A bimble up and down the Cinder Path

 Mighty steeds mounted and lycra clad we knights of Boggle Hole ventured out in early sunshine to hit the trail that had beckoned us.  The Cinder Path is part of Sustrans route 1 and runs along the old railway line that ran from Scarborough to Whitby from 1885 until its closure in 1965.  Imagination runs wild as one imagines the sight of steam trains puffing up to the heights of Ravenscar 190 feet above the sea with the wild moors on t' other.

There is a heritage railway nearby running to Whitby across the North York Moors but this route had the sea and the destinations.  Locals can still remember the white smoke and whistles and the area would be so much richer with this backdrop. Maybe one day when England is a post Brexit theme park and the beaten pound encourages rich tourists from the colonies they will re-instate these lost jewels but for now we had the track to ourselves.  Each turn of the pedal afforded a view and the coconut aroma of gorse filled the fresh morning air.  Filled with spring we sprang up the incline to Ravenscar passing aluminium pits and brickworks which hinted at the history of a  town that never was.  Perched on the edge of the cliffs of Cleveland a town had been laid out by prospectors eager to match the grandeur of Scarborough. Streets and sewers were laid out but the idea was abandoned before the war as the pure folly became clear.  This spot was known to be cut off by snow for months at a time and you would have to make a concerted effort to get there now that the rail line has gone.  It is a tidy little village with a majestic hotel dominating the hillside.  The remnants of a station are a reminder of the Victorian vision and the high point of the trail.

 It was, worryingly, all downhill from here to Scarborough. As much as we delighted in freewheeling for several miles, defying the laws of topography, we sensed the pleasure may not be recquited on the return journey.

Scarborough was vast and it seemed like all of Yorkshire had run to the sun. We ducked and weaved from the imposing mansions on its escarpment to the faded splendour of its backstreets; Regency terraces to the teeming harbour we whizzed along passing the hordes on the heaving promenade.  It was all a bit overwhelming and too much to take in on this visit. We had to stop though and the promise of an afternoon tea to allay the calorific bonk drew us into an ubiquitous tea shop.  We were not prepared for the sweet feast presented but Rob stoically assisted in demolishing the cream tea, cake, sandwich and crisp combo.

With fire and sugar in the belly we hit an A road out of town glad to be back on the secluded route.  It was odd how the sudden crowds had suddenly drawn a pall over these seaside destinations. Neither of us felt a desire to dwell amongst the hugger mugger for once and I wondered if this was a coming of age event.

It was all uphill from here and the calorific intake was timely as we rose and rose. Puffing Billy must have burned some coal going up this incline. It was at least 8 miles to Ravenscar and sometimes as much as one in 39 gradient.  My plan to cycle back to fitness the easy way along disused railways was fatally flawed as they are by no means flat.

With abandoned joy we hurled our rattling bones down the slope to Boggle Hole revelling in the virtuous exhaustion of a day well spent.