Ride 001.

Date:    15^th August 2003                                 

 Distance:   16.75 miles.

So this is where it all began, when Simon said he fancied joining me and Blind Bob for a ride out on the moors. A venue was chosen and off we went to the Square Corner car park near Osmotherly. Simon turned up on a rigid Raleigh of uncertain vintage, the frame laden with water bottles and assorted bags, mostly containing the sustenance he figured he’d require to see him through the day ahead. 

A flattish start took us straight into Silton Forest for a bit of singletrack work – rocky and occasionally boggy before a nice downhill through the trees brought us out at the Forest Enterprise car park. Simon not fazed in the least by the steep downhill, even on his rigid bike – could we have a star in the making? Tarmac to Kepwick, then a brief and painful off-road excursion through gorse bushes, nettles and brambles led us to a damp but fun downhill into Cowesby. More road to Brickshed Cottages, then the sun turned up the heat ready for the push, pant, up the bridleway to Cowesby moor. Dry peaty singletrack through the heather takes us to the corner of Boltby Forest, then diagonally up to The Drove Road – steady away in the granny ring, Blind Bob’s profanities gradually fading from earshot. Wait at the gate, first up Simon, not doing too bad for his first time out on the big hills; then again he is twenty years younger than me and a staggering 32 years younger than Bob. 

Still early, so I suggest a look back into the top of Boltby Forest to check out a nice track I rode a couple of weeks previously. At the time I thought it would be even better ridden from North to South. It may have been if some of our equine friends had shown some consideration and not let two tonnes of incipient pet food completely trash the soft ground. Instead of a nice swoop through the firs on a carpet of pine needles, we slogged through deep hoof ruts. High Paradise Farm couldn’t come quick enough. 

Back on the Drove Road we headed north, steadily munching the miles, Simon feeling the pace by now and in the granny ring even on the flat. This turned out to be an oft repeated theme over the next few months. We regrouped at the cairn above the mad mile – the ever-popular downhill track leading back to our start point. Time to sort the men from the boys, seat down, pedal the flat, going down now, into the rocky drop-offs, weight back let the suspension take the strain, fist size rocks, loose and slippy, let the bike float over, gradually turning to nicely consolidated gravel with water bars to jump, hop, skip or whatever. Through the bends at the side of the forest, check for ramblers – none, sweet – clear run to the gate. Speedo touching the high thirties, eyes watering, face grinning, slow for the gate and stop. Look round to see how far Simon is behind – whoa – about six inches.

            “How did you do that?”

            “I just copied you.” 

Perhaps this full suspension’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

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