Wet, Wet, Wet.

 

Take Me Home Country Roads.

The start of what turned out to be another slack week and I am in Scaling Dam car park, defying the weather forecast which was for a band of showers sweeping in from the west around lunchtime. As I rode toward The Slagbag, the weather couldn’t have been more pleasant, even a touch of warmth from the sun. I was checking out a pretty standard, leisurely route with a view to taking some relative beginners for a go at mountain biking in the near future. So I pedalled to High Tranmire Farm, dropping down to Hardale Beck, where the crossing gets bigger every time we are here and began the lung-flaying ascent of the climb known on Strava as The Slagbag. Only a tenth of a mile in length but gaining a hundred feet in height on a combination of steep grass and gravel, one of those short, sharp beasts where your mind ponders the possibilities of an exploding heart, as you pant upward.  Not really the place to bring tyro mountain bikers but it is the only significant climb on the route and it’s an easy push. The track continues over the moor, dropping down to Green Houses, from where a scenic few miles on tarmac lead us along Oakley Walls, high above the Esk valley, riding between heather moor and farmland. Eventually the gravel doubletrack to Clitherbeck Farm comes into view, Strava name: Watersplash singletrack, it wasn’t the only thing coming into view, an ominous build up of black clouds massing on the western horizon like an angry mob dominates the sky. Initially I thought it might blow out to sea and miss Clitherbeck completely; I thought wrong and it came in with Biblical fury, or Tyson Fury or some kind of fury. Black sky, howling wind, lashing rain - that'll teach you to doubt the weatherman. Luckily I’d had the sense not to leave the incredibly expensive jacket in the car but could have done with a pair of waders to accompany the jacket. Within minutes my bottom half was drenched, trousers soaked through, feet sloshing around in 5:10’s full of water. I looked as though I’d been open water swimming without the raw sewage, unless you count the watered down, ovine excreta which was splashed liberally up my legs. As the track turned toward the road, the full force hit me straight on, fortunately not for long, when I turned off onto the road to Danby Beacon the wind and rain were behind me, reducing the impact but now I was riding through a minor cascade running down the road. I believe mudguards are very popular this time of year, must buy one, one of these days. No lingering at the beacon today, straight to the Roxby Moor singletrack, (yes, for the pedants out there it is actually a doubletrack) and a nice wind-assisted blast across the moor. The rain travelled faster than me, blowing out to sea, so at least the remainder of the ride was dry, apart from the water squelching from yours truly. Back at the car park, the flask of hot, black coffee in the car hit the spot, as I divested my wet gear. If there had been a wet T shirt contest for dad bods I could have entered. But of course, there is no such thing, so I settled for second best and went for a cheeseburger at Birk Brow, just to keep my figure in shape. 

Here I Go Again

It’s Friday already and this is only the second ride of the week, my 5:10’s are still damp, four days after their soaking and I am pedalling away from Great Ayton with pretty much the same weather forecast ringing in my ears, intending to do nothing more than a quick scrounge about Guisborough Woods before the rain hits. One of the usual starts, up through the farms to Roseberry Common, before shouldering the bike up the steps to Newton Moor, seven hundred and odd feet of ascent from the village, enough to get the lungs opened up. Taking the obligatory picture of Roseberry Topping from the gate, I played ailment Top Trumps with a random dog walker (you'll find out when you get to my age), his two heart attacks beat my stroke and off he went on his victorious way. I went around the Lonsdale Bowl to Percy Cross Rigg and continued to Sleddale, adding an ascent of Codhill Heights to my climbing tally. At the seat behind Highcliffe Nab, owing to the wonders of modern technology, I chatted electronically with my daughter in Australia, whilst admiring the view and keeping a deja vu eye on the encroaching clouds. Cooling sweat was starting to chill me, as she complained about her local temperature dropping to a frigid 25 Celsius overnight. My sympathy for her plight may not have been overwhelming. We said our goodbyes and I made my way onto Highcliffe Nab while she probably made her way to her balcony to look at the twinkling light of downtown Brisbane, I looked down at the less than twinkling Guisborough town, the earlier sunshine turning to shadow as the clouds scudded in. I pushed on toward the east end of the woods, a lot more felling has occurred since my last visit, the muddy and puddle-ridden top track, which accessed the starts of Screwball Scramble and Mintballz, is no longer a track through the trees, there are no trees and the track is now two deep ruts forged from black mud, where the tree harvesters have churned their way through the conifers. I enjoyed a couple of lower down tracks before the rain revisited, the incredibly expensive coat made a reappearance as recent history repeated itself, albeit in a much gentler fashion. I managed a few more, slightly damp, trails before hunger lured me back to Great Ayton and the pastry-wrapped delights in the window of the butcher’s shop. As is usually the case, the sun reappeared as I rode along the High Street.

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

 

Some Like It Hot

For the first time this month I managed a companion, although you may not believe me as he (or she?) must remain incognito for reasons of national security, or was it job security? Plus they are suffering from a condition which requires rides to be short, risk-free and not too bumpy - not their usual style at all. The no publicity box has been ticked, the NDA signed, no images will be published, covert name assigned - The Phantom. The weather remains warm, although it is tending toward humid, me and The Phantom met, away from prying eyes, in the car park at Ingleby Greenhow. We pedalled to Battersby and embarked on an ascent of Coleson Banks, a gruesome 600’ height gain in slightly over a mile. Labouring slowly upward, we became a perspiring buffet for every fly in North Yorkshire, eventually the Cleveland Way sign at the junction with Baysdale road came into view and we knew we’d cracked it. More climbing followed, essentially a reversal of last Monday’s route, crossing Ingleby Moor and ascending the Old Coal Road to rejoin the Cleveland Way at Burton Howe, high above Greenhow Botton, which nestles in a horseshoe of hills surrounding the valley on three sides. The Phantom and I headed north on the wide, gravel track, descending a loose corner, the scene of one of The Pensioner’s more spectacular tumbles which resulted in a grazed hip and six months of moaning. We continued unscathed, still following the Cleveland Way until we could turn off onto the singletrack which provides a more enjoyable route to Turkey Nab (Ingleby Bank as the Ordnance Survey insist on calling it). About half way down the bank, an undulating alternative appears running parallel with the gravel road, as alternatives go it is usually pretty good fun, however Mr. Bracken and his extended family were in control today, swamping the narrow track with green fronds and fibrous stalks. The Phantom bailed back onto the main track at the earliest opportunity but I decided to show Mr. Bracken who was boss, mainly by body-slamming it into submission while verdant tendrils held the bike fast. I emerged from the vegetation, victorious but probably with more ticks than a first term register. We pointed ourselves towards a few trails in the plantation below us, old favourites, unfortunately also suffering from bracken overgrowth; forget Day Of The Triffids, I’m sure, given the chance bracken would take over the world. But at least the winter sorts it out. We had a play on the trails which weren’t completely covered but hunger gradually lured back to our picnics; even phantoms need to eat, the strain of all that undercover stuff builds up an appetite.

Cruel Summer

After yesterday’s heat and humidity, today we just have the humidity, in fact, so much humidity the windscreen wipers were on all the way to Swainby. Or perhaps we should just admit it was raining, the fickle English summer reverting to its stereotype. Just me and The Phantom again, ready to battle against whatever North Yorkshire could throw at us - and it had a good go. Another short but sweet route today, up Scugdale, Brian’s Pond, Carlton Bank, Faceby Woods, Heathwaite and back to Swainby. We managed to remain coatless until Brian’s Pond, where the rain ramped up a couple of gears from mere drizzle, aided by a frigid wind straight from the icy wastes of Siberia. A cruel summer indeed. From Carlton Bank we made our way to Faceby Woods and spent a bit of time channelling our inner teenagers on the tracks and jumps. We could do this without fear of embarrassment because the real teenages are all back at school. When our poor old legs could take no more of pushing up the steep trails, we followed the Cleveland Way track back to Heathwaite, where a couple of miles of tarmac took us back to Swainby and a cold, damp picnic in the bus shelter beside the toilets. We know how to live.

Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger.

The next morning we're back to blue skies, albeit with a noticeable drop in temperature. In view of The Phantom’s delicate condition, something less arduous in the ascent department was the order of the day, so we had a Scaling Dam start, parking at the east end car park for a change. Farm tracks lead us to Hardale Beck and The Slagbag, which is a hideous climb by any standards. In deference to The Phantom we both walked it, knowing it would be the only significant climb of the day. The drop down to Green Houses was even more fun today because the gate halfway down the rough track was open. After Green Houses the track becomes tarmac, we rode unimpeded all the way to Oakley Walls, chancing upon a Terra Trailblazers original, The Fireman, whose riding has taken a different direction - cycle touring. It was good to catch up and we spent some time standing by the side of the road gossiping like fish wives. The Phantom and I resumed our off road adventuring, pedalling the gravel track to Clitherbeck Farm, continuing up the road to Robin Hood’s Butts, before enjoying the Sis Cross bridleway, exactly one week from when I last had the pleasure. Today’s descent was far from the dry, flowing, dab-free, poetry in motion of last week; yesterday’s rain put paid to that, arid gullies have reverted to muddy puddles, something we can probably look forward to all the way until next May. A bit of gentle climbing followed, up the Pannierman’s Causeway to the Danby Beacon road, more climbing took us to the beacon, which was crowded with people, most of them wearing North York Moors guide shirts. Not used to seeing such a congregation, we moved on to the significantly more quiet Roxby Moor and pointed ourselves down the track. For the first time ever, I was the one vanishing into the distance, The Phantom taking a more cautious approach while tasting my dust. The track begins to climb over the moor, changing from gravelled doubletrack to wide, sandy bridleway. After a mile or so, it joins the farm road we started on and we retraced our tyre tracks back to Scaling Dam for the third car park picnic of the week, at one of the thoughtfully provided picnic tables, literally basking in the sun, which has gained a bit of heat since we set off. 

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

 

It’s been a while since the last ride blog. I am involved in a charity programme for the whole of August every year, making short films with kids as part of the government's Holiday Activities And Food programme. Prior to that, a dental abscess kept me off the bike for a couple of weeks, I have a dodgy heart valve and there is nothing which makes dentists more jittery than tooth infections and heart valves, so it was a course of antibiotics and strict orders to refrain from strenuous exercise. Anyone who has seen me perform on a bike will realise that exercise and strenuous play no part in my rides but let’s take no chances. But September has dawned, 35 over-excited children have been reabsorbed into the education system and I’m free to resume my life of indolent pedalling around the best trails North Yorkshire has to offer.

Back On The Chain Gang

As the teachers and children return to their rightful places in the world, the summer begins, dry, empty trails, wending their way through sunlit heather. Equilibrium is restored. And I’m back on the bike, a little less fit than I was six weeks ago but happy to be romping about the moors again. A Clay Bank start, shouldering the bike for the climb up Carr Ridge steps onto Urra Moor, passing Round Hill, the highest point on the North York Moors and probably the most uninspiring high point in the world, nothing but a slight rise in a sea of purple heather, marked only by a utilitarian trig point. Along to Bloworth Crossing, then following the Cleveland Way to the Coal Road, a wide downhill track, the name probably because it leads to remote Armoth Wath, which once housed a coal mine. I turned left a the T junction, across Ingleby Moor, picking up some nice singletrack to Turkey Nab (Ingleby Bank to give it its proper name) Usually, there would be a blast down the bank to Bank Foot farm, then fire roads through the plantation, before climbing up the road back to Clay Bank. Evidently, giddy with excitement from being released into the wild again, I opted for more climbing, up Tidy Brown Hill, returning to Bloworth and retracing my tyre tracks across Urra Moor which gave me a nice downhill finish to the car park.

Good Day Sunshine

Second day on the trot, second day of blistering sunshine, I’m beginning to think God probably hates school children...or teachers. Swainby had the pleasure of my company today, parking on the High Street by the barely flowing stream, too shallow even for the ducks. A standard start, up the Clain Wood steps and through the woods to the top of Scarth Nick, continuing upward across Scarth Wood Moor, for the pure joy of descending the other side in the sunshine. Walkers everywhere today, from Cleveland Way hikers with packs the size of skips to canines dragging their human companions around the reservoir and nearly all returned my pleasantries. Nearly all. There is still the odd set who give mountain bikers the same reception as Gary Glitter might get turning up to spectate at a primary school swimming gala. My next stop was Cod Beck Reservoir, mandatory picture taken before the climb up to High Lane. At the top, I took a right and made my way to Silton Woods, the car park at Square Corner was overflowing onto the roadside verges, continuing past to SIlton Woods, I took advantage of a few dry trails before retracing my tyre tracks back to High Lane, continuing down the bank and through the ford at Sheepwash. Climbing up the slight incline on the road toward Scarth Nick, I was overtaken in slow motion by a couple of gadgies on electric road bikes, like when the lorry that can manage fifty mph decides to whip out into the outside lane and overtake the lorry which can only manage forty eight mph, taking a leisurely twenty minutes or so, oblivious to the queue of traffic behind it. There was no queue of traffic behind these guys as they gradually whirred past. I turned off and took my revenge on the Clain Wood steps, a whole lot more fun in the good gravity direction, continuing on the Cleveland Way to the hamlet of Heathwaite, on the Scugdale Road. From here it is a pleasant pedal back to Swainby for a streamside picnic.

Take It Easy

Third ride in a row, I’m just a cycling machine, the perfect synergy of muscle and mechanism, albeit disguised beneath a carapace of fat, sweat and profanity. Not wanting to overdo things too much on my return to the chain gang, I opted to finish my trio of trips with the often documented Scaling Dam easy ride, two great descents and less than 1000’ of ascent etcetera, etcetera. It would be a classic ride if it were not for the mile and a bit on the A171 moor road and the minority of spatially challenged drivers it attracts, for whom the concept of a metre and a half passing space when overtaking cyclists is as alien as quantum theory. A centimetre and a half of space is a challenge to some of them. Thankfully, tarmac was soon left behind and shortly afterwards I was embarking on the sublime perfection of the SIs Cross track, a ribbon of singletrack, weaving through purple heather, the occasional gully to keep things interesting, descending gradually to the road above Danby. Two ancient tracks, Lord’s Turnpike and The Pannierman’s Causeway take me to a minor road which climbs up to Danby Beacon and the second brilliant descent, which is a doubletrack across Roxby Moor, excellent despite a layer of fresh gravel which slows things down a bit. A slight climb onto Roxby High Moor takes me to a farm road at the oddly named Stepping Stone Hills, which is followed to Scaling Dam reservoir. A pleasant pedal along the dam soon has me back in the car park for another picnic in the sunshine.

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