Well, I feel like my powder has been dampened somewhat this week, the turnout was almost 100% with only Tiger Lilly the Singapore slinger not making it out on the ride.  Anyway, I won’t get started on that again although I did hear that this week he wasn’t actually buggering off to Laos, Malaysia, Cambodia or some other exotic destination; probably having the weekend in beating his houseboy (that’s got to be a colonial euphamism hasn’t it?).

Almost a full house at Chopwell

OK, back to business.   Andrew picked me up at 8:30, we loaded up the bikes and headed off.  Mike was picking up Paul T and we were to meet at the car park in Chopwell Woods.  We headed up the A1 and cut across country at Chester Le Street, passed Beamish, Stanley and on to Chopwell. We only got lost a couple of times and this was down to Andrew’s inability to follow straightforward instructions rather than my prowess as a map reader.  When we arrived at the car park, we were surprised that Mike and Paul were not there.  Eventually, after another ten minutes or so, they turned up having been unable to locate the place, turns out Mike is worse than Andrew at following straightforward instructions.

When they arrived, Paul got out of the car looking like Steptoe (the comic character played by Wilfred Bramble in the sixties and seventies, not the heart surgeon famous for his work on the relationship between stress at work and heart disease) on a bad day.  “Oh my back” he moaned as he minced out of the car.  He went on to explain that he’d injured his back wrestling a tiger that had escaped from the local zoo and was about to eat a baby (the tiger, not Paul).  Further interrogation got it out of him that he’d done it pulling a huge tree stump out of the garden.  Hmm still not convinced.

For today’s ride I was going to be testing out my new smartphone bike GPS software so there was no chance that we’d get lost on this one!  We set off heading north from the car park, or was that south? damn this GPS software, lost in the bloody car park!  After reverting to traditional navigation methods – follow someone who looks like they know where they are going – we headed to the top end of Chopwell woods where it borders the golf course.  The climbs here are much easier than those at Hamsterley and we quickly reached the start of the first run; this was a fairly easy run through the trees with lots of roots and overhanging branches to contend with and we all made it through OK.

Mike on the first downhill section

The first run rejoined the main pathway and the others were about to give up and follow the path down to the next run, but no, we weren’t going to do that.  I’d spotted another run through the trees running parallel to the main path that looked much more interesting.  “Follow me men!” I cried crashing through the undergrowth and onto this little used path.  After a short while it became apparent why this path was little used, it was almost impassable; there were several streams crossing it with steep banks that couldn’t be crossed by bike.  Still, plenty of opportunities for some comedy falls.  Unfortunately nobody would play ball and fall into the water for the camera.

Paul T selfishly refusing to fall into the water for the camera.

We struggled through the undergrowth before evetually emerging in Newcastle city centre according to my GPS.  I knew it was cheap, but they didn’t tell me it was cheap crap!  Anyway, turns out we’d overshot the planned route and had to to find our way back onto the main bridleway and then on to downhill run two, which we did without further incident, though not without further whinging from the ranks of being led up a blind alley by some incompetent ass.

Downhill route two was pretty good, there were lots of roots and lots of options for which direction to take and it was pretty quick.  Because there’d been a lot of rain lately there were lots of boggy bits and plenty of opportunities for people to go over the handlebars for the camera, but no, nobody was playing ball.

At the end of route two we had to make a right turn then rejoin the track further on.  We reached a junction and I suggested we consult the GPS to find out where to head next but Mike and Andrew wouldn’t have it.  “No” they insisted “follow us we know where we are going”.  Paul and I reluctantly followed.

As we raced down the hill and into a field full of horses bordered by a housing estate that looked like the set for the channel 4 soap Shameless, it dawned on us that we’d made a mistake placing our faith in Mike and Andrew’s navigation skills (we should have learned from the drive up here).  So there was only one thing for it, turn round and head out of there before one of the Gallaghers came out and tried to nick the bikes.

Once we got back onto the track it was a fairly uneventful trip back to the start of the red run which we only did the first part of as we were running short of time.  The red run  was OK but once again, frustratingly, nobody would fall off for the camera.

Mike selfishly refusing to fall off for the camera.

After the red run, we climbed back up a level and at this point Paul and Mike wimped out.  Andrew and I, being made of sterner stuff, refused to quit and carried on around the rest of the course.  We made it back to the car just as the rain started.

On the drive home we called Ange to find out the true story about Paul’s bad back – we were betting he’d been jumping off the wardrobe again in his batman outfit – but no, truth is stranger than fiction! turns out he has a long held ambition to win the Great British bake off and he’d done his back in lifting a particularly dense Genoise sponge out of the oven.

See you next week. – Ian