Shower Dodging

A lonely start to the week for me, it seems like every time a few raindrops appear on the weather app, everyone cabins up for the day. Four weeks to the day since I squished my ribs and they still hurt, going by the conventional wisdom, pain for three weeks equals bruised, pain for six weeks equals broken, it looks like I have another fortnight to go. A long road start to loosen them up seemed like a good idea, especially as it is mostly uphill; the tedium of the tarmac was enlivened by meeting former Terra Trailblazer, The Fireman, now defected to the bendy handlebar crew but he’s retired and loving life like everyone who says adios to the daily grind. Eventually I left tarmac behind, dropping down to Sleddale and across Codhill Heights, the wet weekend leaving behind a few puddles. From the seat on the Cleveland Way, I made my way to the top of Superchute, mainly to see how the ribs would cope with a bit of through the woods singletrack. The upper section is kind of corrugated and the ribs definitely took a dim view of the up and down motion, it’s a good job the place was deserted, my language may have verged on the industrial, going well beyond the usual sweary power which gets you up the hills. Forty one years working in industry, where interword swearing is normal conversation and intraword swearing is used for emphasis, verbal obscenity comes naturally to me, as every slippery tree root and muddy puddle can witness. I ended the top part of the route feeling like I’d just been kicked around a pub car park for spilling someone’s pint. Deciding we’re probably not ready for steep, slippery singletrack, I reversed my tyre tracks across Codhill Heights, always more enjoyable in the gravity friendly direction and carried on up Percy Cross Rigg and down to The Unsuitables. Skirting the top of Guisborough Woods to Newton Moor, all that remained was a steady ride to Gribdale then tarmac all the way back to Great Ayton and just for a change a visit to the bakers instead of the butchers.

Not Lost; Just Temporarily Misplaced.

 A full day of rain yesterday meant my rest day was moved forward, it also meant today was an adventure in Puddle Land, the newest North Yorkshire theme park. Another ride bereft of companions, hydrophobia is a terrible affliction for a British mountain biker to suffer but it appears to be more common than Covid 19 amongst the dilettante branch of the Terra Trailblazers. I took the opportunity to reconnaitre a bridleway which would cut out most of the moor road section in my Scaling Dam ride. Parking at the Sean The Sheep bus shelter, I pedalled the whole length of Robin Hood’s Butts, which, predictably enough, is harbouring a few puddles the size of Olympic swimming pools. Soon, the bridleway came into view, I was intending to follow it north east, back towards Scaling Dam, across Sandy Slack, which is not, as you might imagine, a loose moraled lady called Sandra but the name of a moor. It started well, narrow but well defined singletrack, firm peat cutting through grass and heather, occasionally dipping into bog for short distances, soon the firm bits became less and the track became a water-filled trench through marsh grass, I pressed on, thankful I had remembered drag the mudguard from the back of the car and fit it on my bike. The track became more vague the squelchier it got until a small wooden bridge was reached, climbing after the bridge, the track dried up and became more defined, ahead of me I could make out the fences at the Danby turn off on the moor road, which was a shame because that was precisely where I didn’t want to be. My track should have veered off to the right, there is obviously a turn I had missed somewhere. A bit of bushwhacking and I found the correct bridleway and followed it almost to the moor road, so I could see where it began in relation to Scaling Dam, then I turned round to retrace my steps and find the turn off I’d missed earlier, the bridleway was drier and more definite than the first bit and I pedalled along, quite pleased to have added a new section to my route. Looking up, I could see Danby Beacon to my right, which was exactly where it shouldn’t have been and a realisation dawned that I was blundering across a moor in the wrong direction, heading back toward Scaling Dam and the moor road; cutting my losses I continued to the tarmac, crossing another foot-sucking bog on the way.

Literally the middle of nowhere.

Emerging onto the road, legs scratched from brambles and bracken, feet soaked from crossing North Yorkshire’s answer to the Okefenokee, bitten by insects and doubtless with a few ticks heading for the cosy warmth of my crotch, I looked at the bridleway sign, pointing through a gate half overgrown with vegetation and probably never opened since Wade The Giant was wandering about the moors, a hint if ever I saw one. Back on track, admittedly not the track I had intended to be on, another Terra Trailblazers first was about to be accomplished, riding up the Roxby Moor track, I could feel the earth moving as The Pensioner spun in his grave. It wasn’t too arduous, if I’m honest, never over-steep. It would have been even better if the local fly population hadn’t decided to use my body as a salt lick. From Danby Beacon, the rutted 4x4 track down to Oakley Walls is still rutted like a first world war battlefield but the ridges between ruts make for some ‘interesting’ riding until the track changes to a rocky downhill close to the road. The rocky section did abuse my ribs a bit, though not to the extent of Monday, so they must be getting better. The return leg was a straightforward run along the Clitherbecks track followed by a reverse of Robin Hood’s Butts, into a headwind naturally, just in case things might be too enjoyable.

It's a lie...

Sean The Sheep with a sheep

Biking And Caving.

Image courtesy of SuperBri

Managed a companion today, SuperBri, so it must be Thursday, the day he’s released from the education system into the real world for a few hours. And today that real world is a sunny and rather packed Lordstones car park, soon left behind as we slogged up the old gliding club access track, an experience new to SuperBri. We made our way across the moor to his namesake’s pond, something else new, he didn’t realise there was a pond named after him, inevitably a photo of Brian in front of Brian’s Pond followed. Further climbing took us up Barker’s Ridge, from where we pedalled to the start of the Head House singletrack, another North York Moors classic, although judging by the overgrown start, not that much of a classic. It seems cross-country riding across the open moorland, with big skies, natural singletrack and ungroomed descents is falling out of favour, to some minds, a poor substitute for man-made trails and predictable pistes. All the more for us then. The single track was varied and enjoyable, rocks and ruts, heather and grass, all beneath a canopy of cerulean blue. We reached Head House and had the mandatory scrounge about before a snack stop, sitting outside in the sunshine, marvelling at the hardiness of the folk who lived in this remote house, no running water, sanitation or electricity, probably no wifi either - how did they survive? We made our way back over Arnesgill Ridge, climbing gradually on broad, sandy tracks until we reached the summit of Carlton Bank, where the moors abruptly stop, plunging down to the Cleveland Plain.

A few paragliders were taking advantage of a mediocre wind to float above the fields and woods. We left the trig point behind and rode down to the little known and even less frequented valley of Thackdale, where there are some caves, which are actually old mine workings. The entrances are sinking further into the valley floor and the caves themselves appear to be getting smaller with a lot of fallen rock inside, not what you really want to see when you are underneath thousands of tonnes of moor. The main passage goes into the hillside beneath a waterfall, guarded by a small pool, which today was a big waterfall and an even bigger pool, so we contented ourselves with a look in what we used to consider the most open cave, reached through a low opening, there is a tunnel leading from the right hand side of the cave which connects to the passage beneath the waterfall, the opposite side of the cave has a chute which leads down to a further cavern beneath the main cave, a muddy crawl which we didn’t attempt with only the lights from our phones. I first visited this spot when I was five years old, carried across the moors on the shoulders of my dad and his hiking mates and later my own daughter and her cousins used to love coming here and crawling through the passages, with a pound shop torch and a cheap waterproof jacket, emerging wet and muddy into the light, fizzing with excitement. We fizzed our way back to Lordstones, pausing briefly for an attempt on the shale jumps near the road, attempt being the correct word, although the prefix, pitiful, would have made things more accurate. As we were leaving the cafe, we met Climbing Simon, former chairman of the now defunct Cafe Racers, a kind of inferior roadie version of the Terra Trailblazers, which had a short-lived burst of popularity a few years back. He was enjoying the last of his days off from the cut and thrust of industrial life, keeping the nation’s farmers supplied with fertilizer and counting down the days to retirement. He pretended he was out for a walk but really he was just lurking around the car park looking for people to talk to. Mountain biking and caving in the same ride; does this make us multi-sport enthusiasts, like The Ginger One whose proficiency in the arduous disciplines of both snooker and darts is legendary?

Brian at his pond.

Playing In The Puddles.

Perhaps I ought to be changing my deodorant, or maybe even wearing some, I prefer the old-fashioned practice of just getting washed but three quarters of this week’s rides have been alone, my phone has been quieter than The Gary Glitter Babysitting Agency on a wet Wednesday. Nothing flash today, a scrounge about Guisborough Woods, setting off from Great Ayton, the usual can’t think of anywhere to go place. The ribs are feeling slightly easier nowadays so a few trails were attempted cautiously, despite a couple of dry days, the sheltered stuff in the woods remains greasy and wet tree roots are slippery whatever the weather. Quite a few people about though, biking and walking, must be a Friday thing. Still a lot of puddles about which gave me the opportunity to play with the GoPro on burst mode, the ultimate selfie fun, set camera up, press button, after a ten second delay for you to find your best side and get into shredder pose, it takes thirty pictures over the next ten seconds, ideal for blasting through puddles, although passing walkers might (will) look at you a bit strangely. I took the long way back to Great Ayton, via Kildale wanting to check out the herd of deer in a roadside field, being farmed for venison, I assume but still flighty when the fence is approached, except for one young buck which boldly stared me out while all his mates scurried off to the far corner of the field. He posed for a few pictures before I left him to it, whatever it is deer might do all day, which mainly seems to be eating grass and looking startled.

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

First Proper Ride For A While and other stories.

 

First blog for a bit, had a little rest to allow my ribs to heal (hopefully) and owing to lack of footage, no June video, July’s video will just have to be twice as good. Started with some gentle rides for the last few days of June and the first couple of days of July and here are the results. A few people have been asking about The Breadlad, whose presence is lacking nowadays, not from his usual jet setting, international playboy lifestyle but a herniated disc in his spine, no doubt caused by many hours in economy class seats. He has returned to work but is not ready yet for the high-octane, perilousness which is a Terra Trailblazer's ride. Interestingly enough, despite not being out since early April, he still leads in the attendance stakes with twenty rides, although SuperBri is coming up fast on the inside with eighteen rides, third place goes to Keith who has managed thirteen rides even though he has to travel down from Sunderland. Looks like some people need to get their fingers out.  

First Proper Ride For A While.

Not exactly “Sun’s out: guns out.” as we used to see when we were rock rats, nowadays it’s more, “Sun’s out: belly out.” as the dreaded middle aged spread turns my once magnificent body* (*may not be factually correct) into something which looks like a partially-melted waxwork dummy. Diet and exercise are apparently the remedy, I have exercise and I have a diet, in fact the only thing I struggle with is passing the butchers...and the bakers and the special offer cases of Guinness. Must be genetic. A Swainby start today and a surprise visitor in the shape of Oz, recent addition to the Nitrates Retired Gentlemen (N.R.G. although there’s not a great deal of that amongst most of the other retirees) We embarked on a fairly standard route, although seeing as Oz appears only slightly more often than The Ginger One’s bank card, it was all new to him. We began with a hill climb taking us up to Whorlton Castle, or the remains of it anyway, from where we continued down the road to Whorlton and over the fields to Faceby, heading into Faceby Plantation, climbing slightly before dropping down to the hamlet of Heathwaite. Being cautious because the ribs are still giving me a bit of grief, I still managed to fall off on a steep track through the trees, a wee bit greasy from the weekend’s lash down and a bit too much back brake. Luckily, I fell onto my right, the unscathed side and Oz was spared the indignity of a grown man crying. Entering Scugdale, we crossed the beck and climbed up one of our “fields of heavy gravity” into Clain Wood, following the nice roller-coaster bridleway until it was time to shoulder the bikes and plod up the steps. Despite the weather becoming almost Mediterranean, the car park at Sheepwash had spaces, I guess that’s what happens when the shops re-open. A few of Rod’s trails in the woods above Cod Beck Reservoir were ridden, somewhat cautiously, before we crossed the valley and pedalled up the road to Scarth Wood Moor for another nice downhill, which was a lot nicer when it went through trees - they have been chopped down because they were ‘non-native’ species. Tree racism, who’d have thought there could be such a thing? Emerging onto the paved section which runs across the moor, we headed back up the hill, so we could take in Olly’s Folly, a pleasant descent which runs straight down the moor to Sheepwash. We made it to the bottom unscathed, which is more than Olly once did, hence the name. A brief bit of tarmac later, we were on our last track of the day, through the trees parallel to the Scarth Nick road bank. A little greasy still but fun nonetheless. Five minutes later we were, quite literally, basking in the sunshine outside the Rusty Bike.

Sunshine? Two Days In A Row?

Another decent day, could this be an inkling of a summer to come? Voice from future - “Is it bollocks.” Me and Simon T. met up at Ingleby Greenhow, the sun already hot in the sky, birds singing, insects whizzing about, a grand day to be alive. Introduced Simon to the Coleson Banks start, which basically climbs from the start of the ride and keeps climbing, about a thousand feet of ascent in five miles or so, plateauing on Ingleby Moor, where we took the track along the edge of the moor to Bloworth Crossing before doubling back on ourselves along the old Rosedale rail track to the Incline Top. It may not have been the most technical riding in the world - or even the moors but the views made up for it, the whole moors a kaleidoscope of yellow tracks, purple heather and green heathland beneath a blue sky, all shimmering slightly in the heat haze, winter-coated sheep, soporific beside the trail, sluggish and unconcerned as two cyclists rode past. From the Incline Top, we scooted back onto the top track and briefly retraced our tyre tracks, turning off at Burton Howe and plunging down the Old Coal Road toward Armouth Wath, plunging being a relative term as a headwind suddenly appeared, great for cooling us down but not so good for our average speed. We headed north east, rejoining the Cleveland Way above Battersby Crag and riding our first bit of singletrack, the bridleway to Ingleby Bank - or Turkey Nab as we know it. The steep downhill was resurfaced a few months ago but the rock slabs which made the downhill so much fun are already beginning to peep through, water and 4x4 drivers will soon have it back to its original state. At the gate we turned left into Battersby Plantation to ride some of the tracks through the trees, the topmost one, Loaminator, is surprisingly overgrown, the middle section almost obliterated by bracken, they can’t be ridden as much as we imagined. The last track, Back To The Car, is not so overgrown, a pleasant loamy flow through the trees, a nice finish to our ride. Back at Ingleby Greenhow we gave the new coffee shop, Cafe 1756, attached to The Dudley Arms a try, it’s our duty as good citizens and ambassadors of the mountain biking world to sample as many cafes and pubs as possible, so you, dear readers, will never go hungry after a bike ride. It’s gruelling work but our dedication and philanthropism is unbounded and we do it all for you.

I Can Think Of Worse Ways To Spend A Thursday.

Another Great Ayton start and the river is reduced to a measly trickle, the lowest it has been in a long time. Me and SuperBri did a pretty standard start, through the farms to Roseberry Common and up the steps to Newton Moor. SuperBri had been out walking the other day and found the old red route downhill, Les’s 1, which he’d never ridden, so that was our first objective. Seeing as it was all new to him we did the whole trio, which are imaginatively named Les’s 1, 2 and (you’ve guessed it) 3. My ribs, which have been slowly improving, took a definite dislike to this downhilling business, every bump and bodyweight shift punctuated with a swift jab of pain, which didn’t do much for my already feeble downhill skills. Although the pain is now more akin to being skewered with a knitting needle rather than being hacked with a chainsaw, so they must be getting better. Another trail, The Robinsons on Strava, dropped us down even further toward the bottom of the forest and from here, as Yazz once said, the only way is up, although I don’t imagine Guisborough Forest featured too strongly in the songwriting process. We climbed upward, forever upward, on fire roads, trying the occasional trail until we found ourselves on top of Highcliffe Nab, taking in the view across to the north sea, before moving across to Codhill Heights and a speedy descent to Sleddale, the track suffering from a dose of lockdown gravel in places, making things a bit sketchy. Lockdown gravel is just an observation regarding the amount of tracks which have been gravelled over the lockdown period, in most cases unnecessarily, making it harder to pedal and taking away a lot of the fun. And loose gravel doesn't last, a bit of weather soon washes it all away. We pedalled around the Lonsdale Bowl to Gribdale, getting in what might be the last descent of Andy’s Track before the triffids take over for the rest of the summer, head height bracken, impossible to get through unless a machete is part of your riding kit. Fun over we headed down the road with only the butchers to look forward to. Back in Great Ayton, the riverside was packed with picnicking families taking advantage of the weather, enjoying the sunshine but probably not as much as we were enjoying our pies. 

Easy One To Finish The Week.

Fourth ride of the week and I have to admit, the broken ribs are feeling the strain a bit but the morning after a ride, they feel so much better, with this in mind I found myself flying solo from Scaling Dam on my now legendary minimum climbing loop. It’s only legendary because the other Terra Trailblazers believe I keep it to myself and make them suffer the rides with a couple of thousand feet of ascent. They might be right but it is for their own good. If only I could find a way to cut out the mile of moor road it would be a perfect ride. The route is pretty well documented but here it is again, start in one of the Scaling Dam car parks, the east end one is only open Friday, Saturday and Sunday but as a bonus it has a burger van in place those days, the rest of the time use the other car parks, the only difference being the ride along the dam which will either be at the beginning or the end of the ride. From the boat club, join the moor road (A171) and brave the traffic to the Danby turn off, a little more (thankfully) less busy tarmac takes you to Robin Hood’s Butts and the start of the off road riding. Just over half a mile later, a small cairn marks the Sis Cross track, singletrack climbs slightly to the cross, which is actually a small standing stone, before the track takes a downward turn in the best possible way, snaking through the heather to the road above Danby. Crossing over the road there is a link to the Lord’s Turnpike, a track more commonly known as ‘the flying bees’ after the ‘beware of flying bees’ sign lower down. A grammatical pleonasm which used to infuriate The Pensioner to the point of incredulity. The route then heads north to join the Pannierman’s Causeway, climbing up onto the Danby Beacon road and some easy pedalling to the beacon. Danby Beacon is an NSP, (Natural Stopping Point) with fine 360 degree views on a good day. Which today is. Another Terra Trailblazers favourite follows, Roxby Moor, a speedy doubletrack down Brown Rigg which later climbs up onto Roxby High Moor, emerging at a farm road, which leads back to the car park and, if you’ve chosen your day wisely - the burger van. 

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

After The Ribs.

 

debacle

/deɪˈbɑːk(ə)l/

noun

1. a sudden and ignominious failure;

 

Just about sums up the days following the last ‘proper’ ride, during which a sudden unplanned dismount ended with me floundering like a beached whale in a shallow sea of mud and rocks. A bash to the ribs ensued but it didn’t feel too bad and being  Mammy’s brave soldier, I carried on and completed the ride without too much undue discomfort. I reasoned it might smart a bit the next day and I would be taking it easy for a day or two, returning sooner rather than later to the fun and frivolity of a Terra Trailblazer’s bike ride. Which goes to illustrate the pitiful extent of my medical knowledge. Over the next few days it became apparent I'd actually had a visit from Big Baz The Boss of B Wing and his favourite toy - two pool balls in a sock. All this enjoyment culminated in a five am trip to Urgent Care with all the symptoms of a pneumothorax, something La Mujerita has experience of; a lot of stethoscope action, oxygen level monitoring and some prodding and poking later, I was kicked out again with two intact lungs and some codeine. Consequently, after resting (properly) for a few days, improvement was enough to contemplate a gentle, plod around the cycle tracks and country lanes surrounding the industrial wasteland we call home. Pedaling was pretty much okay, stopping and starting the painful bit but I figured anything which was stretching the intercostal muscles couldn’t be a bad thing -  and by and large it wasn’t. By the end of The Seaton For Chips Ride, just over twenty miles of the flattest riding imaginable, every breath felt like a kick in the chest. And then I sneezed; something I’d managed to avoid lately. Now I know how them suicide bombers feel when the vest goes off. And I haven’t even got 72 virgins to look forward to. Although, in this town, the chances of even finding seventy two virgins is about as likely as a celestial paradise beyond the stratosphere. No blogging required for the local rides - have some pictures instead.

Gentle Rib Stretcher Ride.

Not So gentle Rib Stretcher Ride.

The 'Seaton For Chips' Ride.

Fast Forward To October.

A full day’s rest later, I ventured out onto the moors for the first time in almost a fortnight, only one of my virtually zero ascent Scaling Dam rides but there are rocks, singletrack and plenty of uneven ground to contend with. And the weather, while largely dry it’s not exactly the Flaming June we might have hoped for, there is a definite chill in the wind, it could easily be a pleasant day in October. The route is a pretty straightforward curation of tracks starting with a pedal along the Scaling Reservoir dam, then, a mile of purgatory on the moor road to the Danby turn off, followed by Robin Hood’s Butts to the Sis Cross track. As has been mentioned many times before, Sis Cross is a superb singletrack, cutting down a heather-covered moor with a few muddy gullies to keep things interesting, all dried up today. Probably one of my most cautious attempts to date, even a gentle tumble into the heather would have been unthinkably painful - and no one wants to see a grown man cry. Reaching the road above Danby, I crossed over and began climbing on the Pannierman’s Causeway, gradually gaining height until I joined the Danby Beacon road, which I took to the beacon. Normally Danby Beacon is a Terra Trailblazer’s NSP (Natural Stopping Point) but the frigid wind funneled me onward in search of a more sheltered spot to take onboard calories. At the start of the Roxby Moor bridleway, the lee of a heather-clad earth bank sufficed and I was soon refreshed and ready to take on the bridleway, another classic excursion, heading across the moor, Scaling reservoir glinting in the distance, not that there was much glinting going on today with a sky the colour of a down and out’s duvet. I chanced more speed for this one and got away with it, a bit of exhilaration and a much needed endorphin boost, the perfect antidote to red tarmac cycle tracks. A roundabout route back to the car to check on the sand martin colony before I was back in the car park, surrounded by the usual crew of motorcyclists, most of whom are so old, they make me look as though I have just left school. After a mandatory cheeseburger and a coffee, I was ready for the trickiest part of the ride - getting the bike on the roof rack. Still an ordeal but only a moderately painful ordeal, so, all in all, a successful day.

 

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