Ride 003.

Date: 25^th September 2003                               Distance: 16.5 miles

The four keenest Terra Trailblazers arranged to meet at Pinchinthorpe, the Guisborough Walkway visitor centre at the ludicrously early time of ten o’clock. Simon now the proud owner of a lovingly maintained Marin East Peak and Oz neglecting his old rigid in favour of a borrowed Marin Palisades Trail.  

The start, gaining height on the fire roads through the woods, sees a fair bit of puffing and panting until the track graciously levels on the way out to Roseberry Common. Another short uphill burst and we reach a junction of tracks. Big hill on the right  -the veritable Topping itself; big hill on the left – steps up to Newton Moor; straight ahead - downhill. Guess which way? Big hill on the left. Bikes shouldered we plod up the stone causeway to Newton Moor and remount, ride toward the top edge of Guisborough woods, through the gate and down the wide track to the next gate which leads us onto Hutton Moor. We haul up the hill and regroup at the concrete relic of wars past, gun emplacement or whatever it was, now a urine-smelling home for empty beer cans. 

Things are getting interesting now, the track is going in our favourite direction – downward, with the promise of a café stop at the bottom. Percy Cross Rigg, is slightly rocky, with a few ruts and drop offs to keep us alert but bone dry following the excellent summer we’ve had this year. All too soon we reach the gate leading to the tarmac section of the rigg. We do a brief spot of road-bashing until a track on the right takes us steeply down to New Row, bouncing and sliding on the perpetually damp rock – usually a small stream in wetter years. Over the level crossing and right to Kildale and the first of the now (almost) mandatory Terra Trailblazers café stops. 

We sit outside and I tell Simon and Oz about the day me and the blind one had been at the same table in the middle of summer, sharing the pleasant sunshine with a group of rather genteel lady ramblers seated at the next table. A large bee became fixated on Bob, refusing to be wafted away, evidently mistaking Bob for some nectar-filled delight rather than the nicotine-filled wreck he really is. Spotting a gap in Bob’s defence, the bee zoomed in and latched itself to his nose, a couple of gentle taps failed to dislodge it, a third whack and the inevitable happened – the bee struck back. Bob leapt from his seat, bellowing profanities, stopping the lady ramblers in mid-conversation, faces frozen with expressions ranging from pure fear to absolute horror, they looked on the scene, one man jumping about, holding his nose and swearing with the skill only thirty years working in an exclusively male environment can bring, as his companion slowly slid off the seat, helpless with laughter. The café staff came rushing out; no doubt trying to remember if the shotgun was loaded, fearful they had some kind of psychopath running amok in their car park. Eventually the situation was explained, apologies were made and one of the ramblers said: 

“Don’t worry, I think even I’d have swore under the circumstances.” Not like Bob you wouldn’t pet.  

Coffee and cakes dispatched, we dragged or somewhat heavier bodies back over the crossbars and put in a mile or two of tarmac bashing back to Percy Cross Rigg and climbed back up to the top of the moor before dropping down to Sleddale and up Codhill Heights. Granny–Ring Robson living up to his nickname, spinning away up the inclines. Soon we were careering down the fire road beside Highcliffe Nab, conscious of the gruesome potential for gravel/bare skin interaction. Sharp left onto the Guisborough Woods Black Route and time for Simon and Oz to have their first taste of through the woods singletrack. Lots of ups and downs, roots and curves on the surfaced part of the route, then we took a new link section which joins the Black Route further on without losing any height, or rather three quarters of us did – Bob used the original route following the steep bank down to the fire road. This meant he did one hill more than the rest of us because by the time we’d realised he was missing, he’d dragged himself back up. More rooty stuff before we found ourselves lowering seats for the “new” downhill in the Hanging Stone area of the woods, the top section not quite completed but mostly too difficult for us fragile and inept riders. The more established sections lower down were great fun, Simon’s foolhardiness standing him in good stead for speeding through the turns and drop offs. Why do the fun bits always end too soon? A quick hack down the fire roads panted up a couple of hours previously and we were back at the car park. 

Next time they want to go on a proper ride, i.e. long, all day and with a café stop for lunch. Better get the maps out then.

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