Marching Away From Winter. March 2021 Round Up and Video.

 March Round Up and Video

Too many words? Video here

“March is the month God created to show people who don’t drink what a hangover is like.” 

 Garrison Keillor.

March, the calendar’s equivalent of a dystopian wasteland depicted in so many Hollywood movies; a dying planet of a month, a monochrome landscape of raw winds, water and mud, grey skies blocking out sunlight, contrasting with February's bright optimism. A border between seasons which manages to avoid the good points of either,  no-man's land with the razor wire of winter behind you and the golden promise of summer’s freedom ahead, between the two lies a charnel-ridden minefield. Like Yeats's great beast, March shuffles towards spring, which glimmers tantalisingly on the horizon, snowdrops and daffodils peek cautiously from the grave-cold earth, harbingers of better days to come. March is a month to be endured, not enjoyed, winter miles make summer smiles and all that. Enthusiasm is hard to come by when the trails are slurry and the wind has teeth. But it’s always better than the alternative: not having a bike ride, it’s difficult enough to fill those awkward moments between the end of one bike ride and the start of the next without letting the weather get in the way. 

I wrote this at the beginning of March and it must have frightened the weather into behaving, especially towards the end of the month when it was almost like summer. Great rides, decent weather and for the last bit, we were allowed to go out mob-handed, well, as close to a mob as we’ll ever get without recourse to bribery or sexual favours. 

The last three rides of the month are detailed below.

Shredding Those Gnarly Fire Roads.

Forgetting the Easter holidays have started, me and La Mujerita went to Pinchinthorpe, as did everyone else in the immediate vicinity with a bit of free time. The car park was almost full, cars disgorging toddlers and dogs all ready to enjoy a bit of fresh air; we cycled cautiously past the visitor centre and up the first hill, half a mile from the car park there was barely a soul in sight, not that we were complaining. We made our way through the forest on fire roads, stopping occasionally to check the state of trails or show La Mujerita some of the jumps we fail to clear every week. Climbing higher and higher until we reached Highcliffe Nab, then we repeated the exercise in a downward direction. A track we had rode in the depths of winter, when it was a slithering, sloppy nightmare was tried today - no change, still like trawling through the Somme without the trench foot or machine gun fire. Although trench foot is a possibility.  More amenable fire road riding  took us back to the visitor centre where the cafe was doing a roaring trade in ice creams. Not a bad start to the week’s riding, strong cold wind but otherwise quite pleasant. And as an added bonus there were jars of home made chilli jam for sale at the cafe, it went very well with my toastie.

It’s Grand To Feel The Sun On Your Back.

If the newspapers are to be believed, we are in for the hottest day of the year today, bring it on. Boris says six again and not wanting to break any government rules we stuck to five, just in case there were any covid police watching us from spy satellites in outer space, although being of a certain age we’ve all had the jab, so we’ll be monitored from the nanochip technology cruising round our veins and arteries. Miniature submarines crewed by Raquel Welch and assorted heartthrobs, checking out our internal organs, Hollywood predicted it back in 1966, Fantastic Voyage. Soon we were panting our way up Ainthorpe Rigg, heart rates increasing, Raquel strapped in her chair, hatches battened down, as blood flows went from lazy river to river wild in the space of minutes. A circuitous route brought us to the Jack Sledge bridleway, a mighty fine descent down the hillside, a diagonal slash of singletrack, angling through the heather to the road far below. A lot drier than last time me and The Breadlad rode it, confirming our suspicions that it would be a quality descent in the right conditions. The Breadlad sent us all ahead because he wanted a bit of quiet time at the top, so he could do what a bear does in the woods. No, not hibernating. The bridleway crosses the road for a short continuation which did not continue the earlier magnificence, a long dead sheep rotting away across the track, its bones crackling under our tyres, led to a small swamp before things firmed up as we reached the Fryup road. We followed the track through the fields from Stonebeck Gate Farm, which was pleasantly dry for a change and most of the gates were open which gave us a speedy run through, a little too speedy for Keith who was spat onto the grass by a reprehensible rut. His injuries were only minor and we were soon on our way again, regaining our lost height via tarmac and a gruesome ascent of Oakley Walls, which is looser and rockier than ever. A couple of hardy souls attempted to ride it but the rest of us worked on the discretion is the better part of valour theory and made like Sisyphus for half a mile. A quick blast across the Clitherbeck track and another climb up to Robin Hood’s Butts, eventually brought us to the Sis Cross, a favourite descent of ours, singletrack through the heather, a few muddy gullies to cross, or go over the bars depending how much attention was being paid, as Howard found to his cost. Potentially an expensive little tumble, as he lost his GPS, luckily The Breadlad’s eagle eyes discovered it again, those years of practice looking for euro coins on continental beaches paid off again. We did the continuation bridleway instead of heading straight down the road to Danby, this passes through someone’s garden and over a stream, shallow enough to ride through today, into a remote valley, green and picturesque but a stiff climb to find our way out. Then it was all pretty much downhill to the cafe, the almost forgotten  luxury of a post-ride cafe stop, it may have been takeaway only but still a magnificent improvement on the tailgate picnics.

Up George’s Gap.

Managed another decent crew today for a few loops around Blakey Ridge, starting from the Bank Top car park, which was significantly milder than our last visit, when we had to park nose first into the wind to prevent car doors being ripped off by the vicious gusts. Today was warm and windless, if anything better than yesterday which was allegedly the hottest day of the year so far. Our first trail was the short bit of singletrack cutting across Rosedale Head, a bit sloppy but improving, we emerged onto the road opposite the ancient moorland cross known as Fat Betty, continuing on the Fat Betty singletrack, an uninspiring name for a nice bit of trail, with grand views over the moors looking back to Castleton. A quick scoot up the road brough us to the Trough House track, a moors’ classic, although nowadays more for the views than the riding, which has been sanitised beyond belief. Trough House is a  shooting hut with a stone bench built into one end, always one of our N.S.P’s (Natural Stopping Points), we’d been sat a while, spouting the sort of bollocks which wouldn’t go down well in polite company, it’s a little known truth that any conversation between a group of men will inevitably degenerate to talking about faeces or fornication, or did during my forty odd years working in industry, where ladies were few and far between and even people who used shower gel instead of the free soap provided by the company were considered to be of dubious sexuality. So, there we are, laid about like loppy dogs, as a colleague used to say every time he walked into the control room, and two ladies cycle towards us, obviously Trough House is one of their N.S.P’s too.

“You’ve nicked our seats.” 

Being the gentlemen we are, we offered to move but she continued,

“At least you’re not on electric bikes. If you had been we would have come up there and tossed you off.” 

I’m sure she meant the seat but just in case, our electric bikes arrive next week. We got a good discount for ordering four. Un-abused, we continued along the track, detouring slightly to show Bri the infamous Glaisdale Corkscrew, a steep and broken singletrack along a cliff edge, the sort of place were mistakes will have a somewhat negative bearing on the rest of your life, if you survive at all. Curiosity sated, we turned off the Trough House track onto the George Gap Causeway, a partially paved bridleway crossing the moor towards Rosedale, normally we ride in the opposite, gravity-friendly, direction but it’s not too steep and as I said, partially paved so things oughtn’t to be too arduous. Except for the mud, the unpaved sections are showing no signs of drying up like the rest of the moors, narrow gullies filled with black peat the consistency of porridge made for hard going at times but the weather is pleasant and the banter is brutal, so nobody minds. We crossed the road and started on our next bridleway, the Daleside Road descent, three quarters of a mile of pure pleasure, terminating on the Rosedale East Side rail track just above (the unfortunately closed) Dale Head Farm tea room. One of those tracks we don’t like to publicise too much in case it is wrecked by overuse. An easy but scenic pedal, round the head of the valley on the old rail track brought us back to our start point, still feeling pretty fresh, we crossed the road to ride a little used track behind the Lion Inn. Or what previously was a little used track, it appears to have been used and abused by a convoy of bulldozers or possibly Challenger 2 tanks taking the long way round to Afghanistan, which have rendered dusty singletrack to muddy ruts, another little bit of fun ravaged by the guardians of the countryside. Shortly afterward we were enjoying a tailgate picnic in the sunshine, the last ride of March over, summer is on the way. We are coming up to Easter, predictably enough snow is forecast.

(Additional photos courtesy of SuperBri)

Click on route name to take you to the relevant Strava page.

Making Like Teenagers. The Fourth Week Of March 2021.

 Like A Couple Of Teenagers Playing In The Woods.

One of those Spring days when deciding how many layers to wear is tricky, pleasantly sunny but, as the saying goes, the wind had teeth and by the time we reached the high moors, we were glad of the extra clothing. Rod has managed to escape from work for a week and was probably wishing he was back by the time we were hauling ourselves up Coleson Banks onto Battersby Moor. The chilly wind accompanied us along the Cleveland Way track until we turned off along the stony track which leads ultimately to Armouth Wath on what is known as The Flagged Road, normally we ride this track the opposite way, the ascent from the crossing of Black Beck always comes as a nasty surprise on a track we normally consider almost flat. It’s weird how your mind blanks out the unpleasant bits of trials until they appear in front of you like uninvited relatives. Turning into a headwind, we pedaled back up the Old Coal Road to Burton Howe, where we hung a left and made our way to Bloworth Crossing, just to get a few extra miles in our legs. The broad tracks are drying up nicely, a few puddles here and there, the odd muddy patch but mainly superb, especially if you like easy riding with fine views. From a blowy Bloworth, we followed the old rail track back to the Incline Top before hopping up onto our original track and riding in the opposite direction, back to Burton Howe, continuing to Tidy Brown Hill and embarking on what is still one of my favourite tracks on the moors, the section of Cleveland Way which leads to Baysdale. It is not in any way technical or even that steep, simply a gravelled doubletrack with a few drainage humps but you can pretty much throw caution to the wind and ride as fast as your cajones allow. A singletrack bridleway leads off from this track, rutted and wet, heading down to join Ingleby Bank, or Turkey Nab as it is more commonly known, steep and fast, just remember to slow down before the gate. From the gate we went into the woods, ready to make like youths, sessioning bits of trail, searching out hidden sections, maybe having the occasional dab, slithering about in moist loam and generally having a grand time for an hour or so until hunger forced us back to the cars. Back in the valley, sheltered from the wind, it was like a summer’s day, the camping stools came out of the boot and we enjoyed a proper tailgate picnic.

White Men Can’t Jump.

Another Great Ayton start, we took ourselves directly up to Aireyholme Farm, braving the Fletcher’s Farm puncture run and continued into Guisborough Woods. Almost immediately heading onto the trails, which are beginning to dry up slightly but not as much as is ideal. Some sliding and slithering ensued, a few falls and more than one refusal at the first fence, or jump in our cases. One trail which was felled out some time ago has been reinvented as a mini jump park with a set of doubles, a gap jump and some steep drop ins, we played on the slopes, while young Olly attempted the doubles with a confidence we could only dream of. Moving on to an ascent of The Unsuitables calmed us all down a bit, reaching the top as panting wrecks, we met Bingo Bob and his mate on their electric bikes, they seemed unimpressed by our leg-power only ascent. Probably because we could barely speak. We continued over Percy Cross Rigg and around the Lonsdale Bowl, heading along to Newton Moor to the gate opposite Roseberry Topping, ready for an epic descent beginning with Little Roseberry. The wind was howling in by now, as we began the drop, we caught the full force of the gale, pushing us sideways off the track but we all managed to get down unscathed. Gravity still on our side, we continued downward, curving round the base of Roseberry Topping on rocky tracks and stone steps until we reached Roseberry Lane. Moving on, we went to Cliff Rigg Quarry, one of those places where people on the verge of middle-age go to be embarrassed by teenagers. A few pitiful attempts on the nursery slopes ensued while youngsters flung themselves into the air like a flea circus. (Google it, it was a thing in the days before entertainment), they then kindly demonstrated ‘the cliff drop’ for us, dropping off a ten foot precipice onto the slope below, even stopping to tell us how easy it is, “just roll over the edge and pull up a little bit...” I’m sure if I tried it, I’d just roll over the edge and lay there a little bit - until the air ambulance arrived. Entertained but slightly humiliated, we left the youths to it and headed toward something we could polish off without any hesitation or practice - our picnics.

More Smiles Than Miles.

Seeing as the nice people at Lordstones have left their car park open for us to use during lockdown, it would be rude not to start from there now and again. Of course, we would much rather the cafe and shop were open too but that’s for a future time. Another what to wear sort of day, sunshine with a blustery wind, the threat of a shower ever present but hopefully not materialising. A good drying wind, as my mother would say and it is having the right effect on the trails, The Fronts, as far as Sheepshagger Bank was fine and dry, apart from the occasional muddy puddle to catch out the unwary - just call me Mr. Unwary.  The Fronts is the name we give to the track which runs across the north faces of Cringle Moor, Cold Moor and Hasty Bank, terminating at the Bilsdale road, opposite Clay Bank car park and Sheepshagger Bank is a steep gully where we once rescued a sheep, stuck by its horns in a wire fence, some compromising photos may have been taken, as an unnamed Terra Trailblazer approached from the rear, fortunately in the days before digital cameras and social media. Unfortunately the alleged photos are now lost in the mists of time and only the name remains. The shale singletrack around the front of Cold Moor is a bit of a hidden gem, normally bypassed in favour of the wider track below, let’s hope it stays that way. From the end of the singletrack, we shouldered bikes for a plod up onto the ridge of Cold Moor, ready for that North York Moors classic, the imaginatively named Cold Moor Descent. A smorgasbord of bicycling delights, from grassy singletrack to a rocky streambed, multiple lines to choose, constantly interesting, the antithesis of groomed trail centre riding and predictably enough avoided by the shiny bike and full face helmet crews. The trail finishes down in Chop Gate, down being the significant word here, with the options to continue the ride being up, or up, or even up some more. Occasionally the odd lunatic (usually The Ginger One, who has been keeping a low profile this month) suggests the Mast Road, which is a coronary-inducing, private road leading to Bilsdale Transmitter mast, the giant totem of the herds who worship television. Thankfully that option remained un-mooted and we pedaled up the Raisdale Road, then more steeply off Raisdale Road to the col at Stoney Wickes before climbing a bit more, around the head of Scugdale to Brian’s Pond. More climbing took us to the summit of Carlton Bank with fine views across Teesside to the North Sea, the CF Industries cooling towers belching out plenty of steam, keeping my pension topped up, just behind the cooling towers - my little house. Can’t get any more local than a ride where you can still see your house. A couple of nice singletracks, followed by a fast fire road and we were almost back at Lordstones but not before we’d stopped in the shale tip play area to channel our inner teenager. Playing on jumps again - for the third time this week, it’ll all end in tears - eventually. Using a cunning combination of cowardice and caution, we managed to find a few kindergarten jumps which were more in our league. They say start small and work up, when it comes to jumps; I’ve been in the start small phase for over twenty years now.

Sunshine And A Shower.

The forecast was predicting 40 mph winds and hailstones, interest in a moors ride was muted to say the least but there is always the local, before work, quickie with La Mujerita option to fall back on. It is definitely windy and rain is lurking in every gust but we managed to stay dry for a spin around the urban rurality in our locality. We even managed to squeeze in enough off road tracks to qualify it as a gravel ride rather than (heaven forbid) a road ride. For those familiar with the area, we rode from Billingham to Norton, along Station Road to where road becomes rutted track, passing a few small farms and riding stables, an ascent of the Stony Bank brought us back to the outskirts of Billingham. Turning left, we continued toward Wynyard, dropping down the Golden Gates bank and climbing up again on Blakestone Lane, making our way to a section of the Castle Eden Walkway, another old railtrack utilised as a cycle track. Time was against us, so we turned off at Carlton, rode through the village and down to Thorpe Thewles, returning home along the Wynyard Road. Being proper cyclists, not calorie-counting, skinny-tyre weirdos, the lure of our local Greggs was too strong to resist and some of their finest comestibles formed the basis of a hearty lunch. 

Clicking on the route name will you take you to the relevant Strava page.