbing for today’s ride had been done - not quite downhill all the way from here but close enough. Our next singletrack, across Roxby Moor, is actually a doubletrack but that doesn't detract from the fun, again dry and speedy, as well as loose and rocky, we hurtled across the moor at speeds probably unwise for two blokes on the verge of middle age but we are Terra Trailblazers and hurtling is our default setting. Or should that be hurting? Sounds more realistic. We finished the ride along the dam at Scaling reservoir, water to our left, grass to our right and blue sky above us, heading for a tailgate picnic in the blazing sun.
Now here’s a first, I descended the bank into Danby, five minutes early for our accustomed half ten meeting time, fully expecting a twenty minute wait while The Breadlad emerges from the horological aberration between NMT (New Marske Time) and BST. Looking toward the village hall, it seemed some sort of mirage had projected him onto the car park but no, he really was early, this is a bloke who will be late for his own funeral, everyone will be in the crematorium waiting for the late Breadlad when he is the late, late Breadlad. We hauled ourselves up and over Ainthorpe Rigg, the downhill part, naturally, a lot more fun than the uphill. Continuing to the Yorkshire Cycle Hub, we called in to check on the progress with their cycle route, which runs around the perimeter of their land. It turns out we are a day too early, it is opening tomorrow, a nominal fee is being charged to cover insurance, so watch this space, we’ll be checking it out at the next opportunity. Seeing as it was too early, even by Terra Trailblazer’s standards, to stop at the cafe, we headed back to Stonebeck Gate Farm and took the bridleway across the fields to Crag farm and Lawns Road, most of the gates were open today, the ground was firm and personal record speeds were recorded, despite our leisurely pedalling. The climb up Oakley Walls, on the steep and rocky track, is getting harder, there seems to be much more loose rock to spin out on. As that great philosopher Homer (Simpson) said: “If it looks too hard, it probably is. Just don’t bother.” An axiom that has served us well over the years and I can always revel in the glory of having ridden it previously, when it was easier or I was fitter. We still needed a rest and a snack at the top, admiring the view across to Fryupdale.
The Clitherbecks bridleway came next, the water splashes have not dried up yet, after four days of blistering sunshine, or what passes for blistering sunshine in North Yorkshire. We rode to the Sis Cross track, my second visit within 24 hours, a couple of puddles have appeared since yesterday, I guess there may have been some overnight rain, the majority of the trail is dry though and another no-dabs descent is in the bag. We finished down The Flying Bees, as mentioned yesterday, unfortunately the sign has gone, which will render the name a curiosity for years to come. A bit like The Ginger One, who now has so little hair people are beginning to wonder where the name came from. Minutes later we were sitting outside the Stonehouse Bakery, literally basking in the sunshine, flicking cake into our mouths like a pair of sweaty iguanas. The doom mongers and naysayers are predicting the end of the heatwave, I’m sure they are right, so let’s make the most of it before the country returns to grim, grey normality.
Clicking on the route names will take you to the Strava page for the route. Where you can marvel at how slow we are.
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