Gaby Book 18 - Summery

 
I checked around our little group, apart from the two J’s there were five other lads, one of them, in a French national team jersey I vaguely recognised – well I saw him at Roubaix. The others however were unknowns, three Dutch lads and a Scruffy looking boy from somewhere in eastern Europe. What they know of us is anyone’s guess, they might recognise Jamie from the coverage in France but possibly not.

As for me, well I'm in a different shirt and looking a lot less like a serious rider with my pigtails, ribbons and make-up. Whether the ruse will work or not we’ll find out shortly I guess. Josh glanced over and I gave a tiny nod – games on.

To be honest it doesn’t really matter if we get clear of our companions as long as we stay clear of the pursuit and catch the leaders, a ten, twelve man sprint wouldn’t be so bad, with Cav somewhere behind I would fancy my chances. Jamie took his lead from the big Tynesider and started the action with an out of saddle effort on the first slight dip of the road. There was no immediate need for Apollinaris to give chase, first let’s see how the others react.

It wasn’t quite a unanimous decision, one of the Dutch lads hesitated a little but led by Scruffy the others started a chase, a chase that Josh added his strength to but I failed to contribute to. Jamie kept the pressure on which meant the retrieval had to be serious to get up to him. I was impressed by the Scot’s effort, I shouldn’t’ve of been surprised after Roubaix but compared to last summer – well he’s a different rider.

With me still dangling at the back, some hard turns by the others eventually brought us up to Jamie. The danger was a return to our previous speed but Scruffy decided to have a dig, now that’s what we need. He gained a bit of open road but the rest of the group were sharp enough to spot the danger, indeed of this lot I considered him to be the wild card.

A rotation was started by the lowlanders and I ‘managed’ to take a turn, not that I offered much shelter to any of the others. I gave Jamie the thumbs up as we crossed, we’re clearly not out of the woods but at least we stand a bit more chance. Josh put in a long hard turn, the elastic started to stretch a bit but Scruffy was back and we were transiting Valkenburg.

We were out of the town before there was enough clear road to see the lead group, we were closer but not close enough. Nothing for it, I'll have to show a bit more willing. I checked around me, Scruffy was looking pensive but the other Europeans were relaxing causing a reduction in our group speed.

Here goes nothing, I gave a quick check behind and hit warp drive. Once I was past the rest of the group and clear I went into time trial mode and gave it full gas. I kept it going through the next village, the one with the bends, ahead of me the gap to the leaders was closing quite rapidly. I eased slightly, that climb’s coming up and I can’t afford to be on the rivet when I get there.

It was no surprise when I heard a gear change behind me, it was a surprise to find it was Scruffy though. Where’s Josh or even Jamie? No time to waste speculating, the new arrival came alongside and gave a cheeky grin before moving ahead.

There was nothing for it but to go with him which I'm sure was his plan as he wasn’t backward in suggesting I take a turn at the front, cheeky sod! The leaders were under a hundred metres ahead when we crossed the Aachen road, just fifty when I recognised the approach to that hill. I'm not getting caught out again, I took a long pull on my bidon and took the opportunity to check behind.

I couldn’t see the main peloton but Josh and co were still there, maybe three hundred in arrears, that’ll be plan C then. Scruffy wound it up into the climb, I let him go for now, the leaders are close enough to touch after all. Being small and light does have advantages and going uphill is one, I was soon within the leaders numbers and easily climbing through, Scruffy was quickly behind and although not the intention, when it started to level off a bit I was numero uno on the road.

A few deep breaths, another go at the bottle and a look behind followed in about that order as I kept a good but not hard pace up the lesser incline. They were stretched out behind me, ones and two’s doing their best to maintain position. The summit was still another K away, do I kick again and hope to stay away or gamble on a gallop?

If Josh had been at hand it would’ve been a no brainer but I'm on my own here and it’s still about thirty kilometres back to Maastricht. I eased off a little, let’s use this lot to get me to the finish. The rest of the lead group came up in dribs and drabs, any pretence of being a useless girly on my part is out of the window now, my colours are nailed to the mast good and proper.

“Bond.”
“Michael,” I allowed as my Belgian friend joined me just before the summit, “nice day.”
“Not bad,” he agreed before sucking from his bottle, “on your own?”
“Josh is in the next group with Jamie.”

He winced, clearly he was still irked by the Roubaix finish.

A quick head count made a bakers dozen , good size to stay away and not too many for a sprint. There were more familiar faces, some unknowns, I was surprised to see that new Team GB streak of nothing sat at the back with Scruffy. Interesting, I thought he was behind, I'm guessing Jamie had assumed that too by his throwing in with me and Josh, oh well.

“Up!” the universal alarm shout rang out just before we made the sharp right that takes us into the technical descent.
There was a general surge in reply as the cause, Scruffy lit the blue touch paper.

Sugar, that lad’s got no idea of how it works. I wanged it into the little sprocket and joined in the pell-mell chase down into the woods. Talk about mad, accelerate, brake, accelerate, brake, it was taking me all my time to hold my position, no chance of moving forward as we descended at close on seventy kph through the trees.

The attempt at escape finally ran out of steam when we emerged onto the flatter tarmac in the valley bottom, idiot. One more proper climb, I'm not gonna get away on my own, not with Michael here and no backup. We hit the bottom of the climb at a reasonable pace, that Bradley kid was keeping a high tempo and no one else looked keen to take over the effort, hmm I wonder.

“Gaby,” I offered a hand, “you fancy having a better go over the top?” I offered in German.
“Peter,” Scruffy replied giving my digits a quick shake, “the Deutscher wunder woman eh?”

His German quite good.

“Dunno about that.”
“What have you in mind?”

the others were concentrating on long streak all the way up the climb which allowed me and Peter to sit in near the back, perfect for us to regather our resources. The pace hardly changed on the last two fifty meters when it tilted up which had Peter out of the saddle and breathing hard. It was still a compact group as we approached the summit, time for plan, er D.

I swung out and accelerated past those ahead, now breathing hard after following Bradley up the climb. Peter slotted on my wheel and I slipped it into the twelve and let rip. My move almost caught out the lead car on the first hairpin, I went round pretty much alongside.

We were through the next turn before Peter came through and I was straight into his slipstream which is where I stayed until we were through the second set of hairpins. My companion isn’t that much bigger than me so when we started a fast rotation across the Limburg countryside we both got some shelter. Twenty K, it’s not a huge distance, thirty minutes or so of racing but can we make it stick?

A sharp change of direction allowed a check on our pursuers, all of about three hundred metres separated us, the slightest error will end our advantage. I quickly stuffed an energy bar in my maw and took a slug from my remaining bottle, don’t want to run out of gas. Peter was taking longer turns, not because I couldn’t but he’s obviously a tenacious rider so I wasn’t about to argue, he’s already admitted he can’t sprint, this is his chance.

My comp suggested we were within ten kilometres of the line when we turned onto the main road and Maastricht came into view ahead and slightly below us. I went into tt mode again, Peter tucked behind. The road surface wasn’t great, tar over concrete, the regular per-dunk over the joints both a distraction and a reminder to keep an eye out for hidden potholes.

The bridge over the Maas rose ahead of us, we were still clear but the gap was closing and this incline could well be the breaker. Of course it would affect the chasers too but I was concentrating on getting me and Peter over with maximum advantage. A stiff breeze over the river didn’t exactly help but we still had clear road as we hit the flat again with less than two thousand metres to go.

We were both at the limit, I could see it etched in Peter’s face when I looked across. And then it was over, not the race but our escape. The chasers took us almost as we hit five hundred to go, we weren’t swamped, more sucked in, bum, bum, bum!

Bradley was driving things but Michael was there too, anyone sprinting will have to go soon. Four hundred, three, sugar! I hit boost and jumped across the road and kept it full gas, the red mist starting to descend well before the line.

“Got you, kiddo,” Dad’s voice told me, my legs like jelly, my breaths fast and desperate as I slumped over the bars.

Squealing brakes, shouting, whistles – the noise of the finish area diminished then renewed cheering and a repeat as the main peloton came home. My breathing settled and I drank heavily from the bottle Dad gave me.

“That,” gasp, “was harder than Rou,” gasp, “baix,” I advised Dad.
“Good ride, Bond,” Michael advised giving my shoulder a pat as he threaded past.
“Well done, wunder woman,” Peter grinned a moment later.
“Thanks.”
“You know him?” Dad asked as my breakaway companion disappeared into the crowd of helpers and riders behind him.
“We broke away together, Peter something.”
“Sagan,” Dad filled in, “Chris saw him in Poland the other week, under eighteen mountain bike world champion.”

I just about managed to get the gunk off my face and the braids undone before I was called to the podium for the presentation.

“Third place,” the MC started, riding for the Slovak Federation, Peter Sagan!”
Scruffy climbed onto the block with a wide grin on his face.
“Second, riding for Wallonia, Michael Desgrange!”
With a resigned look, Michael took the second step.
“And in first place, our winner of the 2006 Junior GP Limburg, Gabrielle Bond!”

There was much cheering and clapping as I shook hands with the others before climbing onto the top step, oh yeah, I punched the air with a huge grin plastered on my face.

Not sure it was much consolation for Team GB, Bradley came in last of the lead group and having been swallowed on the run in by the main peloton Jamie finished twenty fifth, Cav having won the sprint for 14th! Apollinaris, well Josh and all the girls were in that same dash for 14th place, after all that effort less than two minutes behind me crossing the line.

“I am not wearing eyeliner to race again,” I complained, “look at my mitts.”
“Maybe that wasn’t the best idea,” Ron agreed.

Of course, whilst the lads had access to showers after the race, the four girls taking part didn’t so here we are at Aachener Hof motorway services using the trucker’s facilities. Not ideal but better than sitting in the restaurant in salt caked, smelly riding kit – better for the other patrons too. Two showers, four girls so yes we did share to speed things up (and it saved four euros too!)

“’Bout time,” Dad mentioned when I joined the table – well I needed to use the little girl’s room after the shower.
“Ordered you the schnitzel with Spätzle,” Mand told me.
“Fine, what's to drink?”
“Sprite,” Dad advised.

Damn, thought we might’ve got a beer at least for my win.

“I thought you were gonna get across,” I offered to Josh as he busily devoured a second slice of gateaux.
“Sho did I, man,” he allowed through his cake.
“Josh!” Tal complained.
“Sorry, lass, you want some like?”
“No I don’t, thank you very much.”
“Yeah, like youse lot went crazy on that climb again, I was on the back but someone up tha front was really going for it an’ I lost it.”
“Er, that might’ve been me,” I admitted.

“So we’ll see you at Celle in a couple of weeks then,” Dad stated as the Waugh’s and Tali got into Joe’s hire car.
“Aye, speak to you in the week, Dave.” Joe replied.

Everyone said their farewells and we in turn loaded ourselves into our transport ready to start the not exactly straight drive home.

Maddy Bell © 29.11.16