*Chapter 39*

Decision Made

 
 
"Caro!"

"Drew!"

"Caro I’ve decided."

Caroline didn't need to know what the decision was in words, the fact that Drew was wearing his skinsuit answered that question.

"Come here, kiddo."

He didn't need a second invite and he gripped her tightly.

"Sorry," he sniffed.

"What made you change your mind?" Caro asked as she stroked her charges hair.

"I realised, well Toni really, he like said I should do what was right for me and I realised that I was possibly gonna throw everything away for no reason other than I felt cranky this morning."

"As long as you're sure it's what you want."

"I am, you wouldn't really have sent me home would you?"

"Probably not," she admitted, "I was hoping to change your mind and it was the most potent threat I could think of."

"So what happens now?"

"Well you've missed the course recce but it's not the end of the world put your training gear on and meet me in the bike store."

"Okay."

Caroline was pleased to see that if not 100% at least a good chunk of the kid’s cheeky persona was back - now to get everything cleared up with the Boss.

 
 
"Bit of a crisis of confidence," Dave Brailsford supplied.

"Uh huh, Caro agreed.

"Any idea why? We don't want any kind of repeat Sunday."

"Hormones? The kid does have some issues."

"Tell me about it, no don't. Bad stomach you say that herring I saw him tucking into last night is my guess."

"Yes, Boss."

"And, Caro."

"Yes?"

"Keep me in the loop if anything like this ever happens again."

"You got it, Boss."

 
 
When the rest of the time trial squad returned a little after eleven thirty it was to find Drew outside under the mechanics Ezy-Up in the middle of an intensive turbo session. Caro reasoned that a power workout might actually be of more use to Drew than the reconnaissance ride – the others could fill him in on that but sharpening his speed could make all the difference.

“And… end.” Caro instructed, “Ten minute warm down.”

Drew took the offered bidon and sat up to take a slug of the contents.

 
 
“Someone’s made a miraculous recovery.” Dave observed when Caro joined him.”

“Officially it was too much herring, Jen’ll fill you in later, ears.”

“Things are sorted now though?”

“Don’t worry, Dave, she wasn’t getting out of training that easily so we’ve had a one on one power session.

“Come on you lot, shower then straight into lunch,” Dave ordered the others, which stalled any gossip with Bond junior until lunch.

“So for the benefit of big belly here can we get a run down on the course guys?” Caro requested as they finished up their by necessity light lunch.

“It should be quite fast,” Mand offered, “there’s only one real climb then it drops to the first turn, after that it’s mostly rolling, apart from the motorway bridge towards the end.”

“That’s at 37 kilometres,” Dave mentioned.

Unlike the fixed distance events in the UK, time trials on the world stage were as likely to be a weird number of kilometres as not, this time the juniors had a 38km lap, the women 53km.

“There was some crap road between the two turns,” Geth noted.

“Yeah, it’s like tar over concrete, I ended up riding right in the edge although some of the drains are pretty bad.” Sal added.

Drew had sketched a rough map on a napkin and marked all the intel on.

“Kit people?” Dave asked.

“Might be a bit exposed for full disks,” Geth opined.

“We’ve managed to snag some of the new deep section wheels from Mavic,” Caro told them.

“Sounds good,” Drew grinned.

“So, anything else we need to be aware of?” Caro prompted. There being nothing else offered she went on, “Okay, let’s get this show on the road, skinsuits on and out front with your kit in fifteen minutes, it’s a fairly tight schedule this afternoon.”

 
 
“Come on, girl, it wasn’t food poisoning this morning was it?” Mand demanded as they queued to sign on.

“Never said it was.”

“Caroline said you had a bad stomach.”

“I did, I think I had too much herring.”

“There was rather a lot on your plate,” Mand agreed.

“Well I um couldn’t shift it this morning?”

“TMI!”

“You did ask.”
 
 

The girls would be starting first, there were only forty slots, whilst in theory every country could send a rider the reality is that outside of the ‘established’ cycling countries hardly anyone else entered the girl’s event. The boy’s event is twice the size but only about half could be considered to be in contention. There is some seeding, which has placed me in the last five starters who start at two-minute intervals – that’s sort of cool but it does put extra pressure on us.

Switzerland was pretty slick and in some respects today was less so, more restrained certainly and less of the advertising that is such a feature of cycle racing events. On the other hand every rider is permitted a following car just like the seniors, Steve and Mike will be following me with my road bike and spare wheels. As I looked around the paddock where I was casually spinning a low gear on the turbo the variety of machines was amazing, I don’t want to seem snooty but I reckon the BC steeds are amongst the best here.

Gradually the number of lads waiting dwindled to be replaced by the senior women, Mum included.

“Good luck, kiddo.”

“And you, Mum.”

“Remember there’s only one thing that matters out there.”

“Going ‘round quicker than the rest,” I interrupted, “I know.”

“A hundred and ten percent.”

“Hundred and twenty,” I offered in return.

As Mum went to start her own preparation my mind briefly recalled what happened in Mexico when she lost out to that Vinelli woman by a handful of seconds after puncturing. * Two days later she was pulling on the Rainbow jersey – hopefully we can avoid the puncture bit this time! Not only that I could be going home on Monday with a striped jersey too!

We didn’t have a starting ramp like Switzerland but we did start under a tent thing – can you imagine this on the Cuckney tens?

“Okay, Drew?” Caro asked as she wheeled me towards the start pen.

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Confident?”

“I’ll give it my best shot.”

“That’s all we can ask, go slay ‘em,” she added gently squeezing my shoulder.

 
 
The countdown beeped away and the German with the English name, Tony Martin set off into the sunny Danish afternoon.

“Bondt?”

“Yep.”

Waiting one minute can seem like eternity, two is like the wait for Christmas, interminable! A few hours ago I was petrified of this moment, now I’m here I just want to get on with it. I concentrated on positive thoughts, the new wheels, the fine weather.

“Sixty!”

The holder straightened me up and I settled myself ready to start.

“Thirty!”

The last call, next would be the countdown beeps. I’ve no idea if it really makes much difference but at this point I always start deep breathing, slow and even.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beeeeeeeeeeeeep!

That was it, no fuss, time to go! Yesterday’s start practice session with Rod meant instead of my usual sprint start I accelerated somewhat more smoothly away from the start, I was into the tuck quicker and with less effort. Question now is can I use everything I’ve learnt over the past weeks to get the result we’ve been working towards?

Having missed this morning’s ride around the circuit I was effectively blind even with the intel passed on from the others. You remember the location of potholes, the sharp corner, the poor surface but it’s stored away and only returns to your consciousness when other visual clues draw them out. It’s not that the others were holding out on me, just they couldn’t remember those details.

The small crowd of spectators quickly dwindled and then it was just me and the open road. I had the thirteen spinning nicely, the wind was surely behind me as the speedo was holding forty eight kph edging a little higher on the couple of little dips. Even pedaling is what you want and I concentrated on keeping everything about the ride smooth

It’s not like I’m going to catch the Martin kid is it? – That’s not being defeatist, two minutes is like giving away best part of a kilometre and we’ve only got thirty-eight altogether. No not overtake but hopefully close the gap some and hope that the American Farrar starting behind me can’t pull the same number on me!

 
 
The first hurdle came after a little over five of those kilometres, the Tune roundabout. At least there were warning signs; my teamies hadn’t even mentioned it although I’d seen it on the route map. It was just too big to take a straight line through it; I nearly overcooked things on the exit almost clipping the curb before correcting my line.

Fast and wide the road swept coastward along a continuous right hand curve, the lack of elevation preventing any real prospect of seeing anything more than half a kilometre in front. The distance to turn one seemed to melt below my tyres, then wide into the corner, pedal straight through ooof! The bike juddered almost uncontrollably across the corrugated surface, how come they never mentioned this?

It didn’t last fifty metres before being replaced by the tarred concrete that Sal and Geth mentioned, hmm ride the gutter? The wind, distinctly less strong than when I started, was now blowing at almost a full ninety degrees to the road that actually made riding at the road edge a little easier. I almost hit one grate, did hit the next but my luck held and both tyres kept their air.

I’m glad I’ve not got discs in, even these deep aero's are catching the wind a bit, the solid wheels would be a nightmare! The final turn hove into view and I started to line myself up to go ‘round. I’m still not entirely sure what happened next, one second I’m looking up the road, the next I’m sliding across it – maybe a patch of diesel, whatever it was it wiped me out doing something like forty five kph.

* See Book 3 Chapter 27

Maddy Bell © 24.05.2014