Gaby Book 17 - Seasons

 
“Got everything? Shoes, gloves, head?”
“Da-ad, I'm not a little kid,” I complained.
“No you’re a young woman with a memory like a sieve.”
“Yeah well,” I mumbled.
“So have you got everything?” he pressed.
I checked off on my fingers, gloves, shoes, helmet, wash kit, “Just need to get my meds!”

The weather was still grey and wet, it looks like we’re gonna have a miserable drive north, six hours of autobahns, well less if you don’t count stops.

“Come on,” Dad chivvied, “I told the Grönberg’s we’d be there for two.”
“Whatever.”

One plus, we’ve got the bus this weekend so it’ll be more comfortable than scrunched in the car. It also means we’ll have the easy up at the race, the turbo’s are in the back so we can warm up in the dry at least. I commandeered the rear seat, it’s the biggest even if I do have to share it with suitcases and kit bags. The church bells rang for one o’clock as we passed Thesing’s, hope the pies do better this afternoon.

“What’re you up to?”

I'd wedged myself facing backwards, sat on the bags, reading the new Pratchett, Going Postal came out last year but I've only just got a copy. I was so engrossed I hadn’t noticed Mand was just behind my head.

“Nothing.”
Ron snorted from across the bus.
“Mand?” I demanded.
“Just playing.”
I jerked my head around, sending my hair swinging round, hang on, I didn’t put it in braids.
“Looks cute,” Ron suggested.
Something felt off, I felt my head, “Mand,” I complained, yeah she’d braided my Barnet into two antennae on top of my head.
“Well I couldn’t get to it all.”
“Take it out, please?”
“Let me do it properly,” she offered.

I don’t suppose I'll get any peace if I don’t and when Ron chimed in with ‘I'll help’ I was doomed.

“We’re stopping at the next services,” Dad called back to us.
“’Kay,” Ron replied for us.
“Good job this nail varnish dries quickly,” Mand offered as she finished my thumbnail.

I know, but it’s a long drive and I had to give up reading with that pair playing with my hair, hair which has now been braided to within an inch of its life. I've not seen it but it feels like they’ve done some elaborate pretzel or something on top, it feels weird with nothing on my neck. So after hair, nails were the logical next step in play with Gaby according to the others – anything for a quiet life.

The board suggested we were at Dammer Berge services which gave me no real clue as to where we are, I've not exactly been keeping an eye on the road signs. The services didn’t give any further clues, the countryside around pretty featureless, the only good thing being a cessation of heavenly liquid bounty. Dad pulled the bus up as close as he could to the road house and we piled out, pulling various jackets and fleeces on to combat the breeze that had replaced the damp.

“So where are we?”
“North of Osnabruck,” Dad advised.
“I thought we were going up past Hannover?”
“There's roadworks,” Angela offered, “I heard it on the radio earlier.”
“We eating here?” Ron enquired as we headed inside.
“I'm starving,” I agreed.
“Angela?” Dad queried.
“Fine by me, I doubt we’ll eat till quite late when we get there.”
“Okay then, I'll see you ladies in the restaurant.”

“I look like something out of the Ring ,” I observed when I checked myself in the mirror after doing the essentials.

It certainly was a thorough job, hardly a hair had been missed, the resulting braids then arranged in an elaborate nest on the back of my head.

“The pocket Brünnhilde,” Ron suggested with a chuckle.
“Cheers ‘friend’.”
“What’s this Ring thing?” Mand asked.
“A very long opera,” Angela put in over her shoulder.
“Like an adult fairytale, full of Gods and heroes,” Ron supplied.
“So who’s this Brünnhilde character then?”
“She’s like the top Valkyrie or something,” I added as we headed back upstairs, “it’s well complicated.”
“So how does Gabrielle Bond know all this?” Mand demanded.
“We had to do it in German Lit.”
“And I thought Dickens was bad.”
“You have to go see any of it?” Ron enquired.
“I managed to miss that delight.”

“I've ordered for everyone,” Dad announced, “Schweinerkotelett okay?”
Well a bit late now but it could’ve been worse.
“What’s that?” Mand whispered.
“Pork chops.”
“I thought it was something like that, not had a chop since I came over.
“Don’t get too excited, they’re usually tiny and coated in breadcrumbs,” I advised.
“So how are Englisher kotelett?” Ron asked having overheard our conversation.
“Much bigger and no breadcrumbs.”
“How can they be bigger?”
“They just are.”

The food arrived and we concentrated on our late lunch for a bit, interrupted only when Dad’s phone chirped.

“Bond...hi Dieter, everything okay...late lunch...er, let’s see, about six, six thirty...yeah that's a good idea...right...okay, we’ll see you soon.”
“Everything okay?” Angela queried.
“Yeah fine, they're at the hotel, they’ll book us in the restaurant for dinner.”
“It’s not the same place is it?” I asked, suddenly feeling a bit of a panic attack coming on.
“No kiddo, you’re alright, we’ve got a place not far from the airport this time.”
“Right,” I allowed before taking a slug of my Sprite®.

“What was that all about?” Mand enquired once we were back on the bus.
“All what?”
“The hotel, you went right pale.”
“She had a nasty turn last year,” Ron supplied.
“Nasty?”
“I ended up in the Krankenhaus,” I allowed.
“Right,” she still hadn’t joined the dots.
“I'll explain later, so you doing my toes or what?”

The weather continued to improve as we closed the distance between us and Hamburg, even a bit of sunshine making its presence felt. I still find it a bit weird, the lack of traffic on the German autobahns, yeah you sometimes get it heavy around Kӧln and Düsseldorf – no doubt other cities too but out of the urban areas there’s hardly anything. Not like say the M1 back in England, three lanes solid from dawn till dusk seven days a week from London all the way to Leeds.

So anyway, no traffic means no hold-ups which means we were threading our way through Hamburg towards our hotel by five thirty. Hamburg is big with a capital B and once you lose the motorway it all looks the same, one missed turn could send you miles from where you want to be with no real land marks to look for. Our one saving grace is that the airport is well signposted, if we get there we can find the hotel.

Somewhere the time just evaporated, it was almost twenty past six when Dad pulled us to a halt outside of the Langernhorner Hof.
“Finally,” I sighed.
“I need a wee,” Mand supplied.

A familiar figure appeared at the door and hurried over to the bus.

“Welcome to Hamburg!”
“Hi, Dieter,” Dad replied.
“Bad traffic?”
“I think we caught everyone heading home from shopping.”
“That happens, come on, girls, let’s get you inside.”

It didn’t take long to get us checked in, the Grönberg’s sharing one room, me and Mand another, Dad was with Josh.

“Okay, guys,” Dad started as we headed for the lifts, “tables booked for seven thirty, Dieter said the others are in the lounge if you come down before.”
By the time we reached our room Mand was jiggling like a three year old, “Toilet, toilet!”
I got the door open and was promptly barged out of the way.
“Ah!”
Well someone's happy. I dragged the bags into the room and took the chance to bag the bed with the best view of the telly which I flicked on out of habit.
“See you’ve bagged the best bed,” Mand stated.
“They’re both the same.”
“You okay if I shower first?”
“Be my guest.”
She grabbed her wash bag and the shower was soon running

‘...and the weather, Maria.’
“Thank you, Peter, well it’s looking like another mixed day...’

I sort of tuned out exactly what the weathergirl was saying, concentrating instead on the graphics. Looking at the map we might get around dry but only just, the wet front is coming down from the north, it’ll be chasing us all the way back to Hamburg tomorrow afternoon. Well I suppose it’s the same for everyone, I just hope it’s not like Roskilde.

The shower cut off and Mand appeared dressed in a towel, “All yours.”
“Er cheers,” I found my own wash bag and headed to the bathroom.

I was getting into the shower cubicle when I remembered my hair, sugar.

“Mand?”
“What's up?”
“You got a shower cap?”
“Shower cap?” she queried opening the door.
“It’ll take ages to undo this lot.”
“Oh right, hang on.”

We don’t ‘dress’ for dinner on these trips but wearing something at least a bit smart is, according to Mum, good form. After all other diners don’t really want to share their meal with a bunch of scruffy, rowdy bike riders. I know it might sound snobbish but I kind of agree, it’s become standard for everyone to make some effort towards smart and when we have the team off bike uniform there’s no excuse.

We both picked our way through the tables to where the others were.
“Ooh, sexy!” Tali opined somewhat sarcastically.
“It’s hardly Versace is it?” Gret added.
“It’s not that bad,” I countered, “they could've gone for Kostüm.”
“True,” Gret conceded.
“Well ah thinks yous all look fair bonny,” Josh advised from behind Tali.
“Think yourself lucky you don’t have to wear it,” Mand opined.

I suppose the dresses are a bit seventies air hostess, that's a bit unfair but when we’re all wearing them – well you get the idea. Pale blue, just above the knee and quite fitted, give me jeans and a T any day but at least we got to choose our own footwear.

“Come on you lot, table’s ready,” Dad instructed.

Maddy Bell © 18.10.16