*Chapter 36*

Roskilde

 
 
“Glück!”

“To you too,” Ron offered as we separated from our hug.

We probably won’t get a chance to talk between now and the end of hostilities – the girl’s events are run off separately here with the senior women’s events. It’ll be weird riding without any of the girls about, either the Apollinaris lot or Mand and co.

“See you Sunday.” I allowed.

“Yeah, tschussie!”

“Tschussie.”

 
 
Roni and Dieter had no sooner departed than a minibus pulled into the forecourt, not your converted van thing but really a small coach belonging to a local, I guess, company called Roskilde Tur if the name on the side is anything to go by.

Caro was first down the steps followed in short order by my teammates on the junior squad.

“Get your bags then wait in reception, guys.” My godmother directed.

“Welcome to Roskilde.” I smirked.

“Always has tae be first,” Jamie opined.

“Someone has to be.”

“But, Bond, it doesn’t have to be you.” Cav put in.

“So how was the flight?”

“Cramped,” Sal complained, “you’d think there would be space to stretch out a bit.”

“At least you didn’t get to spend two hours stuck next to a stinky fat man.” Laura supplied.

“It wasn’t two hours, it was an hour and a half like.” Josh noted.

“Whatever, it was not pleasant.”

“Better than twelve hours in a car,” I observed.

“Twelve hours?” Daz queried.

“Yeah, nightmare.”

“Come on you lot, you can talk later,” Caro chivvied, “you already checked in, Drew?”

“Not sure, Dad was looking after that stuff.”

 
 
Turns out the hotel had some triples so I was bunking with Mum and Dad; Josh was in with Mark and Jamie – embarrassment and questions avoided, as it all seemed quite logical. I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t Caro demanding we appear front and centre in bike kit – haven’t we done enough training?

“Okay,” Steve started, “our four time triallists will be with Caroline and Dave, the rest of you get me for a leg stretch.”

There was a round of groans but I guess after our recent experiences we all had some understanding of the merits of even a short ride after travelling.

“Come on, Drew, times a wastin’,” Caro chivvied.

“What?” I hadn’t realised I was daydreaming.

“I know it’s a squeeze but we aren’t going far,” Dad advised as we all squeezed into the Mercedes, which was now loaded with a double brace of BC time trial machines.

 
 
We made our way out of Hedehusene and into a more rural landscape.

“You’ll get a chance to ride the course in the morning, the roads will be closed so we’ll talk about that tomorrow,” Caro opened, “this afternoon is mostly reacquainting you with the bikes and doing a bit of fine tuning.”

“Thought we sorted all that in Italy?” Sal suggested.

“Preparation isn’t a closed box, it’s a constant reappraisal of kit, position and technique.”

“Sounds like the weight weenies*” Geth observed.

“To some extent but we’ve talked about this before, the backroom boys want us to try using power meters for racing and you guys are the guinea pigs.”

“Great,” I sighed.

Meanwhile Dad had pulled into a lay-by behind a UK registered car sporting bike racks and BC logos.

“Ah good, Rod’s already here,” Caroline mentioned.

“Who’s Rod?” Mand whispered.

“No idea.”

 
 
Dad was already decanting the first bike from the roof rack by the time we riders climbed from the car.

“Caroline,” a chap about Dad’s age greeted our coach, “good flight?”

“So so, you know Dave?”

“Sure, how you doing, bud?”

“Getting by,” Dad allowed as the pair shook hands, “you?”

“Not so bad, Dave tells me you’ve resisted his offers.”

“I’ve got other commitments, Rod.”

“Well you’re here now which says a lot. So, these are our testers eh? I thought there were two lads, Caro?”

“There are, Gethin here and the little blond one’s Drew, Dave’s kid?” she hinted.

“Oh yeah sorry, Drew. So who’s Amanda?”

“That’s me,” Mand allowed.

“Which makes you, Sally?” he addressed Sal.

“Just Sal.”

“I know who you guys are but I guess you’re wondering who I am. Names Rod Ellingworth, Rod to you, I’m BC’s senior performance coach which, for my sins, puts me in charge of getting the best out of you guys. I know Caroline and Dave have been doing their best to hone your skills and I know you are all competent time triallists, it’s my task to make you world beaters.”

He paused and gave us an appraising look.

“What makes a world champion tester, anyone?”

“Strong legs?” Sal offered.

“Okay, anyone else?”

“A really light bike.” Geth supplied.

“That helps but it’s not what I was looking for,” Rod stated.

“Mindset?” I put in.

“Ah, someone’s got it, I’d’ve been surprised if you hadn’t, Drew, with your pedigree, yes, good legs and even the lightest bike and best technique won’t make you a winner without the right mindset. Clearly with the events just a day away we haven’t got time to get too heavily into the psycho babble stuff so we’ll go over some basic stuff before we get you on the bikes, okay?”

What can you say? He’s the boss.

 
 
When we eventually got to ride, the first few minutes were spent just getting a feel for the bikes again – last time out we had a mountain to climb, here in Denmark the course has a motorway bridge! That meant that the bikes now sported close ratio cassettes and of course the Powa cranks – not sure how it works but the screen on the bars showed some curiously high numbers.

“Okay guys,” Caro got our attention, “the power meters have been programmed with each of your data that we took on the static tests in Manchester. We aren’t going to time you this afternoon, rather we want you to ride to the meter – if you slack off it’ll beep at you so keep it quiet. We’ve got some numbers worked out so we have an idea what each of you should do – it’s only ten kilometres so you can give it your all for the full distance, Mand you’re up first, then Geth, Sal and Drew, you get pole.”

 
 
I watched each of the others start, critiquing each of their styles, Geth’s stomping, Sal a slower, smoother acceleration and Mand a messy cross between the two. Smooth and fast Drew, smooth and fast. Dad straddled the rear wheel and held it upright using the saddle rails as I clicked in and settled into my start routine.

“Thirty!” Caro announced.

Deep breaths, relax.

“Fifteen…ten…five, four, three, two, one and go!”

I strained at the pedals and my mount rapidly accelerated which allowed me to get seated and on the tri bars before I’d covered fifty metres. The beeping from my bars ceased and I settled into the ‘zone’. It was a little distracting, the flashing figures on the screen, 290, 301, 289, 322, I tried to ignore them and concentrate on breathing and pedalling. Denmark is pretty plain but that doesn’t mean it’s flat, although not climbing a lot in metres the road dipped and rose several times before the first turn after which the route dragged away into the distance.

Ahead of me on the long straight the figure of Manda was clearly visible, the others not which gave some idea of the length of the straight. Concentrate, don’t start thinking about stuff! Pedalling action, keep it smooth. It felt like I was accelerating, a change up a gear soon returned my legs to a slower cadence, a quick glance at the screen showed 347, can I get it to 350?

The gap between Miss De Vreen and me was clearly closing; by the next turn it was perhaps half a minute. She was clearly fighting to get the pedals round in a high gear but the untidiness was slowing her as much as it gained. A definite climb rose ahead, that must be Geth I can see near the top giving it some; have I taken any out of him?

I was now steadily if quite quickly closing on Mand, the closing speed apparently increasing as we started the climb although the screen numbers had actually dropped below 340. The final turn was at the top of the hill and it wasn’t many metres afterwards that I passed her. The road rolled away to where I could just make out the cars parked in the lay-by.

There was only one sprocket left to use and I dropped the chain onto it, my cadence momentarily dropping as I compensated for my effort. I ground the pedals round, no need to save anything in reserve, anything left at the end is waste. The red mist started to descend, no too soon, hang on I need to breathe!

So intent was I on using every bit of energy I’d let my breathing go from long steady breaths to short inefficient gasps. Concentrate! I calmed my breathing down and the raggedness immediately started to smooth, my legs whizzing around, the big gear driving me quickly towards the line. I zipped past the cars and sat up, letting my momentum carry my legs round as I slowed from something like 45kph to a much more pedestrian fifteen or twenty.

I crossed Geth who seeing me just shook his head before hanging it once more to draw in several large lungfuls of air. Sal was a little further along literally spewing her guts – well whatever she had for lunch at least.

“You alright?”

“Bluh!”

Nice.

I stopped beside her and whilst watching someone losing their lunch isn’t high on my most wanted things to do, my presence seemed to calm her down some, the retching quickly changing to more of a dry heave.

“Shit, Gab, how do you do that?” Mand got out between gasps as she joined us.

“Do what?”

“Just sail up the flippin’ hills, I thought I was doing alright then this, this missile zooms straight past going quicker than I can manage on the flat.”

“I doubt that,” I noted, inwardly grinning to myself.

Sals ‘colourful’ end to the ride was at least over now.

“Cheers, Gab, hope there’s some water or something at the car, my mouth tastes…”

“I think we get the idea,” I butted in.

We turned around and headed back towards the lay-by some three hundred metres distant.

*Disparaging term used to describe riders who constantly weigh and change their bikes in pursuit of lightness to gain any advantage over the opposition.

Maddy Bell © 20.05.2014