Spring Is In The Air

Spring Is In The Air

No wind, no rain? It’s not natural.

Scaling Dam

Monday 2nd March 2020

The Breadlad, Oz.

No wind, no rain, as Diana Ross once sang, although she probably wasn’t singing about Scaling Dam car park but it was the same here, after a squally February, it felt as though spring is about to put in an appearance. The song lyric continues with ain’t no mountain high enough, if she ever trudged for two hours up a Lake District fell with a bike on her back, she might change her mind on that one too. Remarkably pleasant weather to begin March with however and almost a crew out today, well, three of us anyway. We enjoyed a fairly standard ride, High Tranmire,The Slagbag, Green Houses, Underpark Farm, Lealholm. 

A few miles of tarmac took us to Houlsyke, then the climb to Danby Beacon via the rocky track up Oakley Side, it looks as though there has been a torrent or two of water down here recently, wet, loose gravel soon became our reason for resorting to pedestrianism, that and my worn out drive train which balks at steep hills nowadays. A mere eight months of riding has left the front chain ring looking like a ninja death star, the chain slacker than The Ginger One’s morals and the rear cassette is as worn out as The Breadlad’s passport. I was hoping to get the winter out of it but it is not to be. From Danby Beacon we returned on the superb track over Roxby Moor, today a bit of a muddy mess for the first half mile or so, before it firms up and gives us an awesome blast through the heather, Scaling reservoir glinting blue in the sunlight, leading the eye to the distant North Sea. Shortly afterwards, we are back in the car park, burger in one hand, coffee in the other - life doesn’t get much better, or maybe we are just easily pleased.

Sharpening The Skills

Hamsterley

Wednesday 4th March 2020

La Mujerita

A few miles around Hamsterley with La Mujerita, sharpening up her trail skills and there is a definite improvement, less hesitation and a less falling off. The troublesome dangling foot still appears from time to time but that could easily be cured with a set of old-fashioned cages pedals, although the chances of her clipping her feet to the pedals are about as remote as beating Danny Hart down his own Descend track. A steady ride along the Gruffalo Trail and the Grove Link served as a warm up before we plodded up to the green box rest stop just beyond Accelerator. We had a couple of laps around the bottom section of Transmission and a couple of laps around Accelerator, where we met The Ginger One having a lonely slog up the fire road, heading for Polties Last Blast, the start of a superlative quintet of trails, twisting and turning to the valley bottom. We headed back along the road to the Skills Loop, where one of us enjoyed a play on the see saw before attempts were made on some of the skills features, all with a lot less procrastination than last time we were here. 

Shaun The Sheep and The Quakers

Birk Brow

Thursday 5th March 2020

The Ginger One

Dragged the old 29’er Stumpjumper out today while the other bike went in to have some life-saving surgery, a new drive train, equivalent to a human heart and lung transplant. If I could get the same I might be going through a drivetrain every four months instead of every eight. Me and The Ginger One met at Birk Brow, a lofty car park popular with lorry drivers (for the butty van) and pensioners who sit in their cars brew in hand, staring mournfully through the windscreen at the world passing them by, Plato’s Allegory Of The Cave in the 21st century. Although the weather is pleasant, once again, the ground is still sodden, so we took tarmac to the Shaun The Sheep bus shelter before venturing off road along Robin Hood’s Butts, some improved drainage has downgraded this track from canal to deep puddles but we stuck with it all the way to the Danby road. 

We descended the partially paved Pannierman’s Causeway to Clitherbeck Farm, then the gravel bridleway to the road above Oakley Side. The stoney track we climbed so laboriously on Monday became a much speedier descent although loose rocks and ruts made the possibility of a face full of bush loom large, and spiky bush too. We made it down unscathed, The Ginger One’s movie star looks intact, still looking like a male model, a male model fronting a campaign urging women not to leave their drinks unattended. 

A quick blast through Danby and Danby Park brought us to the Castleton road and the interminable climb back to Shaun The Sheep, The Ginger One feeling the pace of two days in a row - he’s nowhere near ready for retirement, two days in a row is merely a warm up for us retirees and a life without call outs would never suit him. Eventually we reached the Quaker’s Causeway, scourge of hardtail riders and soft-arse pedallers throughout the north. Some people view the causeway as sensible and speedy way across an otherwise boggy and difficult moor, when I say some people, it seems to be only me; the remainder embark on it with the enthusiasm of a visit to Dr. Hoop, North Tees hospital’s banana-fingered proctologist. Ten buttock-battering minutes later we were indulging in burgers of dubious provenance for the second time this week and enjoying every bite. They say cycling aids weight loss - not the way we do it.

The Pensioner Would Have Been Proud

Great Ayton

Friday 6th March 2020

Alone

It seems I have exhausted my supply of riding companions, in more ways than one and they’ve all scurried off back to the hamster wheel of employment while one of us heads out for the fourth time this week. On another fine day, spring might be round the corner and I’m on the old bike because number one bike is still in surgery and things are not looking good for the old bike either. The three way switch and rebound knob on the rear shock looked a little bit loose and kind of sloppy, so, remembering my many years as a process operator, I had a good fiddle about with it, in preparation for the “process tap”, which as the name suggests, involves a heavy object coming into contact with an inoperable object until it either works or becomes utterly dysfunctional and a problem for the maintenance department. 

My little knob never even made it that far, as it dropped off in my hand, bathing my fingers in oil. Pushing it back in didn’t work; the shock had not lost any air, so the ride continued. How hard could it be to ride a bike with no shock damping? Answer, it depends on your susceptibility to motion sickness. Every turn of the pedals came with it’s own bob, especially on tarmac. Rocky, rooty trails became akin to saying the wrong name mid-coitus, then hanging on while the steed attempts to eject you. After finding rock beats hip in this peculiar game of paper, stone, scissors, the ride became a tour of the fire roads of Guisborough Woods - The Pensioner would have been proud, his type of ride, light and airy, wide tracks, no trees to collide with, no vision impairing darkness, just miles and miles of uphill and down dale. It was a grand day for it though, the sun beamed and the wind was light, back in Great Ayton the coffee was warm and the butcher is still open for delightful concoctions of pastry wrapped meat - pedalling intensely equals satisfaction, or pies for short.

February 2020 Round Up and video.

February 2020 Round Up and video.

Video here.

The saying goes that March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb, February 2020 came in like a hurricane and went out like a cyclone, the wettest February on record, a trio of named storms, in between the storms just wind and rain, day after day of 50 mph gusts along with a little snow and the odd hailstorm. And it’s a leap year, so we got an extra day of it gratis. Only the hardiest souls ventured out this month, I imagine the rest were tofu, (Telly On, Feet Up) in the warm and dry. 

The remaining three rides of the month.

Afternoon Ride

Monday 24th February 2020

Great Ayton

Oz

Yep, that’s correct, afternoon ride, shattering the traditional Terra Trailblazers’ ten thirty start, well, that is really ten thirty meet, everyone does their essential maintenance in the car park while we wait for The Breadlad to roll up fifteen minutes later. Generally it’s heading towards eleven by the time a pedal is turned, not that it matters, we have a whole day to waste, or rather we have to waste a whole day, God forbid we should be involved in any of the sort of domestic responsibilities that make life so tedious. 

The weather forecast dictated today’s late start, morning was 100% chance of rain and the usual 50 mph winds, so we met in Great Ayton at one pm and rode to Guisborough Woods for a couple of hours slopping about in the mud. The clouds cleared but the trails were suffering from the amount of rain over the past few hours, new rivers have appeared, Fingerbender Bank is now a proper creek, little waterfalls flowing over the drop offs. Conscious of the time and the Terra Trailblazers’ motto, “The ride’s not over until you’ve been to the cafe.” We splashed our way back to Great Ayton for a welcome cup of coffee in The Velveteen Rabbit Luncheon Club, definitely a contender for the cafe with the most memorable name.

Fingerbender Bank in full spate.

Kepwick Bank Is Still A Bastard.

Tuesday 25th February 2020

Square Corner

Alone

One of those days when you feel like challenging yourself, see how far along the fitness trail you’ve came, or more realistically, slipped back toward being a twenty stone globule of lard, lounging on the settee, remote control in hand, pork pie in the other, got my beer on the sideboard here. Kepwick Bank was once an irregular part of the route planning until the voices of dissent banished it from the agenda. But being alone meant freedom to indulge in whatever perverted practices I desired, being a pretty uninspired sort of pervert, Kepwick Bank became the focus. But first a bit of fun was to be had, starting with a scrounge about in Silton Woods, where I rode the first section of the downhill track and had an explore about, discovering some hidden gems - that’s providing your idea of treasure is brambles and mud. 

Eventually I found tarmac and followed it into Kepwick village, riding up the qualifier, a mere foothill leading to the mountain of Kepwick Bank. 1.4 miles and 658 feet of ascent, according to Strava, the bottom half is the steepest, a couple of hairpins which surely rival Chimney Bank, mercifully they lead to a gate, the perfect excuse to stop and take on extra fuel for the second half, not quite as steep but more relentless. The gate at the top comes into view, remnants of snow still drifted across the road, vehicle wheel tracks provide a passage, reach the gate and pass through onto the Hambleton Drove Road and a chance for the un-syncopated trio of panting lungs, beating heart and quivering legs to regain their equilibrium. From here I rode a few hundred metres south before riding back down the hillside, losing some of the hard-gained height so I could check out another previously spotted trail in Boltby Forest. Found it, rode it, climbed back up to the Drove Road and followed it north back toward the car, finishing the day by descending the Mad Mile, always an awesome end to any ride. A few patches here and there of surprisingly sticky snow to keep us alert, sugar snow to anyone who has skied or snowboarded, especially our very own international jet-setter and playboy prince of the pistes, The Breadlad.

Extra Day, Extra Ride

Saturday 29th February 2020

Swainby

The Breadlad

Leap year day, squeezing in an extra ride for the extra day and on a weekend too, mainly because of a bike-less three days this week, spent in a snowy Lake District. Me and The Breadlad met in Swainby for a ride about, trying to avoid mud and doing a bit of exploring in the woods. A few promising looking tracks were followed, only for them to end in a disarray of fallen trees or tangled brambles, the wind this month has felled more trees than a North Korean missile test and it doesn’t look as though anyone is coming to shift them anytime soon. As if the wind couldn’t do enough by itself, it looks as the self-appointed woodland protector for this area, known only as The Colonel, has been keeping himself busy too, spreading bundles of branches across the trails. It’s nice to see old people keeping themselves fit and not becoming a burden on the NHS. I always like to carry a stash of “Do Not Resuscitate” bracelets in my pack, just in case I come across one of these geriatric trail militia pegging out from the exertion of hauling branches and rocks around. Slip one on his (or her, other genders are available) wrist, saves bothering the mountain rescue team. We continued up some hills, down some hills, through some mud and across the odd stream until by an unspoken agreement, we found ourselves at the Rusty Bike Cafe, overcompensating for our expended calories from the cake selection.

A Windy Duo

Blue Skies To Gray.

Wednesday 19th February 2020

Great Ayton

Alone

One of those rare mornings when a little thrill of anticipation occurs on opening the curtains, the sun was out, the sky was blue, there’s not a cloud in sight to spoil the view and it wasn’t raining in my heart, or anywhere else. Still windy of course but that is the way it is nowadays. Billingham twinned with Chicago, actually Billingham isn’t twinned with anywhere but it does have a suicide pact with Pripyat. Camelbak filled, bike on roof rack, coffee flask filled, sky not quite so blue anymore, clouds rolling in, positively grey by the time I parked in Great Ayton. Undeterred, I pedalled up to Guisborough Woods, via Aireyholme Farm and spent a couple of hours scrounging about the less muddy parts of the forest. The weather deteriorated further, rain and sleet getting a piggyback from the wind, arriving in time for me to turn into the wind and head back toward Great Ayton. The Codhill Heights descent, pedalling the whole way down, being blasted in face by a malign amalgam of hail, sleet and rain was the nadir of the ride; perhaps predictably there was nobody else riding beside me, this particular pleasure to a solo delectation. Tofu (Telly On, Feet Up) for the dilatantes. Back in Great Ayton, buying the essential pies and pasties, the butcher looked at my bedraggled clothing and mud-splattered face,

“By lad, that looks like savage enjoyment.” 

That about sums it up.

Just Like The Sandstone Way

Friday 21st February 2020

Gribdale

Alone

Another ride for the lone ranger or am I his indigenous sidekick, Tonto? Probably Tonto because it is Spanish for fool, idiot, moron, stupid or silly; what hints were the writers dropping there and who were they aimed at? Today’s weather is windy with a side of extra wind and a 50% chance of rain, that’s even odds it won’t rain, I can take that chance. Just in case, I parked at Gribdale and headed across Newton Moor, bound for the shelter of Guisborough Woods again and another couple of hours of very selective riding. I found some new and partially completed trails in the trees as I followed likely looking lines, one fairly new track was riding well until I came across (almost literally) a bunch of collapsed trees, scattered like a box of spilled matches. Crossing the obstruction, in a cacophony of howling wind and creaking, swaying conifers looked as though they might soon be joining their mates, laid about like process operators on a night shift and discretion became the better part of self-preservation. 

More open tracks were the order of the day for the remainder of the ride. If anything the wind was getting stronger, bringing to mind the three days of windstorm when we did the Sandstone Way, from Berwick On Tweed to Hexham, three days with a tempest trying to push us back to Berwick On Tweed. Further across the woods, I managed a bit of selfie filming down The Dogs Bollocks, another effort from Guisborough’s 78 year old trail builder, the middle section passes through the blackened remains of last year’s fire, which devastated a swathe of forest, charcoal branches everywhere. A big climb took me back to Highcliffe Nab, too windy to stand on top and take in the view today, still battling against the wind, I continued to Percy Cross Rigg and the top of The Unsuitables. More climbing into the headwind, (is this God’s way of punishing me for not sitting in front of the telly like my contemporaries?) to Newton Moor and the gate overlooking the mighty Roseberry Topping, one of the rare times it’s summit is lacking walkers. I can’t blame them, the wind atop the topping would be scary today. 

The flask of coffee waiting in my car was sending out signals, reeling me in like a Bisto kid, that’s one for us oldies who still have enough marbles to remember the adverts. Or any adverts, since the invention of the Tivo box, adverts are just a slight annoyance to be whizzed through as fast as possible. I often wonder if these firms with massive advertising budgets realise their creative masterworks are only seen in triple-speed fast-forward. Maybe they ought to make slow motion adverts which become normal speed when played in fast forward. Slow motion, a bit like me riding across Newton Moor, head down against the wind, splashing through puddles and tasting mud - let’s hope it’s mud. 

A stuttering descent of Fingerbender Bank came next, riding over rocks and drops as the wind tried to harry me into falling off. Andy’s Track finished the ride, it’s an idea to get as many descents of this track in as we can before the summer bracken makes it unrideable, although today, summer seems more of an unachievable concept dreamt up by a package holiday firm than a forthcoming season. The coffee is still warm and the rain has stayed away, trees are still dancing to the spluttering beat of the gale, shedding the occasional limb in their frenzy, arboreal dervishes harassed to perform by the bullying wind. I’ve had worse days.

Before The Deluge Quicky

Before The Deluge Quicky

Tuesday 18th February 2020

Swainby

La Mujerita

In defiance of the forecast, La Mujerita and me slipped in a quicky before the monsoon restarted. Weekdays lately consist mainly of wind and rain, with the odd sunny spell; weekends are reserved for whatever storm is bowling in from the Atlantic, I think we are up to one beginning with E or maybe F, dumping gallons of water onto already sodden land, turning the rivers brown, burst banks and flooding by mid-week when the water flows off the hillsides. We began with a ride up to Whorlton Castle, no wonder it is abandoned, who is going to walk up that hill after a few pints down in the village? The imposing ruin is the 14th century gatehouse, little remains of the actual castle except a few cellars. After a bit of look round, we freewheeled back down the hill to Swainby, passing through the village and climbing to Clain Wood. 

An undulating section of the Cleveland Way took us south east along the side of the Scugdale valley, almost pleasant in the shelter of the trees. The trail drops down to a stream, which can be crossed by a bridge but where would be the fun in that? The water, unsurprisingly, a little deeper than usual, is easily ridden through, although La Mujerita took a little persuasion, Evel Kneivel was probably less apprehensive when he jumped the Snake River Canyon. Climbing again, we passed the hamlet of Heathwaite, continuing upward to enter Live Moor and Faceby plantations, where we did a spot of sessioning (as the young people say), sharpening up La Mujerita’s downhill skills on a variety of surfaces, from mud and rocks, to shale to spongy loam. Some of the trails are accessed by a steep push up a muddy slope, the pleasure of these downhills does not outweigh the hideousness of the ascent, sessioning them was not on the agenda. 

A misjudged front wheel lift over a fallen tree, had said front wheel skidding sideways, the bike ejecting me onto the muddy trailside, putting my skills (or complete lack of) in perspective. Like the Zen tree falling in the woods which may or may not make a noise; if a mountain biker falls off in the woods and nobody sees it, did he fall? La Mujerita was struggling through a patch of mud around the corner, so she was none wiser. When she caught up I was able to demonstrate a textbook example of surmounting trail obstacles of the fallen tree variety. 

Pleased with our couple of hours in the wilds, we battled a headwind back to Swainby and The Rusty Bike cafe, where we rewarded ourselves with coffee and cake. Seven miles doesn’t really justify cake but the only way I am going to have a smoking hot body is in a crematorium, so what the hell. When we were safely back in the car, the rain had permission to begin and it took full advantage, deluging the North Yorkshire countryside with the sort of rain that is like being inside a waterfall. Just keeping the rivers topped up until the weekend storm arrives.

Younger, Fitter, Faster.

Younger, fitter, faster.

Monday 17th February 2020

Lordstones

Howard.

It is a while since Howard dipped his toes into the (muddy) water of mountain biking, now the three weeks straight, two weeks gay lifestyle of rig work has been put behind him in favour of joining the formicary of the day people. Limited to sharing a mere brace of days off with all the other montofris (Monday to Fridays) is definitely a cruel and unusual punishment. We met at Lordstones, cold and windy, just the usual fifty miles per hour gusts, which have become the norm this month; isobars like contours on a map of the Lake District, creaking trees, flying branches and sneaky Strava PR’s on tailwind sections. It will take more than a tailwind for me to keep up with Howard, his failure to embrace the Terra Trailblazers’ pies and lager ethos means he can shift a bit, although using training and nutrition can only be classed as cheating from our point of view. He might be younger, fitter and faster but he is still unfortunate enough to be employed, paying his dues to life’s biggest time thief.

Pedalling up the same backside as Friday’s ride, we found the elusive track, it turned out Howard had previously ridden it, worth repeating though. A couple of more tracks and we were at Sheepshagger Bank, named years ago from an incident involving a trapped sheep and some inappropriate posing as we freed it from the fence it had tangled itself in. It’s probably just as well there are no photographs. To avoid the mud on the track which passes Cold Moor and Hasty Bank, we continued down Broughton Bank, now ‘improved’ with extra width and extra gravel, the midpoint climb is always forgotten until it appears like a bad dream. Why is it that minds blank out these bits? The Carr Ridge steps came next, beyond even Howard’s capabilities, not helped by buffeting wind and greasy rocks. 

At Round Hill, we turned into the wind for the descent to Medd Crag, usually a brisk cruise down the wide, sandy track, today pedalled all the way as the wind attempted to push us back uphill. Medd Crag to Bilsdale Hall is still a fun descent, steep and lumpy grass, rutted shale, finishing with a muddy double track, mud-splattered we arrived at the gate, a few miles of tarmac ahead of us from this point. 

We rode through Chop Gate, up the Raisdale Road to Beak Hills, then through waterlogged fields, returning to Sheepshagger Bank from where we retraced our outward route, enjoying a last section of enduro track down to the road. The few hundred metres back to Lordstones proved the windiest of the day, a vicious sidewind, blasting up the valley from the south pushed us across the road like curling stones. For a ride where it never actually rained, we had gained enough filth to do a passable impression of eighteenth century mudlarks, fresh from picking through tidal detritus. After a quick change, we went into the cafe only to find KFP (Kentucky Fried Pheasant) wraps are no longer on the menu. Devastating, especially for Howard, who never had the pleasure.

The Novice Finds Out What OTB Means.

The Novice Finds Out What OTB Means.

Friday 14th February 2020

Lordstones

The Novice

The Novice returns to venture once again into the wilds of North Yorkshire, a land of ironstone and heather, forged by wind and weather, lofty precipices, remote valleys and ancient trails, intrepid cyclists boldly going forth, man against whatever nature can throw at him. Okay, so we were never actually more than a mile away from some sort of civilization at any point but Hollywood has prepared us for what happens to outsiders when they stumble exhausted into rural communities, as soon as we hear a banjo being strummed by an inbred yokel, we’ll be heading in the opposite direction. Today is Valentine’s Day, inspiring this well known poem; 

My bike is red,

Hers is too,

She’s gone to work,

But I’ll be out anyhoo.

Another windy day, to end a week of windy days, all this blow and bluster is playing havoc with my diesel consumption, perhaps taxation for bikes on roof racks is the answer, it’s the usual way of attempting to save the planet from weather-related armageddon, slap a tax on the problem. Global warming is having a day off today anyway, one of those lazy winds that goes straight through you, vital organs chilled like the contents of a serial killer’s freezer. We donned extra layers and headed out of Lordstones’ car park, giving The Novice a false sense of complacency by starting off downhill, on tarmac, close to being pushed off the road by a scourging sidewind as we headed downward. This dubious pleasure didn’t last, it wasn’t long before we were grinding up a gravel fire road on the back side of Cringle Moor, it is Valentine’s Day, a day of love and romance, so jokes about grinding up backsides will not be slipped in. 

We continued climbing until a sheltered trail through some woods was reached, for The Novice, a grand introduction to weaving between trees over a bed of russet-coloured pine needles, swooping downhill on a curving trail, nicely banked on the corners and never too steep; the only drawback being it’s brevity. Too soon we were on another fire road, vying for space with the entire pheasant population of North Yorkshire, obviously all hiding from a shoot somewhere instead of going out to do their duty. 

At the head of the valley, we performed a U turn, different from a ewe turn, which was one of The Ginger One’s specialities before a real woman appeared in his life (he is from Darlington) and headed down the opposite side of the valley, which, although predominantly downhill was directly into the wind. The Novice began to appreciate the energy sapping properties of sodden turf, mud and headwind, never being this exhausted since the time he went to work and found his trainee was having a shift off, where he discovered the four hourly readings sheets don’t fill themselves in. Continuing down the puddle-strewn track to Beak Hills Farm, we went uphill slightly to gain another off road track, accompanied by the sound of the bellicose Jack Russell. The farm recently changed hands and I thought the Jack Russell would move out too but it looks as though the irascible little bastard is part of the fixtures and fittings. The Novice managed this section with aplomb, sailing over the drainage channels which had La Mujerita somersaulting into the heather last week. 

A few miles of tarmac came next, downhill to join the Raisdale Road, followed by some uphill in the direction of Lordstones. The Novice was game for a bit of trail exploration and we spent some time looking for the start of a trail I’d spotted coming down the hillside but it must be a long way up, the search was abandoned in favour of a couple of runs down a narrow bridleway enclosed by young conifers, followed by a short section of enduro track which has berms, jumps and drops for our delectation. Waiting at the bottom, The Novice’s shouts of pleasure/agony/ecstacy* (delete as applicable) could be heard even above the wind, he came round the corner at a respectable speed, concentrating a lot harder than he ever has at work, letting the suspension soak up the lumps and bumps of the trail. Almost at the end, he misjudged a tree stump, or maybe relaxed because he thought it was all over and found out the hard way that OTB stands for OverThe Bars, finishing the trail laid on the grass like a hero in a half shell. It is gladdening to see someone keeping the standards of the Terra Trailblazer’s riding down to their usual level. 

The only injury was to his pride, soon healed by the curative properties of a KFP wrap in Lordstone’s cafe. (Kentucky Fried Pheasant, if you’re wondering).

A Little One For A Rainy Day.

A Little One For A Rainy Day

Thursday 13th February 2020

Pinchinthorpe

La Mujerita

As weather forecasts go, it wasn’t the most inspiring, 90% chance of rain for most of the day but then again, only light rain and the wind speed has halved, so let’s have a ‘who dares wins’ day and get those bikes out. Me and La Mujerita today, the venue: Guisborough Woods, for the third time this week. La Mujerita not being one for acts of youthful folly on a mountain bike, the chances of a viral video clip such as Monday’s ride with The Youth produced, were pretty remote. Being the romantic sort and it is Valentine's Eve, I lashed out three quid to park in the visitor centre car park, so we could finish our ride at the cafe. Remarkably, the rain stopped as we unloaded the bikes, bonus, although the whole place was wetter than Whitney Houston’s last joint and the wind had teeth, as the saying goes.

Some new wooden sculptures have been placed outside the visitor centre, large representations of what happens to a certain part of a gentleman’s anatomy when he has been wearing padded cycling shorts for a few hours. I was impressed by the wood carvers vision, avant-garde subject matter and obvious knowledge of one of the little discussed aspects of cycling, until La Mujerita pointed out they are actually acorns. 

A couple of miles climbing on slushy fire roads, followed by a short slither up a muddy trail brought us to a nice track across the hillside below the Hanging Stone, this track is undulating with a steep downhill finish, scene of another of The Youth’s unscheduled flights but that’s another story. Like I said earlier, La Mujerita is far too cautious to be involved in any of that type of behaviour, another  illustration of why women live longer than men. More fire road climbing followed, with a couple of ‘interesting’ diversions, took us up to Highcliffe Nab, wearing its winter coat of green moss, there will not be anyone climbing those rock faces for a while. 

Still sticking to the fire roads, we headed down the hill, warily, patches of ice and snow still covering the road surface and kept descending until we reached the bottom track where the BMX jumps used to be. We swerved off into the woods, onto a fairly level track which weaves gently between the trees, where La Mujerita learned everything there is to know about riding over wet roots. According to Professor Google, the slipperiest substance known to man is BAM, a compound of boron, aluminium and magnesium, mixed with a little titanium boride, more than twice as slippery as teflon. If only those scientists had ventured out of their lab and tried riding a mountain bike over wet tree roots, they could have saved themselves a lot of time and money because an awkwardly angled root is going to take your front wheel away like a frog’s tongue snatching a fly out of the air. Soft tyres and technique will go so far but there will always be that one root slicker than a laundry chute in an ice hotel which will catch you out. 

My limited knowledge must have helped in some way because La Mujerita remained bruise-free for the whole ride. The waterfall behind Hutton Village looked particularly picturesque, a consequence of the excessive rain lately and I risked life, limb and wet feet to get a picture. 

Shortly afterward we were back at the visitor centre, sampling the delights of the cafe prior to wielding the bike wash spray gun, washing mud from our bikes. Considering it has been a short ride, the majority of which was on fire roads, the bikes looked as if they had been bog snorkelling. As we loaded the clean bikes back onto the car, the rain returned, bringing a few flakes of snow to join the party. We were warm, dry and finished our ride; double bonus.