A good hearty fry-up at the Kings Arms Hotel was the precursor to a lactic acid inducing climb in the rain and wind from Tan Hill to the off-road track to Sleightholme. This section of singletrack had clearly had a recent savaging at the hands of the storms with sections of it boggy or flooded while other bits resembled a rock garden with loose gravel and drop offs. It all made for an 'interesting' descent to the farmers gate where I skidded to a halt, brake rotors steaming wondering how i'd managed to stay upright! A big grin was the order of the day before taking a deep breath, release the bike clips and allow the adrenaline to come pouring out.
Continuing on I met up with Pete again in Bowes where we had lunch and I managed a comical complete clothing change in the gents while we waited for the food. The rain, ably assisted by the strong wind, was so penetrating it had successfully soaked me to the skin and I was starting to feel the cold. Amazing what a plate a warm food and dry clothes can do and in no time the rain had stopped and I was off once again, feeling good, but unknown to me, heading in completely the wrong direction!
On getting back on course via Yarm I changed yet again in the carpark at Great Ayton but also bought a pair of winter leggings from the Pro-Bike shop there in preparation for the crossing over the Moor to Whitby. By that time the weather was beginning to close in again.
I set off on the climb out of great Ayton over the North York Moors with both front and rear lights on due to the poor visibility as the kids were walking home from school. The tarmac immediately began to tilt upwards in a series of challenging climbs as the road twisted and turned to Commondale where the route reaches a very steep section (I din't know it possible to do only 3.4 mph on a bike and still stay upright).
That climb took me up over a couple of cattle grids onto another section of off-road riding where the weather really closed in, the wind directly off the sea strengthened and the stupidity of venturing out onto the Moors without a compass hit home. I realised that I must have missed a turn somewhere when I hit the tarmac roads again and Pete wasn't around. No phone signal meant I couldn't get guidance from him so I turned into the head wind and hoped it hadn't changed direction.
Luck however was at least partly on my side and I came upon a sign showing Whitby 15 miles (A171), I say partly because the run into the town was accompanied by a howling gale into my face together with stinging horizontal rain!
I arrived on the beach at Whitby with a sense of relief and satisfaction to the welcoming site of union jacks being waved by the reception party assembled there, which included a couple of random but curious Australian tourists who wondered if the ride was a warm up for a real coast to coast Oz style.
The best bit though was yet to come - the fish and chips from the Magpie chippy, probably the best ever.

