Ride 016.

                      Date:  23rd March 2004                 Distance: 16.75 miles

We knew on some instinctive level it was going to be one of those days. It began so well too; Bob and I broke the habit of a lifetime and arrived early. Oz and Simon turned up a few minutes later and began dragging bikes from the back of Simon’s car, a problem soon became apparent – two bikes: three wheels. Multi-talented chemical operations type gadgies we may be but none of our talents lie in the unicycling direction. Me and Oz nipped back to Yarm while Simon and Bob set about replacing Simon’s car wheel which had picked up a large nail on the journey to Clay Bank.

An hour later than planned we were hauling our bikes up the Carr Ridge steps onto Urra Moor, the northerly wind biting at our backs. At the top, pedalling again, it soon became apparent Bob ought to have changed his cassette and at least one front ring when he put that new chain on. Any pressure above gentle spinning resulted in graunchy grinding noises from his transmission; things were marginally better using the inner and outer front rings so we pressed on. I was trying out some new tyres, Fire XC Mud pro’s, frighteningly thin, like road tyres with warts. And according to the small print (which I couldn’t read in the shop), no use for tarmac or ice. Best be cautious then. 

Regrouping at Round Hill we watched the black clouds rolling in – the forecast showers - before letting rip down the deserted bridleway to Bloworth Crossing, accompanied by a fierce hail shower. Especially fierce to Simon, just returned from the Nevada desert and evidently still in holiday mood judging by the shorts. Onto Rudland Rigg, plodding upward. What is it about Rudland Rigg, no matter which direction you’re going it’s uphill almost every inch of the way? And boring. I’ll never understand why the MTB magazines seem to think it such a class track. We regrouped again at the Monket House track crossroads prior to a welcome bit of downhill which brought us out at Cow Sike and some even more welcome sunshine. More roadside repairs, Bob’s binding brakes before a brief tarmac spurt around the head of Bransdale. The steep tarmac climb up to Bransdale Ridge was unfeasible with the Bob’s slipping chain, so we decided to save a bit of time and distance and haul our bikes up the bridleway which leads directly to Stump Cross. Or rather Simon did because he seems more talented at bike pushing than uphill riding. Just as we turned into the wind, the big black cloud caught us up and proceeded to dump what surely must be the last of this winter’s snow on us. Grimly we plodded on, by the time we reached Stump Cross the big black cloud was on us mentally as well as physically, emigration seeming the only answer to Britain’s dire climate. 

The descent to Tripsdale cheered us up no end, especially Simon for whom it was a new experience, the snow/hail/rain even decided to give it a rest as we toiled up the other side of the valley and along the escarpment high above the B1257 snaking through the Bilsdale valley.  

By now three and a half hours had elapsed and we’d only covered about 12 miles, the planned extension to Lordstones café was scrapped in favour of getting back to the relative warmth of our cars. The normally amenable uphill from Medd Crag to Round Hill dragged painfully as we forced ourselves against the wind; alternatives were discussed before a group decision to fling ourselves straight down the steps we’d climbed up almost four hours previously was unanimously passed. Naturally old Mother Nature sent a head on blast of hail and snow to accompany us on the downhill section to the top of the steps.  

Descending the wet steps the limitations of mud tyres became apparent as soon as I made with the brakes, the slightest touch of back brake and the rear wheel was trying to overtake the front wheel. It made for an interesting if restrained descent. 

Back on the road it was at least ten degrees warmer, Simon’s legs looked as though they had been sandpapered and Bob was all for never putting leg over crossbar again. 

Me: “Does anyone fancy going round again?”

Simon: “I’d rather eat my own winnits.” 

Summed up the whole day rather succinctly.

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