The Lonely Week.

 

An Unwelcome Thaw.

The first ride of what turned out to be a lonely week, maybe the side effects of my gut microbiome increasing diet are putting them off, perhaps curry and Guinness are not as probiotic as I imagined they would be. After an unpromising start, the weather improved a little - well, it wasn’t actually raining which is always a bonus. What it is doing is thawing, leaving Guisborough Woods looking like the aftermath of a power cut in a freezer shop; puddles have reverted to liquid, mud is back in its dragging, cloying nuisance state and yet there were more people about than a sunny Bank Holiday. Despite the thaw, the top of The Unsuitables still remains a sheet of thick ice, it is possible to walk around it on the grass verge either side but plenty of folks were still risking a broken elbow by trying to short cut across the ice. Today was another predominantly fire road ride, diverting to the occasional, carefully considered trail, for a bit of excitement before hunger got the better of me and I retraced my tyre tracks back to Great Ayton. I ate a late lunch on a bench by the river with only a vigilant gull for company, just waiting to pounce on any crumbs trying to escape the journey to my alimentary canal. He was unlucky.

Hamsterley Hot Lap. Version 2:6

Seven quid to have a rest from the constant mud of North Yorkshire didn’t seem too high a price to pay. Another day at Hamsterley, switch off the brain and follow the signs riding and another variation of our Hot Lap, which paradoxically involves switching on the brain and ignoring the signs. Hamsterley has some of the best trails in the country but linking them up by following the red route is akin to Dante’s eighth circle of Hell, miles of pointless fire road, meandering through dark conifer plantations for no apparent purpose. Hence the hot lap concept, everyone will have their own variations, anyone who returns after the initial disappointment of the official route anyway. I bet there are a few who try it once and never return. Anyway, this new variation returns to the old, anti-clockwise loop, beginning with Pikes Teeth, this time utilising a different start which misses out Gorse Bush Alley and isn’t as brutally steep as following the black arrows. After Pikes Teeth comes Rocky Road to the stream, then the climb to Oddsox, maybe slipping in Route 666 for those in a particularly masochistic frame of mind. The name of the two trails after Oddsox always escapes me but do them next, to the valley floor, turning left toward The Grove followed by a massive fire road climb which (eventually) leads to Polties Last Blast, the beginning of Hamsterley’s quintessential quintet; Polties, K Line, Transmission, Accelerator and Nitrous, five varied trails leading back down into the valley behind The Grove. Which only leaves one more climb to finish the lap, unfortunately the climb in question being Cough Up A Lung Lane. The name says it all. If you are still in possession of both lungs when you arrive at Descend car park, pass through the car park to the start of Section 13 from where another four quality trials will let you plummet down the hillside like a downhill god. Section 13, Boneshaker, Special K and Brainfreeze, all old trails with a more natural character to the trails on the other side of the valley. Warm down on the gentle Gruffalo trail and it’s over. This incarnation takes in all the trails of the other hot laps in a shorter distance but with a similar amount of climbing, so it felt a lot more arduous. Perhaps it won’t become the most popular variation.  

 

Greyer Than A Pensioners Coach Trip.

Opening the curtains to be greeted with a vista of steady drizzle is never the best way to begin a day but by the time I was ready to venture out into the wild grey yonder, things were improving and the sun was attempting to force its way through the clouds. It turns out we had an extremely localised ray of hope, everything south of the Tees was blanketed in dark dampness. The further south I went, the lower the cloud became, at Sheepwash it skimmed the road. Still didn’t stop the car park being almost full though, dog walkers don’t let a bit of precipitation put them off - unlike mountain bikers because for the third time this week I had the same number of companions as I have ovaries. The Whyte has never had the pleasure of riding up the Mad Mile, although pleasure might not be the correct word, compared to the last foray, heavier bike, harder gear ratio (I want my 52 back!) and lacking fitness, combined with a draggy, saturated track made today’s attempt somewhat more challenging. I made it. A panting, snivelling wreck of a man I might have been but I have still got it. The cairn at the top is always a welcome sight after 400 feet of ascent in a mile. The remainder of the ride felt like a pootle down the cycle tracks, following the Hambleton Drove Road south, in and out of low cloud. A coffee at High Paradise Farm would have been welcome but according to the sign on the gate she is only open July and August nowadays. A pedal across a soggy Dale Town Common took me to the top section of Arden Bank, rejoining the Drove Road to retrace my tracks back to Sheepwash, the highlight being, of course, payback from the gravity bank with a descent of the Mad Mile, 400 feet in a mile is a lot more fun in the downward direction. The Hambleton Drove Road continues all the way to the ford at Sheepwash, more or less downhill all the way, a superb finish to a ride. Low winter sun began to break through the clouds just as I arrived in the car park. About typical.

Clicking on the route names will take you to the Strava page for the route. Where you can marvel at how slow we are.

 

In The Bleak Midwinter

Peter Kaye famously milked a whole routine from misheard song lyrics, he never mentioned hymns but my whole childhood was spent believing the hymn was “In the Greek Midwinter”, which made the references to frosty winds and water like a stone a bit puzzling. Then again, I began my school life in a Catholic establishment, the whole religious people talking bollocks was nothing new to me, so I never questioned it. Anyway, today was without a doubt bleak midwinter as I pulled cautiously into an almost deserted but very icy Clay Bank car park in the middle of a hefty dump of snow. The animated weather map had shown this was to blow over and leave the rest of the day cloudless and sure enough, behind the grey mass lurked a sliver of blue sky. By the time I shouldered the bike up the Carr Ridge steps to Urra Moor, sunlight had flooded the land with brightness and I had miles of virgin snow to leave tyre tracks in. As a change from the mud and slop of Guisborough woods, today was a big sky day, riding across the roof of the North York Moors, passing its highest point at the summit of Urra Moor, using the wide tracks which criss-cross the moors. I made my way to the Incline Top and cut across to the Cleveland Way, not even a footprint marred the surface of the snow.  At Burton Howe, I rode down the Old Coal Road in a world of blue and white, towards Armouth Wath heading back towards the Cleveland Way, my drinking tube froze solid yet I didn’t feel cold - only thirsty. Rejoining the Cleveland Way above Kildale, I would normally head for Turkey Nab, or Ingleby Bank as the OS call it, descending to Bank Foot Farm, then following fire roads through Battersby and Greenhow plantations back to Clay Bank. But today, that whole area was in the shade and here I was on the moor top in brilliant sunshine, it would be rude to waste nature's bounty, so I headed upward, eventually rejoining my outward tyre tracks, back across Urra Moor and down the steps I’d so painstakingly slogged upwards a couple of hours earlier. The steps are never an easy ride down, today covered with compacted snow and ice, there were a couple of sections where discretion became the better part of valour in the interests of making it to the bottom with all my limbs pointing in the directions nature intended. Back at the car, coffee and sandwiches waiting for me, the sun was already behind Hasty Bank, putting the car park into shadow while the upper rays illuminated the moor tops with a golden glow. One of those bonus days of perfect winter weather, yet I had only seen about five people all day and only one was a fellow mountain biker. 

A Chilled Ride

In more ways than one...

The first ride of the year for La Mujerita, we started with a nice road warm up to get the legs loosened off. Another cold but bright day, we left Great Ayton and rode to Kildale, a little warily because there were plenty of ice patches lurking about the tarmac. From Kildale we continued up Percy Cross Rigg, climbing more steeply until we reached the gate where the tarmac ends. More climbing, on the off road portion of Percy Cross Rigg, tyres dragging through the thin layer of snow. We paused at the WW2 building before hitting what felt like the first downhill of the ride, still on PCR, to the gate at the top of The Unsuitables. The Unsuitables looked very unsuitable today - for walking or riding - the whole width being a sheet of solid ice. We turned left and followed the top track, skirting the edge of Guisborough Woods, crossing Newton Moor until we reached Little Roseberry. What we needed now was a descent route within the capabilities of an occasional mountain biker riding a hardtail, or failing that, an easy push down. The latter being the only realistic option. The trail which goes around the side of Little Roseberry has a few technical sections finishing with a long smooth run out, ice and snow made things a bit more challenging but we made it without calling out the air ambulance. La Mujerita did learn an important lesson however - 5:10 shoes, while great for gripping pedals, are useless for walking on any sort of slippery surface and she spent more time on her backside than the time we went  snowboarding. Safely on Roseberry Common, it was a cautious downhill ride all the way back to Great Ayton where, being the gentleman that I am, La Mujerita was introduced to the delights of a Cooplands meal deal. Spoiling her I know but she has put up with my antics for over forty five years now, so she deserves it.

Another Friday Playday

Another brief outing with Miles, who appears to have unretired himself and re-entered the constraints of employment, making The Breadlad look like an amateur in the international travel department, the pair of them raping the planet with enough jet fuel to earn them a kick in the balls each from Greta Thunberg’s petite Swedish foot. The weather continues to be cold and bright, everywhere except Guisborough that is, which has all the light sucked away  by a carapace of grey cloud. Miles living close to the woods is an advantage, despite the steep, no warm up start we chose and it wasn’t long before we were sliding down some of the One Man And His Dog trails at the far Eastern end of the woods, looking enviously at the bright sunshine over Teesside. Later we made our way to the top of the woods, pedalling all the way to Highcliffe Nab eventually, with detours to sample the frozen delights of a trail or two on the way. All the tracks are still solid, no suggestion of a thaw just yet and the game of “will the ice break?” as we rode over puddles kept us amused for the journey. It was too cold to hang about on top of Highcliffe and we headed straight down to the fireroad, where we bumped into (not literally) occasional Terra Trailblazer and colleague of The Breadlad, Richie, who was out having a wander about the moors. A quick catch up and me and Miles were off again, following a bit of the old Guisborough Woods red route, until we spotted a new (to us at least) trail heading in our favourite direction - down, which turned quite quickly into steeply down and then “hmm let’s just check this out first...” A steep chute of snow, ice and unconsolidated mud necessitated some inelegant slithering to reach the fire road, not always on the bike in my case. A quick time check revealed we had managed to squander away the thick end of three hours to amass the sort of mileage the average roadie might ride to reach the start of his route. But as the saying goes, it’s about the smiles: not the miles, we’d managed quite a few of the former and who’s ever seen a smiling roadie?

Clicking on the route names will take you to the Strava page for the route. Where you can marvel at how slow we are.

Filthier Than A Hartlepool Hen Party and other stories.

 

Lone Riding Is Resumed

Second week of January and I’m back to being a lonely boy, as every one returns to something they call “employment”, admittedly nothing but a distant memory for me. And let’s hope it stays that way. Weatherwise, it was a superb day too, sunny with a bit of a nip in the air - just as well because my coat was at home keeping one of the dining chairs safe from any sudden downpours. Another Great Ayton start, I’ll be given a council tax bill if I park there much more. A steady away pedal took me up through the farms to Roseberry Common, followed by a plod up the steps to Newton Moor; a fair few people about but nothing like the Bank Holiday madness of last Monday. I rode to The Hanging Stone, intending to ride down one of the downhill tracks into the forest but the lack of sunlight on that side of the hill dissuaded me - no coat remember. Instead Percy Cross Rigg and Sleddale were pristine in the winter sun, although there were more puddles than a meeting of Incontinents Anonymous after a free bar in the local brewery. The majority of the off-piste trails are in dire condition, slithering downfalls of wet roots, mud and doom. Exercising some restraint, I stayed (mainly) on fire roads, heading back through the forest, winter miles: summer smiles and all that roadie bollocks, until I was retracing my tyre tracks back through the farms. The allure of a Cooplands meal deal seducing me away from water and mud.

Filthier Than A Hartlepool Hen Party

The Breadlad has returned from his latest sojourn on the ski slopes of Canadia, fitting a couple of days riding into his international playboy lifestyle before he upsets Greta again by jetting off to the groomed pistes of Bulgaria. A slightly dubious forecast coupled with a complete lack of imagination saw us at Great Ayton yet again, The Breadlad must be still on MST (Mountain Standard Time) not his usual NMT (New Marske Time) because he was EARLY!, genuinely early, arriving before our usual half ten and well before his usual 10:45. Today’s route was broadly similar to the previous route but considerably more moist, the ground is so full of water it’s oozing out in a cold sweat, like a Scouser in a Job Centre. We were pushed up Codhill Heights by God’s friendly hand, in the form of a hefty tailwind. At the seat behind Highcliffe Nab, which turned out to be the highest point in today’s ride, God’s friendly hand turned into a vengeful lashing of Biblical proportions, a rain shower so vicious it was like being at the wheel of a sailing ship during a brutal tempest. Heading downhill toward the shelter of conifers, water blasting our faces, soaking through our clothing, running down our necks, turning the filthy conditions into a boiling mire of wind, mud and water. Enthusiasm quenching in proportion to the drenching, our bikes pointed themselves towards Great Ayton, eager for the warmth and sustenance of the bakery. The descent of the Brant Gate bridleway, around the side of Roseberry Topping, took longer than usual owing to conditions, which might have given veterans of the Western Front flashbacks. We made it unscathed to the more amenable track of Bluebells And Garlic, by which time the beaming sun was steaming conifers and making things look like a nice January day. Typical.

Just Playing In The Woods

Undaunted by yesterday’s dowsing, we were back into fray the next morning, a few quid poorer in the electric department following some intensive washing and drying of kit. Swainby today for a change and joined by Simon T. for the third time this year, he’s been on 50% of this year’s rides, let’s see how long he can keep that up. The Breadlad is back on NMT (New Marske Time), rolling into town his usual 15 minutes behind everyone else. Pleasantly bright today but roads awash with standing water and fields soggier than wet blotting paper. We made our way to Faceby Woods and had a play on the trails, exploring a little, finding a bunch of stuff new to us, a few good jumps and berms, the trail fairies have been putting in a bit of overtime by the look of things. We spent an inordinate amount of time playing in the woods, doing runs, pushing back up and trying things again, just like the teenagers we are in our own minds, rather than three gadgies on the verge of middle-age. Quitting with only minor injuries we headed across to the other side of the Scugdale valley, to ride a trail which has been on the radar for a good while, it turned out to be phenomenal, berms all the way down the hillside. The downside being we had to hike-a-bike up the Clain Wood steps to reach the trail, never fun at the best of times - and then we hiked it all again to introduce Simon to Fifty Shades Of Brown, another fun trail which was a nice finish to the ride. Despite our lack of distance, we had a grand time and still put in a decent amount of climbing - it’s all about the smiles not the miles. Coffee and cake in the Rusty Bike cafe rounded the day off nicely as we said goodbye to The Breadlad for another couple of weeks as he straps his planks on and flings himself down some Bulgarian hillsides. 

Clicking on the route names will take you to the Strava page for the route. Where you can marvel at how slow we are.