The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3250 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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"What is wrong with playing for Scotland?" I asked my teenage daughter.

"It's not England, is it?" she sighed pouting at the same time.

"For many Scots that is probably the best thing about it."

"Huh," she said looking fed up with me. "Look, in terms of logistics, it's not possible is it?"

"I don't know, Gareth Bale plays for Wales and Milan."

"Yeah but he's an established international."

"I thought you were."

"It's the women's team, Mum, think again, nothing is fixed there..."

"Especially their morality." I added to her unfinished sentence.

"Okay, so they're shits - so bloody what, I'm out of it all now."

"It could give you a chance to get your own back when Scotland play them."

"That's the only tempting thing about it."

"Why not try for it, it's not guaranteed you'd get in anyway, you may not be good enough."

She burst out laughing, "Not good enough, ha, me an' a goalie could probably beat 'em."

"So why are you frightened about trying out for them?"

"What are people going to think?"

"Whatever they want, but you can make a certain group of people in London regret they way they treated you."

"What's to stop them saying they dropped me because I was really a boy?"

"The fact that they'd have to sell Wembley stadium to pay off the damages I sue them for and show them up as the bigots they are."

"You're crazy, you'd never beat them because the media would support them."

"Don't you believe it, I think I'll start a campaign, Trans Lives Matter.

"That was nearly as good as the one you thought up before, 'A sex change is for life, not just Christmas.'

"I still stand by that one, I thought it was quite good."

She rolled her eyes, "Says the woman who lives in stealth so deep half her family don't know about her."

"What half are those then?"

"Lizzie, Puddin', Cate and Bramble."

"I did tell Bramble."

"Not on my reckoning. When I asked her about it she was horrified."

"Sure she was, I suppose she blushed as well, just like you are Danielle Cameron." She was looking slightly pink before but in response to my comment she went a nice shade of pillar box.

She pretended to stamp off in high dudgeon, or maybe it was low dudgeon - if there is such a thing. Strange word, dugeon one meaning is the handle of a dagger which is French-English in origin, but the term meaning resentment has no certain origin, so probably originates from something aeons ago the roots of which have been lost in history, a bit like one of the dissertations I was supposed to be marking for someone's PhD only it failed to arrive and we have since been unable to contact the author - if there are enough extenuating circumstances, like the dog ate his mother and his father was abused by the au pair, who turned out to be a drag artiste called Norman who stole all the family silver while his cat weed on his lap top just before he was going to send in his dissertation. So the dog ate my homework, just ain't gonna cut it anymore. Anyway, Diana sent him a letter saying we hadn't received the aforementioned document in any shape, size or manner and that the price of corruption by bribery had increased enormously since the lockdown.

I remember Daddy telling me about a complaint he received many years ago. I asked what the complaint was about and he couldn't remember. I then asked him what he did about it and he simply replied, "Corrected the spelling and sent it back to them with 'fail', written across the top." I could just see him doing that, too.

I told all those who would listen I was going for a bike ride and Danni decided to come along as well. The others were watching some ancient film from back in the 1970s before I was born, suprised they didn't need a translator, didn't they still speak Norman French in those days?

I had to admit I hadn't done much riding for ages, though at the start of the lockdown I set up the turbo and did an hour a day for a month but that was two months ago and I'd hardly put bum to saddle since.

So off we set, me in an old Saunier Duval set on the Specialized and Danni who looked like she was going clubbing in a cycling outfit. I'd have a definite advantage on hills as the amount of mascara she was wearing would slow her down. I was rather glad she hadn't noticed me giggling to myself at this silly thought, she was of the opinion I was already mentally incompetent, perhaps she was right.

We had agreed our route and were crossing town when another cyclist came flying past us, wrapped in lycra which was all black. It was a bloke so I let him go, besides I wasn't in good enough form to give chase. I didn't think Danni was either but that didn't stop her standing on the pedals and tearing off after him. Bugger, that meant I had to go as well, just to keep her safe you understand. I clicked up a couple of cogs and wound up the speed by about fifty per cent. They were both still a long way ahead and I put my head down into time trial mode and set myself a punishing cadence as I began to close the gap.

The problem with 'chasing the rabbit' is that the bunny rarely knows you're in pursuit until you overtake them, then it can get quite competitive. I suspect the man in black, Danni was pursuing probably saw us as his rabbits now it was his turn, which may have been his intention in the first place; though with my overall body shape and long hair, he should have known I was female and I suspect Danni looks similar, her locks were certainly flapping in the breeze as she nearly caught him and I was closing in on her. She was tucked down into racing mode as well.

It was almost predictable that our rabbit should take the road up Portsdown Hill which would probably end my pursuit and I expected Danni to lose touch with him too. So much for my gift as a prophet, she was wheel sucking as he increased his pace to leave her behind, except he wasn't and she stayed with him, being much lighter in bodyweight. To my astonishment, I wasn't dropping back either and that spurred me on to try a bit harder, after all, this used to be my party trick.

Digging in, I upped my cadence but remained sitting letting the gears do the job, while black lycra man, was doing his impersonation of Lance Armstrong, dancing on the pedals. He pulled away for a few moments but my strategy caught up the gap and a couple of minutes later I was just behind Danni who was no tiring. I passed her and she sort of growled, "Go get him, Mummy," or words to that effect. It spurred me on and at the summit I caught and passed him, he'd blown. To rub it in a little I pulled away, recognising who it was, someone who once humiliated me not by out riding me but by telling me in front of the whole university club, to go play with the girlies.

About a quarter of a mile up the road I stopped to wait for Danielle. He pulled in just ahead of her. "That was some ride, girl," he gasped still breathing hard as he lifted his bidon from its cage on the down bar.

"Oh, Mummy, I'm knackered," gasped Danielle and I almost had to catch her as she stopped and wobbled.

"Good riding, young lady," said Howard Cornish to Danni. She nodded a response being busy pouring water down her throat. He looked at me, "You don't ride for a club, do you?"

"No," was my short reply.

"You should."

"Should I now?" Implying I didn't like strange men telling me what to do.

"I mean it's a pity not to see such talent put to good use." Despite his reddened face I suspect he was blushing.

"I was once told by some arsehole that I wasn't good enough for the ladies team, so I haven't bothered since."

"Which team was that?" he asked looking surprised.

"Sussex Uni, why?"

"Good gracious, I used to ride for Sussex Uni, who told you you weren't good enough?"

"Actually, I think it was you, I have to go, come along Danielle," I called to my smirking daughter as I pedalled off at a reasonable pace.

"Did you see his face, Mummy? I thought he was going to fall off his bike," she said as we wiped the bikes down and put them back in the bike shed.