In Richmond: an OAB south

July 16, 2022

It’s such a treat to be in an apartment for a few days with our breakfasts waiting in the fridge. We can wake up whenever we want and come downstairs without disturbing partner. We can get as early a start to the day as we want instead of waiting until the earliest breakfast is available at our inn. We’ve been looking forward to this for several days, so we both feel a little silly and like we’ve missed an opportunity when neither of us wakes until nearly eight. I blame it on the windows - we had them closed so I wasn’t wakened by doves or gulls like I have been most mornings lately.

The part about breakfast is right though. It’s a treat to have a bowl of granola with fresh strawberries and a raisin roll and then laze around on the couch sipping a cup of coffee while I work on the blog. And it’s a nice, comfortable place too, although in time we might get tired of climbing up and down the stairs a dozen times a day. No matter how much we try to think ahead, somehow the thing we need or the thing that needs doing next is always on the wrong floor.

Breakfast and coffee consumed, blog completed, digestive activities done, we’re out the door around ten and heading across the cobblestones for the edge of the cliff that will drop us down from town center to the River Swale. The sky is blue today, there’s little wind, the much feared heat wave hasn’t quite arrived yet. Conditions are excellent for the out and back into the hills south of town that I’ve plotted out for us.

Passing Market Square on our way out of Richmond.

Richmond stands upon the River Swale. The sign we’ve just passed warns us that it’s a 16% drop ahead. Accurate, and typical. We’ll see grades like this regularly throughout the day.

The Swale, and looking backup at the ruined walls of Richmond Castle.

Richmond sits in a spot that looks more innocent on the map than it is in real life. The more famous and challenging terrain is back east in the North York Moors, to the west in the Yorkshire Dales, and south in the Howardian Hills. It’s in a lowish area, none of the surrounding hills looking like they’d amount to much.

Looks are deceiving though. Even though we never rise or fall that much we’ll put in a significant amount of climbing. We break 3,000 feet, even on a ride that was cut short by an unforeseen event. Workwise it’s probably just as well we turned back when we did because if we completed the whole 42 mile ride I’m sure we’d have been well over 4,000’.

The photos and video can give you a sense of the ride itself, so I’ll focus on lessons learned, ones you might learn from yourself.

1. RideWithGPS does a pretty half-assed job with contours and elevation gain in this country. The full route I had mapped out was listed as about 2,700’, so it was off by nearly 50% today. In one particular stretch it completely missed a steep mile-long climb and it’s following descent.

2. The map on our Garmins captures the terrain better, and the profile page looks very accurate. The ClimbPro page is less reliable though, and much less consistent in registering climbs. There’s no obvious reason why it regards some upcoming 8% grade as a climb when it ignored the previous 15% one.

3. Like the North York Moors, riding in this country can be as hard as you want to make it - but no matter what choices you make it’s unlikely to be very easy. The day is one damned 15% climb after another, it seems. On an out and back like today it takes some of the joy out of zipping down a slope when you know you’ll have to agonize your way back up on the return.

4. The back roads are seductively empty and quiet. They’re often narrow single tracks, narrow enough that you generally need to get off onto the grass to let the occasional car squeeze by. The big thing to remember though is the restricted visibility you’ll often experience. It’s not just the blind curves that we’re all conditioned to watch for. The roads are often deeply rippled enough that even straight stretches of road can conceal a car coming your way, hidden down behind the next swell. You have to look ahead, stay alert at all times, and keep in mind your stopping distance when you’re coasting down from the last summit.

We nearly lost half of the team today. The ride was cut short when I came upon Rachael stopped by the side of the road, shaken and visibly distressed. I’d been tracking her on the Garmin for awhile so I knew she was stopped just ahead, but I’d puzzled over what was happening with her. It looked like she stopped, then started again but very slowly. Then stopped again, then came back toward me, then finally stopped.

The situation began when she was climbing up the lane, empty except for a swarm of bees that hovered around her head - you can see them in the video. Then, a second swarm surrounded her not long after. Distracting and distressing, because she definitely doesn’t want to get stung - she’s gotten an allergic reaction to the last two.

So likely that’s on her mind and distracting her, so she doesn’t see the oncoming car until it’s right in front of her. It’s a good thing she’s been biking appropriately and is on the edge of her side of the road, or the journal might be ending here. As it is she just squeezed by on the margin as the car passed her shoulder, in the narrowest escape she thinks she’s ever experienced. You can see that too on the video, and hear her reaction.

So, just a reminder. The roads are quiet and safe enough, but you have to keep alert. All the time.

Some fast, seductively easy miles on Brompton Road. It won’t last.

Off Brompton, we’re on narrow lanes and single-tracks the rest of the way until we turn around. Mostly very quiet, but not completely void of traffic.

And with Brompton Road behind us we’ve left the modest gradients behind us. Here we’re dropping to the River Ure.

Crossing the River Ure. I’ve moved beyond finding bridges like this scenic. Now, I’m mentally taking note of the fact that I’ve bottomed out and a painful climb is in store.

Jervaulx Abbey: established in the 1100’s, disestablished four centuries later. How many of these ruined abbeys are there in northern Britain anyway?

On Stark Beck Road, the climb begins. Gently at first, then steeper, then steepest. I fare pretty well, finally giving up and walking a few hundred yards when it hits 18%. Later Rachael confessed to doing the same. Her excuse: she had to stop to let a car pass and then couldn’t get started again. Mine: I stopped for a photo of the valley and couldn’t start again either.

Another valley view, and the one that broke my momentum at a critical time.

On top again. Just before I had to get off the road for a car to pass, and a minute later wait when he came to a sharp bend, then abruptly stopped and started backing up toward a wide spot in the road so he could give way to an oncoming car.

And down again. It’s easy to get carried away with speed, but you have to stay alert - there are blind curves, but more sinister are the blind dips - it looks like you can see forward a long ways but there’s a car coming your way hiding behind the next rise.

Here’s where I caught up with Rachael, standing unnerved and shaken by the side of the road. We sat in the grass for about fifteen minutes waiting for enough courage to start biking home to be mustered.

Video sound track: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly by Ennio Morriconi.

I give up. What is this strange structure? There’s a second wall just like this on the far side.

Dropping toward the River Ure. I take it as a good sign that Rachael has stopped cataloging every car that passes and is talking about ice cream instead.

Enough hammering! Lunch break at Hammer Farm.

A perfect spot for lunch. Good spotting, Rocky!

Home again! We’re just dropping again down a 14% slope to the Swale, with a killer view of the castle to distract us. Just behind us, less than a half mile back, we dropped 14% to the Sand Beck and then climbed 14% to get out. Ahead is the 16% climb up to town. One mile: 14% down, 14% up, 14% down, 16% up. When we get home we both immediately leave again: she to find a pack of ice cream bars, he to find just a single bar, with a pint of John Smith.

Heart

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Ride stats today: 35 miles, 3,100’; for the tour: 1,075 miles, 46,100’

Today's ride: 35 miles (56 km)
Total: 1,075 miles (1,730 km)

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Bob DistelbergLooks like it was a scary moment for Rachael. Glad it turned out ok. I have to image in a stressful unexpected situation like that, just a little bit of that “wrong side of the road” feeling had to have kicked in as well.
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1 year ago

Suzanne GibsonWhat a close call, very unnerving! So glad nothing happened! Those darned wasps would make me very nervous, too.
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1 year ago

Rachael AndersonIt was nice to take a hike today and not have to worry about cars!
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1 year ago

Patrick O'HaraYikes. That's scary. Glad you're okay Rocky!
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1 year ago

Leslie and Rob CookeGlad you are ok. The roads are so very narrow.
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1 year ago

Kathleen ClassenOh my goodness. What a scare. It is hard not to think of all the ‘what if’ scenarios in the immediate aftermath. We are so grateful you are okay.
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1 year ago

Rachael AndersonTo Kathleen ClassenYou’ve right about going over the what if scenarios. What I did learn is to be very cautious on winding roads. It seemed like other roads where there wasn’t any traffic but unfortunately that wasn’t the case. I’m enjoying taking hikes on our layover days!
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1 year ago

Bruce LellmanI'm glad that car didn't get any closer to you, Rachael, and that you are all right. Very unnerving for sure. But, your choice of music for your excellent video was perfect. I love all the bees visible. All I can think of is that there must have been a bunch of bee hives in the area. I've been in their flight path like that before.
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1 year ago

Rachael AndersonYes, it was very unnerving but now I’m being a lot more careful and doing more walks. I’m definitely glad I had the camera on.
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1 year ago

Jacquie GaudetIt’s so much worse when the close pass is coming towards you rather than from behind. I don’t know why; I guess the mind actually has time to process the what-if scenarios during the incident instead of the shock setting in after.
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1 year ago

Scott AndersonTo Jacquie GaudetYes, I’m sure that’s right. I had a very similar fright 17 years ago in Scotland - similar scenario, a tight bend on a nearly empty road. It’s still very clear in my mind.
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1 year ago

Rachael AndersonTo Jacquie GaudetYou’re definitely right about that!
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1 year ago