*Chapter 30*

Rheined

 
 
We bowled along at a pretty steady twenty-five / thirty kph, not exactly race speed but today isn't about that - we know we can race! No today is all about relaxing and getting some steady miles in - there will be enough pressure later in the week. It was still a little misty but it looks certain to be another scorcher later, there's certainly quite a bit of blue sky above us.

I’m sure I’ve told you about this route before; it’s a well-surfaced, wide road following the river south. The others seemed content to let me sit in - at least for now and that certainly suited me. I strained to see the Brohltal Express as we passed however the late summer foliage hid all but the sooty smoke from view although there was a tourist coach in the car park. Maybe one day I’ll have to take a ride on it as opposed to racing it up to Engeln!

We exchanged greetings with several other road warriors, roadies and what looked to be Dutch trekkers all cheerfully returning our waves. After the intensity of just about all my riding over the last month, this was reminding me that you don't have to be charging around the countryside to enjoy riding a bike. Indeed it just felt good to be out in the fresh (ish) air and the warm sunshine without getting into lather.

The pace picked up slightly on the approach to Andernach as we paced then overhauled a heavily laden river barge as it fought against the current. We’d been riding about an hour - nothing in real terms and I felt I could ride like this all day. Of course things couldn't continue so idyllically as we followed the busy main road away from the river to take us directly to Koblenz and the crossing of the Mosel.

I’ve never ridden this way before, either crossing the river to Neuweid, turning up towards Mayen or if we’re in the car we’ll use the autobahn. The road took us in a pretty straight line into the industrial region of north Koblenz before swinging round to trace the railway to and across the Mosel.

“That explains that,” I announced to anyone listening.

“What’s that kiddo?”

“Sign just back there to the Deutsche Bahn Museum.”

“Um?”

“Well I wondered why there were a load of old trains just before you get to Koblenz on the train, they must be at the museum.”

“I think you’re right,” Maria chimed in, “I think Hen went to some sort of event there back in the spring.”

I made a mental note to mention it to Dad, however girly my body thinks it is, upstairs its pure boy – which is why I like model cars and stuff isn’t it?
 
 

The traffic increased a bit as we approached the Balduinbrücke, the most we’ve encountered since we set off.

“Eck?” Maria enquired.

“Eh?”

“Yeah why not.” Mum replied.

“What we doing Mum?”

“Few minutes break, go on with Maria, I’ll catch up in a tick.”

I slipped through onto Maria’s wheel as Mum went back I guess to tell Dad the plan.

Clearly they’d done this before as Maria led the way around to the Moselkai and under the bridge to bring us to Koblenz’ most famous attraction. I’ve told you about this place before, where the green Mosel joins the brown Rhein; the ‘Eck’ being the pointy spit separating the two rivers. Maria headed towards the tourist facilities – toilets, gift shop and a couple of food emporia including an ice cream purveyor.

It was still a little early for the tourists but a couple of huge coaches from Denmark were parked up and the Noddy train was waiting expectantly for custom, its green and yellow paintwork almost camouflaging it against the bright sunshine and deep shadows thrown by the trees.

“Ooh, that’s better,” Maria allowed giving her back a stretch after demounting.

“You’re getting old Pinger,” Mum chortled, “you’ll have to become a hausfrau.”

“I’m younger than you Bond.”

“Gotcha!” Mum gleefully announced.

Geez, they’re like two schoolgirls – I should know sort of being one.

“You!”

“Coffee everyone?” Dad enquired having arrived with Kat in tow.

“Please Dave,” Maria agreed.

“Any chance of ice cream?” I asked realizing this wasn’t a two-minute toilet stop but potentially a reasonable break.

“You fetch it,” he told me, “Kat? Coffee?”

“Think I’ll get Eis with Gab.”

 
 
Five minutes later I’d blown three euros on a triple cone, pistachio, coconut and blueberry, Kat had a boring single scoop of chocolate mint.

“Hmm.” I sighed letting the warm sunshine warm my face.

“For a little un you certainly eat enough.” Kat stated as we headed to where the adults were sat with their coffee.

“Its ice cream, it doesn’t count as food.”

“Keep telling yourself that girl.” She suggested.

“Geez Gaby, leave some for everyone else.” Mum pronounced.

You’d think I had a bucket of the stuff instead of three scoops.

 
 
It was a bit weird sitting there listening to the olds chatting about this and that – I hardly ever even stop when I go training let alone stop for coffee. Do all the pro’s do this sort of stuff? I can sort of see Lance doing it, hmm Lance I can’t believe he does drugs, not after all the cancer stuff, he wouldn’t would he?

“… So I told him no way José,” Maria ended her story – I’d missed most of it, something about some Spanish bloke chatting her up at some race. The others all chuckled; I concentrated on my ice cream.

“We gonna get off?” Mum proposed.

“I’m still eating.”

“You can bring it with you or I’m sure your Dad’ll finish it.”

Not a chance.
 
 

The three of us on two wheels set off to transit Koblenz, Dad and Kat would find us on the road south once they’d negotiated their own motorised route through the town. Nothing had been said but instead of the gentle thirty kph before the stop, once we were clear of the town centre the speed went up. Not uncomfortably but enough to prevent easy conversation and once into the countryside we started a mile eating rotation.

Dad had somehow beaten us across Koblenz and we passed the waiting car maybe two kilometres south of the motorway bridge over the river. This is the bit of the Rhein most people recognise, a twisty gorge, railway lines on either bank, Loreley, castles high above, truly the ‘Romantic Rhein’. Of course it’s almost flat, the climb towards the source down in Switzerland lazy enough here to take kilometres for each metre of ascent.

We were far from the only cyclists on the road, the more serious on the road like ourselves, the families and trekkers utilising the wide band of tarmac on the riverside of the road that forms the cycle track. The gorge narrowed as we started the first of several looping turns through Spay and soon after, Boppard. I thought this was where we were headed but we kept going straight through to St Goar.

Old Man Rhein was flowing much swifter here and shortly after the narrow Loreley gorge had the ocean bound waters roiling big style, the big tourist boat heading upstream seemingly standing still as its engines fought the current. Once again the pace went up a notch, this is race pace, through Oberwesel – how far are we going? The river straightened and widened and Dad who had been following us all this way passed us and with a toot accelerated up the road soon disappearing from sight.

I really wasn’t expecting it when both of my companions suddenly sat up; I almost ploughed into the back of them.

“What’s up?”

“Lunch hopefully kiddo,” Mum supplied.

“Eh?”

“In Bacharach, couple of K ahead.”

“So why are we slowed down?”

“Don’t want cramp during lunch do we,” Maria offered.

“Er no.”

“Well a decent warm down should let the muscles relax some before we stop.”

“And we don’t want to get to the restaurant all hot and sweaty do we?” Mum grinned.

“I guess not.”

 
 
It took us a good ten minutes riding before I spotted the Merc parked in front of a hostelry overlooking the river. We rolled to a stop, Dad and Kat waiting for us. The ‘Goldene Rhein’ looked to be a fairly typical restaurant cum bar that you see all across the country, beer garden, terrace, big ‘brellas, these emblazoned with ‘Apollinaris’ and surprisingly few patrons.

“Go ahead ladies, Kat and I will look after the bikes, bags are round the front,” Dad told us.

“Cheers Dave.” Mum grinned as she swung a leg over the bars to dismount.

“We sitting outside?” Maria enquired doing her own bicycle ballet.

“Don’t see why not,” Dad agreed.

“Come on kiddo, lets get out of these togs.” Mum ordered.

Get out of, oh sugar; I didn’t bring anything to change into, well my trainers but no clothes.

“Mum?”

“I know, I packed for you,” she informed me, “now shake it, I’m starving.”

 
 
The team must come here often; Mum and Maria greeted the staff by name before leading me through to the changing facility – no not a locker room, the ladies of course! Talk about weirding me out; here I am, in the ladies toilet of a restaurant with Mum and Maria having a strip wash and change. I’ve done the whole changing with girls bit, you know I have but this is something on another level, this is them telling me they think of me as a girl.

I did my best not to look as they disrobed and redressed, concentrating on my own transformation.

“Come here kiddo, lets do something with that hair,” Mum instructed.

“Kay,” I agreed with a sigh.

Of course the stuff Mum brought for me wasn’t anything like the shorts and T I would’ve grabbed, no as usual I was getting the Barbie treatment. So lucky me has to wear a dress, not just a dress but some concoction that required a strapless bra and a slip. Oh yeah, I’m screwed over again, the high ponytail just the finishing touch in making me look like some fifties Lolita.

 
 
By the time we emerged back into the sunlight the others had loaded the bikes on the car, found a table, ordered drinks and were both perusing the menu.

“Whoa Gabs, no mistaking what side of the fence you’re on,” Kat opined.

“Not my choice,” I stated pointedly as I pulled out a seat.

“Oh come on Gab, it suits you.” Mum stated.

“Well its not comfortable,” I told her as I wrestled to reposition whatever was digging into my boob.

“Gaby can you er…” Dad started.

“What?”

“You’re embarrassing your dad, kiddo.” Mum informed me.

I am? Shitza, I’m doing it again aren’t I, its what Josh was on about the other day, I just don’t think about what I’m doing sometimes – or where.

“Sorry, its this stupid dress, where’d it come from anyway, its not one of mine.” There said it, I own dresses.

“Its your sisters, I couldn’t find anything in that rat hole you call a bedroom.”

What can you say to that? True its not the tidiest place but rat hole?

“So we ready to order?” Dad enquired.

Maddy Bell © 04.04.2014