The mood was, quite reasonably, downbeat, I mean, you’d’ve expected at least a couple of these guys to make the cut for Canada, certainly Josh and Mand, probably with Claire and Lor. At least the German Federation have a clear policy, podium at the Nationals and you go, if the budget allows for a bigger squad they then look at your wider results. This BC closed shop is grossly unfair – especially after promising so much at the beginning of the season, i’d be well cheesed if I was still on a UK licence.

“What’re you up to Bond?” Tal queried as we started to trace the upper reaches of the Ahr above Schuld.
“Nothing.”
“I’ve seen that look before, come on spill.”
“Well, these guys are our friends right?”
“Yeah,” she cautiously allowed.
“And they’re good enough to go to Ontario yeah?”
“I guess.”
“So we need to show BC they are out of order not selecting them.”
“And just how do we, a bunch of Germans, do that prey?”

Well I guess I am to all intents German now, I live here, study here, have German citizenship, passport and boyfriend – yep guess that qualifies me.

“The Jungere race on Sunday.”
“Out in Bavaria?”
“Is it? Well anyway, we fix it that say Jamie wins, clearly beating us, then in Canada we make sure Cav and co fail miserably.”
“And just how do we do that?”
“Dunno, we’ve got two weeks to work that out.”
“So we throw our chances to get back at BC?”
“Who said anything about throwing our chances?”
“Saying I buy that, and this weekend, how do a couple of girls affect the boys race?”
“Reckon there’s a few people who’ll help out on that score.”

“How comes we aren’t doing any climbs?” I posed to our road captain, he of the Geordie persuasion.
“Sunday’s pretty much up an doon tha river like,” he advised, “so what’re ye plotting with Tali?”
“Er nothing.”
“Bond?”
“Oh alright, just talking about putting some noses out of joint back in Manchester.”
“An’ how you looking at doing that man?”
“Make, you lot look good this weekend and their lot look rubbish in Canada.”
“And just how’re you gonna do that?”
I tapped the side of my nose, “you’ll see, so where’re we meeting the bus?”
“Schwarz something, your Dad gave me directions like.”
“Not the Greek place?”
“Don’t think so hen,” he looked at his computer, “shite, we’ll have to up the pace a bit, we’re supposed to be there for six.”
I checked my own comp, ten to five and we’ve done like thirty eight kilometres, “but its still like forty K.”
“Aye, have to crank things up a bit I guess.”

It would be just like Dad to plan this, we’re already past the short cut at Ahrdorf and whilst there are a couple of other shorter routes across to the Kyllltal you don’t really gain much. Josh quickly had everyone organised in a rotation – not without a few grumbles about slave drivers! Our comfortable thirty K rose to a more businesslike forty, conversation stopped and it was pretty much full on race.

The Jünkerath road came up fairly quickly and the gentle climb up the river valley was replaced by a more taxing climb up to Ripsdorf. Of course our progress slowed somewhat but Josh kept the pressure on and we hung on as best we could. Geez, that mans a beast!

He finally pulled over once we were through the village, not that we could ease up much, just enough to get breath back before returning to the fray. The rolling road across the top allowed us to resume our rotation and even pick up a few kph on the downslopes. At Feusdorf you can cut the corner, save maybe two kilometres but its a narrow lane so we continued down the hill into Jünkerath itself.

“Left!” our leader called out as we crossed the river.

We swept through the roundabout only to find ourselves caught up in the late commuter traffic. Once out of the town we were able to resume our efforts, staying on the main road for several kilometres before taking the river tracing road to Oberbettingen. Back over the Kyll and onto Gerolsteinerstraße, not too far now.

“Last one to the top, cleans the bikes,” Josh suggested as we started the bump up into Bewingen.
“In your dreams Waugh!” I opined before flicking my gear paddle.

It doesn’t look much of a climb but after thirty K on the rivet it was hard going. One thing you can’t beat is gravity and even on rubber legs the Toon is about twenty kilos heavier than me. At the top the road is signed to the left for Gerolstein but I’ve been this way before so I went straight on.

“Gab! Wrong way!” Mand yelled.

I waved back at her but kept going.

“Where’s she off to?” Josh enquired as he came up to de Vreen.
“No idea,” Mand allowed.
“Don’t worry about her,” Gret mentioned, “she’ll find her way if there’s a danger of food.”

That got a few chuckles from the assembled mass.

“Come on then, Mr B’ll be waiting.”

Let them go the long way! I eased off the pedals a bit as the lane tilted down, my speed actually increasing a bit as I dropped into the back of Gerolstein. We’d been back in Jünkerath when I realised that we were headed for Schwarzbrennerei, a traditional German place that the Bond clan have stopped at a couple of times – has to be there if its not the Poseidon.

I followed gravity down into the Altstadt where I looped left towards my destination, no sign of the others. Well there wouldn’t be would there, if you follow the signs its about three K further so I’ve got at least, what, five minutes in hand. It seemed like a long way through the town but then I spotted the Hymer and beyond it the distinctive premises of the Schwarzbrennerei.

“Where’s the rest?” Dad asked as I collapsed over the handlebars.
“Went long way,” I gasped out.
“You were supposed to stay together.”
“Need a wee.”

Well I do, and I’ve not got a cork!

He sighed, “go on then, doors on the left by the bar.”

I dismounted and handed off my steed to Pater.

By the time I was finished with the facilities the others had arrived, clearly I wasn’t the only one needing to empty a bladder as I almost walked into Gret and Sal on my way out.

“Aaid she’d find her way,” Gret stated.

Back outside, mechanic Daz was loading bikes into the truck, Angela and Caro were distributing towels and shoe bags while Dad was debriefing Josh in the Hymer.

“Gaby,” Angela called over, “here, sandals.”

No not strappy heels, dur! they’re my apres bike footwear, like pool shoes.

“Cheers Angela, we changing to eat?”
“We’ve got tables outside so you don’t have to.”
“You kidding, I stink.”
“Well iId wait until you’ve ordered, the food might take a while, they’ve only got one chef on tonight.”
“’kay,” I agreed slipping my bike shoes off.

Well as I’m not cooking or paying I ordered Rehrücken, not really that extravagant in a region where venison is on a lot of menus. Back in England its considered a bit ‘Nobby’ still but its just, well ordinary here. Anyhow once that was sorted I slipped out to the camper to change.

Sitting around in sweaty, smelly bike gear is not nice, ladies might perspire but on a bike they perspire a lot! So anyway I did a quick flannel wash, donned knickers and BH then slipped a cotton sundress on. Soo much better, quick squirt of something pleasant smelly and I was fit for mixed company.

Of course, whilst some of our number were happy to moulder in smelly stuff, no names, no pack drill as Gran says, when I returned somewhat fresher there was an avalanche of movement to the facilities (the lads) and the Hymer (the delicate flowers of womanhood). By the time everyone was back around our table, drinks were on the table along with a quantity of pre meal bread.

As I sat munching on my second bit of bread it occurred to me that this could be the last time we’ll all be together. We’ve been riding, travelling, yes eating together on and off all summer, if we didn’t know each others foibles before we certainly do now. But in the next few days that’ll all end, oh I’m sure we’ll all remain friends but the moment will have ended.

“Hey Gab, pass the butter,” Manda demanded.
“Eh? Oh right, here you go,” I passed the dish across the table.
“You were miles away Gabs,” Sal observed.
“Just thinking.”
“That’s dangerous, Bond thinking,” Geth joked.

Yeah, we really do know each other well.

“Very funny boyyo!”
“So what took you to gaga land then?” Lor asked.
“Nothing really, well this I guess, you know being a team and all that.”
“I know what you mean,” Claire agreed, “I’m gonna miss all this.”
“Its not over until the fat lady sings,” Mand suggested.
“Better not start warbling then Gab,” Daz opined, ducking to avoid my girly slap.
“I am not fat!”
“Or a lady,” Gret snorted.
“Why you!” I pulled a bit of bread off and threw it at my accuser.

So of course Caro saw the cast.

“Gabrielle Bond!”
“Er sorry Caro but she said...”
“I don’t care, if you want to be treated like a small child it can be arranged.”

There was some sniggering from around the table.

“And the same goes for the rest of you,” she went on, “now behave.”

It wasn’t a party of course but it sort of felt like one, the end of year school disco sort of party. Clearly I wasn’t the only one with similar thoughts, even the usually boisterous banter of the lads was more restrained. But as Mand so succinctly put it, its not over yet, a wrong has to be at least partly righted.

The food was okay, the venison maybe a bit gamey, the potato a bit too ‘wet’, the gravy a bit rich but I’m not even sure all that is true or if my melancholy was affecting my taste buds. It was after nine when we loaded up to head back to the Rhein and our various beds, a mostly Autobahn route for the Neuwied lot, a slower ride retracing much of our outward route for the Dernau contingent.

“What were you cooking up with Tali earlier?” Mand asked watching me make the cocoa.
“Eh?”
“Earlier, you and Tal were having a right chinwag.”
“Oh that, just stuff, you know.”
“You aren’t usually that chummy with her.”
“We were talking about Ontario if you must know.”
“Oh right,” she allowed with a distinct slump in her tone.
“We didn’t want to rub anyone's noses in things,” I suggested.
“Its okay, its not your fault,” she sighed, the dissapointment clear in her voice.
“I’ll bring you back a stuffed Mountie or something.”
“Don’t be so daft,” she spluttered, “you’d never get one in your bag.”

The mood was lightened but only temporarily, no whoever’s responsible for dashing my friends ambitions has got it coming, they’re not gonna get away with just dumping everyone who doesn’t toe their line. No one messes with Gaby Bond!

Maddy Bell © 13.07.2018