Ride 009.

Date:   17th December 2003                     Distance: 17 miles

“A winter’s day in a deep and dark December”

I don’t know where Paul Simon lives but it was a superb winter’s day in North Yorkshire, sunny and practically windless, not even too muddy underfoot despite the previous few days’ rain. A good turn out, mainly because the overtime at work had all been cancelled; only Crankshaft Steve couldn’t make it for unspecified reasons probably involving bedcovers and warmth.

No definite route in mind, only a vague notion to give Simon and Austin a go at Codhill Heights – The Downhill, their only experience of it being in the heavy gravity direction. I was a bit vague regarding the four and a half mile uphill slog on fire roads to reach Highcliffe Nab prior to reaching the downhill bit, no point demoralising them too early. Half an hour’s puffing and panting, a brief lie down for Simon and we reached the open moor, looking forward to heading downwards for a change. We shared our ride up the hills with the local hunt, whose hounds were infinitely fitter than any of us could hope to be.

The puddles have reappeared on the flat bit but not yet as hub-suckingly deep as usual, the bridleway to Sleddale the perfect introduction to NYM downhilling, as fast as you dare make it but uneven and rocky enough to let you know you’ve left the blandness of the forest fire roads. Hacking down, avoiding the gullies, bouncing over rocks and bumps, hit the long straight, stop at the gate. Gate? That wasn’t there a fortnight ago. Definitely puts a crimp on things. Never mind, another excuse to stop and regroup, stand about in the winter sunshine, admiring the view. A bit more of the same, then upwards again to Percy Cross Rigg, keeping a careful eye on Blind Bob as he crossed the cattle grid, after last week when he somehow managed to fall off his bike and into the one at Lordstones. A brief pedal on the  Percy Cross Rigg tarmac and down Quarry Hill to New Row, a casualty free descent despite the loose rocks hidden under the picturesque carpet of pine needles.

Kildale café beckoned for our usual refreshment stop and a discussion of our next move. Bob suggested turning right from the car park and following the road up to Coate Moor. Unaware of the steep bank involved the others agreed. Surprisingly it didn’t seem as steep as I remembered it, although Simon’s granny ring proved inadequate to the task and he briefly joined the rambling fraternity. We regrouped at the top, talking to a birdwatcher for a while, until we were a passed by a walker we’d had a bit of banter with in the café.

“Did you lot have a puncture or something?” he asked, not even breathless from his hike up the road.

We followed some muddy fire roads through the plantation and made our way to Gribdale for another regroup, look at the view, decide which way to go, etc., etc. Another almost unanimous group decision saw us mud-plugging up the bridleway onto Great Ayton moor and eventually back into Guisborough Woods. A fine view of Roseberry Topping necessitated a detour for a photograph and another stand about. Back in the woods we followed a bit of the Black Route from the gate which leads onto Hutton Moor to Bold Venture Gill, deep pine needles and slippy roots until the swoopy singletrack section with the slippery log edges. Simon was first to bite the dust on a rooty drop off, followed by Bob, who was snatched away by a rut on the steep descent to Bold Venture Gill.

We headed back towards the cars on fire roads but not before we’d had our fun on the Hanging Stone Wood downhill. Just the bottom two sections because we figured the new top bit would be way too muddy. Bob again bit the dirt, at the first drop off – allegedly because I pointed a camera at him – skinning the semi-permanent scab on his shin for the second time today. Ian took a slight detour on the bottom section, forging a new path through some brambles without the assistance of his bike. And I skidded in a muddy patch, accidentally introducing a pair of passing dog walkers to some profane variations on the theme of copulating animals.

All that was left was a fire road blast back to the car park, almost four hours out and only seventeen miles covered but ‘a lot of uphill’ we kept reminding ourselves. A lot of standing about admiring the view and scranning more like. Once again the weather gods took pity on us pathetic wretches, mud-covered, shin-scraped, thorn-punctured but grinning like baboons at the end of one of the most enjoyable rides of this year.

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