Autumn, season of mist and mellow fruitfulness, except it’s actually May and there‘s nothing mellow going on, we thought April was poor and this month is shaping up to be equally disappointing. A reduced crew, namely me and Jordan met in Chop Gate village car park, grey and dismal. Our figure of eight route, originally planned to accommodate The Captain, took us up the Raisdale road to Lordstones (still closed, awaiting refurbishment) and then onto Carlton Bank via the gliding club access track. Entering a world of cloud, we plodded uphill, visibility reduced to less than a bike’s length, heading higher into the grey density. We made our way to Cock Howe and began to descend Trennet Bank, Jordan being somewhat alarmed when I suddenly disappeared off the edge of the world - he didn’t realise the track goes rather steeply down at one point. The second loop of the figure eight comprised the Cold Moor descent. If anything the mist had thickened, plunging down the moor was like night riding, hazards were unseen until we were on them, with no time to take evasive action, ploughing through rocky gullies and grassy ruts at speed rather than the more usual brakes on balancy mincing we normally employ was surprisingly without incident.

One week from the last ride we found ourselves in Keswick Football Club car park, assembling bikes in the sunshine - yes, sunshine, at the lakes - waiting for Howard to join us from his pre-ride road ride. He’d casually polished off Honister and Whinlatter Passes prior to swapping road bike for mountain bike and joining us for a loop around Skiddaw. We ascended the track up the side of Latrigg, only ever descended in the past, it was a little trying but we all coped with perhaps a little diversion into pedestrianism for one or two people. The ride round to Lonscale Crags was more amenable and soon we were mincing across the rocks, trying not to look down at Glenderaterra Beck, 500 sheer feet below. Making it relatively unscathed to Skiddaw House we celebrated with a lounge about in the sunshine, drying our sweat-soaked tops. It was about this point my back brake went on strike, the lever pulling straight to the bars, withdrawing it’s labour as only us working class scum can, looks like I was relying on front brake only for the descents. We set off along the track to Whitewater Dash, The Pensioner providing the entertainment, as his hesitant attempt at the stream crossing turned into a full blown swallow dive when he tried to jump from bike to bank and failed spectacularly. A slight bit of uphill followed which served to warm him up again. At the top we admired the view across the Solway Firth to Scotland, then we had our payback for the early climbing, the descent to the road at Peter House Farm, which was fast and a little loose and slippy, especially for someone with only one brake. And it passed the quaintly named Cockup. All that remained was a five mile road ride back to Keswick, at which point my front shifter decided to come out in sympathy with the back brake and jam solidly, leaving me stuck in the middle ring as my big-ring flaunting companions disappeared into the distance. Back in Keswick, my bike was consigned to a professional mechanic for a serious talking to with some spanners and we got ready for some semi-serious imbibing in the local hostelries.

We had been hoping against hope the weather forecast would be wrong, hope wasn’t enough, rain was battering the windows of our garret when we woke, puddling the roads as we breakfasted, cagoule-clad walkers striding the pavements. This was Borrowdale Bash day, Andy travelling across from Teesside for the day and we also had Sergeant Tony who‘d joined us last night, it would take more than a bit of rain to stop us. I collected my bike from the helpful mechanic in Planet Fear, who’d fixed the back brake and we met Andy in the market square, sheltering from the rain under a shop awning. We decided to give the cheeky Walla Crag start a miss, mainly because we couldn’t actually see Walla Crag for cloud and pressed straight on up the road to Watendlath, the overflowing tarn tumbling down the valley waterfalls. Crossing the river by an old packhorse bridge was considerably safer for The Pensioner than yesterday’s Tom Daley impression. The descent to Rosthwaite was steep, technical, wet and slippy but enjoyable nonetheless - and remarkably casualty free. The Pensioner had to resort to riding without his glasses because, unlike Elton John’s, his are not fitted with windscreen wipers, if anything his riding improved. Later, as we sheltered in the bus shelter at Seatoller, girding our loins for the ride up Honister Pass, we pondered on what type of people come to the wettest place in England on the wettest day of the wettest May since records began. Us. Struggling up Honister Pass, the road itself now a minor waterfall, we eventually and thankfully reached the bridleway which would take us back to Grange, it would be nice to say at this point the rain stopped and the sun burst through the clouds, drying and warming us for the ride back, of course, what really happened was the rain continued relentless but at least the wind was now at our backs. Everything went swimmingly (in more ways than one) along the bridleway until we reached the rocky descent by Castle Crag, in several cases, enthusiasm overtook expertise and some soft flesh/hard rock interfaces were experienced, along with one pinch flat (me). Reaching the café at Grange we were the archetypical drowned rats, even soup and coffee proving inadequate to warm us up. Reluctantly donning damp clothes, we commenced the last lap back to Keswick, attacking the hills to keep warm.

The middle of May, shivering in a car park in North Yorkshire but at least it’s dry and sunny, the country is trapped under a seemingly immovable weather front, drawing winds from the North and East, temperatures more typical of early December than mid-May. A greatly reduced team from the last two rides, Me, Oz and Jordan, warmed up with a pedal up the Raisdale road, passing the still closed Lordstones and over Carlton Bank to Swainby. A pinch flat (me again) spoilt some of the fun but we still managed to look happier than the majority of the numerous walkers we encountered today - I guess the sunshine brings them out. Over lunch in the café at Swainby, we pondered the rumour of the Swainby Swingers Club - perhaps its where the locals go to swap tractors; judging by the top shelf of the magazine rack it may not be too far from the truth. Enlightened we left the café, only to find my tyre mysteriously flat (again). Another new tube fitted, we continued along Scugdale and up the long drag to Stoney Wickes, followed by the shorter drag up Barkers Ridge. Soon we were descending Trennet Bank back to the car park, with somewhat better visibility than the last time we came down this way.

Inexplicably finding myself alone today I decided to dust off the cross bike for the first time since the Way Of The Roses and explore some of the local cycle tracks. Making my way to the Tees Barrage, I then followed the Tees to Middlesbrough, intending to cross the river via The Transporter, my plan was thwarted by the large closed sign across the access road. After retracing my steps to the barrage, I headed North through some of Stockton’s estates until I reached the Castle Eden Walkway, or Wynyard Woodland Park as it now styles itself. A quick bite to eat on the platform of the former Thorpe Thewles Station, fuelled me up for a ride along the walkway, to the A689 and back, then minor roads home.

Another reduced team, another dank and drizzly day, grey cloud smothering the moors. Martin’s new Yeti ASR 5 provided a bit of interest (okay- jealousy) taking our minds off the weather as we set off over Newton Moor to do some singletracks around the woods and moors. The new Yeti gave Codhill Heights a thorough beasting, Martin took off like an Exocet leaving me and Jordan looking like The Captain and The Pensioner ambling along behind. Arriving in Great Ayton we were dismayed to find our favourite café in the village closed - as it is every Monday. “Is it Monday?” “Yes“. “Oh.” One of the perils of working shifts - every day is the same. A kind lady directed us to another café around the corner, Stamps, which was most pleasant too, especially as the staff made a special effort to accommodate our bikes after seeing us prevaricating outside.

There’s an old saying, “When people are alone and friendless, there’s always a good reason.” Setting off, alone, from Scaling Dam car park, I wondered about the good reason. Before long I was wondering about my decision to explore the bridleways North of the A171, barely-existent, tussock ridden-swamps which fulfil none of the promise those dotted lines on the map show. Remember, I suffer so you don’t have to. Crossing back over the moor road and onto more familiar territory was even more of a relief than knowing I’d managed the previous five miles without a grumbling pensioner trudging along behind me. Oh, and the summer has made an appearance today, well sort of, a bit of a cold breeze on the tops but sweltering in the valley. I made my way down to Lealholm and back up to Danby Beacon before a blast across a slightly damp Roxby Moor back to Scaling Dam in time for a drink from the burger van.

The sun is still out, could this be the summer at last? Who knows but me and The Pensioner were taking advantage of it, doing the old Clay Bank to Kildale run. From Clay Bank, up Carr Ridge, across Urra Moor to follow The Cleveland Way down into Kildale, returning through the woods via Bank Foot farm. We even sat outside at our Glebe Cottage lunch stop - probably the first time this year.

Terra Trailblazers May 2012 riding from John Lavelle on Vimeo.