Ride 012.

Date:    3rd February 2004                  Distance: 15 miles

The weather forecast did mention something about wild, wet and windy but how bad could it be? We certainly found out. And this was allegedly the best day following a week of snow and rain, a window in the weather before more wet stuff. At least it was warm.

We met at a deserted Square Corner and spent a few minutes admiring Oz’s new bike, raring to go on its first outing, while we waited for guest, birthday boy and honorary Trailblazer, Simon T (official nickname to follow). Half an hour after the allotted meeting time, we put him down as a no-show and headed down the road past Chequers and along the route 65 lane in the direction of Sheepwash. Just enjoying being pushed along by the gale-force wind when the mobile rang. Simon had been at the car park, realised he’d forgotten his shoes and returned to Stockton for them. It seemed easiest to meet him at Sheepwash. Our little band rode down the rocky steps– remarkably without incident and through the ford (except Oz who balked at the idea of getting his new steed wet). We found Simon apologetically unpacking his car.

Everywhere pretty deserted, not a rambler in view as we went through Clain Woods and bounced our way down the steps on the Cleveland Way, a bit of curvy singletrack and onto the bridleway between the blue posts. Normally a short fast run through a field, today sodden and rutted, taken very cautiously even by our downhill star Granny Ring Robson. After splashing through another ford at the bottom of the hill, we decided to go right at the road and through Harfa House to cut off the corner. First mistake of the day. The bridleway through Harfa House turned out to be a lagoon of knee-deep slurry. Nobody escaped having to splodge through the evil-smelling filth but Granny Ring was feeling it especially bad because he was wearing shorts. Our discussion regarding his chances of contracting cholera, Weil’s disease or Asian Chicken flu did little to improve his mood.

As our route gradually swung into the wind, the rain decided to join us, dampening several enthusiasms, except mine because I had on my yellow tinted glasses and it all seemed bright and summery to me. Happy glasses: highly recommended. The S bend hill up to Raikes Farm was just as steep, the dogs just as vocal. The push up from Scugdale Hall to Stoney Wickes seemed a relief from pedalling. The wind trying to push us back down as we slogged up Barkers Ridge indicated today’s planned route may have been somewhat ambitious. By Arnesgill Ridge it was a certainty, reinforced by the heckling from the back. The route would have to be curtailed, straight down Arnesgill for us. The usually fast descent was hell on earth, pedalling every inch of the way – downhill. We stopped to regroup at the gate above Hill Farm and I made the mistake of removing the happy glasses and seeing the world through the eyes of my companions. If I’d known it was this grim, I’d have stayed in the car.

At Low Cote Farm, more route decisions, Dale Head singletrack or road back to car? Not much competition really, the peaty track would be the North Yorkshire equivalent of Louisiana backwoods swamp, only requiring a banjo-playing retard sat outside Dale Head Farm to make it truly authentic.

Our band of cycling retards plodded along the road, minds firmly fixed on Chequers Café, which turned out to be inexplicably closed – at two in the afternoon? Likewise the café in Osmotherley. These country folk just won’t have work; do they think they’re process operators or something? We couldn’t get rid of our hard-earned money so home we went after a mere three hours riding, feeling as though we had done a leg of the Tour De France. We couldn’t help feeling Bob is going to have to appease the weather Gods again, so if you see a mooning pensioner, try not to be too alarmed.

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