*Chapter 2*
Thoroughly Wupped
“Keep it steady!” Dad advised as I approached the few spectators a few minutes later.
“Time?” I gasped.
“’Bout six.”
I nodded and went for another energy bar to help get me around the last lap.
“She going to make it?” Angela asked.
“Who can say, if the rest get organised I doubt it, I wish she’d listen.”
“Teenagers, Dave, they’re all the same.”
“I live in the hope that’ll change, I used to think Jules was the wild one, since you know, all the plumbing stuff it’s like this one is making up for lost time.”
“She’s a good kid, Dave.”
“I know but sometimes, I sort of wish the old, quiet Drew was back, is that wrong?”
“She’s been through a lot, Dave, she’s still finding herself.”
“That’s what Jen said when her sister started getting into all that goth stuff.”
“Better than bottling it up.”
“I guess so.”
“I know so, when we lost Ron's sister, well it wasn’t a good time but Ron, well she went from the bubbliest most mischievous bundle of fun to just the saddest little girl. It took ten years of therapy to even get her to accept it wasn’t her fault for Heidi's death. It was really only when someone suggested getting her involved in sport that her ‘guilt’ was released.”
“But it wasn’t her fault,” Dave observed.
“Of course not, how can anyone prevent cot death but she still took on the guilt.”
“But Ron's not got pink hair and an increasing collection of holes.”
“I wish she did, away from all this she’s still insecure. Coffee?”
It’s funny some of the stuff that goes through your head when you’re racing – especially in this sort of situation. Of course there’s all the calculations, how far to the finish, when should I eat, how much is left in the bidons and then there's the other side, how fast do I need to go to stay ahead, how fast do the pursuers have to go to catch me. A lot of it is pure speculation of course but if I've got six minutes on the bunch they need to take twenty seconds per kilometre to catch me from here, certainly not impossible.
On the other hand, with today's field I reckon it’ll be a stretch, these guys are not first division so even if they get organised I think they’ll struggle to pull me back. Well that's my gamble anyhow. And if I'm still putting in 100%, well it just makes it that much more difficult.
You can’t gain a lot of time on the downhills but you can lose time if that makes sense. I practice going down quickly, picking the fastest line and whilst being fifty kilos wet through puts me at a disadvantage I can get away with stuff that heavier riders can’t. One of which is just coming up.
The road flicked to the left and I gripped the hoods a bit tighter, gripping the frame between my knees – here goes! I concentrated on my line and when the surface dipped I tensed ready, up and weeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! It wasn’t an Evel Knievel max air jump but I definitely left the ground for several metres, I landed with a small jolt and returned to my pedalling.
Oh yeah, she shoots, she scores!
So if I kept my six minutes to here they need to pull back nearly half a minute per kilometre, that's getting harder unless I blow. So don’t blow Gab, duh! I snicked it into the twelve sprocket and concentrated on riding fast, through the Langenberg turn and onto the fast, smooth and all too short main road.
“Guh!” Barbie allowed as the remains of the bunch passed the crashed tractor for a second time, “I swear this is steeper than last time.”
“Yeah,” Fran agreed.
The girls were doing pretty well, spurred on by the presence of the two sky blue clad Apollinaris riders. Of course they sort of knew the older of the pair, Veronike Grönberg, she only lives over in Mettmann and they’d ridden the same events before. The other girl, a blonde didn’t speak great German, maybe Dutch or Polish, but she was a strong rider too, giving as good as any of the lads in the group.
No one in the depleted bunch seemed keen to do anything but get their breath as they crossed to Dönberg to complete the lap.
“Keep it going!”
“Steady!”
“Six, block!”
Ron nodded towards Dave bond.
“She got another minute?” Mand asked sliding alongside her team mate.
“Looks like it.”
“I didn’t think she could get that much on her own.”
“This lot aren’t committed enough, she’d never last in a Jungere race.”
“Guess not,” Mand allowed grabbing her bottle.
“Just need to keep a lid on any last lap heroics,” Ron noted.
A trickle of sweat ran down my back into my bra, lovely. I was definitely a bit slower this time up the climb, not a lot, maybe a couple of k’s, hopefully the bunch will be suffering the same. I'm sure last time here it rained, at least, looking at the sky, we’ll be saved from that misery.
I kept plugging away but I was spending more time out of the saddle to stay on top of the gears. There’s not a lot of shade on the climb but I can see the woods just before the top, thank the heavens. They didn’t just cut a lap from the distance, they cut the drink station which means both my bottles are now empty, gott, I really need a wet.
The turn in the village seemed further than I remembered, girl (well I can hardly say boy can I?), was I pleased to get there. I squeezed the last dregs from my second bottle, it really was just a couple of drops, then returned to the job in hand. Down, over the bridge then out of the saddle through the straw and past the stricken farm machinery and up to through the hamlet to the summit.
It’s not far to the turn off, I spotted the blue lights of the Polizei auto long before I actually got there. I gave a smile and little finger wave as I turned off the circuit and started the mostly downhill return to Wuppertal. A board suggested it was five kilometres to the finish, oh yeah!
Last time here it was a frantic chase and a photo finish, today it’s just keeping the juice on. I was soon into the city, under the autobahn and with a police outrider heading towards the park and the finish at the botanical gardens. Nearly there, come on Gab, you can do it.
I made the last turn and started the last kilometre, a climb all the way to the finish. A quick look behind revealed no immediate danger of being caught so rather than kill myself I settled into a steady cadence, as long as I'm first across the line it doesn’t matter what the gap is. Into the park and the serpentine climb to the finish, I was into the last two hundred when I caught a glimpse of flashing lights on the park approach.
A small crowd started cheering as I made the last turn, nearly there girl. I sat up and straightened my jersey, might as well look smart as I take the win. The sound of my pursuers drifted from below, I gave a last burst of gas before crossing the line, arms thrust aloft in a victory salute.
The chasers actually took another two minutes to arrive, a messy sprint between the lads which the surviving girls wisely kept clear of.
However, a girly sprint followed, Ron taking the honours from Fran, Barb and Mand bringing up the rear.
“You guys riding the whole series?” Barbie queried emerging from the shower room wearing nothing but the towel she was drying her hair with.
“Put some clothes on,” Fran suggested.
“Not sure,” I allowed trying but failing to not look at the naked girl, “depends on the other races I guess.”
“Just wondered if we have a chance,” Barb noted as she turbaned her hair.
“You guys should try the Jungere league races,” Ron suggested.
“We’re not that good,” Fran replied.
“You were still there at the finish,” I pointed out, “that’s half the battle.”
“Yeah but you were miles ahead,” the brown haired girl put in.
“You just have to treat her like one of the boys,” Ron opined, “you really should do the national series, there’s not that many girls do it.”
“We’re not in a fancy team like you guys,” the still half naked barb mentioned.
“We haven’t always been, eh Mand?”
“Eh, haven’t been what?” My house mate queried as she arrived from the showers wearing more than Barb was even now.
“In a race team,” Ron filled in.
“Oh, er no, someone lost their bra? There’s one on a hook in there.”
“Oops, that’ll be me,” Barbie admitted.
“Mand's even come from England to get in the team,” Ron went on.
“Barb thought she was a Nederlander.”
“...And our winner today after an amazing lone effort, Gabrielle Bondt, Team Apollinaris!”
I clambered onto the podium and waved to the crowd, small as it was. The lads who took second and third spots loomed over me despite the extra height the middle step offered. Sometimes it sucks to be small.
“You sure it’s okay?” Dad pressed as we drew up to the Grönberg's place.
“Of course it is, to be sure I think Marcus likes talking shop with you, Dave.”
Angela has invited us for dinner which is nothing rare but Ron's dad will be home which is.
“So what was today all about?” Ron demanded once we were settled in her room with drinks and enough snacks to last until dinner.
“Whatcha mean?” I enquired selecting a biscuit.
“Don’t act your shoe size,” Mand put in, “disappearing up the road like that.”
“Oh that.”
“That,” my friends agreed.
“Just thought I'd give it a throw, the field didn’t look very strong.”
“It was supposed to be an easy day,” Mand pointed out.
“What can I say, I didn’t fancy a sprint today.”
“Dressed like Elvis?” Dad confirmed.
“Every one of them, white suits, hair the lot, it was like a set of dominoes, they were all in a line at the gate, the first one fell backwards looking for his boarding card, they went tock, tock, tock, eighteen of them!” Marcus chuckled, “Not one of them close to sober of course.”
“I'd like to’ve seen that,” Ron opined.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“Not so much fun for the staff or other passengers,” Angela suggested.
“Well no,” Marcus agreed, “we had to take two off the flight after being sick but it was quite funny, tock, tock, tock.”
“Instead of talking, eat, I didn’t cook this for you to waste,” Angela admonished.
“I'm not wasting it, look I'm eating!”
“See what I have to put up with, Dave?”
Dad wisely didn’t reply.
Angela’s speciality might be cakes but she does a fair dinner too, beef stroganoff with a green salad today, it might’ve turned out warm but after today's effort I for one was ready for a good feed.
“Marcus is a comic,” Dad stated as we made our way across to the autobahn and points towards Dernau.
“Yeah,” I agreed dryly, “regular Will Smith.”
“What's up with you?”
“Tired I guess.”
“You didn’t have to ride the whole race on your own, it was your choice.”
“I know, it worked though didn’t it?”
“This time,” Dad agreed.
“You don’t have to rub in how much better you are,” Mand added.
“I wasn’t, I mean I didn’t.”
“Well that's what it looks like to everyone else,” she went on.
Maddy bell © 19.11.16
