Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.
Flippin’ annoying machine.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.
My heart thumped heavily in my chest as though trying to break free of its home.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.
Getting air into my lungs was proving an unexpected effort.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.
Voices, familiar but distant.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.
I turned my head in that general direction but what with my heart going nineteen to the dozen and my struggle for breath my eyes failed to actually focus on anything.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.
A wash of tepid air blew over me and the annoying beep decreased a tad.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.
The hammering in my chest started to subside, the voices became clearer, my fight for air less and my eyes started to actually focus.

“You alright, Gab?” Anja enquired as she slid to a halt beside me, “we got caught behind that tractor, I guess you got past okay.”
“Er yeah,” I supposed, well I could talk at least.
“Come on, you two,” Tina called as she slid past and around the island.

By the time I was moving again even Mand had caught up and I found myself on her wheel as we transited Daun town centre. The incessant beep was back to a more usual rate, less noticeable as it recorded a more normal level of heart activity. It was only a couple of minutes ride to the Steakhouse zum Dorfbrunnen, an unexciting modern building a short way outside of the Altstadt, I was surprised to see Mum’s A Klasse already outside as well as Henryck Pinger’s big Audi saloon.

Dad, Hen and Kat were already sat at one of the outside tables and in short order the rest of us parked bikes and claimed seats.

“Drinks are on their way, food’ll be about fifteen,” Dad advised.

George arrived in the bus, he’d had to take a longer route than we could on the bikes and there was soon an impromptu street striptease. Well not striptease per se, but the removal of damp jerseys and replacement with a variety of tracky tops and T’s. As cyclists you can’t afford to be shy, less so at the pro level but you get used to the poor or non-existent changing and toilet facilities, a degree of public nudity is almost inevitable.

“There a toilet?”
“Inside and round to the right, kiddo,” Mum supplied as she swapped her footwear.

I sat on the throne head in hands and finally let my emotions get the upper hand, a few dry sobs breaking free. My immediate needs were quickly done but I remained sat, unwilling, no, unable to move. Well not strictly true, I was shaking like a leaf.

Why I hear you ask? Well let’s be right, I'm pretty sure most people would be gibbering wrecks at the very least after that experience. Experience? that’s right, you don’t know do you, guess I'd best rewind and explain what brought me to this.

You remember the tractor, well I pulled out to pass it…

What I hadn’t seen as I approached the agricultural juggernaut was that there were three big silage trailers and the tractor itself was preparing to turn left. I say preparing, it was currently paused waiting for a fast moving truck coming towards us at some speed to clear the turning. It’s not a particularly wide road and with the tractor already starting its albeit paused turn the available road for me between it and the oncoming juggernaut was, how can I put it, non-existent.

My options at this point were somewhat limited, stopping a bike doing over forty kph requires maybe twenty metres, more possibly if you are to do it safely and I had maybe fifteen of those metres. I was already committed to my manoeuvre and to abort now wouldn’t have a good result and my guess was that there wasn’t time for me to get to the opposite curb before the truck. All that remained was to keep going and pray I didn’t become a mascot affixed to the front of the truck.

It was over in what, five seconds, four? I was right on the white line, slipping just to the right gave me the few centimetres that the speeding truck, horn blaring, missed me by. No mascot but the pressure wave nearly did for me instead, forcing me closer to the trailers than is healthy.
I popped through a gap no more than half a metre wide between tractor and juggernaut like a champagne cork which was when I opened my eyes. The remaining distance to the Daun sign was done without pedalling, I let my momentum carry me to the roundabout where the others caught up with me a couple of minutes later.

A couple of minutes during which the adrenalin really kicked in, the heart rate monitor Dad’s had me wearing the last few weeks beeping away at an alarming rate as I gathered myself slumped over my bars. I do not want to repeat that, ever!

“Gab? You in there? food’s on the table,” Mand’s voice broke through my fug.
“Uh huh.”
“You alright?”
“Er yeah, be right there.”
“You sure?”
“I said so didn’t I?” my snappiness was uncalled for but I'm not going to admit I was still shaky.
“All right, just checking.”

I waited until I heard her leave the rest room before concluding my business, redressing and then exiting the cubicle. Hands and face washed, hair redone I set off to rejoin the Apollinaris food fest outside.

“All right, Gabs?” Kat enquired as I squeezed in beside her.
“Yeah fine,” I lied.

As advertised our food was on the table, a decent sized piece of steak was already on my plate and tureens of veggies and rice were doing the rounds, no Pommes worst luck. It was a bit weird watching Mum and the other seniors, their interaction – long weeks sharing table and almost everything else has obviously made them into a tight knit family. Despite not feeling like eating my stomach and reputation told me not doing so wasn’t an option so I snagged a bowl of Rotkohl and started to load my plate.

“Your mum was saying you’re opening the old kiosk in Altenahr again?” Kat probed.
“Er yeah,” I allowed swapping the first dish with another doing the peas and carrots thing, “my friend, Con, her parents are paying for it and me an’ Con’ll be running it.”
“Neat,” she allowed sawing into her own slab of cow.
“What are you up to, not seen you for ages.”
“Same old,” she advised.

Same old for Kat is of course working as team dogsbody for the senior squad, not glamorous but she goes where they go.

“Thought you were supposed to be doing some sports science thing?” I suggested as I loaded my plate with rice.
“I am, sort of part time, weren’t you supposed to be going to college?”
“September, hospitality management down in Koblenz.”
“Bit over the top to run a Frite stand,” she suggested.
“Har de har, is that pepper sauce?”
“Yeah,” Kat agreed passing it over.

With consumption of calories underway conversation turned to less weighty matters, my hair colour, her on/off boyfriend – well you know the sort of stuff girls talk about. At least it took my mind off my earlier close shave on the way here.

Mand gave a loud yawn, “I'm knackered.”

With four of us in the A our bikes had to find alternative transport back to the Ahrtal, the team bus, Dad’ll collect them tomorrow.

“You’re quiet, kiddo,” Mum suggested as we retraced our route back towards Kelberg where we’ll take the road north to Adenau.
“Long day.” I suggested.
“Sounds like you both need an early night.”
“What about me?” Dad put in.
“Hmm, wouldn’t say no myself.”
“Mu-um,” I groaned.
“What? Can’t your parents have an early night.”
“It’s not the early night; it’s what you get up to.”
Mand snorted. It’s alright for her it’s not her parents doing the bed bouncing.
“I don’t know what you mean, Gaby Bond,” said Mumsy trying but failing to sound affronted.

Beep, beep! We all gave the occupants of the passing Audi a wave, no space issue in the Pinger’s transport.

“You need a lift?” Mum enquired as I primped in the door of of the microwave.
“Thought Dad was having the car today?”
“Not till later, I can drop you two off.”

I didn’t really need a lot of persuading, the combination of tight skirt and heels isn’t the most conducive to public transport and forget Gaby power, even Mum’s driving is a better way to make the six kilometre or so journey. Why am I done up like a dogs dinner? Our meeting with Herr Bayermann at the Tourist Info of course.

“In that case yes please.”

Mum dropped us as close as she could to Marktplatz but we still had to walk several hundred metres. Con was less severely dressed than yours truly, maybe I should’ve gone for a dress instead of this skirt and maybe the heels are a bit much.
“Ten to,” Con noted after a glance at the clock on the church tower.
“Early’s always good.”
“You’ve got the sketches?”
“’Course,” I told her patting my poshest shoulder bag.

Once at the Tourist office we used the window to check our appearance before joining the customers inside.

The look on the snooty moo’s face when we presented ourselves was priceless, she must’ve recognised us but we certainly don’t look like two teen time wasters this morning.

“If you take seats, Herr Bayermann should be here shortly.”
“Danke,” I allowed before leading my companion across to the couple of utilitarian chairs supplied for customers.
“Her face,” Con whispered once we were seated.
“That was the idea of getting togged up,” I pointed out, “this looks like our guy.”

Con joined me in assessing the new arrival, I guess mid thirties in typical beige smart casual as favoured by office types in these parts. There was an exchange with Snotty resulting in him glancing our way before concluding his conversation. Our assumption was confirmed when he then came over to us.

“Good morning, ladies, would you like to come through,” he invited.
“Thank you,” I agreed rising as elegantly as I could with ten centimetre heels.

He led the way behind the counter and behind a frosted glass screen into what passes for the office.

“Sorry, Freddy Bayermann,” he told us offering his hand.
“Connie Thesing.”
“Gabrielle Bond,” we each pressed flesh in turn.
“Coffee?”
“Er please.”
He poked his head back past the screen, “Can we get some coffee, please, Susan?”

“Please,” he indicated the visitor chairs.
“Thank you,” I replied taking the lead, Con apparently content to let me do the talking.

We settled ourselves on the, at least padded if not greatly comfortable, seating before Herr Bayermann went on.

“So what can we do for you?”

Maddy Bell © 04.02.17