Monthly Update

October 2008

 

Approaching Ingleby Bank, 6th October 2008Searching for the missing brake pad, 6th October 2008On the track from Bank Foot Farm, 6th October 2008Too much kangaroo meat? 6th October 2008Clay Bank car park, 6th October 2008The Cannondale Push is out again. 14th October 2008Guisborough Woods,  14th October 2008The Howgill Fells, 16th October 2008The Howgill Fells and Cautley Spout, 16th October 2008The Howgill Fells and Cautley Spout, 16th October 2008The Howgill Fells, 16th October 2008Rawthey Gill, The Howgill Fells, 16th October 2008Sign, The Howgill Fells, 16th October 2008The Howgill Fells, 16th October 2008Wild horses, The Howgill Fells, 16th October 2008Another stream crossing, 16th October 2008Oz getting friendly with some local females, Narthwaite, Howgills, 16th October 2008Another stream crossing, Howgills, 16th October 2008How do the sheep know it's just for them? Howgills, 16th October 2008Yet another stream, Howgills 16th October 2008High Roans B&B, Sedbergh, 17th October 2008Sedbergh, 17th October 2008Sedbergh, 17th October 2008On the summit of Winder, 17th October 2008Ascending The Calf, Howgills, 17th October 2008Ascending The Calf, Howgills, 17th October 2008Ascending The Calf, Howgills, 17th October 2008Ascending The Calf, Howgills, 17th October 2008Ascending The Calf, Howgills, 17th October 2008At the summit of The Calf, Howgill Fells, 17th OCtober 2008At the summit of The Calf, Howgill Fells, 17th OCtober 2008At the summit of The Calf, Howgill Fells, 17th OCtober 2008Descending to Bowderdale, Howgill Fells, 17th OCtober 2008Descending to Bowderdale, Howgill Fells, 17th OCtober 2008Descending to Bowderdale, Howgill Fells, 17th OCtober 2008Descending to Bowderdale, Howgill Fells, 17th OCtober 2008 Bowderdale, Howgill Fells, 17th OCtober 2008Wild horses, Bowderdale, Howgill Fells, 17th OCtober 2008Embarking on our epic paddle, River Tees, 20th October 2008 River Tees, 20th October 2008 River Tees, 20th October 2008Approaching Yarm,  River Tees, 20th October 2008Yarm Viaduct,  River Tees, 20th October 2008Preston park,  River Tees, 20th October 2008Roseberry Topping from Barker's Ridge, 22nd October 2008Barker's Ridge,Carlton Bank and Stoney Wicks in background, 22nd October 2008Barker's Ridge, 22nd October 2008Clain Woods, 22nd October 2008Clain Woods, 22nd October 2008Raikes Farm, even the dog is stunned into silence. 22nd October 2008Osmotherley's sacred stone circle...30th October 2008...defiled by Simon. 30th October 2008Bilsdale West Moor, 30th October 2008Bilsdale West Moor, 30th October 2008Moor Gate, 30th October 2008Moor Gate, 30th October 2008Ryedale, 30th OctoberPlaying in the bomb hole, Hambledon Drove Road, 30th October 2008Old emough to know better. Playing in the bomb hole, Hambledon Drove Road, 30th October 2008Still pulling wheellies after 20 miles. Hambledon Drove Road. 30th October 2008 Hambledon Drove Road, 30th October 2008

 

6th. A nice downhill road start today to bed in the new brake pads we all required following last month’s Dalby trip. Straight down to Ingleby Greenhow got the pads nicely heated up and before long we were slogging up the bank from Bank Foot Farm to join the Cleveland Way at Tidy Brown Hill, the track up Ingleby Bank much deteriorated, very loose underfoot. Eventually the Cleveland Way fingerpost came into sight, the boulders by the gate became makeshift seats for me and Oz as we waited for the Cannondale Push to come into sight, being cajoled uphill by it’s owner. Some amenable doubletrack took us to the Baysdale Abbey road, Oz arrived with 25% less brake pads than he began the ride, somehow one of his back pads had vanished, backing plate and all, on the doubletrack. Vaporisation owing to the phenomenal velocities often attained by the Terra Trailblazers was discounted as being less feasible than alien abduction or Chris pedalling a whole ride. Just one of those mysteries of life like pregnant ugly women or the continuing popularity of Abba, hard to understand but it happens nevertheless. Anyway the coffee was within smelling distance, so with replacement pads fitted, a quick tarmac blast brought us to Glebe Cottage. Refreshed we rode back to Clay Bank through the woods with more stops than the Middlesbrough to Whitby train, Chris blaming his lack of condition on a surfeit of barbequed kangaroo and emu following his recent trip to Australia.

14th. Just a brief run out with Chris today, around Guisborough Woods, Captain Cooks Monument and Kildale. A brief round made longer by somehow getting a split in one of my (tubeless) tyres, too big for the sealant to block, so it’s back to the old technology - put in an inner tube. Perhaps this tubeless is not all it’s cracked up to be, this will be the second tyre split beyond repair in eight months.

16th. Sedbergh Day One. After receiving several recommendations from various people, we decided it was time to give The Howgills a coat of looking at. Parking up in Sedbergh’s main car park we realised the only way out of this town is up and we were surrounded by some substantial lumps of soil. I true Terra Trailblazers style, we rose to the challenge by leaping out of the car and heading directly into the nearest café. Carbohydrate stores suitably replenished, we had half hour faff in the car park before venturing into the one way system, then northward on the A683, steadily gaining height until a bridleway on Bluecaster . It was a lovely day to be out and about, blue sky, fluffy clouds and grand views across to Cautley Spout. Judging by the state of the bridleway we were attempting to pedal along this must be atypical of normal Howgills weather because the track appeared to have recently had a torrent cascading down it; the surface varying between unconsolidated gravel and swamp with the odd pond thrown in to keep things interesting. A bit of soggy downhill brought us to the picturesque Rawthey Gill, followed by a technical uphill stretch which seemed to consist mostly of ankle-deep mud, leaves and tree roots. We attacked it in true Chris style, pushing our bikes. Some remote country lanes brought us to a bridleway at Fell End, this still had the torrent cascading down it, being an actual river, which Oz skilfully managed to immerse himself in before we reached the A683 again. Crossing the road the nature of the route changed, presenting us with our first real bit of steepness on a bridleway to Murthwaite, luckily it wasn’t too long before the steep track reverted to level swamp and we squelched our way along, wading through several rivers and a flock of sheep to reach, first Narthwaite, then Cautley Beck, which we crossed via a proper bridge. The bridleway then led us muddily back to Sedbergh where we rewarded ourselves with a pre-dinner snack of coffee and cakes, before heading to our B&B for a welcome shower.

 

A quick mention for our landlady Kath and her excellent bike-friendly premises, she made us feel very welcome and we would definitely recommend her to anyone staying in the area, High Roans Bed and Breakfast, Sedbergh

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17th. Sedbergh Day Two. As seems to be the norm on or trips away the second day dawned grey and cloudy, most of the cloud appeared to be covering the tops of the fells we were to ascend, following the MBR Killer Loop from a couple of months ago. Actually getting from our accommodation to the two thousand and odd foot mountain towering over the village was harder than it looked but we managed after a few false starts. Leaving the road and entering the open fellside was to enter a realm of verticality previously unknown to Terra Trailblazers, the grannies rings proved inadequate as we began a four mile hike-a-bike to the summit of The Calf, via Winder, peering through gaps in the mist at the precipitous slopes taunting us ahead. Suddenly the trig point appeared and we were at the top of The Calf, 676m, freezing our nuts off in the grey claggy mist, a few minutes later the weather gods rewarded us by blowing the mist away to reveal Alfred Wainwright's herd of sleeping elephants in all their glory. From the Calf a bridleway descends northward for 4Kms, through the remote valley of Bowderdale, on twisty singletrack, little more than a tyres width across with a sharp drop to the right to keep your wits about you. Being half-wits, this section, for us, was not without the odd stumble or two but we made it to level ground with only minor injuries and flesh wounds. Unfortunately as the track became more horizontal it also became boggier, slowing our progress to the sort of average speed only normally seen when Captain Slow and his Cannondale Push are out with us. Watched only by some bemused wild horses, we made our sloth-like way to firmer ground, then to the road at Wath. A garden centre advertising a coffee shop at beside the A685 at Newbiggin On Lune, sucked us in like footballers to a spit roast, where we realised it was 3pm and a lot of muddy bridleway stood between us and Sedbergh. At Ravonstonedale it began raining, so an executive decision was made to finish the ride on tarmac rather than continue on the same bridleways we’d splodged through yesterday afternoon. So, suspensions duly locked out, we made like roadies back along the A683 to Sedbergh.

The Howgills are one of the unspoilt gems of Britain, not unlike the Lakes but minus the grumpy red sock brigades with their trekking poles, suitcase size map cases and hostility to anyone not in their clique. The cycling is probably best after a prolonged dry spell though unless we were merely unlucky.

 

20th. River Tees kayak. As a complete change from cycling Simon and myself decided to do our much discussed tees kayak before the clocks go back and mid-afternoon darkness descends on us. Strangely, for a river passing through so much urban sprawl, the Tees has few access and egress points, Simon had reccied a put-in at Middleton One Row which was where we found ourselves slipping and sliding down a muddy slope this fine Monday morning, with Ken our logistics manager, who helped us launch the boats into the fast-flowing water on the first step of our epic journey to the Tees Barrage some 17 miles downstream. Of course, being virtual novices at this kayak game, it was unknown to us that canoes only travel at a maximum speed of around 4 miles per hour, it was almost lunchtime when we set off and we’d be lucky to reach the Tees Barrage before nightfall. Oblivious to this we cruised downriver, helped by the current, at one with nature, sharing the river with cormorants and herons, revelling in the peace and tranquillity of our water-borne passage, nothing but trees and water until the next bend. Around the next bend, more trees and more water, followed by more trees and water shared with more cormorants and herons, or maybe it was the same ones tracking us vulture fashion until we succumbed to paddler’s palsy or canoeist’s cholera, when they would pounce on us and pick our bones clean. Or maybe not. Rounding one of the countless bends we spotted something different – waves. Waves? In a river? Cautiously approaching, we realised it was a weir, a brief surf through a canoeing website prior to this trip had impressed upon me the dangers of weirs, Simon being someone for whom the internet is akin to marriage, he knows it exists but has no desire to visit it, was, shall we say, less than aware of the danger inherent in a weir, so I let him go first. Having the sense to stick to the smoother water at the sides, he dropped over the weir with barely a splash, I followed and, adrenaline rush over, it was back to water, trees, cormorants and herons. After two hours paddling, a few buildings began to appear the first indication we were paddling in an inhabited country since we left Middleton One Row. At Yarm our logistics manager was waiting on a fishing platform bearing gifts of pies and coffee, essential fuel for our finely honed athletic bodies and a chance for us to stretch our legs.

Back on board, as us nautical types say, we passed under Yarm viaduct, which looks strangely small from down on the water, then under the road bridge, now paddling into a headwind and having rather less current than we’d became accustomed to, past the Teesside Princess mooring point, leaving Yarm behind. It soon became apparent a lot more actual paddling would be required on this section, as opposed to taking phone calls, chatting and taking pictures of each other as we’d done for the previous two hours. Ominous dark cloud began to block out the light, throwing down the odd wintry squall just in case we were getting too complacent, reaching our next prearranged meeting point, Preston Park, we decided we’d had enough for one day, it was past three and Simon had an appointment to keep with mighty Darlo FC that evening, so we hauled out, saving the last section for another time.

22nd. A damn fine day. Sunny, cold but not too cold except when you’re standing at the top of the hills waiting for Chris to catch up and the sweat is chilling off nicely. He’d managed to duck beneath the radar and get himself out for some bicycle related action, unfortunately for him it began with ascending the gliding club track up Carlton Bank. A hard start but worth it for the fine views and relatively flat tracks across the moors to Swainby Shooting House. We continued down into Clain Woods and along the pleasant singletrack to Scugdale where gravity caught up with us again until we were back over Carlton Bank and zipping down the breathless climb we’d began the day with.

30th. Idly browsing a newspaper in one of the infrequent free moments we have at work, an article about a stone circle near Osmotherly caught our interest. A few days later we assembled in the arctic microclimate of the Square Corner car park, donning all available clothing while inspecting ice rimmed puddles before heading off along the road toward Hawnby scanning the right-hand verge for the elusive stone circle. Not immediately visible from the road because it sits in a slight dip, our first sight of the allegedly mysterious stonework was distinctly underwhelming, more a congress of medieval gateposts than a worshipful alter to pagan gods, like Ozzy Osbourne at The Alamo, Simon let rip with a shower of urinary desecration, to mark his passage. Back on the bikes, we made our way to Low Cote Farm and up onto Arnesgill Ridge, through the smoke from the burning heather to Bilsdale Mast and down past Low Thwaites to Moor Gate. Simon was heard to remark how it easy it would be to zip down the road and straight into the café at Hawnby but where would the fun be in that? We rode round the side of the Hawnby Hump, to Hill End House and down through the woods, crossing the River Rye and onto the Kepwick road at New Hall, then zipped down the road to the café. Pork and apple burgers with chips all round, except for the boring git who had a cheese sandwich gave us enough energy for the climb out of Hawnby, up Murton Bank and along the road to Sneck Yate, where a brief rainstorm caught up with us. A pleasant plod back along the Drove Road with only the Mad Mile to look forward to went without incident and soon we were back at the cars.


 

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