Barney takes in some venerable Peak District trails that are anything but old and past it.
Words & Photography Barney Marsh
In many ways this ride might be seen as a sequel to the Classic Ride I wrote back in issue 138 – it essentially uses all of the best stuff in the Dark Peak that story omits. This is a loop that takes in some of the very, very best riding in the area, orbiting as it does the reservoir and its lost, submerged villages of Derwent and Ashopton. Yes, this is a true, died-in-the-wool, old-school Classic Ride. In days of yore (okay, the late ’80s or early ’90s), doughty folk rode here clad in Ronhill Tracksters, perhaps, and Axo Pony shoes (oh, how I lusted after a pair of them) underneath a Buffalo jacket. And the multiple yardage of white polystyrene that served as a helmet was just the icing on the cake – if a lid was worn at all.
The rider of yesteryear would undoubtedly look somewhat askance at us; peaked helmets, (comparatively) baggy trousers, full suspension bikes and all, but there would also be things they’d nod approvingly at. A pronounced fondness for jelly babies and Haribo, of course – but also the route. Thanks to advocacy group Peak District MTB, new permissive paths help the weary traveller, and the older routes are kept in rideable shape. Here, gentler reader, be dragons. Or, at least, beasts.
The Sign On The Cross
Our ride started at the car park at the bottom of the Hagg Farm descent, on a cool but mercifully un-rainy Friday. We struck out south initially, which gave us ample opportunity to warm up before tackling the permissive climb known locally as “S**t B*****d”. It’s perhaps inevitable, then, that this wasn’t the most pleasant of experiences, being at the precise intersection of steep, techy and (at this time of year) damp to render things either ‘challenging’ or ‘unpossible’ depending on whether you’re an eternal optimist, or Ralph Wiggum. It is, however, a splendid way to gain a lot of height, off road, in a short space of time – and so it wasn’t long before we emerged at Wooler Knoll bathed in glorious sunlight and stuffed our lungs back in our chests. The old Roman Road and Hope Cross awaited…
Hope Cross is a stone direction marker from around the mid-18th century, perched atop a stone which is rather older. ‘Glossop!’ the marker bellows for one direction. ‘Sheffield!’ for another. Edale is a third, and Hope, fourth. Two of these are misnomers – one should indicate ‘Tater Alley – beware of rubble!’ – and one should tremulously indicate the resting place of The Beast. For here is the start of the first Classic Descent.
Penumbra of the Beast
It’s hard to tell precisely where the riders of yore thought The Beast truly started. Is it at the line that snakes initially down from the main track? The one that ends with a surprising stepdown near the gate that creeps up on you, so you’re usually going far too fast to pick a respectable line? Perhaps, but these days most folk think that The Beast proper starts at the gate at the bottom of this section. It’s certainly where the fun truly begins.
Some of us, who hadn’t ridden the Peaks before, had heard of this trail, and were keen to see what the fuss was about. Some others, who’d not ridden it for years, had built it up with memory and time into something, perhaps, more than it was – especially thanks to modern suspension and geometry. But it remains a challenge at speed, or when rain and mud and rocks conspire to create something truly greasy and dollop it in great, squelching wodges exactly where you don’t want grease to be.
Abandon pedalling. Save your power — The Beast requires much more upper-body effort, and your arse will rarely trouble your saddle if it’s lowered sufficiently. The route (yes, it’s nominally more doubletrack, but don’t let that fool you) steepens dramatically, and the rock stepdowns become more frequent. Line choice becomes critical, and then impossible, as each successive stepdown funnels you inevitably to the next. The trees start to loom ominously as the wheels start to clatter; stones pinging off errant spokes. Greasy rocks and too enthusiastic tyre pressures conspire to funnel the bike into unanticipated channels as the trail turns hard right – on the outside; outside line is best, yes; no time to check if that’s true, but it’s what’s happening anyway.
Keep it loose; keep it limber. Bit more weight over the front; bit more – no, not that much – another stepdown and another, and then a long languid left-hand loop. A brief moment of respite before the rocks begin again – once more, there’s no real chance to check whether you’re on the best line – just try to hold on and tweak the bike to avoid the most egregious off-line slitherings. There’s a high line – will that be better? Yes, less rocky, but perhaps with a tang more sideways slide, especially coming off it and back onto the rocks – and then the end. It’s still an exhilarating descent, after all this time. Riding it on a 26in wheeled rigid mountain bike in the mid 1990s is an experience I’m grateful to have left firmly in the past.
The Longest Way?
But this is where our own route, and that of the Classic Ride printed here, diverged. Time was pressing, the weather was closing in, and we opted, here, to push up the Hagg Farm descent and on to the eastern side of the reservoir. Here’s why, if you have time, you shouldn’t.
Elmet Pitt was a man out of time. A shepherd by vocation, he must’ve looked out at the rapidly filling water of the Ladybower Reservoir in 1945 and wondered what his livelihood was to be? What of his legacy? He needn’t have worried. While history doesn’t relate what happened to Elmet – or his sheep – his name has passed to the trail which snakes past his erstwhile shepherd’s hut, and it’s forever immortalised as the new permissive path climb (or gentle descent) that runs back up to Hope Cross. Thanks Elmet. But back at Hope Cross once again, instead of dropping off to the right down The Beast, you should carry straight on down the infamous ’Tater Alley.
It’s customary, when waxing about Classic Rides, to explain and enthuse about all aspects of the route. Here, I shall daringly break with convention. ’Tater Alley (or Potato Alley if you’re posh) is considered a classic of the region, both as a climb and as a descent. It’s famous as a slightly less technical alternative to The Beast. There are videos online proclaiming its classic status. People have enthused to me about its excellence in both directions – people who shall remain nameless, as in my opinion they’re wrong. I’m not keen. It’s a long stretch of doubletrack, populated along much of its length by potato-sized rocks. There is the occasional step up/down (delete as applicable). It requires no real finesse to ride barring a vice-like grip on the handlebars, enough speed to ride over the chunder and, should you wish to remain seated, an arse hewn of steel and Kevlar®. There’s a smoother line off to the right (coming down), if you so desire, but even this unedifying cop-out engenders a strong sense of ennui, and then you’re at the bottom. Whoop. But, but…
It’s worth riding, though, for several reasons. Firstly, you shouldn’t take my word for anything. I’m an unreliable narrator at best, and a protracted serial fantasist at worst. Second, everyone needs to ride it at least once, to formulate their own opinions, and there are enough people who like it to make me think it’s got to be 50/50 that you might like it too. Lastly, it spits you out at a much better (well, more gradual, less difficult, less busy, at least) climb to the top of the Hagg Farm descent – past Rowlee Farm – than riding (or pushing) up past Hagg Farm itself.
Duck and quiver
Here is where we rejoin our intrepid band as we strike out east along the ridge. Ideally, to be honest, we’d rather have run north through Lockerbrook – but that trail is closed for the foreseeable future. This is apparently largely because of tree felling – there are rumours of *quite* the mess near the reservoir. Our alternative, then, runs along the high point of the hill to the southeast, past Hagg Side, and descends a perfectly functional, but unexciting, slice of track to Ladybower Reservoir.
At this point, however, little thought was given to anything but the refreshments available at the Upper Derwent Visitor Centre. This offers scran of an appropriately old-school, ‘classic’, nature – cheese and onion toasties, bacon sandwiches, pop, tea; that sort of thing – along with a surprisingly militant duck population, the disconcerting chorus of which was described as ‘War of the Worlds, but with more quacking’.
After a brief sojourn along the banks of the reservoir, the trail took us disconcertingly upwards. Sharply upwards, as it happens. Large slabs – reminiscent of some Calderdale’s more genteel trails – disappeared round the hillside, lulling us unfortunates into a false sense of security before revealing their true, hidden, inclined horror. There’s a pretty little shed sort of thing with a bench in it at the top, though. Which is handy, as it’s useful to cower behind, mewling while you recover.
For here, there was a stark realisation that the climbing wasn’t done yet. More stepups, of the grunt-y variety, ensued, and a couple of narrow channels steered us, inexorably, along a moorland climb that’s just (just) painful enough to be achievable before kissing us lightly with a delicious uptick that had most of us off and pushing. Only the most doughty/determined/mad saw the need to push through their own personal pain barriers to reach the glorious, glorious top of the romantically named Grainfoot Clough. The top was a mere gently ascending contour away, and then, perhaps, was the highlight of the entire route. For this was the descent to Cutthroat Bridge, another classic.
Back to the Village
The descent is not particularly steep; nor is it particularly technical. Rather, it is one of those wonderful sections that allows you to maintain momentum without undue issue, and then obligingly throws a great many line choices and little features in the way to keep you entertained. The original, mineral and sandstone left-hand line, in particular, has been carefully restored by James Irwin of the Bike Garage in Bamford, and his trail team. It’s by far the best line to ride – it’s poppy, and lively and utterly wonderful. And even at around a mile long, it still feels altogether too damn short.
Things broaden out a bit at the bottom, for a brief upwards slog and a short yet fun rubbly double track descent down to the Ladybower Inn – which was temporarily closed at the time of writing. Just before this, it’s possible to sneak off to the right along a sinewy, contouring bridleway that drops down to the Snake Road just before the bridge, and the second sunken village of the reservoir in Ashopton.
Over the bridge, up the road a bit, there then followed something of an arduous climb. The initial road-gruntings were rewarded somewhat by the sight of an aged shepherd practicing with his dog – curt incomprehensible whistlings resulted in deft movements of a lithe, alert black shape, and the concerned bleatings of a number of white shapes being corralled into a small fence. Some sheepy brethren in a nearby barn looked on, placidly gnawing on turnips, as we went through a gate and got on with our final climb of the day – The Enormous Grass Hill of Greasy Doom.
Natural ageing
There’s nothing much fun about slimy, featureless grass climbs. They require entirely too much effort. There’s no technical skill required – some may think this a blessing, but even the mildest of challenges would serve to take your mind off the fact that damp greasy spongy grass is second in the energy-sapping stakes only to, perhaps, actual sponge. But there’s always a top. And here we retraced our steps towards the top of the Hagg Farm trail, thence to plummet down the last descent of the day.
The last, heavenly classic, this. It’s not remotely accurate to say that the Hagg Farm trail has a couple of ‘natural’ berms – it’s a man-made track, after all; just not one that was originally designed for mountain biking. Perhaps ‘unsculpted’ would be better. In any case, the ancient track has sunk somewhat into the earth with age, allowing the natural lines to rise up onto the surrounding earth. It’s possible to get properly horizontal if you try (and you’ve got a spotter making sure there’s no one climbing up into your path, naturally).
Berms hit and lips smacked, there’s just an extremely rough, steppy farm track affair back to the road, the van, and as many Haribo as we could cram into our quivering mouths. Even after all this time, this is some of the best riding in the UK.
Why bother?
It’s written up there – “Some of the best riding in the UK.” The Dark Peak, all stiff climbs, epic descents and spectacularly grippy Millstone Grit, is truly an exceptional place. Pretty much any guide to the Peaks will tell you that they’re within an hour’s drive of colossal swathes of the UK population, and the National Park was the first one set up in 1951. So there are pretty touristy towns and villages aplenty, all stuffed with accommodation options and cafés. Once you’ve ridden this loop, strike out west and ride the other, all-time classic (issue 138) that takes in Jacob’s Ladder and the frankly incomparable Cavedale. Or head south to the White Peak limestone for a different experience again (and get some Bakewell Pudding for me while you’re at it). Honestly, the riding in the Peaks is so, so good, there are people who’ve never ridden anywhere else – and, with trails this good on their doorstep, why would they?
The Knowledge
- Distance: 30km
- Total Ascent: 1,031m
- Time: 3–5hrs
- Map: OL1 – The Dark Peak
- Buy the Map from OS here
Getting there
With a bit of planning, you can get the train to Bamford with your bike. The usual honeypot areas charge for car parking, of course, but there are more out of the way places to park if you’d rather not pay. Rule one applies.
Bike shops
Bike Garage at Bamford – James Irwin, trail maintainer extraordinaire, et al. – has everything to keep you rolling (including rentals), and a workshop too. 18 Bikes in Hope – all of the lovely, lovely swag (and custom frames too).
- bikegarage.co.uk
- 18bikes.co.uk
Food and drink
Seemingly everything is available, everywhere. The Upper Derwent Visitor’s Centre is a good mid-ride stop, as already mentioned. The Yorkshire Bridge in Bamford has excellent food; or the Courtyard Cafe, next to 18 Bikes in Hope (01433 623 360) or Cafe Adventure – a personal favourite – also in Hope. There are loads of good pubs in the area, as well as plenty of little places to buy chocolate and whatever else.
- yorkshire-bridge.co.uk
- cargocollective.com/cafeadventure
Accommodation
The Peak District is festooned with places to stay. The Yorkshire Bridge Inn in Bamford does a good B&B or the region is full of campsites – try Heatherhill Farm, or Hardhurst Farm (01433 620 001).
- yorkshire-bridge.co.uk
- heatherhillfarmcampsite.co.uk
Thanks hugely to Chris Maloney of the Keeper Of The Peak and Peak District MTB, and everyone else who contributed ideas.
The rights we enjoy as riders have been hard won. And with cyclists excluded from almost 80% of our rights of way network, there is still work to be done. For 145 years, Cycling UK has been spearheading the fight for cyclists’ rights and, thanks to the support of our 70,000 members, continues to do so today. From off-road routes to improved access, Cycling UK is working for a better biking future for us all.
