Just outside the UK’s urban sprawl lie routes of surprise and joy. Three green-lane novices scamper to the West Pennines for tuition, adventure, marvel, and fine fruit slice
By Mike Armitage Photography Greg Moss
‘I go paddleboarding sometimes, and floating down canals and rivers you see the world from a completely different perspective. This is the same – but far more entertaining and exciting. I think I need to buy a Fantic XEF 250…’
We’ve stopped on the side of a great big hill next to a curious stone structure called Pigeon Tower. An irresistible view stretches out beyond Anglezarke Reservoir and over Chorley and Leyland. The combination of stop-and-gawp scenery and the engaging ride here on lightweight enduro bikes seems to have slipped trail-riding newcomer Dom Mattock into an awestruck trance. He gazes at the horizon and pores over the purposeful-looking 250cc bikes, all the time with a daft grin across his chops.
Two things make this remarkable. First, only a matter of minutes ago we were in the outskirts of Bolton, trundling past the endless series of coffee shops, Turkish barbers and takeaways that fill every town in the country – yet here we are seemingly on top of the world. And second, my awestruck buddy is trawling MCN Bikes for Sale having only ridden the first three mucky miles of his life.
Riding green lanes and having a bit of an adventure has always enticed me. I can’t ride past the end of a byway without wondering where it could take me and have explored plenty of local tracks. But I’m a flailing fool away from hard surfaces. Over the years I’ve been given advice on how to ride on loose surfaces, but as soon as my tyres touch something not laid by a paving machine it all falls out of my head. Progress is an anxious comedy of errors.
Which is why today I’m doing the level one beginner course with Phoenix Motorcycle Training (0330 223 4000), who run trail tuition in Salisbury Plains, Kent’s North Downs, the Peak District, and here in the West Pennines (which, it turns out, aren’t actually very close to the rest of the Pennines). Dom has brought friend Sarah Dawson so that I’m not the only novice disappearing into hedgerows.
The day started with coffee and bacon cobs – sorry, barm cakes – at the Great House Barn and technique guidance from our instructor John Bilborough. Heels down, chin forward, look ahead, wrists straight, bum to the outside for corners… there was a lot to take in, but it was all delivered with unhurried calm that made it easier to absorb and helped contain nerves.
John patiently answered our stupid questions, kitted everyone out in proper clobber and talked us through the bikes. And then the day’s most important feature became apparent in the short first section of byway that delivered us to our current viewpoint. Intercoms. We’re all equipped with an earpiece, allowing John to give gentle reminders about technique and advice on approaching terrain – and it makes a huge difference. ‘I was terrified before we set off,’ says Sarah. ‘I’m not usually anxious but become tense and stop breathing as soon as I leave tarmac. It’s great having someone in your ear. It makes it much easier – they see you losing your posture and pull you back into it.’
Squeezing Dom’s daft face back into his helmet, we crack on. The day’s route will cover a series of byways with constantly evolving surfaces and a gradual increase of difficulty, linked with short spurts on regular roads. Dom and I are riding Phoenix’s tall, thin, nimble Fantics with four-stroke 28bhp single-cylinder power; Sarah is on a slightly softer-feeling Honda CRF250L, and photographer Greg tails us on a CRF450L. John’s on a rally-prepped Husqvarna 701 that has footpegs like bear traps and looks like it would merrily break my legs. ‘The bikes are so direct they initially felt almost agricultural after a road bike,’ notes Dom. ‘But I’m surprised how few vibrations there are for a single, and I love the way the Fantics deliver their power: they’re super-smooth and easy to use. The controls are very different to a pure road bike – the brake and gear lever are very in-board, tucked against the bike. I need to consciously think where to put my feet. And trying to find neutral is a nightmare…’
Cobbles turn to gravel, which gives way to hard-packed dirt with a grassy centre. The landscape cycles through expansive moorland, rolling farmland and enclosed nadgery tracks. And the sun pops out. This is a part of the world I’m not familiar with, and it’s ruddy lovely.
Every time there’s a fresh challenge or obstacle – ruts, deep puddles, twisty climbs – I stiffen, and my gaze drops as nerves increase at the unknown. But each time John’s measured instructions nudge my technique back in line. Confidence grows, and enjoyment with it. We’ve not been very far, not done more than potter, yet this is serious fun.
After a few miles of tarmac on the wonderfully tangled Rivington Road, we stop for refreshments at the Black Dog in Belmont. ‘The techniques are completely alien, but listening to the instruction helps you settle into the bits that don’t feel natural as a road rider,’ reports Dom. ‘It’s great when you nail the technique and get that balanced feeling – the bike responds and reacts so much better, so you relax even more, making it easier still. I’ve got comfy with it quicker than I thought would.’
Biggest surprise for me is pressing my outside knee against the fuel tank to turn the bike. I can’t believe the effect. Standing up, thrusting your arse to the outside of the turn and straightening your inside arm pushes the bikes down into the corner – and helps the knobbly tyres find even more grip. But then you shove a limb against the tank and the delicate 250s (they only weigh 122kg) change direction like a mid-rally ball in a game of squash. It’s a genuine revelation. And speaking of tyres and grip, the way the Michelin rubber bites into the varied surfaces is mind-boggling. As road riders we’d never expected to be able to brake or turn so hard, with so much faith.
Phoenix’s course includes plenty of opportunity to rest and take on refreshments, and we stop at the café outside the beautiful Turton Tower for homemade butties and the tastiest (and largest) piece of fruit slice I’ve ever tackled. The stops minimise fatigue, let John issue a few technique reminders and explain what the coming route involves, and allow us to pester him with more silly questions.
Dom has jumped on the 450 and is frothing about its suspension after a few miles, so I swipe the key. The Fantics look like hardcore tackle, yet their smooth power delivery and minimal mass make them a doddle to ride. But the larger bike feels even better now that (I think) I know what I’m doing. John’s told us all day that using a gear higher and going a tad faster makes everything smoother and easy to control; with its extra torque and wider spread of power – and posher suspension – the Honda makes breezy work of a steep, overgrown, footpath-width climb. I would never have tackled a section like this first thing this morning, and especially not riding a ‘big’ 450.
‘John’s point about knowing how to ride the bikes is crucial,’ says Dom as he demands the Honda key back. ‘Do it right and they’re not intimidating any more, but confidence-inspiring. The Fantic and the Honda are both sensitive to you doing the wrong thing – sensitive to stupidity and ignorance – but ride them right and they’re amazingly neutral and capable.’
The climb deposits us high in the hills again, and the sense of achievement overflows from our little group of happy riders. Sarah does a little dance. ‘I feel amazing – I never thought I’d be riding over things how I am, and it’s so much fun. It helped starting on the CRF250 before going to the Fantic but having John reminding me what to do is the biggest thing. As soon as he said it’s like cantering on a horse my brain went ‘gymkhana!’ and it made sense…’
I realise no one’s tipped off or taken an unscheduled trip into the greenery. After my previous just-wade-in trail exploits I expected a few comedy spills, yet with the right bikes and proper instruction we’ve all stayed upright. I’m disappointed that I’ve not laughed as Dom drags himself from under an upside-down bike, but it speaks volumes. Finding ourselves with yet another sensational view, across Bolton and the expanses of Manchester, drills home just what a trail bike unlocks. Despite today’s spirit-lifting adventures taking us on routes through seemingly remote environments, we’ve only been a stone’s throw from industrial estates and horrible out-of-town shopping centres. Probably only used a couple of quid of fuel, too.
Dom’s right about needing to buy a Fantic.
