A Grand Start To The Month.

 

Well, Hello Mr. Blue Sky.

The first day of March turned out to be a considerably better day than the last day of February, a crisp day with a fresh wind and perfect blue sky. I met Miles at Hutton Village  - Guisborough’s answer to Bedburn at Hamsterley, where people go to avoid parking charges. Totally justified in the case of Guisborough because money to facilitate mountain biking in the woods was diverted years ago, if it wasn’t for the trail pixies there would be no trails to ride. The perfect weather hasn’t done anything to alleviate the mud though, as we soon found, slogging our way up past the Blue Lake into the woods. Mainly on fire roads, we made our way through the forest, with the odd little diversion onto less muddy tracks, until we reached Roseberry Common and hauled our bikes up the steps onto Newton Moor. A little drier out on the open moor, we took a little used single track to the Lonsdale Bowl, continuing to Percy Cross Rigg, tyres hitting tarmac for the first time since we left Hutton Village. Down to Sleddale was followed by up Codhill Heights, arriving at the gate behind Highcliffe Nab, where Miles suggested a ride down the paved Cleveland Way track, so off we popped, as the saying goes, there was nobody else on the whole path, which let us have a speedy ride down the wet stones, until we reached the gate. The trail climbs up from here, eventually joining Percy Cross Rigg where it meets the top of The Unsuitables. Miles was under a time constraint and it was time for him to start heading in the direction of home - not too arduous when he lives only a couple of hundred metres from the woods - we hung a right and enjoyed the dubious pleasures of The Secret Path, rocks, roots, moss and mud, the final downhill to the fire road a mud-filled chute with the potential for an embarrassing plunge to said fire road. But we are Terra Trailblazers, skills honed by many years of riding in crap conditions, a muddy slope holds no fears for us, eyes shut, brakes on, sliding, unscathed onto the fire road. We rode to The Chute and enjoyed its latest incarnation, there have been many changes over the past twenty years but generally for the better. Miles headed home from the bottom, I could have went the opposite way and been back at the car in two minutes but that would have been too easy (and a waste of a splendid day), I slogged up the fire road beside The Chute, back into the forest and treated myself to a couple more trails before returning to the car.

More Drag Than My Purple Sequinned Frock.

Alone today, first solo ride this month, I took myself off to Lordstones for a change, figuring the wide open moors might be drier than the woods. A cool day, light cloud and a blustery wind but pleasant enough to leave the coat in the bag. I was soon warm, pedalling up the track which used to lead to the gliding club, turning off at the singletrack bridleway and heading across the moor, rejoining the broad, sandy track to enjoy the first bit of downhill, to Brian’s Pond. More climbing followed, up Barker’s Ridge, until things levelled out on the moor top, more sandy trackery took me to Cock Howe, usually the start of the awesome Trennet Bank descent, or alternatively the Head House singletrack. Both given a swerve today in favour of width and dryness, relatively speaking. I followed what are essentially unsurfaced roads across the moor, deciding on a whim to check out the new Bilsdale Transmitter masts, erected after the previous behemoth caught fire and was eventually demolished. It turns out instead of one giant mast there are now three smaller ones scattered about the heather, the old mast is laid in the compound, broken into sections, ready for the scrap men. Good job they don’t use horses and carts anymore, they’d struggle on the access road - as any of the idiots who have ever rode up it will testify. And I have been one of those idiots. I made my way back across the moor, then dropped down to the abandoned farm of Head House, now a store for estate management, where I stopped to replace some calories. There is a picture in one of Harry Mead’s North York Moors books of this house when it was occupied, it is hard to believe it ever was, miles from the nearest village, no running water, no electricity, no sewerage, it must have been a hard life. The atypical wind direction today meant I had a tail wind for the climb up to Osmotherley Stones, which ought to have made things much more pleasurable, the sandy track was slightly damp and draggier than a night out with Ru Paul, it was like riding through treacle. Eventually the top of Barker’s Ridge was regained and it was time for a bit of payback from the gravity bank, returning to Brian’s Pond. More draggy tracks led me to the summit of Carlton Bank, a quick pause to take in the view before heading along a nicely paved path following the edge of the hill before turning back onto the moor for a last downhill blast to Lordstones.

 

Fire Roads in The Rain.

It takes a special sort of person to be out on a day like today.

 

No Russians in sight Captain.

The weather forecast was predictably accurate today, as it always is when we are in for bad weather; light rain it said and light rain is what was delivered, every inch of the way. It goes without saying, it was a lone ride and even I had been prevaricating before I discovered my alternative day would undoubtedly involve supermarkets and tedium. So it was big boy (waterproof) pants on and into the wide, grey yonder I went. A Great Ayton start, up through the farms, Roseberry Common, Guisborough Woods, the trails were atrocious, the fire roads rideable, a few soggy miles around the forest then I headed out along Percy Cross Rigg, stopping at the old wartime building on the top to look out for invading Russians approaching Redcar from the North Sea. There were none; the lemon top supply chain remains unbroken -  for now. Continuing along Percy Cross Rigg, I dropped down to Kildale on the Yellowbrick Road, to finish the ride with a few cheeky downhill road miles back to Great Ayton. 

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

Storming Through February. Terra Trailblazers Round Up and Video

 

Storming Through February. Terra Trailblazers, North Yorkshire, 2022.

Too many words? Video here.

If there’s one thing February 2022 will be remembered for, (apart from the incipient third world war precipitated by a bellicose ballbag with a nuclear arsenal at his fingertips) it will be wind. Three named storms in one week, the rest of the time the wind was content to hover around the forty miles per hour mark. Fifteen rides were ridden, alternately battling against gusts or being pushed along by the power of nature; we even squeezed in a trip to Whinlatter for a bit of Lake District action - a grand day it was too. 

Taking The Long Way Home.

It’s car service time again, as usual I took my bike to ride home from the garage, which is somewhere on the far side of Middlesbrough, a pleasant ride along the Tees for most of the way. Leaving the garage things were not as pleasant as I would have liked, rain was falling from a leaden sky, chivvied along by a gusty wind. By the time I had pedalled the short distance to the Riverside Stadium, home of a local football team, things were improving, some blue sky visible through gaps in the clouds, rain easing and it was becoming almost springlike. I carried on to the Transporter bridge, still unfortunately awaiting funding for repairs - I wish they would hurry up, using it knocks a fair chunk off this journey, where I  paused for a picture or two. Further along, at Teesaurus Park, home to a collection of metal dinosaurs and formerly, a colony of glue-sniffers who appear to have followed real dinosaurs down the path of extinction, as they haven’t been spotted for a while, a path cuts through to the riverbank, joining a gravel track following the south bank of the river upstream. By now the sun had got his hat on and came out to play. At Newport Bridge, I could have left the river behind and headed directly home but it seemed to be too nice a day to waste, so I continued along the cycle track towards the Tees Barrage. At Maze Park, beside the cycle path, there are a pair of small hills, which I had never ascended, today was just the day to put that right. Despite their relatively low height, the view from the summit of the largest hill is quite nice, the ponds and reeds of Portrack Marshes to to the immediate north, backed by the CF Fertilisers chemical plant, Tees bridges to the east and west, to the south a railway marshalling yard filled with graffiti-covered trains and the site of the former racecourse, Teesside Park, now a shopping centre. The ride down the other side was steeper than expected, a bit of excitement in a thrill-free ride. I continued my merry way, passing the Tees Barrage, fully open following some heavy rain, thousands of tonnes of brown water pouring over the weirs and into the tidal section of the river. After crossing the river via the Millenium bridge, I rode downstream, along the opposite bank back to Newport Bridge, where a singletrack follows Billingham Beck for a short while before turning to head towards Portrack, apart from the broken glass and graffiti beneath the A19 flyover, it could almost be in the genuine countryside, a thin ribbon of hardened soil between Portrack Marshes and the back of an industrial estate. Only cycle tracks  left now, I chose the most direct, hunger, as usual, was the catalyst driving me towards home but it had been an enjoyable ride after an unpromising start. 

Whipping Round Whinlatter

We managed to rustle up a small team to enjoy the delights of the Lake District’s premier trail centre, me and Simon T. met Charlie and Keith in the car park on a surprisingly delightful day, blue sky, sunshine, light winds. What is going on? We’re not used to this type of weather; especially in Cumbria. Our usual format of blue route, red route north, then red route south was followed. The trails hold up well to the weather, only numerous puddles to remind us we are in the wettest place in England. Should have had the sense to put a mudguard on really. Just after the first section of the blue route, Charlie suffered a mechanical, his gear cable had frayed to the stage where it was thinner than The Ginger One’s hair and had retired itself from derailleur operation. He was dispatched to the on-site bike shop in search of a new cable, while we continued on the blue trail, Quercus I believe it is called. For an easy route, there is a fair amount of climbing, as a few families were finding out, parents trying desperately to keep their offspring in sight, kids romping up the trail while the older generation began to have regrets about the temptation of the after-work settee. We caught up with Charlie again in the car park, traumatised from being charged eight quid for a gear cable - which he still had to fit himself. For that price It ought to be titanium with a gold end cap and come in a presentation box tied with a bow, some chocolates and a naked photo of your favourite cyclist. However, he was back on the chain gang as we embarked on the north loop of the red Altura trail. No surprises on the route, plenty of puddles though and as always the highlight is the finishing sections, Big Dipper and Grand National , perhaps it should be called simply Big And Grand because that’s what it is, a massively bermed zig zag track, going from forest to open fellside and back again several times until you arrive at the road grinning like a baboon who has just discovered the fun to be had throwing shit at zoo visitors. Straight into the south loop, the first section was closed owing to forestry work, we were diverted via a fire road to the start of the first zig zag climb. We will be using the diversion in the future, it cuts out a boring uphill section through forest which only features one small downhill bit in its whole length.The south loop is essentially up, up some more, a rest at a landing, then more up until the summit of a small fell is reached, or retched depending on how hard you’ve been trying on the ascent. A breather at the top for those who need it, which is everyone and then it’s pretty much downhill all the way to the cafe. An increase in exposed bedrock, isn’t that where The Flintstones live? Bedrock exposed!!! What Fred and WIlma really get up to with Barney and Betty when the cameras are turned off. Oops, I might have digressed a little there; that could be a disturbing insight into how my mind works. I can only apologise. The exposed bedrock means the top section has been regraded from red to black, in truth, it doesn't feel any more difficult and we were soon down at the landing, where the route becomes red graded again, this is the most awesome section of the trail centre, flowing down the exposed fellside, continuing into the shady forest until a fire road signals the end of the fun. There are another couple of short bits but they were diverted today, so it was directly back to the cafe for some much appreciated food. 

Fifty Shades Of Grim

The last day of February dawned like the last day of earth, dull, wet, grey and decidedly uninspiring. Perusal of the weather forecast indicated a weather window between ten am and two pm. Easily enough time for me and La Mujerita to polish off her favourite ride, the one which goes from Square Corner, around Cod Beck reservoir, up to Scarth Wood Moor, back to Sheepwash before climbing back to Square Corner. On a day such as this, Square Corner is the epitome of existential bleakness, always cold and windy, no matter what the weather is elsewhere, today it was like a metaphor for purgatory in some seventeenth century Christian allegory. However, all this was forgotten as we rode down the road towards Chequers, helped along by a damp tail wind. Chequers was an ancient drovers’ inn, now well known for being where Paul Whitehouse and Bob Mortimer stayed during one of their Gone Fishing Christmas specials and were serenaded on the doorstep by the cast of the Only Fools And Horses Musical. A distinct lack of television personalities today as we cruised by, pedalling onto High Lane, passing the bushes where North Yorkshire personality, Budgie-Smuggler Man, can usually be found in his camping chair in more clement weather. High Lane took us all the way to the ford at Sheepwash, which La Mujerita rode through without hesitation - she must have been at the breakfast gin again. A short ride along the road beside the reservoir and then we were climbing the steep tarmac up Beacon Hill to Scarth Wood Moor, a private road which passes a couple of farms, terminating at the collection of antennas, which was always known as the Table And Chairs when I was young. A paved path heads down Scarth Wood Moor, never too steep but always fun, especially on a day like today when we had it to ourselves. All too soon we were back at the road and making our way toward the reservoir again, this time utilising one of the bankside tracks to reach the dam at the southern end. Crossing the dam, we rode into the woods and began the ascent to High Lane, from where a drizzling headwind harried us all the way back to Square Corner. No pleasant picnic in the sunshine today, bikes on roof and straight down to Swainby for the Rusty Bike cafe. 

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