The Battle of Bransdale

When: 18/01/14
Distance: 54.7 miles
Elevation Gain: 4,615 ft
Café stop: Porters Café, Helmsley
Route: Here
Photos: Here

Attempting to preserve the winter plan of a decent team ride every month, plans were laid to make battle with the uncharted tarmac of Bransdale. As with any great battle, there were to be conscientious objectors- men not tough enough to handle the throes of war, the bullets of rain and the steep gradients of Blakey Bank. Excuses arrived in the Chairman's inbox thick and fast. On the morning of the ride, I sat on my sofa - bowl of porridge and coffee in hand - watching the weather forecast and wondered why I on earth I didn't do the same.

With a small (but fierce) army of three, I tentatively put forward a motion to abbreviate the ride somewhat and start at The Lion Inn up on Blakey Ridge. No opposition - phew. We departed from the start line into the thickest of fog with front and rear lights flashes away, a disco of cyclists disappearing into the abyss.

The first few 'easy' miles of the ride were met with the usual headwind confusion of why we were peddling so hard to go downhill, and, of course the mutterings of what the bloody hell we were doing here. Descending into Rosedale Abbey the fog cleared and the wind dropped. The Christmas turkey still sitting heavy in my legs, I was thankful of the rare exclusion of Chimney Bank; we rode straight on through undulating waves of gloriously laid tarmac and turned right onto some unridden roads for everyone present. On mile 25 of the 'easy first half' I was longing for a warm fire, strong coffee and a double cake - a stark reminder that summer fitness is often taken for granted. Thankfully in the blink of an eye, we were rolling into Helmsley and parking up at my favourite south moors café, Porters Coffee Shop.

On first impression, Porters appears to be the ultimate anti-cyclists café. A polished wooden floor dares you to venture into the seating area. If you make it through alive, or with dignity in tact if you're lucky, you are greeted by lunching ladies discussing pesto recipes, a lycra-melting coal fire and a few older gents taking time to glance up from their Daily Mail to look down their nose at you. Despite all of the above, the staff are more than welcoming and it's a lovely little café, although I was deeply disappointed to be brought out the small corner piece from my favourite chocolate and ginger flapjack traybake. They are officially on their first warning.

We prised ourselves away from the coma-inducing fireplace, withdrew our swords of courage and headed into battle with Bransdale. Of course, we were immediately confronted with a hill. The first of many I might add. My earlier thoughts of getting back before dark were now irrelevant as the Fog of Doom had returned and we couldn't see anything anyway. The wind had picked up, the temperature had dropped and the rain was on the increase (it had actually been raining all day). This could mean one thing and one thing only: someone was about to get a puncture. More specifically, me. All three of us cack-handedly held the wheel while John 'tested out' a CO2 canister. Much confusion arose in the following 5 seconds as to why Adam's part of the tyre was rock hard and John's was flat. On about second 4, Adam had worked the answer to this conundrum. On second 5, there was an almighty bang. Luckily, John's youthful looks were unscathed. We decided to use more traditional methods with tube #2 and headed on meet another hill.

Bransdale is one of the Moors best kept secrets. It was always excluded from rides because it doesn't go anywhere, and the siren calling of the Hawnby-Osmotherley road from Helmsley is too hard to resist. Wide, open moor top roads, a distinct lack of traffic, beautiful vistas (probably, but all I saw was fog) and an abundance of tough little climbs made for a brilliant section. We joined the Farndale road as the weather perked up. Mixed feelings indeed, as this meant that Blakey Bank was 5 miles away. A worry wee, emergency gel and requests for local taxi firm's telephone numbers followed.

Blakey Bank is a tough climb. It is even harder when you have a suitcase of excuses. All of the following made an appearance: Winter unfitness.  A heavy winter bike with a lack of gears. An earlier battering of headwinds and in Adam's case, wearing the wrong type of support bra. In the tender moments when failure crossed my mind, a quote for the sadly absent, always optimistic Josh Wood sprung to mind: "Never, never, never give up". Or was it Winston Churchill? Either way, a team ascent in the most testing of circumstances was a fine effort.

On reaching the summit we discovered that the fog hadn't left the pub since the morning, something that we also should have considered. A giant portion of food and a swift half of Black Sheep (does this count towards training for the stag do?) was well deserved.

All in all it was a class day out, despite the odds being stacked against us.  Those of you who deserted us will have to make do with resitting this test in the summer when the weather is glorious. That'll learn you.

Simon.