A big day out in Swaledale, deep in the Yorkshire Dales
Whatever the weather, the Yorkshire Dales offer a vast expanse of moorland, riddled with rewarding technical descents and waiting to be ridden hard WHERE ARE WE?
With the change of season from winter to spring having gone on some sort of extended strike, many of the UK’s trails are in a sorry state. So we’ve decided to head north today – bizarrely, some may think – to the Yorkshire Dales, and Swaledale. This area has been battered by storms in recent months, but the hills drain well, which is why we find ourselves sitting in the Dales Bike Centre with Stu and Brenda. They’ve been kept rather busy so far this year, having to get the flood gates out three times already. On today’s menu is the arrival of some fresh snow on the hills, making them look beautiful, if a bit daunting.
I want moor, give me moor
After dispatching a breakfast with great efficiency, we finish a second coffee while hearing about the plans for the Dales Bike Centre. This £1.25 million project will see an extended cafe, eight additional en-suite bedrooms and more bike storage. We can’t delay our departure any longer and saddle up, only to immediately dismount when photographer Russell remembers he needs some new brake pads. It’s handy having a bike shop at the start of a ride. I’m just surprised I’m not queuing behind Russell for some last-minute purchases too. Fairly sure I’ll break something while out on the ride, I resist scorning him. Setting off, we get our legs
IT’ S STILL VERY FLOODED FROM THE RECENT STORMS, SO WE STICK TO THE TARMAC, RID DING OUR TYRES OF ANY STUB BORN MUD AS WE GO
nicely warmed up while spinning along the road to the village of Healaugh, before the steep hillside of Reeth Low Moor brings the day’s first challenge.
The road was resurfaced after the latest flood damage, so we have a nice smooth surface to grind up as we head onto the desolate moors. There are enough rocks on the trail to provide the traction to slog up the hillside unhindered by the past five months of near-constant rainfall. Soon we’ve gained enough height for wide-open views across the Swaledale Valley. With lush green fields and drystone walls on the lower hills, darker shades of moorland above and a dusting of snow on the hilltops, it’s stunning – and, apart from the rabbits, sheep and gabbling grouse, it looks like we have the place to ourselves.
Presently, we drop down a short, rocky descent to Fore Gill Gate. After passing through here, if you keep left along the wall, there’s an extra little bit of rough stuff, spitting you out at the road. Stu and I fly down the hill and through the ford at the bottom, in a bid to save some momentum to carry us back up the other side. The climb is made even worse when a white-van-man appears behind us and doesn’t want to lose his momentum either. Punching his horn, he forces us off the road, and we have to kick off again from a standstill.
Gimme shelter
We peel off onto a gravel track along the valley bottom, but it’s like a wind tunnel today, with a strong icy breeze howling down it. As an ominouslooking cloud creeps towards us, we fight our way quickly to the old ruined mine buildings to take shelter. Just being out of the wind feels 10 degrees warmer, so out come some brick-thick sandwiches filled with crumbly Wensleydale, for an impromptu picnic, with jelly babies for dessert while we reminisce about the hardcore people who once worked in these lead mines daily with no such luxuries. The Old Gang Mill here is actually one of the best-preserved and most structurally complex lead-smelting mills in the North Pennines. Today, it serves as a great windbreak for us weary riders.
It’s not long before the wind has blown the huge, dark cloud away, so we climb gradually, creeping closer to the snowline. The trail is firm, but for a
AS AN OMINOUS LOOKING CLOUD CREEP S TOWARDS US, WE FIGHT OUR WAY QUICKLY TO THE OLD RUINED MINE BUILDINGS TO TAKE SHELTER
few soft sections where the frost has lifted the top surface. But that’s the least of our worries as we reach the snowline and try to traverse icy drifts that swallow and stall our wheels, sucking our feet into their freezing depths. At least our efforts are keeping us warm, unlike Russell, who must be getting cold powering ahead on his e-bike.
The view from the top has a raw, rugged beauty, even today when it’s blowing a gale. Before we get too cold and stiff, we set off to drop down the hillside, sending grouse shooting out of what little undergrowth there is to hide in, to find the deepsided gill, which leads us down to Gunnerside Valley. If you like it rocky and technical, this trail is the highlight of the route, winding and zig-zagging its way down with rocks and drops galore. Stu and I are happy to push back up for another run and more pictures, but we have our limits in this wind, so after a while we ride all the way to the bottom in a long, flowing run, informing Russell of our intentions to continue the ride.
Let them eat cake
With the wind on our backs, it’s a fast and easy spin along the valley floor and up the flank of the hill. The surface varies from rocky singletrack to short, rabbit-nibbled grass and wide, rutted dirt tracks. As we gain height and catch new views back down the valley, we climb the only supermuddy trail of the day, where Stu reveals his special skill – finding traction where all else fail, leaving Russell and me slipping around like Bambi on ice. The undulating trail now follows the fine line between the rugged moors and pastureland below, to Barf End Gate, where the bridleway continues along the rugged moors. As Stu explains that everyone usually cuts across the footpath here, the farmer appears in his off-road UTV, the back filled with freshly culled rabbits. He opens the gate and beckons us through, then does the same at the far end. Happy to be no longer romping across the moorland, we enjoy the pull of gravity down the hillside, launching off lumps and bumps as we go before eventually reaching the valley bottom at Low Row.
From here we cruise along the valley floor, following the river back to the Dales Bike Centre. But it’s still very flooded from the recent storms, so we stick to the tarmac, ridding our tyres of any stubborn mud as we go. Most of it flies up directly into my face, while I try not to think about the sheep droppings in the field. We may have received a coating of the brown stuff, but it’s all come at the end, which has actually helped to make us look a bit more epic as we cruise back into the Bike Centre. Bikes and riders are quickly hosed down, and our outer clothes dumped in the drying room, as we flop down onto some comfy leather sofas, where hot drinks and spectacular cakes are ordered and quickly demolished. Just as I predicted, my bike was misbehaving on the ride, so it too receives some TLC from Ben, the kindly mechanic in the bike shop, before he heads home.
I feel some remorse for often coming here in the winter months. But when it’s this good, even in the extreme wet and cold, it galvanises me into making plans to come back when it’s dry. You can be certain though, that whatever the weather, there’ll be good riding, top facilities and great cake waiting for you at the Dales Bike Centre…
After conceding that we can’t delay our departure any longer, we saddle up, only to immediately dismount when Russell remembers he needs some new brake pads. It’s very handy having a bike shop based at the start of a ride. I’m just surprised that I’m not queuing behind Russell for some last-minute purchases too. I’m fairly sure I’ll break something while out on the ride though, so I resist scorning him. Setting off for the second time, we get our legs nicely warmed up while spinning along the road to the village of Healaugh before the steep hillside of Reeth Low Moor brings the first challenge of the day. The road has just been resurfaced after the latest flood damage, so we have a nice smooth surface to grind up as we head onto the desolate moors, past the ominously named Nova Scotia. The trail has some soft sections, but also enough stones, rocks and line options to provide enough traction to slog up a hillside largely unhindered by the past five months of near-constant rainfall. It’s not long before we’ve gained a good amount of height, which gives rise to wide open views across the stunning Swaledale Valley, with its lush green fields and drystone walls on the lower hills, complemented by the darker shades of the moorland above; all topped off with a dusting of bright white snow on the hilltops. It looks stunning and, apart from the rabbits, sheep and gabbling grouse, it feels like we have the place to ourselves. Presently, we drop down a short and rocky descent, which drops us to Fore Gill Gate. After passing through here, if you keep left along the wall, there’s an extra little bit of rough stuff, spitting you out at the road.
Stu and I release the brakes to fly down the last bit of the hill, careening through the ford at the bottom and sending water everywhere, in a bid to save some momentum to carry us back up the other side. It’s always depressing just how quickly even the strongest start can vanish as you point steeply back uphill, and this is no exception. It’s made even worse when a white-van-man suddenly appearing behind us doesn’t want to lose his momentum either. Using his horn to full effect, he forces us off the road, after which we have to kick off again from a proper standstill.
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