Gaby Book 28  Balancing Trick by Maddy Bell Copyright© 2023 Madeline Bell

 
I squeezed the last of my energy bar into my mouth, blackcurrant flavour if you must know, just as I was overhauled. I wasn’t too surprised to see Lotte Kapenky, one of the Belgians followed by a Swiss girl that I couldn’t put a name to. They rode straight through, I easily slotted on the back, clearly they weren’t here just to close me down.

There were more options now, it’s not a simple go / stop scenario anymore, there’s now more chance of getting to the Mur ahead of the bunch even if the odds of taking the win are reduced. We eventually made a right turn and started what turned out to be a fairly flat middle sector of the race. The first kilometre or so was on a nice wide semi urban street then we crossed a roundabout and were almost immediately jouncing over brick pavé.

It was in good repair at least, a few loose cobbles rocking as we crossed them, to be fair, there are worse in Ahrweiler. Soon after I was caught we got into a steady rotation and everyone seemed comfortable enough. Frank had pointed out some cobbled sections during yesterdays recon but to be honest I’d been looking at the terrain rather than road surfaces.

Of course driving along in a big minibus thing you don’t get to feel the smaller imperfections, the changes of surface, the loose material, just the bigger lumps, bumps and more uneven surfaces. Which is how I nearly came a cropper at the next corner. Lotte took a fairly tight line into the turn, I was outside of her wheel and the next thing I know I’m fighting to stay upright as my rear wheel started to wash out on the layer of gritty stuff that I now spotted covering the middle of what was now a single track lane.

I was reminded of northern France last year, yeah the cobbles were bad but the other shitty lanes actually caused more accidents. In Germany you just don’t see roads like it, don’t get me wrong, you get a bit of mud and stuff but the amount covering this stretch of road spoke of years of neglect, you’d think the farmers would want the mud back in their fields. It wasn’t a long stretch but it was enough to disrupt our rotation, on the other hand, it’ll be a nightmare back in the peloton.

The cars and motorbikes in front were kicking up a right dust cloud that we were forced to ride through, I was more than pleased when the road cleaned up as we reached the next village. The motorbike came up with a time check, ‘1”16, okay, we’ve lost a few seconds coming through there but if I remember rightly, there’s a nice descent coming up where our smaller numbers will give us a slight edge. The Swiss, I’m sure it’s something like Claudette, led us into the drop, more single lane down through a wooded defile, thankfully the road was cleaner if a little uneven in places.

I’m no slouch on the downhills on my own but I lack the body mass to really make use of the gravity effect, put me behind a bigger rider though, and both my companions are bigger by a good bit, and I get sucked along quite nicely. We nearly overshot the gravelly turn at the bottom, you don’t have to be a linguist to understand expletives. Then we were out onto a nice wide N road, I took point and drove the speed up again.

The board at the bridge stated we were crossing the L’Ourthe, once over we turned left to follow the river upstream. How do I know? Well there was a huge weir about half a kilometre later. Anyhow, that’s by the by, the road was well surfaced and snugged between the river and a steep wooded valley side, a train raced past on the far bank, it was like riding along a miniature Rhein Gorge but without the vineyards.
 

Everyone was still pulling their weight as we entered Comblain, if I remember right, we climb out of the valley then its fairly level all the rest of the way to Huy. Another time check showed that the bunch were holding us steady around the one fifteen mark, we could really do with a bit more clear road between us, once we get to Huy there’ll be little opportunity to do more than hope we can stay away. Well, that’s unless we do something in the next few kilometres.

The crowds were out in Comblain, I say crowds, a reasonable smattering of enthusiasts as we started the climb through the main square. I know what you’re thinking, we’ve not exchanged two words since I was caught but to be honest, there’s been nothing to say. But maybe there is now.

"We need more gap,” I opined as we all took a brief fluid intake.
"My thought too,” Lotte agreed.
"I think there is not much opportunity?” the Swiss added.
"Sorry I don’t know your name, Gaby by the way.”
"Claudette Blanc, like the mountain, everyone knows who you are.”

Well I got the Claudette bit right!

"You have an idea?” Lotte queried.
"Some, there’s more single lane roads on the way to Huy right?”
"I think so yes,” the Belgian agreed.
"Well if we give it full gas up this climb we can use the narrow roads to our advantage, we can go quicker than a big bunch.”
"Its not that much of a climb,” Blanc scoffed.
"Maybe not where you come from, but its as big as we get in Belgie,” Lotte stated.
"Doesn’t matter, we do a big effort and we can get maybe thirty, forty seconds,” I suggested.
"Well what are we waiting for,” the Swiss girl put in with more enthusiasm than I thought necessary, "Last one to the top wears a dirndl!”

Weird thing to say.
 

The road tilted a bit more steeply after yet another roundabout and Claudette put in a goodly effort until it levelled a bit when Lotte took over. Houses were replaced by trees and I moved through and kept the hammer down as the road looped through a couple of turns and a hairpin bend. There was a bit of noisy roadside support as we made the turn in close formation, the Swiss jersey returned to the front briefly before we got back into a slightly more disciplined rotation as the grade returned to single figures.

Of course, the race isn’t just two dimensional, behind us the bunch had clearly seen the danger, at the next time check we were almost two full minutes up on the main bunch but there was a chasing group of five fifteen seconds ahead of them. Three’s okay, eight is starting to get a bit of a crowd and without knowing who’s there I’d rather they don’t catch up to us. There’s not a lot we can do about it though, I think we three are all committed to going all the way so that’s it.

The road was quite good, through the next village but at the next we were directed through another cobbled lane, thankfully relatively free of debris until we passed some farm buildings. We were through quickly and it was short enough that the dust didn’t get much chance to become an issue. The road we came out onto was wider and tarmac, which suited those behind better than us, especially as it was darn well arrow straight.

Eventually it started to drop a bit and with a little waggle we were in a shallow valley, making the turns through the hamlet disrupted our rhythm a bit but the short incline back out through the trees soon had us back on track. If memory serves, its all good two lane from here, at least until the finish loop. I fished some dried fruit out of my pocket, I have a plan C to consider, three at the Mur is okay I guess but one would be better.
 

We got another time check as we entered Tinlot, who makes up these names? there were now two groups between us and the main race, the closest to us were at one fifty, the second fifteen more and finally another twenty seconds to the main swarm. Provided we don’t mess up, its ours for the taking. It was a slightly iffy plan but it looks like it was good enough for me to have a decent shot at the prize.

I checked on my companions, they both looked fairly comfortable, well as much as you do after an hour at full gas. On the other hand my legs were feeling a bit leaden, not like they did a fortnight ago when I cramped up, just heavy from the effort. I reached for more dried fruit but the pocket was bare, energy bar? Nope, all that was left was my emergency gummi bears and two gels – looks like its a slimy orange flavour gel then.

The others seemed of like fuelling mind, we have enough in hand to ease off for a few seconds to eat. We swung out onto a much mainer road, crossed a dual carriageway and looped around yet another roundabout. I think we’ve been through more of those things today than there are in the whole of the Hohe Eiffel!

Oh boy, I recognise this, we’re on the finish loop! The road dragged up for a couple of K before we started the long drop into the narrow valley that takes the course north towards Huy. Timing is everything, there are two more climbs before the finale, the first one, the longest, gains about a hundred metres, its quite tough but its still like fifteen to the finish and that's mostly downhill.

Yep any move there is doomed to failure which leaves the short, sharp Côte de Cherave six out from the line. Success is of course not guaranteed but the fairly short descent followed by the flat run along the river to the start of the Mur offers a chance. Its either that or hope to get the better of the others on that climb, okay, I flew up it last night but that was on fresh legs.

And what are the others thinking, are they expecting me to make a move? Have either or both of them got a plan? Guess I’ll find out in the next few minutes.

We reached the valley floor and even though each of us was still taking our turn on the front, there was a new nervousness to things. We reached the turn for the bigger climb and Lotte made her move, an out of saddle effort that got her about twenty metres. I must admit, it caught me and I think Claudette on the back foot, stay focused Bond, stay focused.

The Swiss changed gear, upping the revs a bit, I slipped onto her wheel we were following but not chasing hard. It’s long, maybe two K, but at around five percent you can keep up a good cadence which is what we were doing. Lotte, after the initial big gain was now loosing ground at about a metre in five, you do the sums, we didn’t have to go deep, I took over the pace after a bit taking us up to about five metres.

Our quarry had a choice, sit up or plough on, to my surprise she chose the latter, I kept us back letting her expend energy she could’ve saved. We were in sight of the summit banners when she blew, coming backwards so fast I nearly rode into her. A few fans cheered us through, on Wednesday when the Pros race they get three passes, today is a bit less attractive even if we are prettier!
 

Claudette took over on the little dip and up to the second summit before we started the ten kilometre run to the Côte de Cherave. I let her keep the lead back down to the river valley then, on the near level, initiated a return to cooperation. The sound of the neutral motorbike which had fallen away over the top of the climb returned, either Lotte was back or she’d dropped right off.

Well apparently she wasn’t finished yet, I did say this long stretch of essentially downhill was an escape killer. On the plus side, her solo chase had clearly taken its toll, her riding was less smooth, the look in her eyes was determination not comfort. I think its fair to say that if it comes to the Mur, she’ll not be an issue, you can’t fake that fatigue, unlike my ‘dodgy’ gears.

I checked my bottles, one empty, the other, perhaps two decent pulls, its enough, it’ll have to be. I took the first swig then as I was returning it to the cage I hit bump and it was either hold the bottle and crash or grab the bars and don’t. My bottle and the last of my liquids bounced away across the road.

We’re within ten K now, there was a board at the side of the road a bit back. I felt at my pockets again, the last gel wouldn’t act quick enough, nope, its Haribo time. My fingers carefully gripped three, no four of the precious bear shaped sweets and transferred them to my mouth.

There was no repeat of the previous climb, the Belgian was hanging on bravely and by Claudette’s body language, she was content to wait for the last climb. Should I do the same or stick to plan C? My mind was only really made up when the Swiss reached for her bidon almost in sight of the summit.

Out of the saddle, I quickly overtook my companions and kept on the gas even as the few spectators cheered us through. The eleven sprocket was engaged and I threw any caution aside as I headed pell mell down to the Meuse, it was a close thing at the roundabout at the bottom, I had to use the full width of the road to get around. Under the four kilometre flag then the last slope to the riverside and I was in full on time trial mode.

It was tempting to glance behind but therein lies defeat. Two kilometres and I was in the city, a few people cheered from the pavement as I made the turn into the city centre. I reached for the last of my gummi bears, one last sugar hit. The approach to the Mur is quite benign, I slipped back the gears, one, two, three, have to keep the cadence quite high.

Then I was onto the climb proper, the Chemin de Chapelles otherwise known as the Mur du Hey, the Hey Wall. I came out of the drops and onto the hoods ready to battle the gradient and cobbles ahead of me. The cars and bikes ahead accelerated away leaving me alone on the road. I reached down and checked my shoes, adding a click to each, this is it.
 

The first ramp, through turn one had me out of the saddle to keep the gear rolling onto the false flat before turn two and the entry to the wall. I did a double change, the small front ring and up a gear at the back so that I didn’t spin out. Five hundred metres, back down one, no two for the next ramp onto the cobbles, keeping wide to lessen the corner grade.

I reached the corner, the wall rising seemingly vertical above me, spectators clinging to the banks. I’m sure I saw Claudette out of the corner of my eye as I made the turn, too late to worry now, click, click and I was on the steepest section, pulling on the bars, weight as near to vertical as possible. The gutter is certainly smoother than the roadway but even so the rear tyre skipped a couple of times causing my already racing heart to add a few more beats.

The wall of sound was intense, the slight cutting concentrating the cheering, bells and horns. Last night was a big effort, today I’ve had a ninety odd kilometre warm up, the red mist was rising, talk about on the rivet. You crest the steepest section and its still three hundred to the line, I gulped air, found some extra speed, clicked up a gear and hit the turbo.

Which had no effect whatsoever. The legs were going around but there was no more power to be had. I tried standing but it made no difference, yes I was still moving but it was like riding in treacle. Another gear change and I hit the sweet spot, I was vaguely aware of, I guess the Swiss close behind, the crowd were going potty.

And then I was on my own again, the surface returned to tarmac and I was into the last hundred. I couldn’t help it, I took a look under my arm, it wasn’t Claudette, no it looked like a Spanish jersey but the girl was going backwards. Fifty, I checked behind again before straightening my jersey, a last look behind, a scraggly bunch of riders were coming but they couldn’t catch me in twenty metres.

Both arms in the air I crossed the line then promptly crashed into Matty and Frank! I say crashed, it was more a slow motion collapse as the sprint for the placings came in behind.
 

Its easy to forget, the feeling of being the victor. Mum has mentioned in the past that the pressure of the rainbow jersey is really intense, the pressure to get the results, to act like a champion all whilst wearing a big target on your back that all the other riders want a tilt at, to deny the champion, to be able to say ‘I beat the champion’. For some who wear the arc en ciel that season never does bring success, others become invincible winning everything they look at. Me, well I have to admit to having a mixed season so far.

Last week I was on a high on the stages of Hessen but whilst that was cool and the adrenalin was flowing, it was as if nothing compared to how I feel right now, winner of the inaugural under eighteen Fleche Wallone.

"Gabs, did you hear?”
"Eh?”
"Frank wants everyone back at the bus,” Izzy repeated.
"Oh right.”

The last hour or so has been a bit of a whirlwind, drug testing, the presentation, press conference, bring it on! Of course, Frank was delighted, over the last few years the Dutch and Belgians have dominated in one day events in this category, rolling out an endless stream of very competent riders, so to get this today, on their home turf has been quite a thing. Mind you, it was a lot closer than I made it sound.

Yup, as predicted the main peloton really started to motor on the finish loop, if I’d waited any longer to attack I would almost certainly have been swallowed, I literally won by like five seconds although riders were still coming in over fifteen minutes later. Maybe I could’ve won from the bunch without all that effort, maybe not, we’ll never know. Yeah, quite a day indeed.

"There you are,” Frank grinned, "Still hugging the trophy I see.”
"Erm”
"You certainly earnt it, so you ready for some food?”
"Am I!”
"You had to ask Frank,” Greta mentioned.
"Come on then,“ the boss man chivvied.

We didn’t have far to go, the Restaurant Le Cortina was only metres from the finish area, we weren’t the only team using the place for the post race meal, we were the only ones with a great big trophy on the table. Of course with the others having flights to catch it was perhaps a little briefer than usual but that didn’t stop us having a nice meal complete with some sparkling wine.

"Nearly forgot,” Gret mentioned as we all made our farewells, "Details for next weekend.”
"Next weekend?”
She shook her head, "Sometimes Bond.”
"Next weekend, Potsdam right?”
"Right,” she confirmed,” Dad said that you should have everything you need in there, just check when you get home, should be a good weekend.”
"Yeah,” I agreed, "Safe flights, see you Saturday.”
"Er yeah.”

I dozed off on the way back to Dernau only waking up as the Mercedes bumped up the kerb into Bond Acres.

Maddy Bell © 19.05.2023