Localized Legstretcher

There’s nothing like waking to the sound of rain lashing against the bedroom window to fill you full of joyous anticipation for the day ahead, a little peep through the curtains confirms it, grimmer than the grimmest day in Grimland. Even a grizzled veteran of many idiotic weather escapades couldn’t be tempted to venture out onto the moors, despite my awareness this would be a bit of a slack week on the mileage front. Other commitments meant only two days were free for riding and today was one of them. Towards lunchtime the precipitation slowed to mere drizzle, so I decided to road test my new waterproof coat with a spin about the local lanes and the occasional bit of, frankly pitiful, off-road riding available from the doorstep. I got muddy, I got wet but blue sky began to prevail and it wasn’t long before the new coat was in the bag. Part of my route was on a former rail track converted for walkers and cyclists as part of Sustrans cycle route 1 (National Route 1) also a very popular dog bladder voiding route, judging by the smell rising up as the sun started to do its work on the puddles. Further along the rail track, a bridleway leads off into the housing estate of Wynyard - or rather, used to, now blocked off to build a few more mansions and no attempt at diversion signage to be seen. I continued following a well-defined track of tree roots and mud until I reached tarmac, after passing some stables and a few houses, I found myself trying to exit a gated community without the benefit of the passcode for the barrier. Brute force and ignorance won the day, Working class scum: 1, middle-class wankers: 0. The former bridleway has even been removed from the OS map now, I don’t recall seeing any notices or consultations and I’m biting my metaphorical tongue because of the very real libel laws. A little more tarmac took me to another piece of urban rurality which includes what we call The Stoney Bank, a descent of loose rocks and old bricks, a particular type of grey brick, local to this area made from steel slag, which is detritus from the steelmaking industry, they are very slippery when wet (as Jon Bon Jovi once said, although doubtless for different reasons). A fact I am now well aware of, having learnt the hard way as a novice mountain biker. My first ‘proper’ mountain bike crash, sailing gracefully over the bars after taking too literally the advice from a renown lunatic of my acquaintance. “You don’t need to use your brakes on here...” Anyway twenty five years later, older and perhaps wiser, there were a couple of sketchy moments owing to the aforementioned wet bricks but I survived to bore you with a tale of nothing happening. A couple of miles later, I was in my own back garden, in the sunshine, feeling better after a bit of a legstretcher.

Happy Days At Hamsterley

I knew it would be a slack week, Friday already and only doing my second ride. Despite being of the retired persuasion, I have more stuff going on than ever, one of those annoying people who will always tell you they don’t know how they had time to go to work. After almost a week of outstanding weather - outstandingly mediocre - me and Simon T. decided the man-made pistes of Hamsterley would be preferable to the slip, slap, slop of the moors. And we were right, a couple of brief forays into the murky world of off-piste trails confirmed it, mud with an extra helping of mud, liberally sprinkled with wet roots was enough to ensure we stuck mainly to our latest incarnation of the Hamsterley Hot Lap. If I remember rightly it went like this; Section 13, a bit of off-piste, Special K, Brainfreeze, the Grove Link, K Line, Transmission, Accelerator, Nitrous, Pike’s Teeth, some more off-piste and back to the car park. Apart from the occasional puddle, a mainly dry day.