Something to Declare by Cyclist

Chapter 10

The shower block even had hair driers! Kelly and I worked brush and drier on each other in turn and I decided to leave mine loose.

“This is gorgeous, Steph. Don’t you ever cut it off!”

I had pulled on some sweats and running shoes after the shower. I do like that dress, but it was simply minging after last night’s exertions. By the time we got back to base camp, Jan had a full English (campers’ edition) almost ready to serve. Bill had surfaced, his face marked by wrinkle lines where the folds of his pillow had imprinted the skin. Geoff was already at the table, in cycling kit and sweat. Jan grinned.

“You wouldn’t believe these two are brothers. One is up and out at sparrowfart, and the other thinks elevenses are an early breakfast.”

Geoff grinned back and said “Yeah, but he’s not the one looking to do PBP next time round”

I looked at Geoff with new respect and, to be honest, a little lust. I was having another ‘little moment’ just looking at him. He had doffed his shirt, and had the straps of his bib shorts rolled down to reveal a lightly-haired chest and thighs that…

Down, Steph. Not now. Be good. What would Sally say?

“I want pictures”, if I remembered correctly.

“You OK?” he asked, and I realised that if the smile I gave him back looked as good as it felt I was probably blinding him.

“You are an AUK* and I claim my five pounds! Paris-Brest-Paris, eh? Way beyond me, I stopped at a 300.”

“Well, I will need a crew for it. Can you fettle? Bill’s crap at it, and on that ride I won’t have anything spare for sorting mechanicals.

“Yeah, I have a reasonable tool kit and a stand, but no motor”

“Don’t worry, I have a van, as long as you can drive”

Did I just arrange to spend a weekend in France with a man? I looked back at my metaphorical door and put in a mental order for bricks and mortar. Steve died at that exact moment.

Breakfast was good, made even better by not having that hangover I mentioned. Kelly and Jan then took an arm each and I was hauled into the body of The Canvas Edifice. With some reluctance I peeled off the sweats to reveal my granny pants and elastic support.

“Not exactly trapping gear, is it? Never mind, we’ll get you fitted for a better one today. Can I be really, really personal, Steph?”

“Well, you have me in bra and knickers, and I think that’s pretty personal….”

“Are you still growing or is that all you are getting? Any plans for a bit of boosting? No, NO, LISTEN….the reason I ask is that if you are still growing there is no point in spending lots now, just get something that fits. It makes a difference, I can tell you…”

“Still growing…..” I mumbled.

“Right, here’s the plan. Our car is a four-seater. We are off into the town to get some groceries and wine and stuff, and to get you some clothes. You can borrow mine, but I have a sneaky feeling you may want to spread your own wings a bit. Geoff is going in on his bike, so you can ride with us or ride with him.”

Kelly snorted, muttered “ride” and dissolved into a fit of laughter. Jan put on a mother-stern face.

“You can wash your mind out right now, young lady” and then started to giggle herself. I just stood blushing. I have mentioned how much of my body that means, haven’t I?

I ended up borrowing a long Indian print skirt and a white “gypsy” blouse that Jan insisted should show some cleavage, and before my courage failed me shot back to my tent and got into my cycling kit. This time, I went with another of Oska’s products, a Welsh flag top over my mountain bike shorts. I love my lycra bib-shorts, but they would rather reveal some parts of me I’d prefer gone. No socks today, just the cleated shoes. I grabbed mitts and shades and as I came out of the tent pulled my mane back with a Wales flag Buff â„¢. Geoff was poised by his bike and I realised we had the same saddle, a Brooksâ„¢ Team Pro in that lovely honey brown. Oh dear, I’d be sniffing it soon if I went on like this. Get a grip!

I stuck a couple of locks into the saddle bag and we made our way through the site to the entrance. A steward put a sticker onto my top tube and we were off to the main road. It was a short ride to a T-junction at a pub, then right down a slight dip to a set of traffic lights and the railway station I had arrived at. A sharp little rise (ooh, a bike shop, remember that!) and we were at a semi-pedestrianised area. Some Sheffield stands** were nearby and we left the bikes secure and headed off for the department store Jan had decided on. As we turned down a side street, a small group of men passed us, two young boys in tow.

“Hey, you come from Wales, girl?”

“Yeah…”

“Well fuck off back there you sheep-shagging bitch!”

All my professional training left me as I simply stood open-mouthed as the group walked off laughing. I shouted “Cer i grafu!” *** and Geoff started forward, and I grabbed his arm.

“No, Geoff, too many, too drunk and you don’t know if they’re tooled up***”

He was shaking with rage, a side of him I had not yet seen. I pulled him round and took his shoulders.

“Thank you for caring, but do you think that was worse than I have already had? All I’d need for a full set of prejudice would be a missing leg and being gay. I can’t quite manage the single mother bit”

It broke the mood, he laughed, and we quickly kissed.

Just like that. I have sat and agonised over how to describe that simple, fleeting act. All sorts of long paragraphs about life changes, affirmation of identity, epiphanies of whatever, but it was all so much simpler. He leant forward, we gently pushed our lips together for about two seconds and we turned and went off to the shopping.

Holding hands.

Jan was a Tartar, a tyrant, a slavedriver, an Evil Woman, and I was shepherded quickly to a fitting room with a bundle of feminine frippery. We hadn’t ridden far enough to break into a sweat, but I sweated buckets as I was pushed and prodded by the two girls. Was this what I was joining? All the frank comments about cup size and nipple comfort and all I wanted was to stop any bouncing. Jan had insisted on a proper fitting, and I ended up buying five bras in two styles, one of which was rather abbreviated to my hypercritical eye, as well as two loose tops, another mid-calf skirt in a cotton print (predictable, me?) and then I saw something I really wanted.

It was in some sort of stretchy fabric that I knew nothing about, and I missed Jan’s explanation about laundry care because I was so taken with it. A light green with a speckled pattern of tiny flowers, it fitted closely to the hips before flaring out like one of Degas’ ballet dancers’ skirts. I thought of myself dancing in it, playing in it.

It was on sale, then it was sold.

“Jan, I will have one small problem. There isn’t a lot of room in my luggage, so does this material suffer if I roll it up tightly?”

“No problem. Geoff lives near you, we can always take your kit in the car and drop it off with his, and he can get it to you”

Such a raft of assumptions in that offer. I began to tear up again. What is it with me? Crying all the time….Jan hugged me yet again.

“Geoff told me about the racists. And more than that, did you think that holding hands is something I wouldn’t spot? Now, the music is starting in a couple of hours, we need to get some food in and get back to the site. We can’t be domestic goddesses without something to domesticate.”

The plaster was now drying over the brickwork my mind had laid over the doorway, and I took Geoff’s hand as we ht the supermarket. We ended up, somehow, in the aisle with all the nice real ales and everything was just so right for me. I had his left hand in my right, and something he said just tickled me. I leant in and took his upper arm with my other hand, and we kissed again. Not a full-on snog, just a smiling confirmation of affection and trust. I rested my head against his and then felt another hand on my shoulder.

“Steve…..?”

I looked around and Dave was standing there.
Shitshitshit.

*AUK: Audax United Kingdom, an association of extreme long distance cyclists. Is the way to qualify for the Paris Brest Paris endurance event. Look it up!
**Simple steel structures for locking bikes to by their frame. Just about perfect for the job.
*** “Go away and manually relieve your frustrations”
**** Armed.

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I suppose I should say the magic words: the author asserts their rights as owner of all linked sections of this work. In other words, copyright is asserted August 2010 in both the name "Cyclist" and the personal name held by the website managers. No copying, distribution or other dissemination without the author's express permission.