FridaySo, after a pretty awful week of hibernating and failing to get anything done, I somehow managed to find myself in a zombie state on the platform at Mordor Central equipped with an upwrong sporting Marathon Winters and faulty lighting, not much in the way of food, and a couple of panniers of randomly thrown-together Stuff. The train arrived well ahead of its departure time so that the crew could change over, so I took the opportunity to diagnose and fettle the lighting back into working order (some mystery short in the rear light, cured by taking it apart and putting it back together again), before stowing the bike in the CrossCountry Dangly Bike Space™ and finding a sensible seat.
A couple of hours of MP3-assisted snoozing later, I emerged shivering onto the platform at York, and made my way to ever-freezing Platform 11 for the connecting train to Northallerton. The train arrived, and the driver and guard jumped off and started inspecting the running gear with torches. Not entirely confidence-inspiring, but it meant there was clearly no rush to locate the bike space and secure my bike. That done, I stood in the doorway looking for Wowbagger, who was due to be on the same train. The train departed with no sign of him, so I assumed we were mistaken and taking different trains.
Getting off at Northallerton, I spotted Wow at the other end of the platform. It seems that he'd managed to miss all of York station's fine assortment of lifts, and had lugged his bike across the footbridge, arriving on the platform just in time to occupy the wheelchair space at the first-class end of the train.
We proceeded to Tiermat's House of Fine Coffee, where we discovered andrewc and interzen. After offloading some panniers, to interzen's car, we set off for Killdale. It was obseverd that I'd brought my own gravel driveway, and that the distinctive sound of tungsten on tarmac meant I was unlikely to be lost from the group. After a while, we randomly encountered rower40, on trademark orange bling, at a junction without the aid of GPS tracking technology. Over Wowbagger's Bridge, which was an excellent alternative to crossing the A19 at ground level, and into Stokesley for supplies (which would have been easier if we hadn't offloaded most of our luggage to interzen).
This was the point where I first got properly cold, and while the gentle climb towards Kildale warmed me up somewhat, it also got me nice and wet. With some muddy off-road on the final approach, we entered the freezing gloom of the barn, to find our luggage plus an assortment of forumites. At about 45km, that was the longest ride I'd done since I DNFed the York dart in November. With the heater failing to fend off the shakes, I went to investigate the showers, on the basis that even if they were rubbish, dry clothes would probably help. The showers were adequate, if interestingly arranged in a single, generously-sized cubicle, though the low ambient temperature in the toilet block did little for my shivers.
Returning to the barn, where a proper investigation of the heating arrangements seemed bleak, with several electric heaters, all of fairly rubbish power output. Perhaps the most disappointing was a 1200W radiant heater with two of three elements faulty, rendering it more a source of moody lighting than anything in the way of heat. Our best hope for warming the barn seemed to be to fill it with as many bodies as possible, and a steady trickle of arriving forumites boded well in that respect. Unfortunately, more people meant more door-openings, and it seemed that the entire barn's worth of accumulated heat would escape with every bike-check and visit to the loo. CrinklyLion appeared, and as per tradition, lent me an extra layer.
As the evening wore on, people gradually retired to mattresses on the (not significantly warmer) upper level. Naturally, I started to feel reasonably awake for the first time all day. As it became apparent that bed was probably a good idea, I peered at the upper level and decided that there probably wasn't room to deploy any more mattresses without disturbing one of the sleeping bodies. Fortunately, I had a Downmat, and on the basis that it's supposed to be effective for camping at temperatures down to -25C, I reckoned it ought to cope fine with a rug-covered concrete floor at something vaguely above zero. TGL, who had originally planned to loiter within tent but was put off by rain, opted for a similar Thermarest-based approach, as did mcshroom. As ever, I was awakened by my bladder sometime after 3am, and discovered that while the precipitation had abated, the concrete outside was distinctly icy, and rather treacherous in cleats.
SaturdayAwakened at early o'clock by the Door of Freezing Loudness, I spent a good half an hour doing as much gear organising and getting changed from the relative warmth of my sleeping bag, before reluctantly engaging with the cold of the outside world. The plan, it seemed, was to go for a bike ride. Hardly unexpected for a group of cyclists, I suppose. We had two loosely-defined ride plans: one to go across the moors to Whitby in search of fish'n'chips, while others chose a significantly flatter route to Saltburn and back. Meanwhile, those who were bikeless would go for something called a 'walk'.
As preparations were made and breakfasts consumed, it became apparent that there was a Judean People's Front situation going on, with more and more people defecting to the Saltburn ride. In the end, it turned out to be only rower40 and myself going to Whitby. A shorter, more technical ride seemed like a good idea, seeing as I'd brought the bike that was better suited to steep climbs and off-roading. Rower40, of course, couldn't resist the opportunity for a bit of track-bashing on the way back.
As we departed, andrewc was attending to his usual overnight rear wheel puncture. The sky was clear and bright, and the temperature, though cold, high enough that the studded tyres were redundant. The ride got off to a promising start, with a double-chevron climb to the summit at 250m a few kilometres into the ride. Copious amounts of Salbutamol and the now legendary 24" gear made their first of several appearances. The descent into Commondale was marred by cattle grids, as would most of the descents on the ride.
From Commondale, we took a bridleway route that ran parallel to the river and railway, thereby avoiding the worst of the climb back up the other side. The surface was of a similar quality to that of the farm track approach to the camping barn: that is to say a muddy rutted track with plenty of potholes and loose stones. Only much steeper. We were amused by a sign stating that it was only to be used by "Walkers, cyclists, [horse] riders and wheelchair users" - it seemed unlikely that all but the most off-road of wheelchairs and tricycles would have managed it. My soft, knobbly winter tyres coped admirably, to the point that I declared it to be perfectly sensible (and not remotely comedy) off-roading.
Rejoining the road outside Castleton for another chevron descent (with sharp bend at the bottom, to terrify those on studded tyres), then up and down several more chevrons through Danby, and down into Esk Dale for a very welcom flat section along the flood plain. We took a brief detour at the Duck Bridge, as it looked interesting, and a 'FORD' sign suggested nothing would happen. It was indeed an excellent steep stone arch bridge, with a rare 'no cars' sign rather than the usual 'no motor vehicles'. The ford itself had a sturdy concrete platform about a foot above the water level, so would only function as a ford in high water. The flow was surprisingly fast though, and we attempted a game of Speed Pooh Sticks. Unfortunately thwarted by a tangle of branches to catch twigs underneath the platform. While doing this, and failing to take decent photographs of the bridge, we were passed by two young children, maybe 7 and 9 years old respectively on size-appropriate ponies, or "Islahorses" as I called them. It was refreshing to see children so young out on the roads unaccompanied like that.
Through Houlsyke and a confusing bridge *over* the railway marked with a height restriction. Sense was made as the road doubled back and passed under the railway shortly afterwards, with a bonus chevron on the way back up. Through Lealholm, and a fairly long, though only single-chevron climb up the other side. My lungs were protesting and my legs went on strike about halfway up. It was steep enough that getting going again was going to be tricky, so I opted to walk the rest. It might be interesting to try the cycle route up and over Lealholm Moor next time, weather and tyres permitting.
With that, the bulk of the climbing was over. A couple of down-then-up chevrons punctuated an easy section of road to Egton, where we decided it was a good place to stop at a pub for some warmth and refreshment. From here it was nominally downhill all the way to Whitby. The road to Aislaby made for some fantastic cycling, and indeed cyclists outnumbered motor vehicles by a healthy margin on that section. I also noted that Aislaby features a 3-star bus shelter with toilets.
Joining the A171 slightly east of the road that I'd spent ages waiting in the freezing cold while everyone sneaked off to the cafe via a flat route on the last FNRtSR, we had a splendid view of the former railway viaduct that now carries the cycle route to Scarborough. Unfortunately there wasn't anywhere sensible to stop to take a picture for the bridges thread. Down into Whitby, and we arrived with a couple of hours before the next train: plenty of time to ride to the end of the pier, spot a solitary Goth and seek out Magpie's famous fish'n'chips.
Probably the best haddock and chips I've had in at least a decade, and well worth all the chevrons.
Lunch finished, we proceeded to the railway station, where I suggested that, given the short ride from Kildale station to the Barn, rower40 might make use of the conveniently located Co-op to fill his pannier with beer and the like. That done, I obtained a ticket from the least ticket-officey ticket office I've ever been in, and we staked our claim to the platform in good time for the train. The train arrived, and a couple of kids with BMXes got off. Followed by a couple more kids with BMXes, then a kid with a downhill mountain bike and several more kids, each with a BMX. This astounding feat of bike-packing reassured us, as we loaded ours into the bike space and wondered how many Bromptons you could have fitted in the same space.
The train journey back provided an alternative, and significantly flatter, view of the route we'd ridden. At one of the many tiny stations, three extremely muddy kids with - you guessed it - BMXes and a mountain bike got on. As the bike area was occupied by our bikes and a couple of giant Luggages, the conductor demonstrated an innovative bike-stowing strategy that went a good way to explaining the earlier miracle: he picked two of the bikes up and hung them by the saddle nose from the overhead luggage racks. Rower40 has photos.
Arriving in Kildale shortly after lights o'clock, we rode the short route to the Barn, without really enough time to get properly cold. We saw the silhouette of a cyclist with a drop-barred bike and decent lights on the crest of the hillock on the way out of Killdale village. I postulated that it might have been Teethgrinder overshooting the barn. Rower40 pointed out that if it was, we didn't have a hope in hell of catching up with him. We also noted that someone - we suspected a work crew of Crinkly Cubs, or perhaps the farmer, had filled all the potholes on the farm track in our absence.
The Barn was - well not warm exactly, but LindaG and the Crinklies had arrived well ahead of us and put the heaters on - and not being soaking wet, I didn't get the shakes like I had on Friday. I sorted out my gear and went for a shower before the main group returned with their own tales of chevrons and fish'n'chips. Teethgrinder appeared a couple of hours later, citing headwind. The rest of the evening proceeded in the usual manner, with CAKE, beverages, emergency heater fettling and singing (which is apparently what some people like to do instead of electrics). I made a tactical early retreat to my sleeping bag, on the basis of warmth, and continued the conversation from the floor.
While using the facilities before bed, I made a back-of-the-envelope estimate that the electricity meter needed another three quid or so to last until morning. Unfortunately, I had no pound coins on me at the time, and got distracted by a cat walking in and affectionately rubbing round my legs while I was cleaning my teeth. She followed me all the way back to the barn, across the ice, but ran off at the noise of the door opening, by which point I'd completely forgotten about the meter. The power failed at some point between 4 and 5am, I suppose. The noise of fans stopping woke me up, but not enough to achieve full consciousness, and I fell asleep to dream about earth faults and circuit breakers, rather than getting up and feeding the meter.
SundayI awoke, freezing, at early o'clock by the lights and heaters coming back on. There was a clattering of pans from somewhere behind me, and I decided that I should probably get up and feed myself. You see, at some point the previous evening, someone had remarked that it was downhill all the way to York. Further investigation in Memory Map had revealed that York via Northallerton was just short of 100km, and since I would be heading to NTR anyway, the possibility of sticking on another 55k of flat and having a successful January entry for the Metric Century Challenge was appealing. I managed to overlook minor details like the temperature, forecast crosswind, my missing glove liners (last seen in the Whitby chipshop), lack of fitness or the fact that I'd brought entirely the wrong bike and tyres for distance. The opportunity to load panniers into a York-bound car clinched the deal.
Feeding myself the remaining Proper Food, I sorted my stuff into bike and not-bike, and prepared to go. Scraping the ice off my bike saddle, I was joined by rower40, loadsofbikes and a laden Wowbagger (who was joining us as far as Northallerton). It was cold and frosty, though there was little in the way of ice on the roads. I made the most of the studded tyres on a couple of dubious-looking patches on the way to Battersby Junction.
Things were going reasonably well until a short steep descent where I heard rower40 shouting 'Stopping!' from behind. I assumed this meant a navigation error and climbing back up the hill, but it turned out to be a visitation. Gears-inna-can incantations were made, and with the wheel removed, he soon located a sharp piece of metal in the tyre. Meanwhile Wowbagger and I had a quick game of Pooh Sticks on the nearby bridge. Wowbagger won on the second round.
Puncture repaired, we proceeded at wow-factor 1 to Northallerton, arriving at about 12:15ish, in good time for Wow's train. We were all feeling okay, despite the cold, so decided to continue as planned, spooling up to wow-factor 1.3 as we headed out of town on the A167. This was when the substantial extra rolling resistance of the winter tyres became apparent, and even with some gratuitous muddy wheel-sucking, my lungs started to object to the extra work, so we dialled it down a notch and decided to head to Thirsk in search of a café stop. After rower40 had finished inspecting the railway station, we found ourselves in a pub with a lovely warm fire, but not much in the way of food, other than the Sunday carvery. Still, it was worthwhile to warm up and rehydrate. We set off with all of about 45km to go - we were doing okay, should be a couple of hours at the current pace.
We blatted down the A167 as far as Topcliffe, at which point the weather took a turn for the worse, with freezing rain. The temperature hadn't really got above 3C, and the added cooling effect of being wet made the next 30k much harder work. This wasn't helped by the rest of the route being on mildly undulating C-roads - the kind where there isn't enough elevation change to do much more than sap your energy on the 'up's. I was also starting to suffer from Upwrong Syndrome, with pain in my wrists, shoulders, neck and saddle area. My fingers were as numb from carpal tunnel as they were from cold. Boabwords were uttered at every minor incline. The knees and lungs, however, were doing surprisingly well.
Although the rain stopped, the ride continued in a slow and fairly miserable manner to about Shipton - it was, after all, hardly worth bailing out with less than 30km to go. At one point we stopped in a field entrance to Just Stop Pedalling for a couple of minutes, and I noticed a rotting bananana skin and a Frijj bottle. This is the sort of thing that sounds much less hilarious when you weren't actually there.
I applied Harsh Language to my digestive system, while rower40 lured us onto a Sustrans route. I expressed a lack of enthusiasm for slow, convoluted routes that would abandon us in a mudbath several miles further away from our destination, and that the A19 can't be that bad really, even if the cycle route went past the river *and* the railway. Fortunately, it turned out to be a reasonably good one, and took a nice direct route into town with only an assortment of deadly miniature cattle-grids to negotiate. Once within spitting distance of the railway station, I set the Garmin for the Crinkly Den, and we took a reasonably sensible road route across town.
Arriving at the Den, CrinklyLion and co provided CAKE and radiators, while rower40 transferred the rest of his things to the panniers and set a course for the station for the next train to Edinburgh. My train out of York wasn't for several hours, so I had plenty of time to warm up under a convenient cat while discussing the effects of centrifugal force in air crash situations with EldestCub. With 103km I'd got January's metric century in the bag, though I'm not entirely sure it was worth it.
The train home was uneventful, with one other cyclist (a stereotypical greasy anorak-wearing type with a quantum optics textbook to read) sharing the dangly bike spaces. I somehow had enough legs left to ride home from Mordor Central, before warming up in a Proper Shower, eating an unreasonable amount of cheese and collapsing in bed until Monday afternoon.
Thanks to everyone for an entertaining, if somewhat chilly, weekend. I suggest a return to the Kildale barn some time when it's warm...
ETA: Yes, it's taken until now to get the feeling back in my fingers in order to do this much typing.
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