Through the last turn and there it was, the banner announcing ‘Finis’. I was in full time trial mode now, big gear turning smoothly, the comp flickering around fifty kph. Its funny how time stretches in situations like this, two hundred and the briefest of glances under my arm, no sign of my pursuer but I kept the pressure on.
The small crowd of supporters seemed happy to cheer anyone, one hundred, fifty, another quick glance and with a grin I sat up and punched the air as I crossed the line. Yes! My first actual race win in over two months, so okay it’s nothing major and I’ve had several podiums but crossing the line first just can’t be beaten. Dad caught me and I took a deep swig from the bidon he gave me.
“Well done kiddo!”
“Urgh.”
Siggy was in but more cheering announced the third place sprint. Dad and I joined our voices to the melee as Ron and Jurgen went at it shoulder to shoulder. We couldn’t really tell who was winning from our head on position but Ron’s air punch gave us the information.
“In third place, for Team Apollinaris, Veronike Grönberg!”
The small crowd clapped politely as Ron collected her prize from the organiser.
“Second place, VS Stuttgart, Siegfried Heinemann!”
Being more local and having teammates present got Siggy a bigger cheer as he took his turn front and centre.
“The winner and first girl of the Nord Baden Liga Jüngere Hockenheimring Klassik, Andrea Bond for Team Apollinaris!”
I went up for my prize, hang on did he say what I think he did? Confirmation of that came with a rather awkward cheek kissing before I was presented with my trophy, a modern styled bit of silverware standing best part of half a metre high. The crowd cheered loudly as I raised the silverware, yeah I’ve missed doing this like you don’t know what – the Worlds time trial was good but massed start victories are always sweeter.
“This is yours Ron.” I told her as we walked back to the car.
“The trophy?”
“Dur, the girls prize,” I informed her waving the envelope marked ‘Mädchen’.
“How do you work that? I was at least half a minute behind you.”
“But I’m not…”
“…A girl, heard it before, s’not true, you are more girlie than me any day Gabrielle Bond.”
“A.”
“Come on you two, I don’t want to be too late getting home and you’ve both got school tomorrow,” Dad chivvied.
“We eating?” I enquired as we made our way out to the autobahn.
Dad checked the clock before replying, “Lets get a few miles in eh? There’re some biscuits in the back somewhere.”
Looks like that’s decided then.
“Give over Gab,” Ron hissed.
“What?”
“Playing with that, you’re giving the other drivers a show.”
“Sugar!” I quickly took my hand out of my top where it had been rubbing a sore spot under the edge of my bra.
“You girls okay back there?”
“Yes Dad.”
“Fine Mr B.” Ron confirmed.
“We’ll stop in a few minutes okay?”
“‘Bout time, I’m starving.”
We’ve been driving for over an hour, Dad’s few miles is more like a hundred and forty kilometres, as we’re taking Ron home we are now somewhere near Wiesbaden on the A3. Neither of us are feeling particularly talkative, a couple of hours racing makes you quite tired so we’ve been dozing most of the way north. It really was only a couple of minutes later that we turned off the motorway and dropped into Idstein.
“We’ll fuel up then find some food.” Dad told us.
The fuel was easy; a big filling station almost next to the Bahnhof, food however was a bit more of an effort. We dropped into the town proper and after a circuit of the centre parked by the Hexenturm. It’s not a big town and once we’d walking into the shopping area we quickly located an eatery doing a steady trade so we took a table.
“Ladies, sir.” The attentive waiter was at the table almost as soon as we were. “Getränke?”
“Cola lite for me,” Dad stated, “girls?”
“Sprite™ please.”
“Me too,” I added – the Radler was tempting but lemonade comes in a bigger serving and I’m well thirsty.
“Dad tell her,” I’d taken up my argument about the girl’s prize on the walk from the car.
“If she doesn’t want to take it kiddo I can’t force her.”
“But I wasn’t racing for the girls prize.”
“Neither was I,” Ron interjected.
“But…”
Any further discussion on the matter was ended by the arrival of our drinks and a need to decide on the matter of lunch.
“Phew.”
“Tell me about it,” I agreed.
“You both insisted on the soup first,” Dad observed.
“How did we know there’d be so much spaghetti?”
In truth we could have managed with one serving of spag bol between us but like who does that?
Dad paid the bill and we headed back to the car.
“You’re doing it again Gab.”
“Wha? Oh bum.” I removed my hand from my t-shirt again, “it itches,” I complained.
“Its probably just some heat rash,” Ron surmised, “I’ve got some stuff at home, works like magic.”
“If I can last that long.”
“Well take your BH off, get some air to the girls.”
“Ron!”
“What?”
“Shake a leg you two, we’ve still got a way to go,” Dad told us from further up the street.
“Coming.”
Once at the car Ron distracted Dad while I slipped out of my bra, I’ve been wearing one so long that it felt well weird to suddenly be without, the extra jiggling as the car bounced over the speed humps was most disconcerting! It did give some relief from the itching, which was a good thing.
We were quickly back on the autobahn passing Limburg and Montabaur in turn as we crossed the Westerwald en route to Köln. Road works around Düssel cost us a few minutes but soon enough we were turning off the motorway for Mettmann a few kilometres away. Our arrival at the Grönberg’s house coincided with a bit of a cloud burst, Angela dashing out with an umbrella to help with Ron’s stuff.
“You staying to eat?” Angela asked once we had everything inside.
“Best not Angela, this one has school tomorrow and we did eat on the way up.”
“Coffee at least?” she pressed.
“Dad?”
“Alright, coffee but we can’t hang about too long.”
“Ooo, that looks sore,” Ron noted when I pulled my top up to show her the rash, “I’ll get the cortisone cream.”
“It doesn’t feel too good from this side either.”
Ron shuffled stuff around in a draw and with a flourish produced the wonder ointment. By the time I had some applied and my t-shirt replaced the itching was already much less.
“So where do I get some of that stuff?”
“Its on prescription,“ she supplied, “just ask your doctor next time you go.”
Hmm, do I even have a doctor? There’s the one at the hospital dealing with my er, problem but its not like I get properly ill is it? Have to ask Dad I guess.
“Yeah, good idea.”
“You girls coming down?” Angela called up.
“Yes Mum,” Ron returned, “come on, I saw one of mums tortes in the kitchen.”
You didn’t think we were just drinking coffee did you? Angela’s cakes are legendary and the triple choc torte on offer today was stupendous. You can’t rush the experience but all too soon Dad was fidgeting to get off.
“See ya later Gab.”
“I’ll call in the week.”
“Bye Herr Bond.”
“Tschuss.”
“Tschussie,” I added with a wave as Dad backed the car off the drive.
With a toot we were on our way, another hour’s drive will take us home.
“Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“Do we have a doctor, you know like an ordinary one?”
“Something wrong?”
“No, nothing really, just something Ron said.”
“We’re registered at the clinic, I think your sister and mother go, women’s stuff – oh, I see.” It wasn’t the first time I’ve seen Dad blush but it’s usually after him and Mum have been, well you know, birds and bees. “I’ll have a word with your mother.”
The rest of the ride home took place in a sort of embarrassed silence, Dad mostly lost in his own thoughts, me going through how I broach the subject of my itchy boobs to a complete stranger. Embarrassing with a capital E!
“There’s a message on the machine Gab,” Jules advised me when I stumbled indoors under my trophy and kit bag.
“Who from?”
“Some girl.”
That’s a help – not!
Wonder why they didn’t ring my handy?
Maddy Bell © 13.10.2014
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As usual, I'm following the trip on Google maps. It's fun to see places without actually going there. Thanks again so much for the tale. I still love it like when I started to read it many moons ago.
Dahlia