Gaby Book 17 - Seasons

 
“You knew,” Michael accused as we waited our turns to wee into a pot.
“I knew Jamie was ahead, yeah,” I allowed, “but until you said I thought there were more up the road.”
He didn’t look like he believed me.
“Honest, Mike.”
“Desgrange,” an official called out before the discussion could go any further.

We were still begrimed when we climbed the podium – oh our faces were newly clean but I was well icky – I know it sounds girly but the grime was caked in every orifice. The crowd was quite vocal, I waved enthusiastically when I stepped up – hey, can’t hurt building a fan base right? Jamie – well he couldn’t stop grinning and when he raised his cobble you could almost feel the joy radiating from the Scot.

With two of us on the podium, Team GB were certainly the talking point of the day but it wasn’t all a fairytale. Poor old Josh, arguably the strongest of our team came in twenty minutes down, bruised, battered and on a neutral service bike that was a bit small for him, that crash in the Arenberg Forest had bent a wheel and wrecked his rear mech. Geth and Mark, well they were even further back in the auto bus, finishing only just before the presentation.

I did eventually get a shower, they weren’t exactly set up for a solitary girl riding so I had to wait until one of the shower rooms could be closed to the lads – talk about embarrassing. Pity we didn’t still have the camper.

“So you two eating with us?” Chris asked as we headed to the car park.
“Best not,” Dad told him, “it’s a fair drive home and this one’s racing tomorrow.”
“But I'm starving now Daddy,” I pleaded, turning on the charm much to Chris’s obvious amusement.
“You’ll have to eat sometime Dave, and this is on BC.”
I did some eyelash batting, “Please?”
“It didn’t work for your sister,” Dad offered.
“But I'm way better at it,” I pointed out.
“Thanks, Chris, looks like you’re paying.”

We weren’t eating in Roubaix, or even France, our little convoy instead making its way to Tournai across the border in Belgium. Apparently Chris has used Le Grand Jacques on previous trips so had booked a table earlier. I don’t think anyone had eaten much, back up or riders, no one needed a second invite to head inside.

It’s not the biggest place so we were on two tables, riders on one, adults the other and our table at least got a bit raucous. We did get wine – watered to within an inch of extinction but Jamie at least was still running high on adrenalin. The food was good, basic stuff, braised meat of some sort with the usual vegetable accompaniment after some sort of thin soup.

“So what’s with the hair, man?” Josh enquired.
“Yeah it’s a bit left field, even for you,” Cav added.
“It was a misunderstanding at the salon.”
“Salon? She’s going all girly on us,” Cav guffawed.
“Er here,” I mentioned, “I am a girl.” worst luck.
“Why pink?” Geth queried.
“Long story short, it was our Prom last night, so we went to get our hair done, I told ‘em to match my dress and they took it literally right, it’s so not staying this colour,” I insisted.
“Well ah think she looks bonny,” Jamie mentioned.

Is he coming on to me, buttering me up?

“It’s back to normal on Monday,” I insisted.

“So Caro will bring the girls over on the Friday?” Dave asked.
“Yeah, late flight out of Brum, I've booked them into a place a few miles from the airport.”
“Okay, I'll ring Caro and sort out meeting up Saturday, might not be until after lunch.”
“No problem, they can get a leg stretch before you get there. So what’s tomorrow?”
“Local TT league, Apollinaris are sponsoring the thing so George wants the girls at it, as many as possible.”
“A chance for the lass to flash the stripes eh?” Joe observed.

It was heading towards seven thirty when we emerged from the restaurant, Saturday evening in Tournai promising to be only slightly more fun filled than Dernau – even the railway station opposite quiet. BC and the Waugh's were staying back in St Quentin tonight so they can watch some of tomorrow’s men's race over those same cobbles.

“See you next week, Josh.”
“Aye, man,” he agreed.
“Where’re you guys racing?” Mark enquired.
“Down in Baden, the Schwarzwalder Jungere Grand Prix.”
“The whaty?”
“It’s round the Black Forest, man,” Josh supplied.
“Don’t eat too much cake!” Geth instructed.
“Best go, Dad’s tapping his foot.”

“You okay doing that, Joe?” Dad queried of Josh’s uncle.
“It’s only a gear mech, reckon I've changed a few of them over the years like.”

My bike up on the roof was now sans a rear mech, Dad having removed it for Josh to use.

“Thanks anyway, it’s a job less next weekend.”
“I'll give the lass’s bike a check over too before we come down.”
“Cheers, Joe, ah here she is.”

“Everything okay, kiddo?” Dad asked.

It only took five minutes for us to get onto the east bound motorway towards Liege and home.

“Tired,” I admitted with a yawn, “it was good to see the guys.”
“They treat you okay?”
“I took a hit over this,” I waggled one of my messy braids, “why shouldn’t they?”
“Teenage lads can be a bit immature.”
“No kidding,” I agreed.
“If anyone says or acts inappropriately you need to tell us.”

What does that mean exactly? Hmm, should I tell about Jamie’s advances, or am I reading too much into his looks?

“I will.”

We got home a little before eleven, Mand had already gone to bed so after putting the washing on I took another shower and hit the sack myself.

“You look terrible.”
“Thanks for that endorsement, Mand.”
I grabbed a mug and poured myself a cup of coffee.
“That’s well pink,” Mand stated,” when Con said I thought you’d got like highlights or something not the full candyfloss.”
“Laugh today, it’s gone tomorrow. So how was the bakery?”
“Not bad, I was mostly clearing tables and selling bread.”
“You didn’t get to drive the Gaggia?”
“The coffee machine? Therese showed me how but I made a right mess, it’s much more complicated than that thing we had at the market.”
“It’s not,” I scoffed.
“Well I managed to steam a cup of coffee, went everywhere.”

I snorted in amusement.

“It wasn’t funny!”
“Course not,” I smirked.
Dad came up from the cellar cum garage just then, “I know it’s not far but you might want to get dressed, young lady.”

Why can’t I go in my jarmies? I've got knickers on, hmm, might want a bra though.

“Yes, Dad,” I sighed, “I'll just finish this.”
“And do something with the hair, please.”

Yeah, when Mand called it candyfloss she wasn’t far wrong, going to bed with it a bit damp has resulted in a semi afro, not a good look. It wasn’t even nine when we set off for our day’s activities, I had hoped to get forty winks on the way but I ended up reliving not just yesterday but Friday night as well. I didn’t want to brag but how could I not, I was voted Prom Queen after all.

We had plenty of time, the race isn’t until this afternoon so getting to the Grönberg’s before ten gave us time for coffee before going on. Of course I had to repeat everything for Ron’s benefit, this time with Mand filling bits in that I'd left out. Eventually though, we were called to order and we set off for parts north just before eleven.

One autobahn looks pretty much like another, Ron and Mand were rattling like fish wives about goodness knows what leaving me to contemplate the Westphalian countryside. We left the motorway after about thirty minutes then headed through Recklingshausen, taking another twenty minutes to reach our destination, Haard Camping right at the edge of the forest. Racing isn’t starting until two but already quite a few cars and riders were on site, railings being set up, banners fixed.

“Right, are you three getting changed?” Dad suggested.
“Yes, Dad, “I sighed, “come on guys, they're no fun.”

The fun was Dad and Angela doing the ezy up tango, Dad doing his best to prevent collapse, not aided by his daughter’s comments. Being a campsite there’s not exactly changing rooms but we’ve got exclusive use of one toilet block so we did have a bit of privacy to change. Apart from trying it on, this is the first time I've worn my rainbow banded skinsuit, I still don’t connect with that day fully.

“Nice BH, Gabs,” Ron mentioned as we set off back to the car.
“Wha?”
“It shows right through your suit,” Mand supplied.
“Pervs.”
“Hey it’s a nice BH, “Ron went on.

We, well me at least, was surprised to find Anita and her dad under the ezy up.

“Hi, Neet, how come you’re here, I thought the team were in Poland?”
She finished clipping in to start her warm-up before answering, “Five rider teams and it was my turn to rest.”
“This is hardly a rest,” I pointed out.
“Well it’s better than four or five hours graft for four days.”
“I guess.
“Come on, Gab, warm up,” Dad instructed.

The tent had the sides on, we don’t generally bother but here it gives us a bit of privacy, last thing we want is an audience as we warm up stripped to the waist. Soon there were four of us spinning away on the turbo’s, it’s safer and more controlled to do it this way. It’s not a hot day, pleasantly warm I'd say but it’s cloudy with a light breeze, not bad for a relatively short test – yeah it’s only thirty K.

“Not exactly the F1,” Mand stated over the yowl of the trainers.
“What's F1?” Ron queried.
“A time trial course in England, supposed to be quite fast.”
“All the courses have a code ,” Mand supplied, “round home they’re Q’s and G’s.”
“Right,” Ron allowed.
“It’s complicated,” I agreed.

Back home in England, time trials are seeded according to a formula, I think I've said before but today it’s all a bit random. The only thing that's familiar is that the highest ranked rider starts last, today, as reigning Weltmeisterin, that's my honour. Each of the others finished warming up before being escorted to the start area leaving just me and Carsten in the tent.

“Time, young lady,” he stated passing me a towel.
“’Kay.”

I eased down, then dismounted so Herr Pilz could release my sleek time trial bike from its restraints. After towelling off I pulled my skinsuit back into place before preening in the reflection offered by the car’s side windows. Aero helmet on, oh yeah looking cool, I admired the way I looked in the suit, all white except for the rainbow bands and the sponsor’s logos, the built in visor of the helmet giving me a space age appearance.

“Come,” Carsten instructed.

I remounted my speed missile and Neet’s dad pushed me across to the starting area. Thankfully there’s not a ramp, they are just scary, but there is a tent which is where Dad was waiting after seeing Mand off.

Beep, beep, beep, beeeeeep!
“Number seventy seven,” an official called, my minute person scooted forward to the start line.
“Okay, kiddo?”
“Think so.”
“Just do what you can.”
Beep, beep, beep, beeeeeep!
“Seventy eight.”
“Good luck, girl,” Carsten offered.
“Be careful,” Dad added as he wheeled me forward.

The pusher took over from Dad and after settling down I started my pre race breathing. I sat up to watch the countdown, automatically checking my helmet, cleats, computer.

“Fifteen.”

I returned to the bars and counted down in my head, ten, nine, eight…
Beep, beep, beep, beeeeeep!
I pushed down on the pedals and started my effort.

There was a right turn after fifty metres so I stayed on the wide bars until I was clear then it was down into my tuck before snicking up a couple of gears. This is the only bit of the course, about half a kilometre, where we get to see other riders, the couple finishing looked to be riding easily so at least the finish should be easy! A big yellow board announced turn one and our joining the public highway.

It’s not a closed road today, we do however have a supposedly closed lane so in theory no other traffic should be on our side of the road. An assortment of whistles and some cheering greeted me at the corner, where I had to come off the tri bars to dab the brakes. Once through the turn I returned to my aero tuck and spun back up to near forty kph, oh yeah, this is it!

Maddy Bell © 27.10.16