*Chapter 35*

Old Lejre

 
 
“So just what are we looking at?” Mum asked as Dad went all David Bailey.

“Drew’s got the leaflet,” Dad offered as he lined up a low angle along the row of stones.

“Well kiddo?” she prompted.

“Erm, it’s called Skib something ningen, it’s all those weird letters,”

“Gab, get on with it,” Ron chided.

“Yeah, yeah, lets see, okay, it’s the last surviving ship shaped burial place and dates from about five hundred, that rock in the next field is supposed to be a bit of one of the others.”

“So its Viking then?” Ron queried.

“It doesn’t say,” I observed scanning the brochure.

“Yes Ron,” Dad agreed, “anyone up for a walk up the barrow?”
 
 

Mum decided to give it a miss but me and Ron joined Dad for the short walk.

“So is this Viking too?” Ron asked.

“No, this is older, I’d guess Iron Age.” Dad told us, “Not everything in Denmark is Viking, where’s that plan kiddo?”

“Here Dad.”

“Cheers kiddo, now lets see, we’re here.”

It was a pleasant morning, clear skies above, a bit of light mist in the valley bottoms broken through in places by some fairly big trees.

“So,” Dad started, “behind the village there is the remains of the Lejrehall which is where lots of Danish legends are based. Can you see that big mound, the one with the tree behind it, that’s supposed to be Bronze Age.”

“What’s that line of trees?” I asked our guide.

“Says here it’s the Ledreborg Avenue, it runs up towards Roskilde for about seven kilometres.”

“Wow,” Roni allowed, “So what about that mound over there?”

We turned to look where she was pointing.”

“Hmm, the map calls it Ravnshoj, Raven House I guess, I’d guess its either Viking or Iron age, maybe a bit big for Viking, they’re usually smaller.”

“What if it had a king in it?” I proposed.

“There is that,” he admitted, there are some pretty big Viking age burial mounds in Denmark.”

“There’s nothing like these in Germany is there.” Ron stated.

“Maybe not like the Ship burial but there are all sorts of cairns and stuff, especially in northern Germany, maybe sometime I’ll have the time to go and see some of them.”

Dad resumed his photographic antics until Mum’s tooting of the car horn sent us scampering back down to where we were parked by the road.
 
 

“What’s the name of this hotel?” Dad queried.

“Hang on,” Mum requested, “Hotel Svalen.”

“Its not exactly in Roskilde is it?” I mentioned.

“There it is,” Dad told us as he slowed down to turn in.

“That looks like Mike’s truck.” I observed as we turned into the car park.

Dad parked us up close to reception and we climbed out of the Mercedes, Ron a little hesitantly as she was in the ‘enemy’ camp. Even with Dad’s Old Lejre stop we were still plenty early, the bulk of the junior squad at least wouldn’t be here for at least an hour.

 
 
“Come on, lets see if we can find anyone in charge,” Mum suggested, heading towards the entrance.

“I’ll stay here,” Ron stated.

“Don’t be daft, they won’t bite.” Mum offered.

“I’ll stay too.”

“Alright then, don’t get into mischief please.” mater instructed.

“We won’t be long,” Dad added.
 
 

“You coulda gone,” Roni told me as we perched on the Merc’s rear bumper.

“Coulda,” I agreed, “but we need to guard the bikes, never know who’s about.”

“Whatever, I hope our team have a good hotel.”

“You had better than us in Switzerland,” I observed, “that place in Interlaken was well expensive.”

“We stayed in a crummy pension on the way home though.”

“This place doesn’t exactly look posh,” I allowed.

“Come on in you two,” Dad yelled from the door, “coffee and cake waiting.”

Now you’re talking!

“Come on Ron, nothing ventured.”

 
 
Dad waited for us to join him then led the way to the restaurant where Mum was having an animated discussion in some foreign tongue with a couple of women in BC trackies.

“Ah,” Mum directed her attention towards us, “blah, blah, blah, Drew blah Roni.”

What is she rattling about?

“Er hi,” Ron offered.

“Güten tag.”

“English Drew?” Dad prompted.

English? Oh sugar, that’s what all the gabbling is, they must think I’m a right plank.

“Er sorry,” I offered in my ‘mother’ tongue.

“Drew, Ron this is Lizzie and Sarah, they’ll be riding the road race on Saturday with me.”

"So you two looking forward to riding the Worlds?" Lizzie enquired.

"Bit nervous," I allowed.

"Don’t fret on it," Sarah advised, "you guys having coffee?"

"I’ll get them," Dad offered.

We moved to a table where the conversation turned to the seniors past 'Worlds' experiences, the fact that Lizzie wet herself when Mum won the title, was it only two years ago? That was a bit more information than I needed to know! Dad seemed to be gone a long time just to fetch some coffee.
 
 

"Sorry I was so long," Dad apologised when he eventually arrived with a tray of coffee and a couple of slices of triple chocolate cake, "I gave Dieter Huhn a call to check where you're going Ron, he's gonna pop over to pick you up in about an hour."

"Josh and the rest will be here by then," I noted.

"So you just doing the road Roni?" Sarah enquired.

I wasn't sure how good Ron’s English really was, we mostly use German but she seemed to understand the question.

"Nein, we have only one strecken platz which was given to me so I erm multiple ride."

"Strecken platts?" Sarah queried.

"The Germans only qualified one girls place this year," Mum explained, "the German for time trial is some great long word so we just use Strecken."

"Its a good job you're good with languages Jen," Lizzie noted, "that’s the one thing I’m dreading when I go to Italy next year."

"You’ll soon pick it up Liz, I was crap when I first joined Apollinaris eh kiddo?"
"Not great," I allowed.

"A diplomat at least." Sarah stated. "So you're doing the double too Drew?"

"Um yeah, think they wanted to keep the numbers down, I’m not that good."

"Don’t do yourself down, there's a rumour going round that some mystery rider caused a bit of an upset in Cheshire a week or two back?"

My sudden flush gave me away - I’ll never be able to follow the family trade!

"I er..."

"The pair of them wiped the field in a two up a few weeks ago too," Mum supplied.

"Like mother, like daughter eh?" Lizzie opined.

"Er something like that," I mumbled into a fork full of cake.

 
 
We'd been 'chatting' for a while, when I say we, mostly the adults around the table, when we were interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Ah the Bonds, you found us then?"

"Dave," Dad acknowledged director Brailsford, "long drive but easier than flying."

"Don’t talk to me about flying, Dave Millar flew in yesterday, his bike didn't - ended up in Milan somehow."

"Sorted?"

"Eventually, hopefully Caroline's bringing it with the kids. So who's this frightened young lady?" he enquired with a twinkle in his eye.

"One of my charges, Roni Grönberg meet our head of performance Dave Brailsford."

"The one from the Olympics?"

"Indeed, of course I remember you Roni, that was some excellent riding in the Swiss Tour, you and young Bond here make a formidable pair."

"Beauty and the beast," I suggested.

"Okay beauty," Ron chuckled.

She got me right back with that one.

“We’re using the conference room for the bikes Dave, if you go left in reception it’s straight ahead.”

“That’s a point, we need to Roni’s kit unloaded, Dieter will be here in half an hour.”

“Dieter Huhn? The German coach?”

“The same, he’s coming over to collect Roni.”

“If I’m not about tell him hi.” Mr B requested.

“Sure, you two gonna give me a hand?” Dad hinted.

“Yes Dad,” I sighed.

“Nice to meet you Roni.”

“And you too Herr Brailsford.”
 
 

There’d been a few spots of rain while we’d been inside; just as well Dad fetched us inside. Dad got the bikes off the roof while Ron and myself lugged the cases into reception. But of course nothing is so simple, Mum and Ron both had two bikes, road and time trial, I only had my road iron as I’d be using one of BC’s carbon beasties for the Strecke.

We’d barely got everything inside before the simultaneous arrival of more liquid sunshine and Dieter Huhn.

“Great timing Deet,” Dad mentioned.

“I’ve been practising, so how’s my number one rider?”

“Who’s that?” Ron enquired.

“Tell her Dave.”

“I think Dieter means you Ron.

Now it was her turn to pick a shade of red to colour to!

Maddy Bell © 14.05.2014