Gaby Book 17 - Seasons

I settled into full time trial mode, concentrating on keeping a good line, keeping still – well just not getting distracted by outside stuff. I usually start playing a tune in my head, today its the Top Gear theme, I think its called The Chain, appropriate really for bike racing. The local Polizei were on duty at the next couple of turns as the course passed through the first village, the first turn was pretty much full gas but even scrubbing a good chunk of speed I ended up quite wide on the much sharper second.

It took a bit to get back up to speed, not helped by a less than smooth road surface and a slight incline. Up means there’s down, my velocity increased down to the next turn where I managed to only dab the brakes once to get through. Dad reckoned it was flat but the road ahead most certainly isn’t, a ribbon of tarmac stretching up into the forest.

But not just tarmac, riders, my minute person, a dot in the distance before the turn had turned into a rider maybe two hundred metres ahead. My brain switched to pursuit mode, the incline temporarily forgotten. The gap closed quite quickly as my quarry fought his bike up the grade, it wasn’t my minute rider but seventy six starting two minutes before me.

I glanced at my computer as I slipped past, eighteen forty five, not brilliant but okay. Ahead I could see another couple of riders – more carrots, I slipped down a gear as the climb started to bite. It’s not a steep climb, rather it’s a series of widely spaced rises, a flatter stretch linking them.

The riders ahead swapped position, the slower of the two coming rapidly back towards me. I was gaining on them both and on the next steeper bit caught number 75. I was holding my revs okay but my speed continued to drop all the way down to thirty kph, I hope there's a good drop soon.

It looked like the next lump was the last, I gave it some extra effort but as it flattened was dismayed to see a further rise in the distance. Well at least there was a slight dip beforehand, I snicked back into one, two, three higher gears, my breathing quickly settling down again. The carrot, I mean rider, ahead was holding their own on the flatter surface, maybe even moving away from my pursuit.

I almost missed the summit, the last incline looked worse from a distance than riding it but similarly it didn’t exactly turn straight into a ski slope downwards either. The numbers on the tiny screen steadily climbed, forty, forty five, come on faster. It was half a K before it tilted more steeply downwards and the speed edged towards the magical fifty.

Thoughts of the quarry ahead were temporarily forgotten as I concentrated on my line and riding fast, the forgotten sound track returning as my riding became smoother. My speed was good and I reckon the time wasn’t too bad either, twenty five minutes for sixteen kilometres. Another turn board attracted my attention and I set myself up to make the turn as fast as possible.

I ended up very wide, having taken too much speed into the turn, gave the oncoming car a fright but there must’ve been at least ten centimetres clear! I swung onto the bypass road, at least that had a slip road but also a slight rise through more trees. The rider in front lost a bit of ground to me on the incline but soon we were sweeping down to another sharp turn.

My brakes squealed loudly as I came almost to a halt to make the sharp, narrow turn. Still, I'd lost less than my prey, I was suddenly just metres behind 77, finally passing him on the rise out of the village. The road twisted about a bit, it was only after crossing some canal that I got the speed back over forty K’s.

It’s not a long way to go now, I can afford to go full gas for the remaining distance, I could see another rider away in the distance, they’d have to be damn slow for me to catch them. I adjusted my position a bit, maybe I need to move the saddle a bit. The road was tracking the canal which unfortunately meant there was a bit of a breeze, slowing my progress a bit.

The sign suggested the next corner was quite sharp, I took more caution this time before getting back into full aero as quickly as possible. Thirty five minutes, is that good? I'm not sure. I concentrated on my breathing, on my pedalling, anything to stop looking at the computer.

Slight rise, crappy road, this strasse really is schade! The kilometre to go board was only metres before the warning sign for the next, the final turn. I used as much road as possible to maintain speed through the corner and gave everything I had to reach the finish along near the campsite entrance.

Yes! I hit stop on ‘puter and slowed to a halt where Amanda was slumped over her bike and Dad was waiting.
“Good ride, kiddo.”

I took the offered bottle and it was only after a long slug that I could even think about anything else. My breathing slowed as I panted, leaning on my tri bars for support. My brain eventually got out of neutral allowing me to check my time, forty two minutes and a few seconds for the thirty kilometres, not bad I guess.

“You okay?” Dad asked.
“Uh huh,” I managed.
I got off my steed and let him push it whilst I duck walked along behind back to the car.

My actual 41.59 was 35 seconds shy of the win, and another three riders beat my standard putting me in fourth but clear winner of the women's prize ahead of Anita by one minute thirty. It was a bit disappointing to not make top three, where had I lost time? Could I have gone faster? Did yesterday’s effort affect today's ride? There’s no point beating myself up about it, in the run of things third place yesterday was a much more important result.

“I used to like tests,” Mand opined as we walked back from the shower block, “not so sure these days.”
“It’s a useful skill,” Ron offered.
“Well it’s not like I'm any good, not like jet knickers here.”
“Jet knickers!” I exclaimed.
“I like it,” Ron chuckled, “so knickers, you keeping the hair?”
Hair? Hair? Oh that.
“No way! It’s back to blonde as soon as.”
“Aw, you look cute,” Mand supplied.
“That I can do without.”
“Says the prettiest girl in the Ahrtal.”
“Am not,” I complained, “it’s the whole Eiffel!”

“Come on, Gab, cake,” Mand told me shaking my shoulder.
“Eh?”
“We’re at Ron’s.”

I blinked to clear the sleep from my eyes, guess I fell asleep after we left the event. Mand left me in the car, I pulled my ballets back on and recovered my cardigan to put on over my cami. I shut the car and headed into Schloss Grönberg, following the sound of voices to the kitchen.

“Alright, Gab?” Angela asked as I retrieved a mug for my caffeine hit, “The girls have gone up.”
“Yeah, bit tired I guess.”
“You were asleep before we got out of the car park,” Dad advised.
“Gab, you coming?” Ron called down the stairs.
“I'm wanted,” I allowed.
“You’d best take this up,” Angela suggested as she placed a third plate on the tray, a tray laden with double chocolate gateaux.

“Oo, choccy cake!” Mand stated when I arrived in Ron’s girl cave.
“You could’ve fetched it yourselves.”
“But you’re much more practised at waitressing,” Ron opined as she started the CD player.
“Hmmph!”
“Stop pouting, you know it’s true,” Mand added.
“So what’re you going to do until you start college, Gab?” Ron asked.
“Dunno, train more.”

Yeah, with the exams over and Prom passed I'm finished at Silverberg this week – well in theory. We are encouraged to do some of the non examined courses they put on for the summer term, I guess they are sort of bridging things to get us prepared for college. The Rents have sort of suggested I do a couple but I want to know if I've got the place on the catering course before deciding – Frau Boxberg thought I should get in okay but you never know.

“Du-ull,” Mand stated.
“So what did you do, Ron?”
“I worked at Aldi for a few weeks, stacking shelves and stuff.”
“Oh I remember you saying.” was it only last year? Guess it must be, she’s only a year older than me.

Ron and Mand were soon deep in conversation discussing, I dunno, girl stuff, I let it flow over me, my mind flitting over my post Silverberg options.

“Dinner girls!” Angela called up the stairwell.
Geez, what's the time.
“...shoulda seen her face,” Mand concluded whatever tale she was imparting.
“Pass us your plate, Gab,” Ron requested.
“Er, oh right,” I found said crockery and handed it to her before climbing off the floor where I'd been sat.
“Didn’t know we were staying to eat,” I allowed.
“You were asleep in the car,” Mand noted.
There was that.

Dinner was some stroganoff thing with boiled rice, I’d’ve gone with mashed taters myself but it was pretty good and filled the gaping maw of my stomach quite nicely.

“I'll ring Wednesday, Angela,” Dad advised as we got into the car.
“Okay, see you next week, girls.”
“Yeah, see ya, Ron.”
“Byeee,” Mand added.
We waved as we set off for the drive back down to Dernau, an hour away.

“Alright, girls?” Dad asked.
“Yeah fine,” I allowed.
“Busy weekend,” he noted.
“No kidding,” I agreed.

“Morning, Gaby,” Frau Thesing greeted when I clomped into the bakery Monday morning.
“Morning.”
“You look tired.”
“It’s been a busy weekend.”
“Amanda told me on Saturday, some big race in France wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, it was brutal then we had a time trial yesterday too.”

Her face was already glazing over, that's the thing with non enthusiasts, no staying power! I took my coffee and joined the others.

“All hail the Kőnigen!” Bridg started.
“Give over, guess everyone’s over Friday?”
“Just about, you given Max his tonsils back?” Pia queried.
“Eh?”
“Oh come on, Gab, all of year five saw you sucking tongues half the night,” Nen supplied.
“We were not.”
“Don’t mind them,” Steff advised, “just jealous.”
I know we had a couple of snogs but it was hardly in the middle of the dance floor unlike some people I could name.

Of course we had to swap notes on Friday’s dance, it was the main topic of conversation for the morning – well for the girls at least. The lads, well it was the usual football or whatever, I'm sure they do talk about this stuff but not around us girls. Yeah ‘us girls’, I know I am a girl but in my head I'm still Drew but that feeling, that belief is slowly being eroded. It wasn’t Drew riding on Saturday, it was Gaby well and truly, there was no mention of Drew, I was just treated as me.

“So, Gab, you getting your hair fixed later?” Steff enquired as we nibbled at our lunch.
“I hope so, I'm sure it’s only a temporary colour.”
“Yeah, they wouldn’t use a permanent colour would they?” Pia opined.
“Probably needs a few washes to shift it,” Con added.

If that's so, it’s quite resistant, it hasn’t faded through the weekends washes.

Maddy Bell © 25.10.16