Gaby Book 18 - Summery

 
We were going nowhere fast, it’s amazing how quickly the traffic builds when it’s suddenly not whizzing along at a hundred kph. With the afternoon warming up so did the bus, it wasn’t long before the air con could be heard over the idling engine as it did its best to keep us cool.
The bag of Haribo did the rounds twice as we crept along – well you just do, don’t you?

“I wouldn’t mind but we’re going off at the next junction,” Dad advised.
“So near, so far,” I offered as the three lanes of traffic crept forward a few more metres.
“There nothing on the radio?” Ron queried.
“Nothing’s come up for this,” Dad told us, “some nasty near Kassel, coach on fire.”
“We’re miles from there aren’t we?”
“Far enough,” he agreed, “here we go.”

The traffic started to move, not quickly but at least forward. Looking ahead though there were several sets of blue lights and the next set of lane controls suggested that the outer two lanes were closed ahead – probably the cause of the stop start as all the traffic tried to get in one lane. But at least we were moving.

Eventually we reached the blue lights and I guess it’s human nature to want to look at the cause of the disruption. Although there were a couple of ambulances the crews were just stood chatting so I guess no one was hurt but it’s amazing if that's the case. One articulated truck was skewed across the road and several cars were sort of parked ahead of it.

But the actual accident was with a recovery truck, somehow it had found its way up onto the concrete barrier and complete with its load now rested at a precarious angle, the cab almost three metres above the road. The Polizei were ‘encouraging’ the passing traffic to keep moving so there was no chance to really look, the road quickly returning to the full three lanes. A frenzy of delayed organ donors zoomed past as our own speed increased, some people never learn.

“This looks like us,” Dad stated a short time later.
“How far is it?” Mand asked.
“Half an hour maybe.”
“Good, I can last that long.”
“You should’ve said something, we just passed a rest area,” Angela noted.
“I'll turn the air con down a bit,” Dad stated, almost immediately the cold air’s effects lessened – it had been affecting me too.

We are in the same hotel as last year, the Intercity on Nordwall, Dad spun us into the drive just as the town clocks started to strike five. We’d no sooner stopped than a figure hurried out from reception dressed in the almost default black waist coat, shirt and straight leg trousers. Dad got out and met the chap before he reached the bus, they were soon engaged in an arm waving conversation.

“Come on, girls, bags,” Angela prompted.

How come you have to repack your bag every time you get out of a vehicle? It’s not like I've been doing my war paint or anything but somehow I've still got half its contents spread around me – grrr. By the time I was organised Dad was back from the semaphore exchange.

“Everything okay?” Angela enquired.
“Just organising parking, go on in and he’ll sort your rooms while I move the bus.”
“The others here?” I asked.
“Not yet, I shouldn’t think they’re far off though.”

As usual these days me and Mand were sharing, Ron and her mum were in together, the Luchow’s have a triple and Dad is on his own. The others, well if you remember Josh’s dad is military, based at Bergen just up the road from the race start. Apparently Tali is staying there with him having come from Hamburg on the train, we’ll see them in the morning I guess.

“Tal’s got the right idea,” Mand opined, “these dresses are a pain.”
“It’s the price we pay,” I allowed.
“We’re gonna look right dorks walking around the town.”
“I think ‘professional’ is the word you are looking for,” I suggested as I teased my own frock into place.
“Yeah whatever, you ready?”
I checked that my wig wasn’t going anywhere, “Let’s go eat.”

It’ll come as no surprise that we were the last to arrive in reception.

“Hi, Gret.”
“Gab? You got your hair cut and it’s blonde again.”
“Fancied a change.”
“Told you she was different,” Ron stage whispered.
“Now we’re all here,” Dad intoned, shall we go eat?”

We were already getting some looks and we hadn’t left reception, Mand’s right, we’re gonna stick out like a sore thumb walking around Celle town centre.

The four of us in the blue team frocks clacked our way along the street, the adults following behind.

“Where’re we going?” Gret requested.
“Well unless anyone’s got a preference I have a table booked at some place called the Drei Glocken.” Dad advised.
“Is it far?” I asked, well we’d walked at least two hundred metres already.
“That looks like it on the corner,” Dieter proffered.

The Drei Glocken or Three Bells if you prefer is in one of the many timber buildings in old Celle, very rustic and on this fine evening busy both inside and at the tables outside.

“They’re all looking at us,” Roni mentioned as we arrived at our destination.
“I feel a right prawn,” Mand added.
We were intercepted by a waiter chap, “How many?”
“Eight, I've booked a table, Bond?”
“One moment.” He disappeared inside which gave us the chance to check out what other customers were eating – from what I could see it was fairly traditional German.
“Ladies, gentlemen,” the returned waiter indicated we should follow him.

He didn’t take us inside but instead through a side door which actually took us into a walled garden. Our table was sat beneath an elderly Linden, that most German of trees which provided the shade from the sun other tables had umbrellas for.

“This looks nice,” Sonja mentioned as we seated ourselves.

By the time we were settled the Speisekarte were at each place and a waitress was waiting, I'm guessing for our drink order.

“Don’t expect an easy ride,” Dad told us as we started discussing tomorrow’s race.
“Do we ever?” I queried as I chased the last peas around my plate.
“All I'm saying is that we can’t rely on the same tactics getting results, we can only play the fairer sex card so many times before we’ve cried wolf one time too many.”
“So what are you suggesting?” Gret asked, her hackles already rising.
“Maybe it’s time to play the Josh card.”
“We already do,” I pointed out.
“Okay let’s look at this from a different angle, who are we racing for tomorrow?”
“Gab,” Mand stated with conviction.
“Ron? Greta?”
“I guess,” Ron agreed.
“Wrong,” Dad stated, “you’re riding for the team, it’s not the Gaby Bond racing team it’s the Apollinaris race team. Greta, when you and Tali and Josh if he’s about to race without Gaby, who do you race for?”
“Well it depends who’s having a day.”
“So it might be any of you?”
“Suppose so,” Gret admitted.
“So when you don’t have a designated leader you still work together?”
“Well yeah.”
“So if I said we don’t have a leader tomorrow you’d all work together?” Dad pressed.
“Course,” Mand put in.
“What’re you suggesting, Dad?”
“I think,” Dieter started, “that what Dave is suggesting is chaos.”
“Chaos?” Ron queried.
“On the nail, Dieter,” Dad confirmed, “the competition have latched onto some of our tactics, look at Hamburg, even the Dutch race, those moves weren’t random they were intended to break our control. They’ve got used to how we work, so we need to change.”
“We’ve won though haven’t we,” Mand pointed out.
“So far but we haven’t been able to control things like we did last year, they smell blood, your blood and if we aren’t careful we’ll lose the upper hand.”
“So what do we do then?” I asked.
“We fall apart.”
“Eh?” Ron managed as Gret nearly choked on her coke.
“I thought you said, ‘fall apart’,” I posited.
“I did, Dieter’s right, we turn to chaos to gain the upper hand.”
“So like, how does that work?” Gret asked.

I was regretting not bringing a cardi by the time we got back to the hotel, by the time we left the Drei Glocken the sun was well over the yard arm and a cool breeze populated the city streets. I think we’ve got the race plan sorted out, Tali and Josh will get the low down in the morning. There was no point in hanging around downstairs so Mand and I went upstairs to chill in our room.

“You reckon it’ll work?”
“It will or it won’t,” I admitted.

To be honest I wasn’t keen, the others are usually at some level working towards a Bond win and tomorrow that’s out of the window – well not entirely but it’ll be more subtle.

“Better take the wig off,” Mand suggested as I got ready to shower.
“Sugar, I nearly forgot.”
I unclipped my hair piece and freed my pale pink locks.
“You got any ribbon?”
“Not something I usually carry,” Mand told me with a sneer.
“Hmm.”
“What are you plotting Gaby Bond?”
“Nothing, won’t be long.” I ducked into the bathroom leaving my roommate to her dismal Saturday night telly.

I couldn’t get to sleep, there was too much going through my head. Dad’s ‘chaos’ theory of course but not just that, the crane incident, my conversation with Raine Osman, the wedding – it all sort of merged into one big lump of sleeplessness. I reached into the bag of Haribo for more sugary goodness, scoring a lump of licorice and by the feel of it one of the new gummi Smurfs. A streak of light cut across the ceiling as a car manoeuvred outside, then it suddenly clicked, Dad’s whole plan was smoke and mirrors!

“You’re keen,” Mand observed from under her duvet.
“Early bird and worms.”
“What time is it?”
“Seven fifteen,” I advised pulling a pair of cycling tights on over my shorts.
“Guess I should get up then.”

My feet were soon in my baseball boots, in fact before Mand had crawled from under the duvet.

“See you downstairs.”
“Whatever.”

The breakfast room was sparsely populated, it is after all half seven on a Sunday morning, but I still wasn’t the first down, both Dad and Dieter were some way into their repast.

“You’re bright and early,” Dad noted.
“Can’t stay in bed all day.”
“What have you done with, Gaby?” Dad demanded.
Dieter was clearly puzzling over something, “Wasn’t your hair shorter and blonde yesterday?”
“Was it?” I grinned back.

Maddy Bell © 17.01.17