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*Chapter 17*

Cross Trained

 
 
“Mornin’, spud.”

“Morning.”

“What are you up to at this hour?”

“Dur, training?”

“Don’t speak to your mother like that,” Dad told me, “now apologise.”

“Um, sorry, Mum.”

I sloshed some coffee into my mug, the angel one Mum bought for me and the girls last Christmas.

“You’re not wearing that stuff, you need to change when you’ve had that,” Mum instructed.

“What for, it’s what I always wear for training.”

“You are not wearing good kit for cross training.”

“Cross training? I’ve got three hours to do right, Dad? Da-ad?”

“I er might have forgotten to tell you last night.” He admitted.

“Dave!” “Dad!” we chorused.

“Sorry, I was trying to sort out the trip to Leeds.”

“I can’t do cross training, the Orange’s not been used for like forever.”

“Yes you can, I serviced it Thursday after George suggested today’s session, tyres are pumped, chain oiled.”

“Anita and Erika should be here about nine so you’ve got plenty of time to get ready.” Mum added.

 
 
It was only just turned eight thirty however when first Erika, in what looks very much like Mum’s old A Klasse, then Anita in an aging Renault Megane pulled up in front of Schloss Bond.

“Morning!” Mum called down from the garage, we were just refitting a cleat to one of my mtb shoes after finding it was loose.

“Hi, Jen.”

“You managed to find us then, Anita?”

“Had to stop at the bakery for directions, the girl in there knew where you were as soon as I said Bond.”

“Gaby goes to school with her.” Mum supplied, “Coffee?”

“Better not, there’s not many lav’s in the countryside!” Anita grinned.

“Erika?”

“As Nita said.”

“Well let’s get started then, you got a track pump I can borrow?” Anita queried.

“Compressor in the workshop, Gab’ll show you.” Mum told her.

 
 
By the time the girls were ready nine o’clock was a thing of the past but we didn’t have a fixed schedule so it wasn’t a problem. We’ve got vineyards pretty much all around us here, providing you stick to the main roadways no one takes any notice of you if you go through them. So the plan is to follow the fitness trail up the hill then follow the Ahrtal Wein weg across to Altenahr, we’re meeting Mum and Pops at the sports ground.

“See you later.” Mum called out.

“Laters!”

I led the way into Dernau, the unfamiliar hum of the deep treaded tyres loud in my ears. It’s not far to the little parking area at the bottom of the fitness trail, we had to dismount to use the gate then waited whilst first a couple of runners then a dog walker came past.

“Morning, Gaby, off for a bike ride?”

“Yes, Frau Holdorf, how’s Fritzy?”

I got caught yesterday morning in the bakery with twenty minutes of the dog’s adventures at the vets.

“He’s better today, quite perky in fact, now where is he, Fritzy, come to mama, Fritzy!”

I’m sure I could see the wiry Dachshund hiding behind the bin, poor dog!

“Friend of yours?” Erika suggested as we started up the stony trail.

“She’s a regular at the bakery, I work there sometimes.”

“Ah.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your mum said you had a job.” Erika supplied.

“Come on you two,” Anita chivvied from above us, “last one to the top cleans the bikes!”

That’s fighting talk, the pursuit was on.

On the road you can just hit the go juice but on even this fairly solid trail you need different techniques – too much weight over the front and you’ll spin out, reverse it and the front wheel will head skyward. Balancing between the two is quite difficult and it was a steep learning curve on the kilometre long climb. It was close run at the top, my sprinting skills only just getting me there first.

“Glad we don’t get much of that in the races,” Anita wheezed as we caught our breath and a sip of water.

No, from my limited experience it’s all tree roots and mud.

“We just follow this now?” Erika queried.

“Pretty much,” I agreed, “it drops through the trees into Altenahr at the end.”

I must admit that I’ve never ridden along here; I did walk along it with Dad not long after we moved but that was over a year ago so my memory was a bit fuzzy.

 
 
“Right then, smooth and fast, let’s do it!” Nita enthused.

I guess she’s the boss so I clicked in and set off. Anita flashed past within metres, Erika hard on her wheel; I ended up trailing them by twenty metres. I’m guessing we were doing about thirty K on the stony trail, exhilarating stuff. I nearly went arse over tip at the first drain across the roadway, I dabbed my brakes, the others performing a neat bunny hop.

I gradually lost ground on the girls, I can bunny hop but doing it at speed isn’t something I’ve practised. The trail weaves its way along the valley, not flat by any means, the climbs generally short and steep, the downs tending to be much shallower but fast. Having lost sight of them some distance back, I was surprised when I crested a small rise to find them stood in the roadway.

Well Erika was stood; Anita was hopping her bike sideways up a set of steps leading into the vines. Hop, hop, leap! That was at least thirty centimetres! She repeated it twice more to reach the top then impressed further by riding down the steps finishing with a front stoppie, one eighty turn to ground and stop, whoa!

“How the heck do you do that?” I quested.

“Practice?” she suggested.

“Don’t worry, Gab, I can’t do any of that fancy stuff either,” Erika informed me.

 
 
We resumed riding, not the breakneck assault of before but a gentler pace until we reached the forest. Even today, a pleasantly warm morning, the trail through the trees was damp and the rocks slick. The descent was taken at a correspondingly slower pace and when our route joined the castle path we had to dodge walkers too.

I got to play route finder again once we reached the road, down into the town then onto the valley road. We turned before the tunnel to follow the river along to the sports ground where we found our Mercedes parked.

“This looks like the place,” Erika suggested.

“Where’s Mum and Dad though?”

I could hear a steady thump, thump and voices, apparently the other side of the hut.

“Mum?”

“Round here,” came the reply.

The three of us walked our steeds around the building to where Dad was busy hammering stakes into the ground to hold up the planks Mum was holding.

“Good ride?”

“It’s a nice trail, not a soul on most of it.” Anita mentioned.

“These okay?” Dad queried stretching after his labours.

“Looks fine, Dave.”

 
 
“So, straighten the legs then pull up.” Nita directed, demonstrating the technique to her small audience sat on the changing room steps.

We’ve been jumping on and off our bikes, practising our bike skills for over an hour now, I for one am starting to feel a bit sore. Neet’s bunny hop master class reminded me of that afternoon in Grottoes last year when I ended up watching that lad, Hooch doing similar stuff on his BMX. I certainly hadn’t thought then, or even until this morning that those types of skills would help with my racing career.

Anita did a few more bits of acrobatics before stopping.

“Guess I need to do some practice,” I noted.

“Can’t hurt,” Nita agreed.

“You three wanting a lift back?” Dad enquired.

“Nah, we ought to have a bit of a leg stretch before we finish.”

“We’ll see you back at the house in a bit then, Gab’ll show you where the shower is.” Mum advised.

 
 
We left my rents dismantling our training obstacles and headed back towards the tunnel. You can quickly pick up speed as you drop to the fire station and it felt well dodgy taking the tight corners on the knobbly tyres. It turned into something of a race after that down through Mayschoß and Rech, dodging the few grockles making the most of the fine day.

Local knowledge gave me the edge for the signpost sprint, the others complained of unfair advantage but like the sign is pretty huge. We made our way to Klein Schloss Bond where I got to direct the clean up operation. I’d barely organised towels for the girls before our Mercedes pulled onto the drive.

 
 
Clean and changed, we got into a discussion about kit, kit needed for the cross season but then it strayed to other stuff. I got to introduce the girls to the family’s fleet of bikes – I think I counted them all once – there’s a lot! Anita at least is a bit of a techie, when we started discussing the merits of my preferred Italian gear set against the Japanese stuff, Mum and Erika drifted off.

“…The Campy shifters fit my hands better.”

“I’ll give you that, I still prefer the double paddle though, that stupid inside button’s awkward to use.”

“Less effort than trying to swing that lever across,” I countered.

And so the conversation went on, no one winning, no one losing just an exchange of views.

 
 
At some point we moved up into the house for coffee and the shrine to Bond family success then came under scrutiny. I don’t mean to be boastful but I’ve got quite a collection of gongs and trophies which of course I took delight in showing off. The hill climb champions gong took some explaining, we don’t have such events in Germany, it’s a very British sort of event I guess.

The discussion moved onto race experiences, get any group of racing cyclists and at some point stories are exchanged of mishaps, successes, who they’ve raced against, beaten, the one up man ship of competitors on and off the road. Some of my stories could win Top Trumps but the others have had some interesting bike adventures too.

All good team building stuff I guess, I don’t get to do this with Ron or the others much, for starters they’ve been involved in lots of my stories! I mean it’s not really that interesting listening to the story of the race you were in is it? You know what happened, what the result was.

I’d lost all track of time; my stomach hadn’t however giving a loud rumble of protest at its lack of fill.
Maddy Bell © 30.10.2014