Gaby Book 17 - Seasons

At first of course we were constantly getting in each others way but we soon organised ourselves, Mand taking orders and cash, Chris on the griddle and me dressing them – oh and Eva ensuring there was batter and so on to satisfy the orders. We were not on the square but from our slight vantage point above the heads of the crowds you could see the various activities going on. I think Mand had forgotten the All Stars exhibition, when I spotted the girls lining up, it was too late anyhow – and they were still queuing for crepes!

It was after three before I got to finish my lunch, the customers drawn to the foot races and so on taking place on the loop we’d be racing on tomorrow afternoon.

“You three okay for a bit, I need to get to the warehouse before it closes or we won’t have enough batter for tomorrow.”
“We’ll manage, Mum,” Chris replied, “I think we can spare you.”
“How very gracious,” Eva allowed, “I’ll call when I get back, one of you can pop out to help bring stuff to the trailer.
“’Kay.”

With that ‘Der Mühle Crêpes’ was once again without adult supervision.

“Thought the queue was never going to end,” Mand allowed before taking a tug on her bottle of water.
“It wasn’t this hectic last time, eh Gab?”
“Well it was fairly busy.”
“There were only two of us though,” Chris pointed out.
“So how’d you get here, Gab? Er nine euro please,” that last to the chap who’d just ordered a couple of basic crepes and a can of cola.
“Er, I rode down, had to leave it by the school.”
“You made good time,” Chris opined, “’Manda said you weren’t finishing at the bakery until twelve.”
“Well it is mostly flat or downhill.”
“Still, it would’ve taken me a lot longer than an hour,” she stated.

Mand gave me an odd look, I’d arrived without any bike gear and anyhow there’s no way I’d leave the Pinarello unattended. That meant I’d used the Schauff and there is no way I could do the twenty or so kilometres in an hour on that – unless I truly was Wonder Woman.

“You should be fit enough for tomorrow,” de Vreen suggested.
“There you go,” I passed the crepes across to the waiting punter, “coke wasn’t it?”
“Please.”
I passed the can over before replying to Mand, “I should be okay, I’ll take it easy going home.”
Not sure but I think Mand had scented a rat.

I hadn’t given much thought to how long we’d be open until my phone beeped with a text.

‘When u hm?’

It was only then that I checked the time, six thirty, shitza!

“Um Frau Foch?”
“I told you, Gaby, it’s Eva.”
“Right er, Eva, when do we close up, Dad’s just asking.”
“Eight unless it’s died before, should have you home for nine.”
“’Kay.”

I tabbed a quick reply to Dad and was surprised to get another almost immediately.

‘Stay ther, will pick u up, go strt to dinner’

I know, he doesn’t really do text speak, but hey, that means we’re eating out!

“You’re popular,” Chris noted.
“Dad again, he’ll pick me and Mand up, looks like we’re eating out.”
“Missing the chef,” Mand chuckled.
“I’m sure Angela would’ve cooked something,” I opined.
“Your sister?” Chris queried.
“Nah, Roni’s mum, they’re staying at ours tonight.”
“Roni rides for Apollinaris,” Mand filled in.
“Oh right.”

I know it’s not exactly technical German but I’ve just realised that Mand has been managing to take orders and stuff in German all day – she really is picking stuff up quicker now.

To be honest, by the time we started cleaning down I wasn’t the only one looking a bit the worse for wear – I started at the bakery over thirteen hours ago! A major payday but bleh! I’m kernackered. The clock was striking eight as Eva locked the door behind us.

“So I’ll pick you up at ten, enjoy your evening,” Eva advised as we reached the parking area out near the Bahnhof.
“I’m sure we will,” I allowed, “that looks like Dad a bit further along.”
“See you in the morning,” Chris told us.
“Tschuss!”

“Thought it was you,” Dad mentioned as I pulled a door open.
“Yep, it’s us,” I agreed, “hi Ron, Ang.”
“Evening, Gabs,” Roni offered, “you look tired, Mand.”
“Long day,” she agreed.
“So where’re we eating?” I enquired.
“We’ve got a table at that place near the Linz ferry.”
“The Brauhaus, in the park?”
“Well it won’t be the snack bar will it,” Mand opined.
“We’re not getting caught the wrong side of the river tonight, that place on the corner before you get to the slip,” Dad told us.

We were already going through Bad Breisig, progress thwarted by the fifty limit.

“Where’s Jules?” Mand queried.
“Didn’t want to come,” Dad advised.

The Rheinhotel Arte, to give it its full name, was pretty busy when we got there, two coach loads of Dutch tourists apparently in residence – well I guess it is Easter, start of grockle season. We had to park along by the ferry slipway, as the car park was full of bus.

“You two wearing those shirts all night,” Dad mentioned as we decanted the Merc.

Oops, polo shirts emblazoned with ‘Der Mühle Crêpes’ in large letters across the bust are not a fashion statement I want to be associated with – well not outside of the trailer. A quick striptease – not intended but you try taking one layer off without the rest trying to follow, well I was glad of my jacket, it was maybe a little cool for just a bra and vest. Mand meanwhile had swapped hers for the T in her bag so we sort of looked semi presentable.

Dad led us inside; I hope he booked a table.The headwaiter, maitre d or whatever greeted us when we reached the restaurant entrance.

“Abend.”
“Abend, we have a booking, table for five, Bond?” Dad offered.
The guy checked his diary, a little sceptically if you ask me before breaking into a grin.
“Ah yes, Herr Bond, is the terrace okay?”
“Girls? Dad enquired.
“Sure,” Mand allowed.
“Fine, Dave,” Angela agreed.
“It is a bit of a bear garden in there,” I added, indeed the restaurant, with its contingent of tourists trying to talk over each other wouldn’t be a relaxing place to eat.
“Terrace it is then,” Dad allowed.
“This way then please,” our host led us back outside and to the terrace which meant crossing the road to the riverside.

“You look ready to drop off,” Ron suggested as we waited for our drinks to arrive.
“Long day, I started in the bakery at six thirty this morning.”
“Sooner you than me,” she mentioned.
“Think of all the money, Gabs,” Mand interjected, “mind you, it has been a bit full on today.”
“Definitely,” I agreed.
“What are you girls eating?” Angela asked.

Well of course discussing the menu and making a choice isn’t a two-minute job, one thing's for sure, neither Mand nor myself wanted anything remotely pancake like! Being on the river there was a lot of fish on the menu, I fancied Lachs or even the Forelle but last time I had fish before a race I was ill. Leberknödel is usually a safe bet, the Gemüseplatte and Pommes ensured a ‘balanced’ meal. I won’t go into detail with the full order but the Lachs featured heavily as did frites.

The terrace was pleasant enough; a hedge restricted the view towards the hotel but a double terrace offered views across the river to the lights of Linz. By now it was almost full on dark and our table was lit by the strings of light bulbs overhead. I just hope it doesn’t rain.

If there’s one thing when you eat out in Germany it’s consistency, it’s rare to get anything on your plate that’s not first class and it will taste pretty much the same wherever you are. That might sound boring but I find it reassuring, after all there are plenty of regional specialities if you want variety but Wiener Schnitzel is always, well Wiener Schnitzel. Hmm thinking about it, there is an exception in the ‘national’ cuisine and that’s Gulaschsuppe – it’s usually similar but can vary hugely.

By the time we got home the only thing is wanted to do was go to bed, I headed up to my eyrie leaving Ron and Mand rabbiting like fish wives.

“All your kit in the car?” Dad queried.
“Yup,” I confirmed.

It had been a fraught morning, the race isn’t until this afternoon so any other time this conversation would be hours away but of course Mand and me are creping again today so it’s all moved up. Then there was the Mofa. Of course I had planned to ride it home last night but then Dad took us out to eat and I’m not supposed to be using it, well I sort of forgot about it.

Well that was until the key dropped out of my jacket pocket this morning. Panic set in; 1) is it still where I parked it and 2) if it is, how do I get it home without landing myself in it?

“Gaby! Earth to Gaby! Eva’s here,” Mand advised.
I snapped back to the present, “Coming!”

Of course I missed setting up the trailer yesterday, it certainly wouldn’t be as involved today, turn the griddle on, get the first batch of batter ready, cash up, open up. Eva is one of those drivers that has you hanging on for dear life, not because of speed but every turn is over emphasised, junction approaches are just a little too fast, overtakes paint skimming. Officially the Kirmes opens at eleven but we had the shutter up fifteen minutes early, hopefully it won’t be as manic today.

It looked like it was going to be a nice day again, wet, cobble infested crits are not my favourite, I’ve had offs several times in the past and I don’t want to start the season on the deck. Being Sunday things wouldn’t really get going until after twelve.

“Er Eva, is it alright if I pop to the ladies?”
“Sure, Gaby, you know where they are, in the Rathaus?”
“Uh huh, shan’t be long.”

I slipped my jacket on and headed off. I didn’t really want the lav just yet but I needed to check that my ride home was still there! It didn’t take long to get to the school, so where’s Jules Mofa? Panic! I’d left it at the curb but it wasn’t there, bum! Sugar! What now?

“Fraulein?”
“Hello?”
An old chap carrying a dachshund, waved at me, “You are looking for a motorrad?”
“Er yeah, I left it here yesterday, it’s not even mine.”
“The street team, they had the street sweeper along earlier, I think they moved it.”
So not stolen as such, “Any idea where?”
“Sorry, maybe the Polizei will know,” he indicated a couple of green clad officers where I’d seen them yesterday.
“Right, well thanks anyway.”

Now what do I do? With a heavy heart I started walking towards the officers, I hadn’t gone ten metres though before I spotted ‘my’ Mofa parked against a wall on the footway. Yes! I must’ve walked straight past it, well I thought it was further up the street where I left it.

I checked it over, nothing missing, a check under the seat revealed the helmet, phew. I thought I’d best check it would start, a couple of attempts were required before the 2 stroke kicked into life – well that’s okay then. I looked at the dials, speed, revs, fuel – fuel; the little arrow thing was hovering on the edge of the red – shitza!

Maddy Bell 20.08.16