This past week spent hopscotching up the northern coast from Bridlington to Whitby has been a revelation. It’s certainly challenging terrain to cover on a bike, but it is such spectacular terrain. One sheer-cliffed headland follows another, riven by the valleys and ravines carved by small rivers and becks flowing down from the North York Moors and ending in seaside villages and towns of various sizes dramatically wedged in between cliffs ringing their harbors.
The section were just coming to the end of is bracketed by major rivers: the Humber to the south, the Tees to the North. I’ve been following Graham Finch’s journal from this spring, when he rode what looks like a similar stretch of the coastline further north, between Newcastle-upon-Tyne and Berwick-upon-Tweed. It looks every bit as rewarding as this one, and if we make it back to the UK some year I’d like to include it on the plan.
Saltburn is right at the northern end of this stretch of rugged coastline. North of here the terrain immediately flattens out as it enters the broad delta of the Tees - the ten mile strip of land we saw yesterday. Today I’m turning the other direction, back into the headlands. We’re both going that way this morning in fact - I’m on the bike headed for Staithes, while Rachael’s headed up to the top of the cliffs walking a stretch of the Cleveland Way (she’ll post her day separately).
The ride starts with a steep drop back down to the waterfront, that 20+% slope we pushed up yesterday. Before dropping off the cliff though I bike along the top of it to appreciate the views.
The view north. The mouth of the Tees is just beyond the array of windmills.
It will be a repetitive day that follows a profile like a ragged harmonic wave - down, up, down, up, down, up, down, up, down, up. Some of the downs are steep enough that they challenge the brakes. Some of the ups are steep enough that parts of them get walked. And since it’s an out and back, I’ll get to check them out from both sides to see which is the most precipitous. Sounds like fun.
After crossing Saltburn’s small waterway Skelton Beck I immediately start climbing. The first rise is reasonably gradual, starting with reversing the final three miles of yesterday’s descent from the moors. This brings me back up to Brotton, a small town I’m glad to see again because it gives me a chance to take a shot of the badger wood sculpures we biked past without stopping yesterday.
The locally famous Brotton badgers. I’ve never seen badger sculptures before, so likely there’s a story here - maybe an origin myth for the town where an orphaned early inhabitant gets sheltered by kindly badgers and protected from wolves.
Brotton is near the summit of the first big wave. There’s just a bit more climbing before I top out and drop steeply into the next trench and end at tiny Skinningrove at the mouth of Skinningrove Beck. Originally a fishing and agricultural village, Skinningrove had its boom century beginning in 1848 when iron ore extraction from the local ironstone formations began. The village developed to include railway access, a smelter, and a shipping port before the extraction industry finally shut down in the middle of the last century.
Up. We can see the plan for the day here: there’s a hidden trough just beyond the nearest ridge, where we’ll drop to Skinningrove. Then there’s the larger climb to the farther ridge followed by the drop to Staithes. And then back.
I was surprised by how rustic Skinningrove’s high school is, even for a tiny place like this. It’s not that though. This is the home of the Skinningrove Homing Society, and that’s a homing pigeon crate he’s carrying.
Bob KoreisEver seen the Blackadder Goes Forth episode where he gets out martialed for killing and eating the General's pet homing pigeon? Reply to this comment 1 month ago
As you’d expect from that photo above the climb out of Skinningrove is a challenge. After a short bit alongside the beck it starts climbing more steeply up to the next village, the well-named Loftus; and then there’s a more gradual climb to the high point of the day. There’s a long pause at this point where I stop to admire the impressive view ahead and take stock. Do I really want to drop down there and then turn back and climb out of that hole? How’s my time budget doing, and the energy one? And why did I want to see Staithes anyway? I even pull up the phone and browse the place before convincing myself to continue on. It looks like there will be two drops - this first steep one to the grassy plateau below, and then a second one into those menacing jaws.
Staithes is tucked down in the center of those pincer-shaped headlands. That’s Cowbar forming the near side of those jaws (I love that name and am curious about its origin).
Like much smaller Skinningrove, Staithes has a fishing and iron mining heritage. With its larger harbor it’s a more substantial place though and colorful enough that it’s developed into a tourist destination, and one well worth a visit. I’m really glad to have dropped down to it, because it’s one of the most scenic spots of the tour. I spend the better part of an hour exploring its waterfront and alleys before finally turning back for the climb out.
The bridge across Straithes Beck. I haven’t mentioned it, but the drop down here is steep and rough enough that parts of it got walked.
Scott AndersonTo Patrick O'HaraIt really is cool, well worth the pain of getting there - or of getting away from there, actually. Reply to this comment 1 month ago
Cowbar Cliffs are peppered with birds - 100% of them kittiwakes as far as I could discern. Earlier, too briefly seen and too far out for a shot were a pair of dolphins.
High Street (and practically the only street), Staithes. I’m sorry I didn’t explore down the side alleys too. Dog Loup Alley, only 18” wide at its narrowest, claims to be the narrowest alley in the world.
I’ve seen two pronunciations: Sty’thees is one, but apparently the locals pronounce it Steers. Makes sense, since it’s next to Cowbar. Reply to this comment 1 month ago
So that’s the ride. The half of it anyway, because I still have to get home. There’s some bitching and moaning involved, but no one to hear it but the gulls and crows.
The view north from Cowbar. You can see the course of the way back. Saltburn is on the other side of the far ridge, and if you look closely enough you can see my road up the nearest one.
On the way back I dropped down the barricaded trail along Skinningrove Beck, hoping it wouldn’t become impassible. Looks like a surface you might find in Sicily.
Bill ShaneyfeltTo Scott AndersonLooks like you hit it! The wildflower sites I used did not show the seeds developing, which I figured might be a key to the ID.
