I was all for a full on blow out but Dad restricted us to more of a snack – I managed to get a bowl of bean salad to go with my Gulaschsuppe. It did fill a hole and apparently we're booked in for a proper nosh at our accommodation later this evening.

“Come on guys, we've still got a way to go,” Dad chivvied.
“Really? I thought we flew to save all the driving?”
“Still have to do some kiddo.”
“Shoulda gone with the others to Kent, they'll be there now,” I grumbled.
“The ferry takes longer than our flight did,” he pointed out, “and I don't think Caro was expecting to get to Canterbury before six.”
“Hmm,” I allowed.
“Come on, it's only about an hour to Peißenberg.”
“Peißenberg? I thought we were going to this Steingaden place?”
“George did the booking, apparently its only a short drive to Steingaden from the hotel.”

Yeah, like two or three hours I bet.

We actually came off the autobahn at the next junction and after skirting one of Bavaria's lakes started traversing a hilly but unexceptional landscape of woodland and green meadows first to Weilheim where we picked up signs for our destination. But of course that wasn't where the hotel was, oh no we continued through Peißenberg and started climbing. I guess the clue's in the name, Haus Hohenpeißenberg, our accommodation turned out to be one of several large hotels more used to a winter sports clientele.

The clue to being the right place was the Apollinaris bus parked outside but Roni and Tina were the clinchers.
 

“Who am I with?”

Everyone else's accommodation arrangements were fairly obvious, Dad and Dieter, Sonja and Angela, Gret and Tal which left me.

“Sorry kiddo, thought I said,” Dad suggested.
“You're with me titch,” Ron advised.
“Titch! Why you....” I set off in pursuit of my room mate.
“Don't forget your bag!” Dad called after me.
 

It might be the National Championships which are supposed to not be a team event but here in the hotel at least we are, a team that is, which means dressing for dinner in the hated blue frocks.

“I didn't think I'd want to wear one of those again,” Ron noted.
“What's wrong with that then, looks better than this.”
“You kidding? Ever tried keeping a light dress clean, its a nightmare, can you do us up?”
“Never thought about it, this just goes in the washer,” I mentioned as I zipped her up.
“We don't get that luxury so we have to use the hotel services most of the time.”
“Bummer, even for your, you know BH and stuff?”
“Hand wash in the sink, welcome to the glamorous world of professional cycling.”
“Mum's never said anything.”
“Its hardly something to advertise is it, 'race bikes and become a laundress', cheers.”
“Guess not.”
 

“Thought you were hungry Gabs,” Tal opined.
“I was, am.”
“You guys chatting or eating,” Anja queried from the restaurant door.
“Coming, coming.”

The senior team are of course somewhat depleted here, Mum's contesting the UK event and Erika the Belgian so apart from Ron, Anja and Tina there's only Maria and Anita. They're all doing the road on Sunday but only Ron and Anja are doing tomorrows Test. In the dining room riders were sat around one table, support staff another couple – the only other diners looked like they were the owners of the couple of Goldwings parked outside.
 

“Looking forward to tomorrow?” Anita asked as we demolished the jar of breadsticks as we waited for the main course to arrive.
“I guess.”
“Looks like a stinker of a course.”
“'Nita!” Tina admonished, “don't listen to her Gaby, I guess you might call it sporty but its got a good surface.”
“You've been around?”
“Well we had to do something today,” Maria chuckled.
“No swanning around airports for us,” Ron chipped in.
“Pah!” Tal spat, “all we've done is walk and walk!”
 

Thankfully George is still 'old skool' enough to feed his riders properly, pork medallions, admittedly with rice and a selection of legumes and brassicas provided our main course followed by profiteroles and ice cream – none of BC's 'healthy' menu here! It was great to be part of this group, treated as an equal, at the BC table its, well its different, like I'm not really one of them somehow. The interaction of these women ranging from Roni to Maria who's old enough to be her mother, well they just seem to get on.
 

“Okay kiddo?” Dad asked as we hit the breakfast buffet.
“Bit nervous,” I admitted.
“You'll be fine.”
“But I haven't even seen the course,” I half whined as I ladled yoghurt over my fruit salad.
“You hadn't seen it in Denmark last year either if you recall.”
“But I did have some course notes.”
“And you do today, it should suit you well, its out and back with a sort of roundabout turn according to George.”
“Really?”
“Sounds a bit like the O2, generally downhill on the outward leg and a climb back, forty kilometres for you so ride it like a twenty five.”
“If I can remember.”
“I seem to recall you set a course record last summer.”
“You know about that?”
“Of course I know about it, your Gran told us how 'Gaby' and Amanda insisted on riding and then Caro mentioned it when we were in Italy.
“Oh.”
“Oh come on Gab, its not like a bad thing, you'll do fine later.”
“Yeah,” I replied without emotion.
 

I actually joined the rest of Team Apollinaris for the ride across to Steingaden, a steady ride which just about fulfilled the job of warm up. Of course I'll still have thirty minutes on the turbo before I start but after not riding yesterday my legs are at least looser now. I changed footwear and went with Ron and Anja to sign on.

“We're all in one event?”
Anja shrugged, “guess it makes sense, the men have their event we have ours.”
“Gives you someone to chase,” Ron suggested.

I looked at the start sheet again, the seeding was nothing the CTT would recognise, according to Anja its tradition for the defending champion to start last, my world title trumps the national one so that's me off last. Ahead of me are the other twenty five junior entrants and then its the seniors, under 23's like Ron randomly mixed in. we do at least start at minute intervals.

To be honest I didn't recognise most of the names, some will be time trial specialists of course but others like Miss America simply don't ride the Jungere League. Miss America, Elise von Stuygen originally from Passau now resident across the pond, last years road race champion starts three minutes before me. I've not seen her yet, not that I'm bothered, why would I be?
 

I might be Weltmeisterin but here I still have to wear my team strip rather than the stripes – I still get the rainbows around the sleeves though.

“Seems strange seeing you in Apollinaris colours,” Ron observed as we helped each other into our skinsuits.

They might be very 'aero' but they are a bit of a pain. I mean, you can't hide anything when they are so thin and tight, you can almost read the brand on my BH. But not just that, getting into them requires you to be a contortionist, the zips are never long enough to make it easy.

“It does happen,” I stated.
“Not often,” she scoffed.
“When we ride chippers?” I suggested.
“Okay, I'll give you that.”
“I miss those events,” Ron sighed.
“You do do crits though?”
“Yeah but they're hardly the same, its always some series or other, they're like eyeballs out from the off all the time.”

I guess that sucks a bit.

“Come on you two,” Angela prompted arriving in the changing room.
“Yes mum,” Ron allowed.
 

I watched last years winner, a girl from over Gret's way, start cautiously down the ramp. Yeah we get the full pro start today, something I'm less than keen on but its not like I get a choice.

“Ninety eight,” the starter intoned.
“Here,” I rolled forward to the gate and the holder grabbed my seat post.

I sat myself onto the saddle and went through my pre flight checks, helmet, glasses, cleats engaged, computer...started, deep breaths, focus, focus.

“Three, two, one, go!”

I was already out of the saddle and I hit the power, no time to worry about the ramp, I was down it and away in barely a second. As soon as I was over the gear I settled into the tri-bars and its game on. I was barely aware of the barriers ending as my heart banged away in my chest, the road ahead clear and smooth.

What they've done is close a length of fairly new road so we bypass all the villages, the road bends about a little, the grades are rideable on the tri-bars, its not a dual carriageway but it's like three lanes. We do have service, a flock of BMW motorbikes carrying our own supplied spares, anything more than a puncture though and we're on our own. The wind, what there is of it, feels like its gonna be behind on the way back, guess I can use a bit more gas for the outward leg.

The key thing in riding a good TT is pacing closely followed by concentration, either one is useless without the other. As I hit the top of the first downslope I forced myself to relax before snicking the gears into top, 52 x 11 – some pre production thing from Campy. The legs were going around like windmills and even into the wind the comp was showing over fifty K.

I had to lose the eleven around the next bend as the road levelled through a bit of a cutting, the wind channelled through the gap providing a substantial wall of invisible air. I was barely aware of riders going the other direction, they seemed to be going okay so no need to change my game plan.

A minute isn't a long time but on the road it can be quite a distance, at thirty kph its half a kilometre, at full on TT speeds we could be talking almost a full kilometre. But there ahead I could make out a rider, not sure who and maybe its the wind reducing the distance but a carrot's a carrot. Pedal Gabs, that's all that matters, pedal as hard as you can, five K down, only fifteen to the turn.

The wind might have closed the distance but it hadn't reduced the time to match, I did a time check against a tree, fifty seven seconds, a sneeze of advantage to me. The road drops towards Fussen in a series of lumps, my eleven sprocket received a couple of short visits but I was maintaining the same speed by spinning the fourteen with less power. Eventually the computer indicated we were approaching the turn and a long straight downhill let me see maybe five riders at various intervals down the road.

One of those inflatable arch things announced the turn zone, not actually a roundabout, more like a fairly wide U turn. On the way in I checked out those ahead of me, I was definitely up on some of them but others maybe not. Well its twenty kilometres uphill with a tailwind to Steingaden, its all or nothing and heck, I'm the Weltmeisterin, no one beats me in a time trial!

I went onto the brakes late, took a wide line and started the return leg. 'Ye ha!' yep, tailwind, I settled back into my tuck and lit the blue touch paper.
 

Maddy Bell © 15.08.2017