“Gab? You ready? they’ll be here soon,” Mum called up to my eyrie.
“Coming,” I called back.

Well actually that's a lie, I’m dressed but that doesn’t mean I’m ready. It took me an age to decide what to wear, not too dressy – it is a barbecue after all but on the other hand shorts and a T seemed a bit, well too casual. In the end it was a toss up between a summer frock and a cami top and capris, I settled on the dress as its less, er revealing. Then of course there was hair, makeup, jewellery – well you know, I mean, I wanted to make a good impression.

My thoughts went back to the last time I saw Nanna and Gramps Bond…

“Do I have to go?” Jules whined for probably the hundredth time since Dad announced we were going to see his parents down in the West Country.
“Yes you do,” Mum insisted, “they’ve not seen you for over a year.”
“They could come here,” my sister mumped.
I was keeping my silence, I do at least get to race while we’re down there.
“You know Gramps doesn’t like driving far,” Mum stated.
“Drew, you could back me up?”

Yup – I still thought I was a boy called Drew back then.

I shrugged, “its only for a few hours.”
“My point exactly, all that way!” my sibling stated before flouncing off with a ‘grrr!’
“You’d think it was the end of the world,” Mum sighed.

As the crow flies its over a hundred and sixty miles to Nanna’s in Burnham but of course the real world adds a chunk to that, add in some non motorway roads, the usual M5 roadworks and a comfort stop and our journey usually takes closer to five than four hours. And so we left Meden at daft in the morning, I mean, five o’clock isn’t even the day yet. I made myself comfortable in a corner of the back seat, Jules slumped in the other – at least it isn’t raining – yet.

“Where are we?” I mumbled as I tried to focus on the countryside beyond the window.
“Just coming up to Worcester spud, we’ll stop in a few minutes.”

The mention of stopping brought on a desire to use the facilities – how does that work then? By the time we pulled into the services I was fit to burst, I did the ‘quick walk’ from the car into the building and I nearly made it. Except I got caught up in a coach load of slightly inebriated rugby players and had to wait for a urinal. Look it wasn’t much, everyone does it at some time and I did wash my hands.

“Drew Bond,” Mum sighed spotting the stain on the leg of my jeans.
“It’ll dry,” I offered.
“Come on, lets get you cleaned up, we’ll be back in about ten minutes Dave.”

Jules sniggered as Mum dragged me back out to the car.

“You did pack some more trousers?” Mum asked as we reached the car.
“Erm.”
“One day Drew, get in and get them off.”

For some people stripping in the back of a car would be considered weird, as a cyclist its almost normal, for time trials in particular its rare to have changing facilities. The only difference today is that we’re in a motorway services car park.

The door flew open, “hey!” I complained.
“Here, put these on,” Mum instructed throwing a bundle into the car before removing me from public view again.

I felt a right prawn when we went back into the services to find the others, it wasn’t so much that I was wearing a pair of Jules knickers but that her short dungarees just scream girl.

“Why’s he wearing my shorts?” Jules demanded.
“Because someone didn’t pack spare trousers, don’t worry I’ll wash his jeans when we get to Burnham.”
“Sorry,” I allowed slumping into the booth next to Dad.
“Never mind spud,” Dad put an arm round me in a sort of half cuddle, “coulda been worse eh?”
There is that, at least these are shorts, my last trouser incident I ended up wearing a skirt, talk about embarrassing. And I guess its not like we’re stopping anywhere else on the way, we’ll be at Nanna’s in a couple of hours and I can get changed into my bike kit then. I picked at my Chelsea bun, not exactly a good example of the genre, dry, too much sugar and not enough currants, hopefully this afternoons race will be better.

We pulled up outside of our grandparents semi just as the rain that had been threatening from Bristol decided to head towards terra firma. They must’ve been watching for us as the door was open before we got there.

“Hello mother,” Dad greeted giving Nanna a quick kiss.
“Come on in, you’re letting the wet in.”

Yup, she’s not changed.

“Hi Nanna,” Jules added in turn.
“Why are you wearing so much makeup Juliette?”
“She’s a teen,” Mum interjected, “hello Mum.”
“Jennifer, where’s my grandson?”
“Er here Nanna,” I allowed from behind Mum.
“What are you wearing Andrew?”
“Bit of an accident on the way down,” Mum supplied for me.

Manna gave me a funny look.

“Come on through everyone, kettles on,” Gramps advised.

I like Gramps, he’s quite funny and we never leave without some sort of present, books or something.

“We shouldn’t be too late,” Dad told the women of the family as me and Gramps preceded him out to the car.
“Have a good ride Drew,” Mum called out.
“I will.”

It was still raining but not so heavy and it looked like brighter weather was coming in from the Bristol Channel. The race, a ten mile time trial is only about ten miles away at Axbridge not far from Cheddar of cheese fame. According to Dad its almost dead straight and almost billiard table flat apart from a bridge near the turn.

“So how’s school then Drew?” Gramps asked as we made our way back towards the M5.
“Okay I guess.”
“You started your O levels?”
“Its GCSE’s now dad,” Dad supplied.
“Not till next year Gramps,” I added.
“They keep on messing with things, wonder anyone has any proper qualifications.”
“Yes Dad.”

“Seventy eight,” the time keeper called.
“Good ride Drew,” Gramps encouraged as Dad took my trackie off my shoulders.
“Be safe spud.”

I rolled up to the line and let the pusher grab my bike.

“Thirty seconds, long way to come for a ride?”
I gave a shrug, “visiting relations.”
“Watch out for traffic at the turn,” the time keeper advised, “fifteen.”
“Clear behind,” the pusher advised, I glanced behind from habit anyhow.

Deep breaths, calm.

“Five,” I hit the start on the computer, “four, three, two, one, go!”
I stood on the pedals and heaved away from the line.

The course is quite exposed, crossing the Somerset Levels to the nipple that is Brent Knoll, not quite arrow straight but not far off. I quickly settled down and flicked the shifter to change up the gears, not into top, save that for the way back. Indeed riders coming back were clearly enjoying something of a tail wind so if I want to take advantage I need to not burn all my energy on the way out.

Amazingly its the same A38 which we started out on at Mansfield this morning, there’s less traffic on this bit though which is just as well as its a single carriageway road. I wasn’t in immediate danger of being caught, seventy nine has a PB a couple of minutes slower than my 23.45 and number eighty about the same faster – in theory he should catch me on the run back to the finish. With the road so straight I could see several fluorescent orange numbers ahead of me, I seemed to be closing on the nearest.

My head was wandering a bit, should see the Knoll soon, hope that climb’s not too steep, I’m gaining on seventy seven. Concentrate Drew, I almost looked under my arm but Mum’s advice echoed in my head, ‘losers look behind, winners look ahead’. As Mum is a world champion I’m inclined to take notice of her advice.

She isn’t even supposed to be here this week, her team in Germany were supposed to be racing in Austria but the event was cancelled due to snow! Can you believe it, snow in April? There wasn’t time for her to enter this, our journey down has been on the cards for a few weeks of course to coincide with Gramps birthday tomorrow.

Concentrate! Suddenly my minute man was much closer, the bridge and the hill beyond looming large on the otherwise flat horizon. I looked at the computer readout, ten minutes twenty, not too shabby into the wind. However the seconds seemed to flow away rapidly as I approached the motorway bridge and although I was still catching my minute as I reached the roundabout turn thirteen minutes had passed.

Its a fairly big island, as I moved out to make the turn a rider was just exiting, not the one I’ve been gaining on either. I had to ease a moment for a van on the roundabout but then I was across and round. The difference was startling, instead of the wind whistling through my helmet it was almost silent and I quickly dropped the chain through one, two, three sprockets into top.

Maybe I was a bit premature with top, I had to heave the pedals through the top but then the ‘drop’ from the bridge added the bit extra to get it turning smoothly. It wasn’t much further on that I reached seventy seven, quick look for traffic, out and past. Nice, I relaxed a little and set about chasing the next rider up the road.

They had boards out from three miles, two, one – I was almost in touching distance of seventy six, come on Drew. The digits on the screen made no sense, twenty thirty, it was thirteen at the turn, that’s only seven minutes, has the thing stopped? Is that the finish? keep it going Bond.

At the hundred to go board I got out of the saddle to get the last bit out – and to catch seventy six which I did right on the line.

“seveny ate!” I gasped out before freewheeling only then remembering to stop my computer.

“New personal kiddo,” Dad beamed when he and Gramps got back to the car.
“Well done lad,” Gramps added.
“What?” I panted out from the back seat.
“Twenty two eight.”
“Wow,” I allowed.
“Looks like you might end up top ten,” Gramps suggested.
“Its early yet dad.”

I sipped at my lukewarm ‘free’ tea as I surveyed the result board wedged in the back of someone's estate car. There were mumbles and complaints from other competitors gathered about, seems that generally times today were slow, the fastest in so far was a mid twenty one, some guy from Exeter Wheelers. My eye kept going back to where it read ‘A Bond, North Notts Oly 22.08 19.08’, the second number my handicap time.

I might not finish top ten but it looks like I might win the handicap and schoolboy prizes – okay they’re not worth a lot but that's not the point. More times were added to the board, eager riders watching as eat digit was added, twenty three, twenty five, twenty two but forty something. Only another dozen to finish.

“Well spud?”
“I’ve got the schoolboy and I’m still leading the handicaps.”
“Anyone else faster?” Dad queried.
“A long twenty two just went up.”

Thirty minutes later we were heading back to Burnham, not on the A38 but the long way round via Cheddar – well Dad wanted to get some cheese from one of the tourist places for someone at work. Where did I finish? Oh yeah, sixth so I scored three prizes, not bad for a little un from Warsop. I must’ve dropped off as the next thing I knew the car was pulling up at Nanna’s again.

Maddy Bell © 17.11.2017