Disclaimer; some non ACCers appear in this article so you may want to avert your gaze 
We had a great North Downs ride yesterday with Dom, Will, 8 Ball and I meeting up with Warren, Rog and London Scot in a slightly damp and foggy Landslip Car Park. The original idea had been to do a bit of Freeride (tm), but it turned out to be a bit of a mini-epic. The freeride tag meant that 8 Ball, Dom and I all took our Bullits, resplendant with chain devices and triple crown forks (damn you, Leisure Lakes!!), and this was enough to nearly kill poor Dom and 8 Ball off.
We started by riding up to the Tower and then following the singletrack through a series of drop-offs and log-hops through to the quarry, where we came across a huge amount of bikers, some of whom we knew. After a bit of Freeride hucking hardcore action
, Warren managed to persuade us that it'd make a nice change to head over to Holmbury Hill to ride the singletrack there (it didn't take much persuasion to tell you the truth; it was more like "Should we go over to HH?" "Yeah, sounds cool").
It was about this time that the rain came in a bit heavier and the mist thickened; our hopes for a dry ride were thwarted. Leaving Leith Hill, we picked up the singletrack through to Holmbury St Mary and then climbed up past the cricket pitch to the green bench. After re-grouping, we bombed off down the hill and into Telegraph Road, a mile long stretch of sweet, flowing singletrack that deposits you in Peaslake. After helping some guy out with a mechanical, press-ganging a couple of foreign guys with the longest stems since Joel's vanished from his bike and giving Joe instructions on how to get to Peaslake Stores, we climbed up to the reservior near the top of the hill and crossed the road into the start of Barry Knows Best / Reservoir Dogs / Golden Birdies / (probably twenty more obscure names). I'd never done this singletrack trail before so was looking forward to it. Despite a thick layer of mud and wet roots everywhere, I wasn't in the least bit disappointed with it and it has instantly climbed to status as one of my favourite sections of singletrack anywhere. At the bottom, we exchanged greetings with a group of guys on a STW ride and carried on to the stores for a cup of coffee, cake and a chance meeting with Rory and co, who were on some sort of mental XC Jeyboy epic and looking sickeningly fresh.
In the time we spent at Peaslake, we must have seen about 50 mountain bikers, all coming off one of the hills and all caked in mud with huge grins on their faces. We waited for Joe to turn up and when he didn't, set off up the long climb back up Holmbury. After about 100 yards and appearing seemingly from nowhere, Joe and one of his mates from work appeared, so they joined us on the long slog to the trig point, where we discussed the demise of the Widowmaker and cautiously looked at the silly steep drop to the side of us. It was now incredibly foggy and damp so we decided to press on back to Leith Hill before we lost the light. With Warren at the helm, it was never going to be the most direct route and sure enough, we quickly turned off the main trail and into Parklife (or the BMX Track as we used to call it). This autumn really has been dry as the usually swampy and pond-like bombholes were almost dry with just a thin layer of (incredibly) slippy mud in them, making the whole trail a real blast. From the bottom of this, we carried on down and did Telegraph Road again, just for good measure. A few people were feeling a bit worn out now, with Rog and Dom to slip off on a greasy root on the slippy section of trail just before you reach Holmbury. Once at the bottom, Dom announced that he was absolutely shot and with directions provided, headed off back to Dorking along the road.
Another climb lay ahead for the rest of us so we saddled up and headed through the village and picked up the singletrack trail we'd descended on earlier in the day, struggling now to keep up momentum and chatting with another large group of riders who'd braved the elements. We crossed the road at the top and picked up more singletrack to climb to the Tower (just as the cafe closed
before bombing down the main trail and up the other side to the start of Cliff Richard, the last section of trail of the day.
Cliff Richard is so named because it's a cliff, and Richard found it. It is a steep, off-camber, gnarly trail whose top section finishes with a tight left hander and a three foot drop-off. I was first down and expecting it to be slippy, was pleasantly surprised to find it had a fair amount of grip. I got down the off-camber section, turned the corner and launched off the drop-off, landing smoothly and riding out, only to hit a log and go straight over the bars. Rog was next down, followed by 8 Ball, both of whom rode the drop rather than jump it and cursed themselves for it afterwards. Warren launched it smoothly and pulled up next to us leaving Will, Joe, Joe's mate and London Scot still at the top of the hill. From our position, we could hear a lot of discussion going on about line choice, slippyness, etc., but couldn't see any riding being done. London Scot was first down and got to the drop before deciding that it probably wasn't wise to do it on the bike he was testing (a lovely Dialled Bikes Morning Glory). Will was next and chickened out, although regaled us with tales of Joe stuffing at the top of the hill. Joe remounted from his 'resting place', turned the corner and rolled off the cliff smoothly, pointing out that against his wishes he'd seen the sense of lowering his seat when he'd seen the trail. Joe's mate was last down and also gave the drop a miss, being on a hardtail for the first time in years.
People thought that this was the bottom but no, there's more gnarly trail to the car park (I'll hereby christen it Una Stubbs). It starts with a drop-off over a slippy tree trunk, traverses a loose off-camber banking, over another slippy tree trunk (that caught Joe out) and then follows the most ridiculous off-camber and loose line down the hill ever; it's not for the faint-hearted. I got down it (just) by hanging my leg out at a 90 degree angle to keep my balance, quite a few people took the (slightly) easier line to the right and Joe and 8 Ball seemed to slide down most of it on their arses.
Absolutely knackered, soaking wet through and plastered in mud, we said goodbye to London Scot, Joe and Joe's mate (sorry, I'll find out your name at some point) and headed for The Plough for a few scoops and to put the World to rights. On the way home, I even got chatted up by a 19 year old lass on Horsham Station which, being 33 that day, really finished the ride off perfectly.