They are the most important annual races and yet the Worlds, for the riders at least, have none of interviews, presentations and other guff that we get week in, week out at the big races. No, for these championships all the hype takes place afterwards, beforehand everyone is equal, no preferential start line positioning, everyone anonymous in national federation strip. Iz, Tal and I have managed to get spots on the second row, just three more hopefuls in a sea of œstrogen fuelled nervousness.

Of course, whilst we riders were anonymous there’s still a bunch of crowd pleasing chatter to go through before our final rider address by the chief commisar. I let the words wash over me, its pretty much the same spiel every time, obeying the flags, feed and service protocols. I looked around me, picking out some of the more obvious national strips, just as many were unfamiliar.

Its not like you have to qualify as such to be here, every federation automatically gets a single start slot, you get extra’s depending on your riders prowess on the international scene, the highest ranking getting the maximum which this year is five slots. Having got here some of these girls will barely get out of the neutral zone before their race is over, in reality less than half the starters will even get to the line, let alone be in a position to contest things.

The danger today is that the course won’t be selective enough and a peloton with a big percentage of less experienced riders will contest the finale. Not if I can help it.

‘Shreeeeee!”

The whistle brought me back to the present.
“Ready chicas?” I asked offering a fist.
“Lets do it,” Izzy stated duplicating my fist.
“Obere alles,” Tal added before bumping her own fist with ours.
‘Paaaaaaarp!’

And we’re off.
 
Somewhere over a hundred teenage girls surged forward, a cacophony of clicking cleats, misaligned gears, cursing and nervous chatter. The crowd, not exactly huge, cheered and clapped as we threaded our way out of Stratford, Ontario for eighty five kilometres, fifty three miles. Of course we’re neutral for the first kilometre, in theory its just a procession, in reality its an elbow bashing, squeezing, pushing press for real start positions.

I nodded at each of my team mates as the lead commisar prepared to start us properly, time for action, only eighty four kilometres to go! The flag waved extravagantly before dropping even as the car accelerated ahead, we’re on. Of course everyone wanted to be at the front but even on a dual lane there’s only room for so many abreast and with the first turn fast approaching I was glad of our frontal starting position.

Of course, sensible people don’t go from the gun, they take a more measured, planned approach, I held my top twenty spot through the turn but before things settled down again Iz and Tali took off like the proverbial blue bummed insects. Oh you thought it was me going for a long one? Don’t be so daft, that’s eighty odd kilometres you’re talking. It was a big effort, a tactic Apollinaris have utilised with success more than once, I could see heads being shaken and no reaction from the more experienced riders around me.

Meanwhile the escapees were in full-on two up time trial mode, really laying down the rubber and making fair progress. Of course a few of the less astute tacticians gave chase, we’d expected as much, its your reaction to such actions that will shape the race. The big hitters paid these supplementary attacks as much attention as my girls, concentrating instead on massing their forces at the head of the peloton.
 
I quickly picked out the likely big hitters, Bronzini from Italy, Dettmeier, i’m guessing the girl in the distinctive Canadian strip is Poole, well a pretty serious looking group in fact. The Dutch and Italian ‘domestics’ had control over the bunch, only a couple of interlopers mixing it with the sky blue and orange jerseys. Behind us a comet tail of riders were whipping along in our wake, if you are back there now your chances of getting up to the front amount to almost nil.

When I did manage to see up the road we were already at the bend that announces the railway crossing and St Marys. My girls were well up the road, in sight but maybe a couple of minutes ahead, between them and us were maybe half a dozen girls caught, in effect, in no womans land – not gaining on the leaders but seemingly unwilling to admit defeat and drop back. Well that's their lookout, i’m quite comfortable sat here being drafted along at about forty kph.

A combination of rail crossings, turns and road layout meant that the girls were lost from sight for a bit, just long enough for those riding point to, if not forget them, be distracted from them. Our plan is quite speculative, at some point there will be a reaction, someone will get nervous, can that pair really go the distance? That's our bit of poker playing, if no one chases they might just make it to the finish, if there is a pursuit, with any luck they’ll act as a springboard for me.
 
We turned onto what i’ve dubbed ‘Fullarton Straight’, almost ten kilometres pretty much arrow straight. Not level thankfully but a slightly rolling topography, drop to the river, up again before dropping towards Fullarton with its bends, bridges and on this lap hard right turn back towards Stratford. In theory at least the leading pair will be easily pulled back by a semi determined peloton, but at the moment they don’t seem interested.

“Bond,” Bronzini greeted as we rolled along behind the head of the tadpole.
“’sme,” I agreed.
“Bit, how you say, pancake,” she told me in broken German.
“Not exactly the Alps,” I agreed.
“Sabine,” she nodded towards another sky blue jersey, “she thinks you are playing games.”
“Games?”
“Your friends, it is a suicide tactic.”
“Maybe, they took a chance.”
“To leave the famous Gabriella Bondt behind, I theenk not.”
I gave a shrug, “our team is democratic, everyone is equal.”
“This I don’t believe but we will see.”
“Indeed,” I agreed.
“Some advice, you see the Polish?”
“Uh huh.”
“Katjia Borodny, maybe a good wheel to follow.” with that she accelerated up to ‘Sabine’.

I looked over at the now identified Borodny girl, I recognised the name of course, her mother has been going head to head with Mum for goodness knows how long. Where i’m the tiny blonde she’s the tall, dark, solidly built powerhouse, think Josh with boobs. Josh is beatable and so is she, yes, worth watching but I think others are more dangerous to my plans.
 
We made the river crossing and whilst hardly steep, slowed on the short climb up onto the ridge. The descent seemed shorter than I remembered from yesterday, we swept along next to the river before making the turn and crossing the North Thames River for a second time. This bit of the course i’m effectively blind on as we missed it yesterday but I can read a map and was unsurprised when Dettmeier made a move up the first bit of climb.

The Italians seemed a bit wrong footed by the move but Borodny was right there, yours truly in close attendance. I hadn’t actually seen Iz and Tal for a bit but as we crested the rise, away in the distance, on the next climb, a flashing light pinpointed them, further ahead than i’d dared hope. As we dropped towards the next river crossing our three became six, eight, nine, twelve riders, a select group? Maybe, a useful size at least and with riders from all the big nations present we’ll be well protected from a rear assault all being well.

From a passive ride behind the orange and blue phalanx, things were now more business like and I couldn’t hide any longer. I could be excused not giving it a hundred percent, after all they are my teamies we are chasing after. The group was quick to get organised, clearly everyone new their way around a race, i’ll put money on the podium being decided from amongst this lot – well second and third, the top spot’s mine!

Up, down, river, back up and we made the turn back onto the main circuit and the rolling road to St Marys. Its difficult to tell of course but it looked like we’d reduced the gap to my compatriots a bit. My computer was showing an elapsed hour and ten minutes, thirty five kilometeres down, fifty to go.
 
It seemed like an eternity getting to the bend and then it seemed like mere seconds before we reached the rail crossing. I hate rail crossings at the best of times but now I have another reason, not sure of the how or why but within metres I didn’t have one flat tyre but two, shitza! Things got a bit squiggly but I managed to stay upright, my arm going up as soon as I was under control.

Bum, bum, bum!

Dad has had us practicing wheel changes, its never gonna be formula one but getting everything right can easily be win or lose. I had the back wheel out by the time the service chap reached me.

“Its both,” I panted as he started to put the replacement in.
“Okay,” he calmly told me, “out.”

By the time I had the front out, my saviour was done at the bank, seconds later he was pushing me along as I got my feet back in the pedals.

“cheers!”

Best laid plans and all that. Well no point dwelling on it Bond, there’s still a race to be won. I got comfortable, selected a sprocket lower and engaged time trial mode.
 
The rest of the group had either not realised my dilemma or weren’t too bothered in getting extra advantage, whichever it was they were still under a minute ahead as we turned, in turn for Fullarton. Which is when I first noticed the headwind, last time round I was hidden in the bunch and you don’t notice it so much when its behind, but go directly into it, with no shelter and its like hitting a wall.

Sugar! I need to get back up to the rest in double quick time, its over twenty kilometres up to the turn at Bornholm, all into this wind. One advantage of being a pipsqueak is there’s less of me to push through the air, i’m naturally more aero than bigger riders with a lower centre of gravity so its a double whammy in a one on one. Okay there’s eleven of them sharing the effort but who’s the Weltmeisterin against the clock? Yup me.

I was aided by some apparent lack of enthusiasm by those ahead, I steadily clawed my way across the gap, aided by the drop to the river a couple of K along the road. By the time we crested the ridge above Fullarton I was within touching distance so took the opportunity of the drop to the town to get some calories back on the inside. Izzy and Tal are still ahead but clearly fading, I spotted them ahead as the road made one of its few changes of direction just outside of the town.
 
My double deflation has meant a slight change in my plans, I had planned to get across to the girls somewhere around here but with the chasing i’ve had to re-evaluate things. I slipped back amongst my peers as we circumnavigated Fullarton, hopefully my teammies can keep it going a bit further. As we tracked the river beyond Fullarton I settled nack into the shelter of Borodny.

“Your friends, their gamble is almost over,” Bronzini told me.
“Was always a long shot,” I agreed.
“You had a problem, you were behind some yes?”
“Two punctures.”
“Not so good,” she opined, no doubt storing that bit of information in her tactical folder.
“This wind sucks.”
“I thought blows,” she suggested in reply.
“That too,” I allowed with a grin.
 
We climbed away from the river again, ahead of us the girls still had service, so over thirty seconds advantage. At the top we turned for Mitchell, the change in direction had us changing formation to counter the winds effects – not that we were doing proper turns on the descent. Mitchell, twenty five to go and most of that with some sort of tailwind, guess its time to throw my hat in, any longer and the others efforts will have been for nought.

Yesterday we picked out Mitchell as a potential attack point, its a bit of a pinch point with a couple of sharpish corners either side of another river bridge. Not only that but there’s a short, sharp climb a little further on, yep, ripe for a move. A quick glimpse around my companions revealed a few tired bodies, at the very least an attack will improve the odds.

I eased myself to the outside of the group as we approached the first turn then left my braking late which moved me up just behind Sabine, the second Italian. With more momentum through the corner than the rest, a snick of the gears and a short out of saddle bit across the bridge had me leading into the second, left hand turn. Then it was a case of Bond Boost as the road started to climb out of town.

The service wheel actually had a lower gear than my own which actually worked out quite well when the road tipped up. Out of the saddle up the ramp, I was able to comfortably keep on top of the gear rather than having to heave the pedals round. Ahead of me the rest of Team Germany were still going strongly but i’d closed most of the gap.

For this to work I have to get over to them quickly, if there’s any hesitation on my part any springboard will be cancelled out, those no doubt chasing me will catch us before I can make good on my escape. Due to my mechanical, this is all happening some ten kilometres, twenty, twenty five minutes after we’d planned so everything is being compressed. I crested the hill and quickly picked up speed on the slight down, reaching the girls after another couple of minutes effort.
 
“’bout flippin’ time Bond,” Tali gasped out.
“Soz, puncture, tell you later, you guys okay?”
“Knackered,” Iz allowed.
“There’s a chase on,” Tal advised glancing back.
“Best make the most of this then, you up for interference?”
“We can try,” Izzy advised.

A third rider meant that everyone got a longer rest and allowed a slightly higher velocity to be maintained. My presence gave the others renewed impetus, we were soon holding forty five K despite the headwind. We could see Bornholm ahead, there will hopefully be some wind assist after we make the turn.
 
The original plan was to move up at Fullarton, giving me a longer rest before going for it at Mitchell, I should’ve been away by now. When we made the Bornholm turn I sneaked a look behind, a reduced group were maybe fifteen seconds behind, damn. I played the likely scenarios out in my head, attack now and then get pulled back, wait and react to their arrival, might even get a bit of rest unless there’s a ride through.
i’ll be at a disadvantage with the tailwind if I go on my own, guess that’s decision made. After some sixty kilometres out front, Iz and Tal were definitely sagging now, our tactic has sort of worked, pulling some of the sting from the peloton and until fate stepped in, giving me a pretty much free ride. I indicated that we should ease up and we didn’t wait long before the chasers came through.

Thankfully it wasn’t a ride through, all three of us were able to catch the tail of the comet. I suppose the presence of Bronzini, Borodny and Dettmeier was to be expected, slightly more surprising was finding the Canadian girl here with them. Seven of us, I guess this is the final selection and we have the numbers if not the strength.

Dettmeier took the initiative, indicating we should rotate, not doing so will surely cause a reaction, a painful reaction and so we started working together.
 
“Nice move Bondt,” Bronzini offered.
“The long shot sometimes works,” I allowed.
“Si,” she agreed.

Borodny was the one to break the status quo shortly after we passed through Wartburg and the ten to go banner. It was clearly a serious move, she got maybe twenty metres before Bronzini took control of the chase with a huge effort. It was however, too much for Tali, I only realised we’d lost her when we slowed after killing the Pole’s move.

Through Sebringville and its five to go, I took a last pull on a bidon, this is gonna go to the wire. I was taken by surprise when it was Izzy who launched herself off the front through the next turn. At this stage no one was willing to sit and watch, Poole led the chase this time, not wanting to actively chase my team mate I sat on Bronzini’s wheel.

No sooner was the move closed down than Borodny went again but this time Dettmeier was straight on her wheel. Bronzini set off next, I followed, the finish is too close now, less than two kilometres away. Izzy was still hanging in, a spent force, but here nevertheless. It looks like it really will come down to a gallop, I surveyed the opposition, a couple of unknowns, Dettmeier and Bronzini have each won from small groups but are they really sprinters?

The red kite, one to go and no one very keen to take the initiative, me included. Then Iz took another flyer, it had no chance of success but drew my fellow riders into action, Poole led the pursuit, is that a chink in Borodny’s armour, a bit of a gap. Should I? Of course I should, I flicked off Dettmeier’s wheel across the road and into the first of the pre straight turns giving it about ninety percent effort.

I was vaguely aware of the PA, the cheering crowds, the barriers but also of someone on my wheel. Bum. Off the gas a bit through the last corner, there’s the line, two hundred to go, this is it. A flash of blue came through, an orange jersey in close attendance, come on Bond, one last effort.

A flip onto Dettmeier then another into clean air and open tarmac, the legs screaming, the red fog descending. I was vaguely aware of another rider on my outside, oh no you don’t missy, this one’s mine. From somewhere I squeezed a bit more power out, there’s the line, come on Bond, one last effort. I threw the bike forward in a last desperate effort.

Did I get it? My companions swerved around me as I braked to a halt, turning to see the big screen where the result flashed up even as I watched. I couldn’t see my name, where did I come then? The screen rolled and the result flashed up again, first, Bond G -yahoo!

I stood there and the tears started, i’ve won, i’m the Weltmeisterin, the double Weltmeisterin. I felt arms around me as Izzy pulled me into a hug, the waterworks completely burst their banks as I returned the embrace. I became aware of more bodies, of someone taking my steed, I wiped my eyes, time to meet my public!

Maddy Bell © 24.10.2018