*Chapter 40*

Down But Not Out

 
 
Mike was with me almost as soon as I stopped moving, “You alright?”

“Bike, bike!” I shouted by way of reply.

“Are you okay?” he demanded.

“Yes!” I desperately replied climbing to my feet, nothing’s broken at least.

Mike deftly refitted the unshipped chain and gave the bike the quickest bike check I’ve ever seen before allowing me to remount. It felt like minutes but the adrenalin was pumping now as I got my feet re-engaged and returned to Bond power. The few spectators watching cheered as I got the bike moving again into the slight headwind which was all that remained of the breeze that had pushed me to turn one.

Damn, my computer’s missing, must’ve jumped off when I hit the deck. Well nothing for it, I’ll just have to go eyeballs out for as long as I can and hope it’s enough. Once I was moving again I quickly transferred to the tri-bars and got into my full tuck position.

Something wasn’t right though, my right knee started to ache, must’ve taken more of a knock than I thought. Not only that but the light breeze was starting to pick up again, bum, bum, bum! “Concentrate, Drew,” I told myself over and over, with no idea how far it was to the finish I just pushed as hard as I could.
 
 

It seemed like forever before the motorway bridge came into view, yay, not far now. For the first time I thought I could see the Martin kid, well his following entourage at least, maybe I’m up on him? Without a clock I couldn’t judge very well but I thought that maybe I had a few seconds on him.

My right shoulder and hip began to ache, was that sweat or blood I could feel trickling between my breasts? Come on, it’s not far now. The road started to climb, down a sprocket, keep it rolling, sugar the wind’s stiff across here. A quick glance ahead revealed one of those inflatable arch things marking the one K to go point, yes, nearly there.

Over the top of the bridge I quickly went back up a sprocket, then two as the road dropped towards the finish. There were more people lining the road now, my mind was set on my destination though so I barely heard the encouragement they shouted. Under the arch, one to go, more Drew, I was already on the rivet, my side hurt, my knee hurt, something was dripping and I wanted more.

The red haze started ¬– five hundred to go, dig in, come on! I could barely focus on the road let alone the clock above the finish line, was I up, down, no idea. I caught a glimpse of a rider on the big screen placed roadside for the spectators, not sure who it is. Two hundred, don’t ease off…

 
 
My next conscious moment was heralded by whistles and shouting before someone clamped something over my face.

“Hmmph!”

“Relax, kiddo, it’s just oxygen,” the familiar tones of Caroline advised.

“Wha?” I managed through the mask.

“Shush!”

I was conscious of moving but none of my limbs seemed to be propelling me, what does that mean. The cacophony suddenly died and the atmosphere felt altogether less cloying, voices issued instructions and I was suddenly still.

“Can you hear me, Drew?”

“Hmm,” I allowed.

“Good, your dad’ll be here soon, just relax for now.” Caro soothed.

My breathing was considerably calmer now, I nodded in understanding.
 
 

I’ve no idea how long I lay there with Caro stroking my hair before Dad arrived.

“She alright? What happened?”

“Crash out on the course then collapsed at the finish.”

“Dad?”

“Heya, kiddo.”

“Win?”

“No idea, Caro?”

“I came straight in here, I’ll go find out now you’re here, Dave.”

“Hundred and ten percent, eh?”

“One twenty,” I offered through the mask.

“What’re we gonna do with you, eh?”

I winced when I moved my arm.

“Arm?” Dad enquired.

“Uh huh.”

“I’ll get someone to check you out, Caro said you’d crashed.”

 
 
The medics returned to treat my road rash, I’m gonna have some ‘nice’ bruises again. My attention was held as I was variously, scrubbed, prodded and eventually wrapped, I reckon I look more like Frankenstein than a bike rider. Not having any idea of time I was surprised when I spotted Mum arrive with Caro.

“Mum!”

“That’s me, you must be the only person who could crash in a time trial!”

“It wasn’t planned.”

“I should hope not, so how you feeling?”

“Pretty sore, I think I bashed my knee, it *really hurt after the crash.”

“We’ll pop you to the hospital after the presentation, Drew,” Caro stated.

“’Kay, presentation? As in gong ceremony?”

“Never know, you might be needed, the Americans have put in a complaint so everything’s on hold for an hour unlike the drug control, you been yet Jen?”

“No, I came straight here, best get that out of the way, can you walk kiddo?”

“Er dunno, think so.”

Well in theory I could but in practice it was too painful to do much more than stand so I ended up being wheeled in a chair to the Kontroll. So of course then I couldn’t wee, well I could but not enough for the sample, which meant I then had to drink a litre of water and hope. Sitting in a cubicle with a sample bottle is not my idea of fun at any time and being swathed in bandages didn’t improve my demeanour.

 
 
Apparently the American’s complaint was to do with some technical point with the French team’s bikes, no idea what but resolving things took some time and resulted the French bikes being ruled illegal which led to counter complaints, appeals and so on. It was after five when the whole mess was cleared up, by which time my shredded skinsuit had been replaced by my cargo shorts and a BC trackie top.

Whilst Manda and Sal had both put up creditable performances neither made the top ten. Roni did better, she got the bronze, which is way cool, some Mears girl from Australia took second but the Dutch Vos girl outclassed both of them. It seemed to be a popular result, if the cheering was anything to go by.

The judges still hadn’t announced the final result, my 54.11 for the 38 kilometres – Caroline eventually confirmed, was I thought pretty good. With the American complaint the leader board had been taken down and not reissued so no one knows the winner. I do know that Gethin’s fifty-six placed him top twenty but where am I?

 
 
“In third position,” the announcer told the crowd, “junior individual time trial, representing the United States of America, with a time of fifty-five minutes and one second, Jonathon Bauer.”

The announcement was translated into French by which time Mr Bauer, a lanky red head had ascended to the stage and was being presented with his gong. Hey, that means I get at least silver!

“In second place, representing…”

Come on, who is it?

An official grabbed the announcers arm and whispered something in his ear, “Sorry, my mistake everyone, in joint first place…”

I missed the rest of the announcement as all around me my team mates and BC staff whooped in delight before I was prodded towards the stage. My memories of the next ten minutes are rather vague, getting the rainbow jersey pulled over my head, then having the medal placed around my neck – I’ll have to watch the video!

I stood alongside Tony Martin, the German with whom I’d drawn and literally cried through Deutschland Über Alles then God Save The Queen. Of course then it was photos and the press conference, which was what caused me to miss the women’s presentation and Mum’s silver medal.

 
 
“Drew, Phil Eaton, Cycling Weekly. We heard you had an incident out on the course, we all saw the bandages, can you tell us something about that?”

“Er hi, Phil, well there’s not a lot to tell, I was going pretty well, there was a tail wind out to turn one and I was tanking it. Well anyway I lined myself up for the corner and the next thing I know I’m sliding across the road.”

“Any idea what caused it?”

“No idea but it was a bit of a shock!”

“It obviously cost you time, do you know how much?”

“We timed it at twenty five seconds,” Steve called from the wings.

This revelation seemed to surprise not just the hacks sat out in front but the German sat beside me.

“Shitza!”

“So you would’ve been the outright winner without the crash,” Mr Eaton, Cycling Weekly, suggested.

“Possibly,” I allowed.

That’s a good question, did I try harder afterwards to compensate or would I have done it anyway – I guess we’ll never know.
 
 

“So how come they declared a draw, not that I’m complaining,” I asked Caro while we waited for my x-rays to come back.

“They changed the rules a few years ago to prevent it, they go to thousandths of a second now.”

“So we got the same time to three decimal points?”

“Yup,” she agreed.

“Wow,” I allowed.

“Bond?” a chap in a white coat queried halting that particular conversation.

“’S’me.”

“Gud, well as we thought, nothing broken as such,”

“Phew!”

“But,” he went on, “you do have a hairline fracture of your scapula.”

“Will I need a pot?” I enquired in mild panic.

“Pot? What is ‘pot’?”

“Plaster cast.” Cat advised him.

“Ah pot, plaster, um no fraulein, no ‘pot’ is required, a few days rest should be all.”

I let out the breath I’d been holding, that’s a relief, hold on; did he say few days rest?

“Thank you, doctor,” Caro offered, “come on, Drew let’s get back to the hotel.”

He did say few days, “Er yeah, thanks, Doc.”

“No problem, young lady, take care.”

 
 
Steve was waiting for us outside with one of the BC cars.

“Everything okay, no pots?”

“Hairline fracture,” Caro stated.

“Shoulder blade,” I supplied.

“Looks like we’ve got a problem for Sunday,” Caro told her colleague, “treatment is a few days rest.”

Noooooooooooooo!

Maddy Bell © 25.05.2014