The rest of the field quickly swept me up and having used that move once it’s unlikely I'll get away with it a second time. I'll give them their due, they weren’t afraid to bring the racing to me, the speed was back up to the blistering early pace and opportunities to escape anywhere except backwards were nil. Hmm, backwards, they won’t expect that.

Another prime was posted, well let’s see if they’re paying attention. Instead of looking for a way forward I eased myself out of the main pack to put me trailing the leaders by twenty metres, about half a bike behind them. I got to choose my line through the hairpin and as we streamed back towards the line the bell sounded.

Those in front relaxed almost visibly, oh we were still riding quickly but they’ve seen off the usurper – not! The speed dropped almost imperceptibly as the old guys started to finesse a bit, steady Gabs. It’s almost like they’ve forgotten about me, if they’d just kept the speed high I'd have no chance here.

Having that bit of space to pick my own wider line at the hairpin was the clincher, allowing me to carry more speed out of the turn. Klunk, klunk – Bond Boost! Okay that's a bit silly but I held the right hand barriers as I accelerated which kept me out of immediate sight as my fellow racers prepared their own sprints. They finally spotted me as we hit the ninety degree last turn as I slipped through just ahead of the leaders.

They hadn’t got enough road or legs left to get me ahead of the line, I almost freewheeled across the line to claim my second sprint, a result that got a big cheer from the crowd.

"That was a hundred!” Mand almost screamed as I passed them again.

Kewl! I'm not gonna get away with it again though, if I want to win this afternoon I can either take my chances in a sprint or go for the ‘long one’ Ron suggested and I need to decide quickly. I slipped back into the bunch, well I need to get my breath back again!

"Nice move,” Ron allowed, she’s been happily sitting in, with the other women tailed off the two of us are shoe ins for the ladies’ prizes.
"Thanks,” I huffed.
"Contesting?” she posed.
Stupid question really, "Long next time.”

She nodded, I'd have at least a bit of help to escape. I freed my second gel, they’re like eating bogeys except more nutritional – not that I eat bogeys of course, urgh!

Of course they were watching me like a hawk now, I've taken them for both primes after all. Which allowed Ron a bit of leeway to move up in the group transferring some of that attention to herself as we approached the hairpin. She took a more traditional approach to trying an escape move, going for the sprint out of the corner in clear view of the competition.

There was a reaction, maybe my moves were a distraction? This lot might’ve been around the block but sometimes it’s the simple stuff that you need to watch out for. Ron never got more than a couple of metres of clear air before the train joined her, I slipped into seventh wheel almost by default.

She kept the pressure on well into the next climb up towards the hairpin, sitting up and sliding to the side. Clearly no one else wanted to take over as the elevated pace dropped quickly allowing me to make my move. Ron had distracted them and now I meant to capitalise on their smugness at closing her down.

As they looked at each other I took my chance.

"Go on, Gabs!”
"Thirty!” Angela shouted as I zipped past half a lap later.

By my reckoning it’s about ten laps to go, doable but I daren’t relax. I am the current, if joint, junior time trial world champeen, so a long solo effort doesn’t scare me. Of course I’m not on a TT bike but on a course like this that wouldn’t be any advantage, I settled down into my aero tuck and concentrated on my line.

It’s all or nothing now, if they manage to organise a proper chase it’s quite possible for me to be caught, if that happens its game over, Gaby.

The art of time trialling comes down to concentration, getting into the zone – when you start looking at the scenery, thinking about dinner and so on, you’ve lost. So it was with singular mind I blocked everything from my mind except the roadway ahead and turning the pedals. The fastest route isn’t always the shortest, it’s more important to keep smooth and so I started a demonstration of testing on the streets of Ratingen.

A couple of laps later the bell rang – surely it’s not the finish yet? But that was definitely the bell. I continued ploughing my lonely furrow, less than a lap to go! I checked behind, I'm clear, a good hundred metres. I eased off a bit and sat up as I approached the line, thrusting a fist skyward.

"Keep going, stupid!” Mand screamed.
"Why?”
"That was only a prime,” Angela yelled, "Seven more laps.”

Sugar! I've fallen into one of the most stupid errors you can make, mistaking the finish. All that effort and now I'm giving everything away to the chasers. No I'm not, not without a fight.

A look behind revealed the error had cost me half my lead but this could yet work to my advantage. I started to wind things up again and resumed my tuck, riding close to the barriers to disguise my presence from the chasers. It was a slow return to speed on the climb but once through the hairpin things picked up so I was at full speed by the time I recrossed the line.

Six – I started a countdown in my head, okay so I'm not a hundred percent in the zone but I'm not being done out of this now. I grabbed my bottle and after a long glug chucked it into the base of the railings along from my supporters, oh I know it makes little difference but it gets rid of temptation. Here goes nothing.

"And here she comes,” the MC excitedly announced, "A dominant display this afternoon from the reigning Jungere champion, our winner, Gaby Bond of Team Apollinaris!”

It definitely was the finish this time, my lead never exceeded three hundred metres, dropping some over the last couple of laps as the chasers made a last assault on the line. Once again I looked behind, I've time to make a show. Sitting up I did the classic double arm victory salute as the crowd cheered and clapped.

Pulling to the side I had time to stop and watch the sprint for second place – I don’t suppose I'll be flavour of the day. Ron was in the mix but these old guys are nothing if not tenacious, I wouldn’t want to be the judge separating that tangle.

"I thought you’d lost it when you sat up,” Mand stated as we gathered our stuff after the brief prize presentation – they still have more foot races and the senior men's event to run off this afternoon.

"Er yeah,” I agreed.
"So how much then?” Ron enquired as she checked her own envelope – as I'd won overall they gave her first woman on a one rider one prize basis.
"Three twenty five?” I allowed.
"Eis is on you then,” Angela chuckled.
"I'm not fetching.”
"Let’s get packed up first,” Angela suggested.

"Everything okay?”
"They’ll be about an hour,” Angela advised closing her phone, one of those new Motorola Razr things.
"What do we do for an hour?” Mand asked.
"Eat?” I proposed.
"What about our gear,” Ron queried.
"Finish packing up,” Angela told us, "I won’t be a minute.”

"Well worth a pack of water,” I pronounced.
"For once our sponsor comes in handy,” Ron agreed adding more Frites to her fork.

Angela had negotiated kit protection with a group of cycling widows picnicking in the parking area – the eight pack of Apollinaris water acting as payment in kind. That allowed us to return to the centre where we currently were tucking into Jaeger-schnitzel and Pommes at a table outside of a place with the fancy name of Schlüssel am Markt zu Den Drei Königen .

"So what’re you spending your winnings on?” Mand enquired around a mouthful of bean salad.
"Apart from your lunch?”
"You’ll get it back,” Ron observed.
"Dunno, there’s a bag I've seen in Bonn.”
"Seriously, Gab,” Mand sighed.
"I dunno do I, be handy spending money for England and I need to get a present for Andrea, can you believe she’s nearly one?”
"The time goes quickly with babies, they grow so fast,” Angela noted.
"I guess.”
"So this is where you’re hiding!”
I nearly jumped out of my skin, “Mum!”
"The same,” she agreed pulling a chair up to our table.
"But you were gonna be ages, where’s Dad?”
"Loading the bus,” she advised stealing a chip from my plate.

Back at Mettmann Angela supplied more food – coffee and her take on a Schwarzwaldkirschtorte – yum-my! By the time the adults had talked, us girls had showered and we’d polished off the cake it was knocking on seven o’clock. I'll sleep tonight.

I stretched and let out a mighty yawn, "So you buy one?”
"One what?” Mum queried.
"Duh, camper van, that is what you went to look at.”
"Oh that, do you have any idea how much they cost?”
"A lot?”
"You could say that.”
"So did you?”
"Nope.”
"Oh,” I allowed somewhat disappointed,” so we’re not getting a camper then?”
"We didn’t say that,” Dad offered from the driver’s seat as we took the slip road onto the Bonn motorway.
"But I thought you just said...”
Mum cut me off, "I said we didn’t buy one.”
"So what, how?”
"The how is why we were so long,” Dad advised, "We’ve agreed a mutually agreeable ‘sponsorship’ deal, in short we get a motorhome to use, they get their name put about.”
"What is it then, some poxy VW bus?”
"Nope,” Mum replied, "Think a bit bigger.”
"Like our old LT ? We had one before we came to Germany, it was brill.” I explained to Mand.
"But unreliable,” Dad pointed out.
"Iveco?” in my mind I started to go through the campers I've seen recently on our travels.
"Ut, uh,” Mum denied.
"You mentioned it earlier,” Dad stated.

What did I say?

“Hymo or something like that,” Mand supplied.
“Hymer? we’re getting a Hymer?”
"We are,” Dad agreed.
"It’s not new,” Mum noted, "But it’s only a year or so old.”
"Kewl, so how come we get it?”
"It’s a demonstrator, was I should say, they can’t sell it as new and they’d take a big hit to sell it as used.” Dad explained, "This way it’s effectively off their books but they still own it so they don’t lose on it.”
"Sounds complicated.”
"Complicated or not, we get a camper to use,” Mum pointed out.

Maddy Bell © 15.02.17