Gaby Book 18 - Summery

I was wrong about no other girls today, on the contrary there were quite a few here.

“Seem to be a lot of the fairer sex today,” Mand suggested as we utilised the changing room at the school.
“Didn’t your dad say,” Ron started, “it’s part of the NRW girls’ series.”
“There’s such a thing?” I queried.
“’Course.”
“So what about the lads?” Mand asked.
“Not enough girls to run on its own I guess,” Ron offered.
‘I'm sure it is.’
‘Like you were sure it was Madonna in Dortmund last week.’

The voices, well I sort of recognised them from somewhere, the owners came into the room.

“Told you!” Barbie gushed, for it was she and her sidekick Fran that we met here last year .
“Hi guys,” Ron allowed.
“Madonna?” well I had to ask.

“Okay girls?” Dad asked as we shivered on the hilltop below the Bismark monument waiting for the start.

I wish this weather would settle down, one day it’s warm and bright, the next it’s like winter and hissing down – today it’s hedging its bets, cool, breezy but clear skies.

“Be happier when we get going,” Mand opined.
“Yeah, what’s the hold up,” I asked idly flicking my Ergo paddles.
“Some sort of incident on the circuit, the police won’t let the event start until it’s cleared.” Dad advised.
“How long?” Ron asked, we’ve been stood for nearly half an hour already.
“They didn’t give specifics, probably an accident.”
“Great,” I sighed.

It was only five minutes later that an official called us to the line.

“Okay folks, the Polizei have given the all clear for us to start but we’ve decided to reduce the distance by a lap.”

Unsurprisingly there were no complaints about that I can tell you.

“We’ll start in five minutes,” the head judge guy concluded.
“’Bout time,” Barbie commented.
“Hang on to my bike,” I told Mands, “I'll lose our trackies.”
“’Kay.”
“Any chance you could take ours?” Fran hinted as she slipped her race cape off.
“Go on,” I sighed.
“Cheers, Gabs, that's my mum in the red jacket.”

I passed my bike off to Mand, gathered the assorted tops and clacked over to the peanut gallery of parents. Fran’s mum met me and I handed off Barb and Fran's stuff as Dad reached me.

“Okay, kiddo, remember winning isn’t as important today, we’re after girls’ league points.”
“Yes Dad.”
“Go on, have a good ride.”
“Thanks.”

We slipped out of the park and onto the city streets behind the lead cars flashing lights, a motley group of riders from hopeful hobbyists to world champions – how many sports does that happen in? Did I mention there are a lot of girls riding, I did didn’t I, I never usually think about the sex of the riders, I'm just one of them. Here though it’s more in your face, I'm surrounded by pony tails, boobs and pinkness.

Okay, I admit it, I tick those boxes too what with my pink hair and the girls poking my Apollinaris jersey out despite my sports bra. I've been ‘lucky’ in that I've been able, up to now at least, to compete with the lads but is this my future in the sport?

It’s a longer neutral section than usual today, something like two kilometres, so despite the delay we were reasonably warmed up by the time we’d climbed out of the city. The neutral should mean no racing but the lads riding were to a man, boy, whatever, heading the field as we approached the deregulation sign and the start proper. Dad had suggested a game plan, essentially ignore the boys but like that's a bit defeatist right?

“Ron,” I hissed to my neighbour.
“’Sup?”
“Suicide.”
“Eh?”

I motioned with my head towards the front of the peloton.

She smiled as she realised my intent, “Suicide.”
“Laters!”

I hit the ‘go’ button literally as the green flag appeared from the lead car. Full gas, out of the saddle I shot forward and was almost on the cars bumper before the driver reacted. This is a big gamble, seventy or so kilometres ahead of me and no direct assistance – oh long escapes I'm used to but I've usually got some company.

“What’s she up to?” Barb asked the Apollinaris girl next to her, the English one.
“Stretching legs?”

The move had been totally unexpected and the reaction muted to say the least, some of the lads had upped the pace a bit but you’d have to be Jan Ulrich to make it stick with the full race distance to go.

I kept the pressure on all the way to the top of the climb before relaxing slightly as I joined the circuit. A quick glance behind revealed no chase, in fact no sight of the rest of the race, I took a drag on my bidon then got back down to work. It’s mostly downhill for the next few kilometres, I settled into the drops and snicked up a couple of sprockets.

Essentially today's course is up and down the northern side of the row of hills separating the Deilbachtal from the Wupper, not mountain climbing but if memory serves, twisty and bumpy. A lap sits about nineteen kilometres long so that's like forty minutes a go at race speeds, boy so it’s maybe three hours to the finish. The road switched about a bit and I enjoyed the freedom to choose my own line unhindered through the corners.

A couple of times the speedo saw in excess of fifty k’s and then it was the turn onto the main road at the bottom. No sign of the ‘incident’, still, that's no matter now, the road along the valley is wide and smooth – well apart from the big drains in the edge. Blue lights ahead soon warned of the turn off onto the climb, all nine kilometres of it.

“What’s the silly moo think she’s doing?” Mand queried as she sat alongside Ron on the descent into Langenberg.
“Going for the long one,” Ron suggested.
“Which leaves us where? We supposed to block?”
“I guess.”
“So much for an easy girly race,” Mand lamented.
“Yeah,” Ron agreed, “there’s bound to be a move on the climb.”
“Oh joy,” Mand allowed with a roll of her eyes.

The art of this sort of climb is keeping a regular cadence, nice and steady like – well that's one approach. Once I cleared the near hairpin turn in I attacked the gradient with some vim, I'm not interested in just getting up the hillside, I want, no need to take as much advantage as possible. The road surface is horrible, tar and chip with a dose of broken along the road edge and more widespread on the corners.

It’s not steep, well not 10% steep at any rate although it might hit that in places, no its more like 5%, a grind and energy sapping. The wind started to make itself felt as the height accumulated and the top approached – not strong but certainly a stiff breeze. I was grateful to see the next turn, at least there's a short down before the final bit of climb.

When I say short it’s like a kilometre down to the river then a short sharp climb out the other side complete with hairpin. I accelerated into the bottom of the climb then out of the saddle for the steepest bit. The road was strewn with straw, you know, little bits blowing all over then I spotted the source.

Indeed you’d be hard pushed to miss the overturned tractor and its trailers on the outside of the hairpin, there being a couple of Polizei and others surveying the carnage of straw bales and machinery. It was clearly the cause of our delayed start, how can you get a tractor to fall over? My legs were complaining by the time I reached the summit and the start of lap two.

“Allez, allez!”
“Dig in!”
“Go on, girl!”
The small group of spectators shouted encouragement, I managed a grimace in reply.
“Hup, hup!”
“Steady, kiddo,” Dad instructed as I blearily rode past the Apollinaris cheer team.
I gave a nod of acknowledgement and tried to relax a bit as the road started to descend once more.

“Far too early,” Dave muttered as he watched his daughter take a slug from her drinking bottle on the downhill side of their vantage point.
“I thought they were taking it easy today,” Angela noted.
“That was the plan, where’s the bunch?”

Ron hadn’t been wrong, the eventual reaction to Gab’s escape did come on the climb, nothing drastic but an incessant pressure from four or five of the lads. Both the Apollinaris girls were safely sat in but by the top there was a string of girls, in ones and twos who’d lost contact. Of their team mate they’d seen nothing although the flashing lights of the lead car were visible once or twice.

“Here they come,” Dave told his companion as he scanned the distance through the binoculars.
“The girls there?”
“Can’t see them, oh there’s Mand, looks like Ron behind.”

It was fully five minutes after the leaders transit that the remains of the peloton eventually crested the summit. Mostly male, the chasers did include more than just the Apollinaris girls even if it was about a three to one ratio.

“Hang in girls!”
“Five,” Dave threw in.

“Did he say five,” Fran asked her gasping friend.
“Think so,” Barb agreed grabbing her bidon from its cage.
“She’d need an engine to be that far ahead.”
“We are talking about the girl who came third at the Paris Roubaix here,” Barbie mentioned.
“And won in Baden last week,” Ron, overhearing the conversation added.
“Wonder woman!” the other two chorused.

I swung onto the main road before fishing into my pockets for some food, one of those new energy bars. The problem with an escape like this is, well you can’t relax, the closer to the finish the more likely fatigue and a chase will do for you. I suppose I could sit up but then I've wasted my effort so far so really I'm committed or maybe need committing.

Hmm, at least these bars are better than the old ones, they were like eating clay, yeuk! I kept the speed quite high along the valley, all too soon I was back on the climb for the second time. It’s still best part of forty k’s to the finish, I'm about halfway I guess, I need to take it a bit steadier this time around.

That doesn’t mean I slack off and enjoy the sunshine – I wish! After a couple of k’s my jersey was sodden, sweat trickling down into my shorts, luvverly, not. I was actually quite relieved when higher up the breeze cooled me a bit, the boys are so lucky, they can unzip their shirts.

I risked a look behind but there was no sign of pursuit, they could be just out of sight I suppose. It felt more of a grind on the final assault but the village at the top hove into view and I relaxed my effort a little. Come on Gabs, one more lap.

Maddy Bell © 17.11.16