Brown, Wet and Sticky

First ride since returning from Spain and it appears Britain is still squirming under the grey jackboot of winter. If anything, the trails are in worse condition than before we went away, retaining the slippery, sloppy messiness of the past eight or nine months, despite trees now being in full leaf. And it rains, at some point every day there is a shower, or sometimes, as they say on the weather channel, longer spells of rain. Stephen King’s dome is looking more appealing by the minute. Anyway, enough whinging. I started in Great Ayton and made my lonely way up to Guisborough Woods via Roseberry Common - without a coat, I wasn’t that optimistic, long trousers and long sleeves were today’s dress code and it was still a bit nippy. But, be bold: start cold and all that (even though it’s the middle of May). The climb to Roseberry Common got me suitably warmed up, ready for a bit of trail action. A scrounge around the fire roads, with the occasional deviation onto a trail was about as exciting as it got, making my way gradually to the eastern end of the forest, beyond Highcliffe Nab, climbing gradually until I made a U turn and rode back along the top of the forest. Mud and water my constant companions. At the gate leading on to Codhill Heights, ominous clouds were encroaching, threatening, turning the sky black and bruised. Maybe I could outrun it? Down Codhill Heights, flying along the cinder track, wheeling lapwings trying to divert me away from their chicks, up to Percy Cross Rigg, I could have bailed at this point and rode down to Kildale and back to Great Ayton on the road but the thought of four miles of tarmac was less appealing than being rained on crossing an open moor. Halfway around the Lonsdale Bowl, the first drops fell, teasingly insubstantial, not even nearly enough to justify dragging coat from bag; further on, approaching the water-filled ruts at the top of Fingerbender Bank, old Tefnut got serious, one of us was getting wet and it wasn’t the ancient Egyptian god of rain, moisture and dew. Egyptian god of rain? I bet he had less work to do than a process operator on nights. I finally relented and put on my eye-wateringly expensive coat for the remainder of the ride. The rock garden of Fingerbender Bank (so called following one of The Pensioners many tumbles which resulted in the aforenamed injury) was a lot less fun in the wet than its Spanish counterparts, Andy’s Track, steep grass and mud at the best of times, now with added moisture to increase the slickness was a slightly challenging finish to the trails. Back in Great Ayton, the sun appeared and I steamed gently while eating my pasty on a bench by the river.

It's A Slopfest

Managed to coincide with The Breadlad today, when he’s not being an international jet setting playboy nowadays he is at his country retreat in Cumbria, as befits his new status as a thrusting, young, management executive in the world of industrial bread manufacture. We met at Danby, usual time, which generally means he is fifteen minutes later than everyone else. Today was no different, he operates on NMT (New Marske Time). A plan was mooted. Up there, pointing vaguely toward the south, over the moor with the nice singletrack, along the bit by the farm where Keith fell off, up that bastard hill and then decide where to go after that. It would mean nothing to anyone listening in but made perfect sense to us. We climbed onto open moor, naturally, this was the point blue skies turned to grey and the wet stuff paid us a visit, also the point The Breadlad regretted leaving his coat in the boot of his car. With age comes wisdom, so they say, my coat was donned for the second time in 24 hours. Our descent was on wet grass, brakes squealing all the way to the road. “The bit where Keith fell off” is actually the bridleway from Stonebeck Gate Farm to Crag Farm, a pleasant traverse, through fields on the moorside above Little Fryup Beck. Today, unfortunately, still in December condition, squelchy and muddy, huge puddles where huge puddles don’t belong. By the time we reached Crag Farm, the shower had passed and the coat was returned to its rightful place. Crossing the valley, we climbed up to Danby Beacon, continuing past the beacon, to pick up The Pannierman’s Causeway, a semi-paved track heading down to Clitherbeck Farm. Crossing the road we followed the continuation of The Pannierman’s Causeway, no centuries old paving on this section, just our ever-present companions, slip and slop. The bridleway terminated near Danby Park, leading straight into our ultimate section of trail, (if you know, you know) before a little road pedalling takes us to the highlight of the ride - the cafe in Danby.

Can It Get Any Colder?

It’s getting ridiculous now, a blanket of low cloud has whacked temperatures back into single figures, a damp, cloying, mist surrounds us in the car park at Sutton Bank. The irony of a sign reading “Finest View In England 500m” is not lost on us. Just me and La Mujerita today, her first venture out for a while. We had a spin around the first loop, which takes in the pump track, giving the pump track a miss because we didn’t want to be embarrassed by the little kids whizzing around on their balance bikes. Exiting onto the road to pick up the start of the marked routes, we pedalled through ground level mist, as lorries and coaches drove past. This bit of road is not usually busy but a jack-knifed road tanker on Sutton Bank was causing traffic mayhem. We soon reached the safety of soil and gravel, following a selection of way-marked routes towards the top of Boltby Bank, where we did a U turn and headed back south on soggy singletrack. From High Barns a lovely drop down through an old quarry leads to a fast singletrack descent, normally always included in our rides, the state of the high trails didn’t give us any confidence in the lower ones, so we give it a miss and continued along the escarpment on more solid tracks. The escarpment is a joy to ride, even without the distraction of the view. It terminates at the self-proclaimed “Finest View In England” looking over Gormire Lake and Whitestonecliffe to Roulston Scar and the Pennines in the far distance; not today though, the cliff appeared intermittently through the mist and the lake was just visible below us. We made our way back to the visitor centre on the green family route and continued on for a few attempts on the pump track, finding it much more difficult to get round without pedalling on my current bike. Perhaps it is the difference between 29” wheels and 27.5” wheels? Or maybe I really am crap. Another little kid on a balance bike appeared and put me to shame, so we departed for another spin around the green loop before retiring to the cafe for a late lunch.