Ride 041.

Date:    28th January 2005           Distance: 12.5 miles

“Well, we have to ride into the wind sometime today…” 

Other than exceptional years, like 2003, Britain isn’t really the place to be if outdoor sports are your thing. Arriving at Clay Bank car park at the same time as sheets of rain did nothing to convince us 2005 is going to be an exceptional year. At least Oz managed the right car park this time. Any thoughts of going high were dispelled by the rain, mist and gale-force wind. It would have to be a kind of follow our noses and see if things picked up sort of day. 

We took the B1257 downhill for a little while before taking the left turn to Urra, eventually rejoining the B1257 at Chop Gate, where we crossed straight onto the Raisdale Road. Pedalling into the drizzle until the entrance road to Raisdale Mill Cottages, we regrouped and considered our options. The first, continue up the road directly to Lordstones, was dismissed because it was too early in the day – although Chris being a foreman refused to believe it could ever be too early to be sat in the warmth drinking coffee. The second, up Raisdale Mill Lane to the col at Stoney Wicks and turn left, had the advantage of a following wind but the disadvantage of being café-less. The third, similar to two but turn right at the top, over Carlton bank and into the wind was pondered – mud, wind, rain, café. Oz swayed it with one of those unfortunate phrases which would be often repeated for the remainder of the ride:

“Well, we have to ride into the wind sometime today…” 

Ploughing through the mud on Carlton Bank top, with frequent stops to poke sticks into clagged up orifices (of the bicycle variety), as the drizzle searched out chinks in the clothing layers and the wind failed to disperse the low cloud, we thought of Simon, staying home to awaiting delivery of Sky TV and a sofa, with pangs of something approaching jealousy. A classic combination to rival beans on toast, gin and tonic, Blackadder and Baldrick, Del Boy and Rodney – Sky and sofa, the perfect accompaniment to true slobbery. Eventually we reached the gliding club access road and the promise of a well-earned downhill, waiting in the drizzle for Chris to emerge from the mist, and waiting, and waiting. Just as the possibility of actually going and looking for him began to supersede café-type thoughts, he rejoined us, having fallen victim to the infamous “Yellow Mud of North Yorkshire.” No manner of variations on the excrement and bedding theme can begin to describe this mud, its particular clinginess; it’s ability to build up, sticking to itself, until wheels no longer turn and bikes become too heavy to carry.  

Even the downhill was a disappointment - pedalling required. The café was the highlight of the day, especially when Chris suddenly remembered our cars were 4 muddy miles away not 4 yards from the café door. The return along the front of the three hills, Cringle Moor, Cold Moor and Hasty Bank was as filthy as expected and still littered with fallen trees. We did our good deed for the day and rescued a decidedly ungrateful sheep tangled in a wire fence; it had evidently attempted the ovine high jump record and failed to qualify.  

Back at the car park the weather was precisely the same as when we had left some hours before. Our average speed was embarrassingly low (owing to the conditions naturally) and we’d travelled a grand total of 12.5 miles. We were soaked to the skin, covered in mud and sheep wool but feeling oddly pleased with ourselves. At least we’ll be fit for the summer – if we have one.  

 Height Profile: (click to enlarge)

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