*Chapter 7*

Pass The Buck

 
 
We’d talked about how the girls could help in the Polka Dot jersey defence, it was actually Claire who came up with the idea and somehow all the building blocks were in place. It’s a pretty risky idea but let’s face it, the worst that can happen is failure. We negotiated Giswil then as the grade started to steepen I pulled my bottle out and held it aloft.

That was the signal and Mand reacted immediately by sprinting around the leaders, Ron reacted quickly and gave chase. At this point I probably need to clarify things: whilst both sexes are racing together so everyone can influence the results the prizes are distinct male/female for everything except the team competition where everyone is in the pot. So the girls going off up the road was not a cause for concern to the male element of the peloton although it should’ve.

The very action of the girls attacking was a distraction that caused some amusement at the front of the pack, misplaced of course. It was tempting to join the escape party when the second wave was launched by Claire but I’m too easy to see in the spots so I stayed on station. The lads were all up now, not in a bunch but poised to join in the fun when it’s time.

Of course none of the lads wanted to be bested by the fairer sex so it wasn’t long before there was a response. We’d allowed for this so Daz sprinted up to the Swiss who was first to react but instead of going with him, just slotted on his wheel. The idea is that Daz acts as an anchor, his very presence enough to slow the other rider and it worked admirably, they gained no more than ten metres.

No one else seemed inclined to have a go; we rode through these first hairpins piano, the pace comfortable enough not to shell any but the least capable out the back. We popped over the top to be treated to a view of the mountain we have to tackle ahead of us. I think I mentioned before that it’s not the highest pass, it’s only 1000m at the summit, the climb proper is* about four kilometres although you climb for twenty or so to reach it from the north.

Our distraction seemed to be working better than I’d hoped; Ron, Tal and Gret are up there with Manda, Claire and Laura plus another half dozen including two Swiss girls. They’re in sight, maybe 100 metres ahead of us now, time to start phase two. I repeated the bottle thing, this time with the other hand – hopefully any watchers would think I was asking for a replacement.

The road hugs the Lungernsee for a couple of kilometres before reaching the village and the start of the ascent, time enough to stir things up. My bottle waving brought the troops if not at a gallop, at least in short order and with Josh taking the first pull we started to wind the pace up – I say we, I sat behind to use as little energy as possible.

Quick escape? As if! The rest of the contenders reacted by matching our speed, surely this was our attack? Well the idea was really to keep the pace high to prevent anyone else getting away in the same way the lead out works for a sprint, keep the pace high and hopefully the opposition gets whittled down to manageable proportions. At this pace I reckon we’ll be up to the girls not far past the village, which is where part three, will hopefully click in.

The crowd in Lungern was, whilst small quite loud – I was a bit surprised to hear one particular group specifically cheering Team GB.

“Dig in Mark.”

“Hang in there little un.” I presumed that meant me.

“You’ll catch ‘em.”

“Come on England.”

And one card waved a bit further along that read ‘Brits 1, The rest 0’ – well you could feel the pace pick up as my teammates subconsciously reacted to the support. The gap to the girls was closing but not as quickly as I’d’ve guessed; the cheering probably had the same effect on Mand and co I suppose. We left the village and the gradient increased a little, with the GB train in full flow you could already see some of the less able riders sliding backwards.

Into the trees and now instead of the rotation it was time to get buried. I don’t mean literally but Daz took the first session, riding as hard as he could for as far as possible. Geth was up next, crouched over the bars and powering us up through the trees, the road kinked left and the girls were directly in front, it has to be said in some disarray.

“Left!”

“Lenks!”

We less swept as crawled past.

“Go on guys!” Claire gasped out as she struggled to hold onto the wheel in front – we might have spent a week in Italy but doing this under race conditions is totally different.

My fellow tester, motioned Jamie through and our pocket Scot took over the pace, up ahead the flashing lights of the lead car disappeared, the slight right-hand bend we were on revealed about another half dozen girls still strung along the road. Geez, Ron’s really going for it. One of the Swiss was a few metres adrift then a bigger gap to, wow it’s Mand and Laura with Tali about a length behind.

The reason for the disappearing car soon became apparent as the road reared up and into an almost hairpin, Josh took over at the head of affairs, was that a smile I spotted as he momentarily glanced back? The tight corner gave me an opportunity to take a look behind when we reached it – geez; our tactic has been more successful than I might have hoped. Whilst about ten riders were still sat in behind us, from what I could see the rest were spread in ones, twos and small groups well back down the hillside.

Our Toon powered upward, once or twice Mark losing his wheel, then we burst from the tree-lined tunnel into a bit of a clearing where a good number of the local Tifosi as well as more casual observers cheered us through just metres behind our girls. We swung out and past.

“Nice one, girls.” I encouraged.

“Go for it, Gab.” Mand gasped out.

Sugar, what’d she just call me?

A gear change behind alerted me to some potential action and I wasn’t disappointed when one of the Swiss took off like a blue arsed what not.

“Get Mark over.” I shouted to Josh before taking off in pursuit.

My opponent was certainly giving it some and he soon overhauled the remaining girls and the gap back to me was growing. A board at the roadside revealed that it was still a kilometre to the summit, most of which was at a fixed gradient of about 10%. I took the Swiss girl and clawed up to Ron.

“Alright?”

“I knew you were up to something.” She gasped back.

“Company?”

She glanced back, “’Bout ten piano at seventy-five.”

“Yellow?”

“He’s there with Josh, none of ours though.”

“Well the best in Germany are up here,” I grinned, “share the pace?”

Roni might be a girl but er so am I I guess, anyhow she’s not a bad climber and I don’t need to be first to the top to keep the spots. The Swiss ahead wasn’t in the mountains points yesterday so as long as I score decent points myself I’ll hang on to the jersey.

“Sure, Apollinaris all the way!”

Rather than a rotation we rode alongside each other, half wheeling to keep the pace going. The road bore to the right and into a long straight revealing the Swiss lad about two fifty ahead – not too much to retrieve on the descent. Our speed wasn’t high but it was steady and the red and white carrot ahead kept us focussed.

A fairly tight left-hander saw a temporary increase in gradient that had us out of the saddle through the following right-hander then to my surprise it levelled out significantly. The village of Brünig, such as it is, meant that we could see the summit banner up above the Bahnhof buildings. Whilst there was a kick taking us up to it the gradient wasn’t bad.

“Race you.” I challenged, standing on the pedals.

“Why you!” Ron groaned behind me.

The crowd of bikies and race fans cheered loudly as my polka dot jersey came into view, I might be second over the summit but I offered a one armed salute as I rolled over the 1002m summit. I eased off to let Ron get back for the descent which she accomplished before we cleared the collection of hotels and bars on the south side of the summit.

“So we going for the stage?” Ron enquired.

“Team orders say no.”

“When do you ever follow orders?” my companion scoffed.

“Sometimes.”

“So?”

“Well no one said I couldn’t have fun going down hill.” I allowed, snicking into a smaller sprocket.

A long steepish straight had our speed climbing quickly into the sixties then just as it was getting exciting the trees gave way to our left and I spotted the the fastish left hander at the bottom and the Swiss lad nearly not making the almost hairpin turn. I dabbed at the brakes, they might be good but at this speed it still takes some distance to scrub the speed.

Ron had spotted the turn too so although she had shot past as I slowed she too was now actively trying to slow. Despite losing about twenty kph it was still quite edgy making the turn, both of us using all the available road to get round. I glanced up at the pass road, the gruppo with, I was glad to see Mark still in it, weren’t too far behind. The second sprint is at the base of the descent with its time bonuses, do I wait or try to keep others from gaining the advantage?

Although less steep than the pass itself we still had to get to the valley floor still some 400m below us. The Swiss lad was out of sight, his size would help on the down, he must be ten kilos heavier than me. Ron was going for it and I tucked in for the ride. Into the trees and the drop increased in gradient that had us both reaching for the stoppers to get around the first pair of hairpins.

As we slowed for the next set I could hear a few brake squeals above us – they are catching but how quickly? We safely got around the bends and started winding things up again, the road steep enough to get back up into the fifties and straight enough to spot the leader ahead of us. The trees to our right of the valley side* started to thin then we burst from them almost immediately entering Hausen, which if my memory is working, is where the intermediate is.

Daft place to put it really, at this speed I’d barely seen the 200m sign before we were under the banner, the small but vocal crowd not getting much spectacle from us. We rattled over the level crossing and now on the valley bottom could look forward to a dozen largely flat kilometres to the finish. The next turn pretty much had us completely turned about and the long straight allowed us to see the Swiss lad still some three hundred metres ahead.

After crossing a roundabout we started heading down the valley into a surprisingly stiff headwind. We now started to trade the pace and I thought we were doing okay until one, two, three, eight riders swept past. I looked around, yup, the chasers were here and bringing up the rear were Mark and Josh.

“Nice descent, man.” Josh offered as I prepared to take his wheel.

“Yeah.” I agreed reaching for my bottle.

“You get it?” Mark enquired.

“Second, he’s still up front somewhere.”

I checked out the rest of the select group, besides us and Ron, the Spanish lad who took second yesterday was here, another Swiss, a pair from Austria, one French, an Italian and a couple that I couldn’t see up front. The group was grinding out a good pace in a loose rotation, even the Swiss taking part, it was pretty much this effort that had us pulling the lone leader quite quickly back into the fold.

There was a palpable feeling of relief; we were all in with a shot with under ten kilometres to the finish. The road wheeled to the right and headed directly towards a looming mass of rock.

“We go over that?” Mark queried.

“Hope not.” My legs were feeling a bit on the dead side.

“It’s us three again, I hope the Boss doesn’t throw another wobbly.”

“It was his idea to go for the spots.” I offered.

“Yeah, I guess.”

The road meandered about a bit then we were climbing over a motorway junction but instead of turning along the bottom of the rock face we started to climb. Okay it wasn’t steep but it dragged enough to reduce our speed somewhat. We took the first turn which had us all out of the saddle climbing into Brienzwiler which saw several of our number including Ron slip off the back. The road climbed more steeply around to the right but just as I started to prepare for more climbing we turned off into the village proper.

Once clear of the housing the road bobbled along, still upward but so gently you could be forgiven thinking it was level, only the stream flowing alongside giving the lie to that. I reckon unless there’s any more surprises like the last climb we’ll be fighting out the sprint between the remaining nine of us.

“I don’t reckon I can do much for youse today.” Josh mentioned as we threaded our way through Hofstetten.

“S’okay, I reckon it’ll be a long un anyhow.”

“Unless someone takes a flier?” Mark suggested.

“Josh?”

“Give it a shot.”

The road crossed meadows and threaded through orchards before dropping into Schwanden, everyone watching each other with Mark and myself getting particular attention. One kilometre to go and we were heading down towards Brienzersee sparkling in the afternoon sun. Josh had manoeuvred himself forward and when whistles and flag waving announced the final turn onto the main road, instead of braking he tucked down and laid his bike well over. It certainly caught the others by surprise resulting in a chase rather than sprint scenario almost in sight of the line.

Mark and myself only need to finish with them to maintain our placings, no point in wasting energy. Josh’s effort certainly pulled their sting but despite his effort the others caught him a little before the two hundred. The sprint didn’t start immediately; I looked at Mark who just shrugged.

I started winding up; Mark close behind, belatedly the others took up the challenge and joined the eight up sprint. It was every man for himself and I heaved my bike forward as we reached the line, the red mist having not fully descended. I grabbed at the brakes; by how close everyone seemed to be after the line, it must be a pretty tight result.

“Drew?”

© Maddy Bell 16.01.14