Ride 033.

Date:    5th November 2004           Distance: 19 miles

Another day: another victim, sorry willing volunteer, for the Terra Trailblazers. Today we were joined by our second Chris at a grey windswept Square Corner. Then again, Square Corner is always cold no matter what the weather is like elsewhere.   

A killer start, straight up the Mad Mile soon had us nicely warmed up. The numerous drainage humps now have adjacent ditches, a cunning plan either to slow descending bikers or help them get more of this elusive phat air stuff the young people seem to find so essential to a bike ride. The cairn at the top is always a welcome sight, signifying a level ride for a few miles, following the Hambleton Drove road, passing the top of Kepwick Bank, taking a right turn through a gate and down to Gallow Hill at the corner of Boltby Forest. The first part of the bridleway after Gallow Hill takes a narrow gully, amply furnished with rocky drop offs to make it more interesting; then a glutinous section along the edge of some trees leads to a nice open grassy descent before a final rock-strewn chute through a handle-bar width gap in a mass of rhododendron bushes calling for maximum concentration (or full suspension). It all proved too much for Blind Pew at the back, who treated the surrounding flora and fauna to a selection of salty oaths. 

A final bit of muddy descending and we were at Cowesby and back on tarmac. It’s all great fun descending 250 metres, but that’s forgotten when you realise it has to be regained. Owing to the muddy conditions, we decided to stick with the road to get us back on the top. Until we reached Kirby Knowle and spotted a bridleway sign pointing in roughly the right direction, i.e. up. Howard had a vague memory of riding up it before so we took a chance and followed the sign through a farm yard and two fields of bemused sheep before losing the track completely. Not a map between the four of us and no real idea of where the bridleway went anyway, we cut our losses and retraced our steps as the sheep stampeded frantically away from us – perhaps they had a vague memory of Howard. 

Boltby bank was our next objective, grim looks and dark mutterings from Bob, we ought to have listened, he grumbled from experience. Me, Howard and Chris were to lose our Boltby bank virginity, climaxing breathless and sweaty in the car park at Sneck Yate. It is a bitch of a bank, relentless granny-ring slogging every inch of the way.  

The return plod along the Drove Road felt like a downhill, in comparison, despite the headwind. Forewarned was forearmed on the descent of the Mad Mile and the new water bars succumbed even to my inadequate jumping skills.

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