"We did have a responsible adult with us, honest, Han did her best to control the wine and I think she only had one glass. I'm sure I only had two – and it was white, although it might have been three, we were celebrating okay?”
"You do recall you’re both racing in the morning,” Dad mentioned with some disdain.
"Yeah,” I cautiously replied.
Mand was giggling away like, well a giggling thing.
“Let them be, Dave,” Mum suggested, "I'm sure they’ll both be nice and sober for the race.”
Dad sighed in resignation, "If it’s not one thing it’s another, go on, go and sort yourselves out.”
"Yes, Daddy.”
"And, Gaby?”
"Hmm?”
"Move that thing before someone does themselves an injury.”
Oh yeah, somehow I've ended up as temporary custydid, custard – I'm looking after the trophy until Monday.
"Gis a hand, Mand.”
"Why, you lost one?”
Dad did a hand-plant with his groan, "Never mind, just, just go.”

I think I'm getting the hang of this wine drinking lark, I don’t feel half as bad as last time, might’ve been the coffee Mum shoved down my neck but whatever my head’s not doing the room orbit thing this morning.

"Breakfast’s on the table,” Mum called up to my cave.
Guess it’s time to make an appearance.

"Where’re we racing again?” I enquired slopping OJ into a glass.
"Rattingen, just up the road from the Grönberg’s.”
"Right.”
"I'm dropping you off with Angela then me and your mum are going to some place in Wuppertal to look at campers.”
"Not fair,” I pouted.
"There’s cash prizes.”

I like cash prizes, I never really see any of the winnings from the big races – they get paid directly into the bank. Oh there’s the ‘goods’, usually tosh like water bottles and energy drink, or the dreaded vouchers for some bike shop you’ve never heard of let alone visited. There’s quite a trade after some races, if you’re lucky you get seventy five cents on the euro but it’s been less than that sometimes.

Oh yeah, camper, the insurance have agreed a sum for our squidged car, quite generous according to Dad. It’ll be pretty cool if we do get a camper, the old one was dead useful at races and we’d often have weekends away. It does have drawbacks, they’re not great as taxis and they take up a lot of space on the drive.

"Are you listening?” Mum prompted.
"Um?”
"I said, ‘Tom’s agreed to do your opening thing next week’.”
"Tom?”
"She was in cloud cuckoo land again,” Mand opined.
"Was not.”
"Tom Boonen?” Mum prompted.
"As in Weltmeister Tom Boonen?”
"The same, he’s home visiting his folks before the Tour build up.”
"Do you reckon I can get an autograph?”
"It’ll be him asking you,” Mum suggested.
"You can discuss all this in the bus, eat up or we’ll be late,” Dad prompted.

What’s gotten in to him?

Despite the conversation last night, it’s not a properly early start today, we departed Villa Bond just turned nine and Dad had the easy up er up in the car park by eleven.

"Thanks for this, Angela.”
"No trouble, Dave, I'd be here anyway.”
"We’ll try not to be too late,” Mum offered.
"Don’t worry about us.”
"Get one of those big Hymer ’s,” I suggested.

The Rents departed and thoughts turned to the job in hand – i.e. taking the organisers for as much dosh as possible.

Rattingen is a bit of a weird place, a typical small country town but with some big industrial plant, convenient as it has good links to the autobahns, Düssel airport, Rhein and sits midway between Düsseldorf and Duisburg. The old centre is partly pedestrianised and today's racing is on a tight circuit around the church. I say tight, it’s under a kilometre and includes a dead turn at the top of the pedestrianised area.

"This is gonna be hard work,” Mand suggested as we walked around the circuit after registering.
"Fast,” Ron suggested.
My own thoughts. "Anyway, I thought you’d got new super powers?”
"Hardly,” Mand snorted.
"So what’s with this English race?” Ron enquired.
"Ryedale?”
"I don’t know, Mum just said we’re going to England.”
"All I know is its in Yorkshire.”
"Where you went before Weihnachts?”
"Yeah,” Mand put in, "From what I've heard it’s gonna be as hard as Switzerland.”
"That’ll be the famous Yorkshire Alps,” I noted.
"Just saying what your mum told me.”
"How comes she told you?”
"You were painting your cafe.”
"Kiosk.”
"Whatever, she said there’re some hard climbs, especially on the last day.”
"Best dust off my climbing legs then,” Ron mentioned.
"Tom Boonen’s gonna open the kiosk,” I blurted.
"Get off!”
"No, straight up, Mum’s sorted it.”

Of course it’s not just bike racing here today, it’s all part of some local Kirmes thing, so there’s a variety of foot races, kiddies rides and stuff. It’s mostly a local community thing but the cash prizes are quite a pull so we were joined today by competitors from as far away as Dortmund and Aachen. However the Jungere events haven’t attracted too many riders – well it’s a fairly small pool to start with.

"Dang!”
"Hi guys,” I greeted.
"Thought we might have a chance today,” Barbie sighed.
"And who says you still haven’t?” Ron proposed.
"Well duh,” Fran indicated the three of us.
"Which event are you in?” I queried.
"Jungere of course,” Barb supplied.
"Well it’s a good job me an’ Ron are riding the women and vets event then.”
"You’ll only have me to worry about,” Mand grinned.

Have to say, my money’s on de Vreen in that face off but there’s more than one prize.

"For real?” Fran asked.
"Straight up,” I agreed, "Dad thought we needed some different competition.”
"But your licences, surely they are only for Jungere?” Fran queried.
"The benefits or not of being sort of famous, Dad rang the organisers.”
"Some of those old men are pretty handy,” Barbie noted.
"Yeah,” I agreed, "I think that’s the point.”

The cycling wasn’t in a block, foot races punctuate the programme which helps keep the audience around and with such a short circuit the barriers were lined with a good natured crowd.

"Go on, Mand!”

They’d announced a spot prize next lap and the girl from Croydon was on a flyer to claim it. She wasn’t having it easy, several of the lads were in hot pursuit but Mand has been consistently quickest through the hairpin each lap, she’d claim the prime if she came out ahead again. We all craned up the course to watch her progress, the lads caught her but she was on the front back down towards us.

"Yay!” I bounced up and down on Mand’s behalf as she claimed the forty euros.

"It’s a bit greasy on the bottom corner,” Mand advised towelling herself off a few minutes later having claimed the girls’ race and two primes.
"Right,” I acknowledged.
"That might be the least of the problems,” Ron put in, "It’s an egg race before us.”
"Hope they’re hard boiled,” egg on the course would not be good.
"Here,” Angela dangled a couple of fresh bidons between us.
"It’s only a crit,” Ron told her mother.
"On a warm afternoon for best part of an hour, you both got food?”

Geez, she’s turned into Dad!

I fished into the leg of my skinsuit for the gels secreted there. Yep, Mum’s suggestion, our skinsuits will be cooler than bibs and a jersey out there. Plus they look kinda cool even if everyone can see what you’re wearing, or not, underneath!

I looked along the line of starters, we weren’t the only laydeez riding but it’s not them that will provide the real competition. No, that’ll be the men who are making up most of the field, just because they are classed as ‘veteran’ doesn’t mean they are past it. Far from it, they’ve often been racing for decades, know all the tricks and can be more competitive than the younger, senior riders.

"What do you reckon?” Ron quietly queried in my ear.
"Not sure, stay out of trouble?”
"One of your long uns might work.”
"Maybe,” I agreed, "Best see what they’re made of first.

Long un – yeah that's gonna happen. They didn’t quite go from the gun but by the time we started lap two the field was in a long string and just staying in place was an effort. There were no team tactics, it’s every man, woman and Jungere for themselves here this afternoon.

We’d been tearing around Rattingen for fifteen minutes before the pace dropped a little and a reduced peloton changed from worm to bunch. I found a gel and took the opportunity to get an energy hit, who knows when or even if there’ll be another chance. I checked for Ron, yeah she was still with us but of the other women there was no sign.

It was but a brief and very temporary break in hostilities, next time round a prime was posted for two laps hence. What the heck, why not? The speed almost immediately increased but with perhaps a little less enthusiasm than before so whilst we strung out again the pace wasn’t so high.

I'd got myself into fifth wheel, still sheltered but hopefully clear of any trouble, I knew where to make my move and waited for those in front to ease up. I slipped inside and held off hitting the stop bars until the last moment, there were some angry voices but with a quick flick of the bars I was round the hairpin and engaging Bond Drive! My gearing might be restricted but my cadence isn’t and being so er small with cranks to match I can pedal through corners other less altitude lacking riders have to freewheel for.

The bell sounded for the prize next time through and I allowed a bit of a smile, this one’s mine. It nearly wasn’t, I almost wiped out on the greasy corner, I heard the crowd take a collective inhalation but a deft cyclocross steering move kept me upright. With a clear circuit ahead of me I raced along the barriers and with no one in the way made a neater, safer turn at the hairpin.

I reckon the gap was all of twenty metres but I'm not going for the race, just this lap. Moments later, with the prize pot banked, I sat up to wait for the rest of the field – I won’t get away the same again, I said I, but maybe Ron can?

"How much?” I queried approaching the support team.
"Fifty,” Angela advised as I slipped by.

Well it’s a start.

Maddy Bell © 14.02.17