Football didn't prevent fifteen riders turning out tonight on a very warm, sunny evening. And tonight marked a very welcome return for Francis after that devastating crash at Glentress which could so easily have terminated his riding for ever. Strangely, he made me feel quite nervous until we engaged in the heat of battle later on in the ride. We also welcomed Mrs Stewart, XXXXX, for her first dabble with the Loons, hardtail mounted like hubby (what else?) and looking quick in the twisties. Most importantly, though, was the presence once more of the Speedian, Ian A, who wasn't out on the last two midweekers and was sorely missed.

We started the ride not much after 1900 with Alan again relying on that old watch he found with the last few minute markers missing, so plenty of time to either spread it wide or go exploring. We chose the latter, much more interesting. And little did we know what excitement lay just ahead.

We'd only just got started, rode past the Pavillion and trickled onto the new Shiremoor waggonway. Terry was out front and suddenly veered off onto a skinny between the trees, nothing unusual in that, it's his normal behaviour. He was followed by the others and after riding through what turned out to be a small manure plantation and getting stuck, heard something of a hullabaloo behind him. Someone back there was having a good old shouting match.

Retracing his steps, Terry approached a "lady" and "gentleman" in boiler suites at the gates to what looked like one of those urban farm thingies, and they didn't look at all happy. They weren't at all happy. Seems like we'd offended them by our presence and they'd laid out that old familiar "Git orf moi land" sh:te. There's a slight possibility that one of our brethren, whose name (Alan) shall be nameless, had offered some abrupt words in defence, or maybe defiance - choose your own spelling. Whatever, there are certainly no "Private Land" signs anywhere and the Elders remain convinced that it's no such thing. We may just check that out.

Anyway, onward. Except that there seemed to be an inexplicable delay in getting out of the south side of Backworth, meaning that a few of us had to ride all the way back from the far end of the village to find - nothing! Except Tim having a discussion with Ian B about suspension settings on his new Trek EX-8, resplendent in metallic khaki. Ok, green then. Lovely bike though, as many of us are aware, and hot off the press after the last hour back at the Cave getting its gears to function. Oh, and Ian A was trying to ring Terry to tell him nothing was wrong (eh?) but his phone was still at home! This wasn't the only time riders would be recalled from way up ahead tonight!

First legitimate stop was the new manmade trail somewhere between Seghill and Backworth. Government security guidelines mean I can't tell you exactly where it is. Looks like we picked a decent spot for the only jump on the route as it hadn't been disturbed. We do have plans to reverse it though, as it's easier to get up speed in the other direction. Maybe we'll make it ambidextrous to give us a double option.

Safely through that after Paul made sure it was ample wide enough for him by taking out a few more trees, Terry vanished over the bridleway into Phase Two, the Rootfest and the rest tagged along behind. Now when we created this thing last Wednesday we got as few minutes in here and stopped, intending to finish it on the next trailbuilding excursion. Although there were no tools present tonight we must have made a fair job of finishing it anyway by the usual barge-through technique employed by NMBC in patches of impenetrable forest all over the North East.

Emerging from the bushery, Richy pronounced himself fit again after last Thursday's scare when heat stroke hit him, although it was still fairly warm this time but the sun wasn't beating down on us. Once we'd all plucked ourselves from the undergrowth it was time for Speedy to take the reins and he led us down the fast singletrack to Seghill. Well, it's normally fast, but tonight two pairs of doggy folk contrived to ruin our blast, how dare they. By the time the back-enders got through the estate to the fields, Speedy had the main group almost a mile ahead, but Steve had a plot which involved getting off road where the stragglers were, so Tim called the others back. Sorry lads!

So we hit the Rabbit Run but only as far as the north side of the stream. That's where Steve had previously spotted a potential track running through the four foot high nettle field in the approximate direction of our next target area. A proper fight through the tall plant life followed, with screams and cries filling the air as the nettles did what they're good at.

We regrouped on less hostile ground and Steve led off over a path built upon old house bricks and chunks of concrete. A few minutes later the edge of one of these claimed the back tyre of one Gollum, and he brought the Hitman to a halt at the concrete bridge where it went upside down for an injection of CO2. What looked like an immediate tubeless fix failed, and further investigation revealed the reason - no Stan's fluid left in the tyre! Tut tut, Terry, lack of maintenance? Well actually, no. The repair kit for the Mavic Crossmax freehub only arrived from the good old US of A a fortnight ago so the wheel was freshly created then, in time for last Thursday's ride! It's possible that the contents were now spread over the last few hundred metres and no-one behind had noticed.

Anyway, another delay was caused to allow a standby bottle of goo to be fed in and this time the nasty Bonty Mud X did seal, although it needed yet more puff at the end of the Spoon Trail half a click further on. We're beginning to get these sections of trail tied together now as long as either Ian or Steve is around to remember the routes.

We cruied down to Thorn Hill gently passing another pair of dog people before Justin led up the twisty climb to the summit. We waited up there for a short breather only to see Terry go walkabout in the trees. Returning a few minutes later, he saddled up and vanished into the jungle shouting that dreaded cry "Trail!" as he did so, but I'm not sure how convinced the others were, although the more adventurous did eventually follow him in.

Of course, there was no trail, although there were signs that some human sub-culture had ventured through at least part of this area in the past. The plastic picnic chair was a bit of a giveaway. Steve removed a criss-cross of steel wire spread across the first (and only) clearing so no-one following could be garrotted and on we went into more of that ubiquitous I.F. led of course by the idiot Golly.

Some time later the three or four brave souls who'd stayed with the adventure escaped onto the main drop and finally caught up with the peloton waiting patiently below on the Mummy Trail. Time for Ian to take us through to the edge of East Crammy/Seaton Delaval and we followed him over the road and onto his chosen route through to the Keel Row. We tootled down the bridleway until he stopped at the first copse and in we went over the plush pine needle beds, popping out soon after at the foot of the first Hartley hill climb.

There were three seperate routes through the trees taken here by various souls but we accumulated again on the track at the far side before hitting that oh-so-lumpy field crossing we did last time out here. Terry dodged it preferring to try the other side of the hedge line and although it was hard work, he and Tim managed to make up a lot of ground and get to the far end with the lead bunch. They's also witnessed a deer running ahead as it bounced along the furrow directly in front of them. Brilliant. See, we're just Naturalists at heart (that's not Naturists, fool - although...).

Terry took the reins for the next field crossing and guessed his way through the corner, possibly in error as it created another hard slog through the edge of a corn field. Half way through a few bods managed to escape onto the adjacent bridleway but had to cross a deep ditch and brambles to do it. Regrouping at the far side on the familiar waggonway it was over to Speedy again as we now headed for Hastings Terrace and a clockwise run through the woods from the stile. Must find out whay they've put a stile at the start/end of a bridleway, the horses must take ages to get over it.

The initial tree-lined, soft earthed blast popped us out onto our usual resting place in the high field where we enjoyed a quiet five minutes being entertained by Alan and his care and compassion for the wellbeing of Francis, who of course was the focus of attention tonight on his joyous return to the fold. Not sure if he appreciated all the "advice" he was given though but he handled it well!

Time for Terry to plot the next section. First off was a very short loop into the trees to the south which resulted in two streams of riders travelling in opposite directions within sight of each other after the accute hairpin at the far end. We exited moments later from the previous entry point and waited at the top of the hill for another gathering after slight confusion back there.

It was Matt who took the plunge down through the next tight, fast descent as we weaved through the trees. But not before Paul managed to dismount himself twice in a matter of yards from the start. We have to make allowances of course, as his, er, inflamation may not have fully subsided yet! Just before the left hander Terry managed to bash a tree with his backpack and it tore the zip open on the old faithful Camelbak Rocket, spitting out tools and spares all over the trail. Thanks to the finders who recovered most if not all of the contents, and we blasted on down to the finish, back at the stile.

As it was nine o'clock now he decided to up the pace somewhat to avoid a late finish. However, when we reached the railway crossing at the edge of New Hartley there were members not apparent. Tim and Speedy had become detached in the woods so Alan went back to search but returned empty handed. Another attempted rescue was cut short when the pair finally appeared and proceeded to tell us about the bit we'd missed - typical.

Meantime, Ian B (yes, two outings on the trot for Enduro Man) had scouted another as yet undiscovered trail at the crossing and we hit that for the first time. It led all the way up to the trees at the edge of the Delaval-Sluice road and just west of the bridleway to Hollywell Dene - much better than using our normal route up the main road and ending with a short burst of log-hopping.

We maintained a decent pace all the way up to Hollywell and it was Ian B who hit the riverside trail in front. There followed a splendid blast through the trees until we got to that dreaded first climb where Ian, almost at the top but not quite, ran out of legs and was collected by a closing Terry, followed by Justin, Matt and a few others, screaming for their path to be cleared but onlydeaf ears heard them. Actually we weren't deaf but were rolling around in fits of laughter at the carnage Ian had stacked up behind him, and too stupified to try and get out of the way, hilarious.

So we reached the bridge and after a very short rest Jon and Ian M2 led the charge up the hill and into the fields above the Dene. Actually the pair didn't so much lead the charge as simply take off like scalded cats and disappear from view. The next time we saw them away in the distance, the rest of us had stopped at a prospective new track we just couldn't ignore, out towards the back of the old Earsdon Pit due to become a reclamation zone.

Terry led Steve W out over the fields headed for the rubble heap with the rest in pursuit until we hit a dead end, or at least ran out of forward motion. A right turn just short of target put us back on the main drag past the farm and up to the Stables where the others were waiting for us.