From the Singletrack archive: this Trail Hunter feature first appeared in Singletrack Magazine Issue 111 (2017). Words by Tom Fenton, photography by Andy Heading.
Tom continues his countrywide search for those trails that every self-respecting mountain biker should ride at least once.
Once, sheltering from a storm in the Alps, I met some Germans. We’d just climbed off the lift; they’d ridden up a thousand metres of fire road. Hiding from the rain, we started chatting. And if I’m honest, I began to feel a tad lazy, not to mention embarrassed, because they spoke fluent English. I only know the German for ‘Black Forest Gateau’ (Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte, good, eh?), but, try as I might, I couldn’t quite work it into the conversation. They asked us where we were going and we started babbling enthusiastically about the choice of endless natural singletrack descents around us. But our new friends weren’t interested. ‘Ve just like to climb,’ they said, before rattling back down the same fire road they’d climbed up. Weirdos.
Secretly though, I like a good climb too. And there are great ones all over the UK, from mythical giants like Jacob’s Ladder in the Peak District to tiny, tucked-away challenges such as the short but horrendously steep grunt out of Smith’s Combe in the Quantocks. However, unlike my Teutonic friends, I like to follow my climbs with something sweet – a dessert, if you will (I knew there was a way). There’s got to be a descent to match the climb.
Looking back
Another trip. It’s August in Langthwaite, a tiny village in the Yorkshire Dales. A sleepy spot in a sunny valley, it consists of a handful of stone cottages, a country pub, and a picturesque stone bridge. The trees are green, there are flowers outside the pub and birdsong echoes between the buildings. It’s lovely. But today it’s nothing like that. Gone are the stone-greys of the buildings and the burble of the river, replaced by a blaze of fluorescent Santa Cruz Bronsons and the excited shouts of riders who’ve just raced flat out down Stage 2 of the ‘Ard Rock Enduro – five minutes of sketchy rocky shutes and ‘only just made that’ loose corners. Abandoned bikes cover the road – their riders all heading for the pub and streaming in and out of the door, pints in hand. There are hundreds of riders in the ‘Ard Rock and they’ve all stopped here. The pub apparently took more money that day than in the entire six months preceding it.
This leads to two conclusions: 1) With this many riders here, there must be some pretty good riding around, and 2) mountain bikers enjoy a pint.
Sadly, many of the trails used for the event are off limits outside the race. But, if we backtrack out of the village and up the hill we instantly find a top-notch – and legal – descent, twisting down grassy slopes and through old quarry workings. Backtracking further, we discover a climb big enough to satisfy even my hair-shirted Alpine acquaintances. Further still is the Dales Bike Centre and its fantastic café where, with a little twisting of the facts (while maintaining the journalistic integrity you would expect to find in the pages of this magazine), we can swap pints of beer for tea and cake. And this gives us conclusion number three – if we have a cracking descent, a solid climb and tea and cake to finish, we get a day out that ticks every box on the ‘must-ride’ checklist.
There IS a Fremington
This is Fremington Edge in Swaledale – the best dale in the Dales. It’s a sort of ‘two-part’ trail – one up, one down. Both are up there with the best. However, now, in December, I’m not convinced. Barely two minutes into our ride, things have kicked up to a ridiculous gradient. My legs aren’t remotely warm and, with damp leaves and mud covering the narrow lane and dropping traction to imaginary levels, I’m struggling to keep Stu in sight. Stu is our local guide for the day and a great guy to ride with. He runs the Dales Bike Centre, lives right beneath this climb and is currently under the fitness-boosting influence of New Bike Syndrome. Trying to keep up might be a mistake.
The climb isn’t actually bad if you take it at a sensible pace and, at first, it’s a steady drag – not just a straight grind up a walled lane, but twisting and climbing over ‘bobbles’ in the hillside in such a way as to feel off-road. It’s really rather pleasant and I begin to think we’ll hit the top with ease.
We pause for photos near the midway gate – the point where tarmac ends and the real climbing begins. Immediately, there’s a tricky section of loose gravelly rock. It’s not long, but steeper than I’d like and requires a bit of thought – just enough to get us into climbing mode. A flatter section allows us to catch our breath, but also to catch sight of the steeper section ahead.
“I go up the left and then cut across and up the spines,” says Stu, pointing out the line he takes up a tricky series of low rocky ridges. As he’s the local I take his advice, but immediately regret it. The effects of the steep lane and the steady drag are now making themselves felt. I grind over the spines and lurch over a barrier of pumpkin-sized rocks to reach a split in the track. “Keep left going up and left coming down,” says Stu and so I follow him, legs burning, up what looks like the easier option. This can be the crux of the climb and often comes down to pot luck. If it’s been dry and sandy and the rocks have rolled around, you’ll be fighting a barrage of mobile stone. You might catch the first wheel slip, maybe the second, but your knackered legs won’t be able to hold the third and you’ll be off and walking. Alternatively, if the 4x4s have been up and left a smooth(ish) line, you’ve just got the odd rocky step to contend with and a little oomph will see you to the top. Today, we’re in luck and surprisingly reach the top with only minor wobbles.
Stu runs the Dales Bike Centre, lives right beneath this climb and is currently under the fitness-boosting influence of New Bike Syndrome.
Now we can turn and admire the view, which we’ve ignored on the climb. It stretches behind us across Swaledale and out into the deeper Dales. Stu points out hill after hill, describing the trails on each one, all of which are options for extending our ride. One or two strike a chord with Andy the photographer, and the conversation swings back through time to old Polaris events that were held in the area. Stu and Andy begin to reminisce about them, and about the mountain biking scene twenty years ago and how riding in the UK developed. It’s amazing just how long people have been riding bikes down the trails that we do now and how ideas of what make a good ride haven’t changed all that much. It also makes me realise quite how old Stu and Andy are – which is slightly embarrassing, given how easily they pulled away from me on the climb.
Vowing to regain some self-respect on the descent, I’m ready to continue the ride. After the climb the bridleway briefly doglegs away from the edge, dropping to the hamlet of Hurst and back. The run to Hurst is fast and there are a few remnants of the mining industry to look at, but it’s not the most exciting stretch of riding and, as the climb back is usually into a headwind and always a slog, we’ll gloss over it and pick up the ride again at the Fremington descent. Regardless of how much you enjoy climbing, this is the best bit of the ride.
Not writing home
The start isn’t much to write home about – a straight line across a flat and boggy field. Any effort seems to be sucked away by the wet grass and we’re constantly lifting our front wheels over muddy hollows. But, soon enough, the ground firms up and our speed increases. The trail’s still pretty vague, but a few grassy bumps begin to appear and we’re soon criss-crossing the track to play around. We pick up some decent speed as the bridleway becomes more distinct and sweep along as it swings about between the lumps and bumps. I begin to grin as I follow Stu’s lines, switching about behind him as I spot faster options and then swooping back onto his wheel for the tighter sections. I’m getting cocky and looking for places to pass, my grin getting wider and wider until I miss his line off a drop and almost fly over the bars.
A shallow gully gives us a couple of sweeping turns as the trail swings back on itself to drop into an old quarry. Determined not to let Stu get away I let off the brakes and immediately find myself hurtling into a series of vicious rocky steps. Unable to do much other than lean back and loft my front wheel over them I ride a wave of blind luck and sheer terror straight through and into a big right-hander in the back of the quarry. At least, I think it’s a big right-hander until I discover it’s full of rocks. Hauling on the brakes, I spot what I think is a much better (faster – I’ll get him yet!) line than the one Stu’s on and cut hard across to it, only to slam my wheels into several large rocks and completely mess up the corner. Having had my second lesson in the errors of not following his lines, I decide to hang back and follow Stu more closely.
Unfortunately, at this point Andy decides he wants a picture of us riding side by side – just as the trail opens out into what appears to be a line-less rock garden. Unable to copy Stu, I resort to guesswork and somehow pinball through alongside him, desperately trying not to puncture or clip Stu’s bars and cause a huge crash. Not only do neither of these things happen, we even pop a couple of unintentionally synchronised bunnyhops to clear the last of the rocks. Typically, Andy’s already got the shot he wants and lowered his camera, but, trust me, it looked awesome.
Wider and less rocky now, it’s easy to spot lines and pick up speed. Sadly, it’s only a couple of hundred metres to the gate and the end of the quarry. But the descent isn’t over, and gets a gold star for variety as it now plummets into a huge grassy bobsled run. This is a massive snake (that’s what she said…) of a trail – a head-high ditch that twists down the hillside. In the dry, it’s ace. Today it’s still ace if you’re Stu, who’s carving round the bends and popping off the banks all the way down. I, however, am not. Caught out by the slippery grass I totally miss the first corner, slither round the second with a foot out and then lose my front wheel on the third. Despite this, it’s a lot of fun and when we get another run at it for Andy’s camera I’m ready for it and chase Stu to the bottom, grinning all the way.
Fremington Edge done, there are multiple options. A quick spin will take you to Langthwaite and the ‘Ard Rockers’ pub. From there, you could head up Arkengarthdale (best-named-dale ever) for a big loop. Or go over the bizarre moonscape on Great Pinseat towards the infamously technical Gunnerside Gill descent. Or round the back of Calver Hill for the singletrack descent to Healaugh. Or… you get the idea.
Alternatively, you could decide that, having tackled a great climb and barrelled down an incredible descent, the only thing missing is the tea and cake. You could then take the shortest and laziest route home (which happens to be the great singletrack beneath Fremington Edge) to get you back to the bike centre café in double-quick time.
I’ll leave you to guess what we did.
