Gaby Book 28  Balancing Trick by Maddy Bell Copyright© 2023 Madeline Bell

 
What works against a field of teenagers doesn’t always translate well to more experienced competitors. Against a field of Jüngere riders my move has, historically, been a winner, big effort, get a gap, time trial away, but not today. I kept the pedal to the metal down the straight, tucked tightly to slice through the air, only backing off slightly through the turn.

I’d expected to have a decent gap on the peloton but it was clear as I glanced under my arm that that wasn’t the case, no indeedy, the strung out bunch were barely twenty metres from my wheel and looking determined. Apparently the girls junior time trial Weltmeisterin is no match for the race hardened seniors of the Eifel! Do I press on or admit temporary defeat?

Blonde I may be but dumb I’m not, I eased off my effort and moments later I was over run by the re-activated hoard. Their faces told it all, was that disdain, amusement, annoyance? Whatever it was I think I’ve made my chances of another getaway attempt somewhat harder, perhaps I need a new tactic.

They were still going like a train even after taking me, I needed an out of the saddle effort to get back in without losing too many places. Even so I found myself some forty places back and only just ahead of the gap back to a second even bigger group. Maybe my move had some merit after all.

I scanned the bunch for Manda but it seemed she missed the cut which is a bummer. But I did see Hen from the Ahrtal Wielersport sat a few wheels ahead of me. Needing some allies I surfed a couple of wheels to get me alongside the usually cheerful redhead.

"It always this full on?”
"Uh,” he allowed before recognising me, "Oh hi Gaby, not always but if someone stirs things…”
"Think that might’ve been me,” I admitted.
"The Mafiosi don’t like that sort of thing, they decide the pattern, the rest of us I guess just follow their lead.”
"Mafia?”
"Not the actual Cosa Nostra, its a bunch of oldtimers, ex professionals, and internationals with a few of their mates, think they’re a cut above but there’s not much the rest of us can do about it.”
"Bummer.”

Now Hen had said it the pattern of the race made sense, keep a lid on things, dictate all the moves, no doubt they’ll try to close down the finale so that one of their buddies takes the win. Its not exactly against the rules, its the sort of thing teams try to do every race but instead of five or six riders, this Mafia, if I’m reading the riders right, is about twenty strong and have the tacit compliance of most of the rest. Like I say, not against the rules but it stifles the racing and kills ambition.

"So we just ride around and keep out of their way?”
"Pretty much,” Hen agreed.
"Not my style,”
"Mine either,” Hen agreed, "But how do you counter such dominance?”
"Not sure,” I admitted, "Are there any others here who’d be up for stirring the hornets nest?”
Hen scanned the peloton, "Maybe six, seven.”
"Well I think its about time the Cosi Nostra founds things a bit less cosy.”
"Couldn’t agree more, what’ve you got in mind?”

What did I have in mind? Apart from a full on frontal attack I couldn’t think of anything off hand.

"Let me have a think.”
 

We were nearly three quarters of the race distance before I had a workable idea, after my abortive solo escape, the pace had fallen back to a still rapid but not eyeballs out thirty five ish. It hadn’t taken much to identify the Mafia ‘members’, to a man, lean and tanned, laughing and joking as we swept up and down the runway. The rest of the front group were ordinary Joe’s, capable riders, even quite experienced but outside of the dictating cabal.

There had been the odd sally off the front but they were doomed before they started, the strangle hold was almost complete. Almost but not quite, you know how the saying goes, if you can’t beat them join them. These guys need taking down a peg or two, they aren’t the only ones with years of experience to call on, I’ve been soaking up everything Mum has done for at least ten years.

"What do you think?” I asked Hen after outlining my idea, hopefully out of hearing at the back of the pretty much still intact front group.
"Worth a try.”
"You reckon we can recruit enough?”
"We can but try.”
"More the merrier, they aren’t infallible.”
"I’ll see who’s with us.”

The plan was unconventional and it only really had a chance because of the nature of todays race ground, wide and open. I got the idea from a race Mum did a few years ago, the Eddie Soens race at Liverpool racecourse, apart from the lack of corners here at Mendig the course is similar being wide and open and much like today its all categories although its run on a handicap basis. The year Mum rode it was a raw day with a stiff crosswind which kept the scratch riders from bridging to the front until the last couple of laps, instead it developed into two distinct races, at one point the two pelotons were side by side, fighting their own races.

Hen returned after his ‘errand’, I was treating him like a lacky but he knew these guys, at best I recognize one or two.

"With us we’ve got a dozen,” he told me, "I think we might get some extras when we get going.”
"It’ll have to do,” I allowed, nothing ventured.
"When?”
I’d given this some thought, "End of this lap? We drift off to the left, no acceleration or stuff to provoke them.”
"And we just hold pace with them?”
"That’s the plan, leaves them exposed and we ride our own race.”
"I don’t know where you thought it up but I like it,” Hen told me with a grin.
"Later, lets take out the Mafia!”

Hen and I took the lead, drifting sideways from the shelter of the peloton, one by one other riders followed suit, Hen was right, some of the don’t knows came too. By the time we reached the far turn our ‘breakaway’ peloton was pretty much equal in numbers to the original still almost blissfully unaware of the mass defection. That changed on the turn when they discovered their desired line through the corner was already occupied.

I grinned to myself, this was something they’d not come across before. They sure didn’t know how to react, when their usual bullying and intimidation had no effect on our tight group they seemed to have run out of options. For the first time in possibly years the Eifel Mafia wasn’t in control, we were taking the racing back.

Unable to muscle into our bunch there was nothing they could do but ride alongside, a position which meant they had to go wider on the turns unless they dropped back. Either option was a win for the new order, all of whom were doing their bit. It might have started as a bit of a vanity move for my own ends but its beyond that now, I don’t have a lot invested in a good placing, keeping the bullies out of things was todays target.

Two smaller groups are not as quick as one single peloton and the corresponding drop of a couple of K speed wise gave the chasers encouragement, enough that half a dozen managed to cross the gap over the next two laps, de Vreen amongst them. Now numerically stronger, the new order was able to up the ante, to keep pace the Mafia would need to dig a bit deeper. Kudos to them, they held steady for a couple of laps but it couldn’t last.

It was barely noticeable at first, a metre or two on each turn then at the start of lap thirty eight the elastic snapped. Don’t get me wrong, they were still racing but they were losing ground at a much greater rate, enough that they could take the racing line through the next turn for the first time in best part of ten laps. I felt sure they weren’t done, we needed to keep up the pressure.

I moved to the front and put in a big effort, I may not be Josh Waugh, able to drag the peloton for kilometre after kilometre but I can still do a good effort. Others came around me, continuing the speed dial up, it wasn’t pretty or organised but there was clearly passion. When we’ve been training with the seniors its often got like this, a game of half wheel, pushing everyone just that little bit more than they’d like.
 
Both members of Team Apollinaris had a go on the sharp end but bigger, stronger, hungrier legs soon relegated us to the tail of the peloton. The elastic may have given out but the Mafiosi’s group were not gone, the thirty metre gap was small enough potentially for some of them at least to get back across. Well no point worrying over something you can’t do anything about, I took a glug from my bidon, what I can affect is my position at the line.

Ding, ding, ding, the bell sounded as we crossed the line the next time, it’ll all be over in just a few scant minutes. It could’ve gone pear shaped at this point but perhaps for the first time, there was a realistic chance that one of this lot would win. That element of hope was seemingly enough to keep them racing, all too often races are lost by dithering at this stage.

Would I contest the finale? What do you think? Mand however is less capable in the sprints so I wasn’t surprised when, with a huge effort, she took a flyer down the right as we screamed back towards the last turn. I glanced behind to see what the bad boys were up to, damn there’s three of them almost in contact!

She was wide, she was fast but she was doomed, pretty much the whole bunch joined the pursuit, almost as soon as she went, me dangling on the back. As things settled again with de Vreen now stuck on the front, I checked behind again. From being in touching distance, the trio of chasers were gone, well clearly the acceleration had been too much at the wrong time, with less than a kilometre to go I reckoned they were done.

I caught Hen’s eye, giving him a thumbs up as he grinned back.

Mand wasn’t the last to go on a late attack, twice more riders tried their luck, each time the reaction was immediate and brutal. After the second I moved up a few places through the weary field, weary yes but there was somehow, it seemed to me at least, a feeling of expectation. There were some strong lads here, none however came across as sprinters per se, question is, do they know that, can I, a mere girl get the better of twenty odd grown men twice my size?

I ruled out going for a long one, they’d eat me before I’ve gone twenty metres, no, today its gonna be girlo, manno, a pure sprint for about two hundred metres. To my advantage was Mand who indicated she was up to do a bit of a lead out, clearly her failed escape hadn’t taken too much out. By four hundred to go I was on her wheel, at three hundred things started to wind up.

It was all a bit of a blur then, Mand wound things up, me glued to her rear wheel as she sought a way through the bodies. When she broke right I was out of the saddle and just smashed the pedals round, I was vaguely aware of bodies around me then nothing. Well nothing apart from cheering and thereafter the open expanse of the runway stretching away into the distance.

Momentum carried me some distance as I sucked air into my lungs, head hanging, heart thumping from the effort. I made a wide one eighty turn and soft pedalled back towards the finish area where riders were still finishing and supporters still cheered. A waving figure got my attention, Mum if the Apollinaris strip was anything to go by, I adjusted my trajectory accordingly.
 

"Well done kiddo!”
"I get it?”
"Three lengths, there were a few of you neck and neck then you just seemed to shoot forward.”
"That’ll be the motor kicking in,” I suggested teasing liquid from my bidon again.
"Don’t joke, there’s rumours that that’s a thing.”
"How could you hide a motor on a race bike? It’d be dead obvious.”
"Beats me, just what I’ve heard,” Mum allowed.

"Think you put a few noses out of joint oh daughter of mine,” Dad noted when he and Mand joined us a few moments later.
"That’ll be the Eifel Mafia,” I sagely supplied.
"Mafia?” Mand parroted.
"They have that here?” Mum queried.
"Well that’s what Hen called them.”
"Hen as in RTF Hen?” Dad asked.
"Uh huh.”
"There was a bunch of blokes in the North Mids we used to call the Mafioso,” Mum supplied, "Don’t get me wrong, there were some good riders amongst them but they would try to dictate the races to their liking.”
"Exactly,” I confirmed, "Hen says they’ve been tying up the local races for years.”
"So you thought you’d do something about it eh kiddo?” Dad concluded.
"Well fair’s fair.”
"Where did the split peloton come from?” Mum asked.
"You remember when you did that big race at Liverpool?”
"The Eddie Soens, ah, I remember now, the scratch riders only got to the front on the last lap. You remembered that Gab? It was years ago, you must’ve been about seven.”
"I remember all your races Mum.”
"Aww!” she pulled me into an awkward hug, awkward because I was still astride my bike.
"Come on,” Dad chivvied, "Lets get you changed.
 

"We showed em today eh Hen?” I told him as we milled about waiting for the presentation.
"You showed them Fraulein Weltmeisterin, if it wasn’t for you Frank and his buddies would’ve closed the race down like they do every week.”
"Maybe not anymore?”
"Well I think you’ve encouraged a few to at least try. And when you shot away at the finish, you just left the rest of us for dead.”
"That’s why I’m Weltmeisterin…”
"And I’m not,” he stated, "Plus of course I’m the wrong sex, he added with a grin.
"Well that as well,” I conceded.
"So you gonna do any more of these little events?”
"Depends on the Jugendliga and whether they want me for international stuff I guess.”
"Well some of us would be happy to see you on the start line again even if you did annihilate us at the finish.”
I gave a shrug, "Luck on the day.”

Then I spotted someone a few steps away that needed something that had been festering in my head for the last couple of hours.

"Be right back Hen, just got some business to attend to.”
"Sure.”

I crossed the short distance to where the guy from earlier was talking with some of my fellow competitors.

"Hi, remember me?”
"Erm.”
"Let me remind you, ‘takes more than a pretty bike to win races’, remember me now?”
"The fancy Pinarello?”
I addressed his audience, "See his memory isn’t so bad,” I turned back to the jerk himself, "Well just to set the record straight, in case it missed your attention, my ‘pretty bike’ and ergo my pretty face just won this race, so I think you’ll agree that I’ve disproved your theory. Just thought it needed clarifying."

I turned on my heel and stalked back to Hen.

"That was harsh!”
"He was being a sexist pig at the bike check.”
"Remind me to never upset you. Ot oh, looks like they’re ready to hand out the silverware.”
"Silverware?”
"Metaphorically speaking,” Hen clarified.
 

My prize was very much in keeping with the local ‘chipper’ status of the event, a fifty euro voucher to spend in the big bike shop in Koblenz and a crate of beer from the Vulkan Brauerie here in Mendig. Second prize was two crates – just kidding. It was actually not a bad prize, okay, I’ll probably pass on the bier and I get pretty much all my bike gear supplied but for those less lucky, you could get a few inner tubes from fifty euros.

Which gave me an idea. I’d seen the last couple of riders cross the line, they were nearly a lap down but they’d still contested a sprint! I don’t think if I was that far back I’d be sprinting for what, one hundred and thirtieth place? There was nothing to gain, no prize, no points for a competition but they’d still battled it out to determine who’d be last.

And there they were, obviously mates, laughing and joking with a few others. They clearly raced for the love of it, winning was so far off their radar it wasn’t even a consideration. There were guys just like them when I used to ride the Cuckney tens, out every week, delighted to do a twenty seven or twenty eight, literally five, six minutes behind the fastest and slower than even thirteen year old me.

"Hen, can you do me a favour, bring that beer crate.”
"Sure, where’re we going?”
"Just over here.”

I led the way through the remainder of the crowd, our little procession getting some curious looks, even more so when we stopped by the ‘no hopers’.

"Nice sprint at the end there,” I opined in a gap in the banter.
"Pah, Jurgen gets me every time.”
"You beat me at Oberpleis the other week,” ‘Jurgen’ stated.
"Only because you unshipped your chain, ruined my hundred percent record!”
"I reckon you don’t try half the time Ulli,” another of the group posited.
"You do know who this is guys,” ‘Ulli’ started, "She got the better of the Mafia today.”
"The Bondt girl?” someone else chimed.
"Guilty,” I admitted, "And its just Bond.”
"So what’re you doing slumming it with last man Ulli? Thought you’d be exchanging tips with Frank and his cronies.”
"I pick my own company,” I told them, "Those guys have had their day, it’s about time someone else got a chance.”
"Amen to that,” Jurgen stated.
"Anyway, I was you once, well not literally, but I had my share of racing for very minor placings. Okay, not for a while but I remember what it was like. So here’s the deal, Jurgen, for winning the sprint for one but last you win this crate of Vulkan!”

There was a rather bigger cheer than I was expecting, it seems our little tête-à-tête had attracted a little bit of an audience.

"Go for it Jurgen!”

"And Ulli,” I went on, "For an outstanding last place, the big prize of the day, a voucher to spend in Radsport Regenhardt!”

There was more cheering and heckling, both of my ‘victims’ stole a peck on my cheek and despite all the bluster it was clear they were moved. Someone took a picture, bottles of Vulkan were opened and I think I just scored some more fans.

"I was looking forward to one of those beers,” Dad told me as we waited to exit the airfield a few minutes later.
"Huh, steal from your own daughter eh?”
"I think it was a really sweet thing to do Gab’s” Mum told us.
"Well its not like I needed the prize, if I’d come tenth or something I wouldn’t’ve had it.”
"Couldn’t you have saved me one?” Dad asked.
"Enough Dave,” Mum instructed.
"We gonna eat out?” I queried.
"Stomach again Gabs,” Mand complained.
"Not seen you turning any down.”
"Girls, your father is going to treat us.”
"I am?”
"Next right,” Mum instructed.
"The Lavakellar?” Dad asked seeing the sign.
"Nope, just up on the right, there’s a car park.”

Indeed there was. And a restaurant.

"Now you’re talking!” Dad mentioned gleefully as we turned into the Vulkan Brauhaus, maybe he’ll get that bier after all.
 
Maddy Bell © 15.06.2023