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

 
The peloton was in complete disarray, some riders still following Manda, others swapping their allegiance to following the second assault by Daz. Tali and Gret were doing their best to hamper things too, doing the anchor thing as riders set off in pursuit, it really was a free for all. Of course that was the plan, disrupt any vestige of organisation and eat into the energy reserves of the opposition.

Mand soon eased off, causing more consternation as riders found themselves being taken backwards even as another line chased her team mate down. The gap to the small chasing group shrank, by the time the gates came into view, they were within touching distance, Daz sat up, his job done.

At first annoyed, Josh quickly realised what was going on, a half hearted counter attack was easily quelled, as they turned onto Maulbeerallee to start lap two, the straggly remains of the main peloton were all together and seemingly waiting to see what came next. Would anyone take a flier? Had they drawn the oppositions sting? Gaby was out of sight, did that mean out of mind?
 

The ride along Geschwister Scholl Straße allowed Gaby to take on a last drink, no point in eating anything this close to the finish but even so she slipped a couple of gummi bears from her pocket, they might give a little sugar boost for that final climb through the park. She followed the lead car through the bus loop again, not far now girl, not far at all.

It seemed further to the park gates this time but eventually the lead entourage made the turn and the Linden Avenue stretched away towards the Neues Palace. She found a comfortable gear, the surface seemed drier this time, less sluggish at least. The climb was kept from view by the trees almost until the avenue ended but then there it was, the flat across the palace forecourt then the half kilometre climb back to the road.

She allowed herself a glance behind, is that the bunch? If it was they were closer than she thought but the continuing presence of the service bike suggested she still had plenty in hand. The Baroque Roccoco splendour of Frederick the Seconds palace were ignored, a mere backdrop to the drama acting out on the roadways of Sansoucci Park. Not wanting even the prospect of last weeks close call, Gab changed things up a notch in front of the palace and attacked the five hundred metre climb with gusto.
 

The lethargy of the peloton only lasted to their second crossing of the line, the clang of the bell galvanising a reaction. The Apollinaris riders could do little to halt this new urgency as the remnants of the race swept through central Potsdam at close on forty K. Did Gaby realise the danger creeping up from behind, Josh crossed his fingers, they’d done what they could but such a short, sixty six kilometre, race had reduced their options.

The main bunch, had certainly got the bit between their teeth, the distance between them and the lone leader was clearly decreasing, down from over two minutes the first lap to under one as they hit the last climb. The Apollinaris riders were all together, if their leader was caught they still needed to contest the finish. A thirty up sprint, Josh, never a strong sprinter, didn’t relish the prospect.
 

The back of Gab’s Pinarello had a bit of a squiggle as she turned back onto the tarmac, not now! Ignore it or look? A quick look between her legs was enough, the rear tyre was certainly low on air but with the bunch not far behind and the kilometre to go board just metres away, a wheel change would be suicidal, figuratively speaking. One kilometre, downhill at that, oh she’d haemorrhage some time, of course she would but she should make it.

Decision made, she got out of the saddle to lighten the load on the deflating tyre and started what was, in effect, a thousand metre sprint. At five hundred she had to sit down, immediately the bump of the valve each turn of the wheel was evident and the whole bike vibrated with the loss of any suspension the flat tyre usually gave. Back out of the saddle, there’s the finish arch, the strains of the PA changed from Bicycle Race to the excited MC, come on Gab.
 

As they passed the kilometre to go board, Josh drew a sigh of relief. Whilst the gap had been further closed, quite quickly it has to be said, there simply wasn’t enough road left to make the catch. There was Gaby, out of the saddle some five, six hundred metres ahead, she’d have to get off and walk to caught now.
 

Two hundred, one fifty, one hundred, the crowd screamed, the MC wailed, fifty metres, last effort – and it was over. The bike squirmed as she headed towards a grinning Dieter.

"Catch me!”

The bulk of the peloton swept in, clearly the sprinters were not to be denied their moment in the limelight even if they were only fighting over the minor placings.
 

"So in third place, last years winner, riding for Sporting Potsdam, Ulli Buntstedt!”

A tall, dark haired lad stepped onto the lowest step to loud cheering, well he is local.

"Second place, for RS Stahnsdorf, Herbert Strangmeier!”

Equally loud cheers accompanied another tall but this time red headed youth onto the dais.

"And our winner of this years Potsdamer Grand Prix, finishing on a flat tyre even, the current under eighteen girls Weltmeisterin, riding for the Apollinaris Radrennen Team, Gabrielle Bondt!”

The cheering was loud as I climbed the rostrum to the top step, the two lads on the lower steps still towering over me once I got there. By the slightly sour expressions, I don’t think news of my flat tyre had exactly endeared myself to them. Their problem not mine, I grinned and waved as trophies were awarded and podium pictures were taken.
 

The organisers had arranged for us to use the showers at the local secondary school, the Einstein Gymnasium, about a kilometre from the finish for which I was very grateful. Yeah the odour of damp, sweaty bike kit tends to linger so the chance to get properly clean before the journey home was appreciated by everyone.

"Right everyone, we’ve got a fairly tight schedule if everyone is to get their flights and trains,” Dieter advised as we reassembled at our transport.
"No dinner?” Josh asked.
"We have time for that,” we were told, "We just need to watch the time.”
"Phew!” I allowed, "Wasn’t looking forward to more airport food.”
"Its not the food, its the prices,” Daz put in.
"That as well,” I agreed.
"So where’re we eating Mr L?” Tali enquired.
"A place in the Altstadt, one of the officials recommended it,” Sonja volunteered, "We can walk from here.”
"Walk?” I complained for appearances.
"Its only about two hundred metres,” Sonja retorted, "Not far.”
"She’s winding you up Mama,” Gret stated.
"You’re no fun Luchow,” I pouted.
"Come on or there won’t be time for dessert,” Dieter opined.

Well I think it was more like three than two hundred metres but that's being nit picky, our destination, the Restaurant Dreimäderlhaus, was on the posh end of traditional German. In fact at first glance it was more like a posh cafe than a restaurant, tiled floor, kitchen style chairs, the décor a nod to the Baroque rather than the heavy wood often favoured in German eateries. We were soon installed around a table – well two pushed together, and perusing the menu.

"I still don’t get that you do this after every race,” Daz mentioned as we perused the menus. "Most we ever do at home is stop at Maccy D’s.”
"You’ll get used to it man,” Josh told him.
"Not complaining, i’m not really a burger lover, so what exactly is ‘spargel’?”
 

Obviously the talk around the table was largely about the race, each of us reliving our own bits of the drama, the drama, mechanicals, decisions that all together claimed the result. Of course luck plays a part, if it had been my front tyre going down for example, I would have had to call on the service. These post race debriefs are just as important a part as the build up, we all get to learn from how things play out, I know it often seems like I’m riding in my own little world but there is so much more going on that I’m not involved with that can affect the result.

I said the restaurant was traditional posh, the usual menu elements were all there, schnitzel, würst, pork in myriad variations, the posh bit was the lack of pommes, oh you could order fries but the meals had boiled or pureéd taters for the most part. For my part I had Leberknödel which came with mashed potatoes in a white sauce, the veg when it turned up, was a green leaf and carrot thing plonked on top, very arty and no doubt a contributor to the higher prices being charged.

I have to say that I was jealous of everyone’s meal, from Dieter’s pork knuckle to Tali’s liver and onions, if I’m ever this way again, this is where I’m eating. The desserts were a bit less exciting, a choice between lemon sorbet, cheesecake or ice cream, I opted for the ice cream. We passed on the coffee as time was by now getting on.
 

"Aren’t we going into Berlin?” Tali asked as we left Potsdam on the same road that we’d earlier returned on.
"Slight change of plan,” Dieter mentioned over his shoulder, "We’ll drop you three off in Spandau then whip around to the airport on the motorway, its the same train to Hamburg but we avoid taking the bus into the centre.”

Three? I hear you ask. Well Daz is staying with Josh for a couple of weeks, easier and cheaper than the commute from England.

"Makes sense like,” Josh noted.

It wasn’t a long way of course, quicker for being on the main drag and in under thirty minutes we were saying our farewells outside Spandau Hbf.

"See you in a couple of weeks then,” I offered giving Josh a quick hug.
"Aye hen, we can do it all over again.”
"Enjoy Hamburg Daz.”
"I’m sure I will, think we’re gonna do some tourist stuff.”
"Sure we’ll find something to do,” Josh suggested.

The three of them headed into the station, Dieter giving them a hand with the bags up to the platform.

"What time’s your flight?” Gret asked as we resettled into the bus.
"About half seven I think.”
"Bags of time, we can be in Cottbus in an hour thirty from here,” Sonja told us.

Hmm, four thirty, five thirty, yeah in theory plenty of time.

Dieter returned at a trot, "Okay, lets get you two to the airport.”

Of course it would’ve been far simpler if our flight had been out of Tegel airport a mere nine kilometres from Spandau according to the signs, no we have to go to Schönefeld which is best part of forty kilometres away around the Südring. At least the traffic wasn’t too bad, which is just as well, its only two lane most of the way and it wouldn’t take much to see it snarled up.

"That’s Tempelhof,” Gret pointed across the motorway to a big empty area.
"Right,” I allowed a little bemused.
"You know,” Gret went on, "The Airlift?”
"Course.”

The name did seem vaguely familiar from school, something to do with the Cold War? I soon forgot about that as we dropped off the motorway and made our way to the airport drop off.

"You gonna be okay?” Dieter asked for the hundredth time, okay that’s exaggerating a bit but it wasn’t the first time.
"Yeah, its the easy bit now.”
"Thanks for you know organising stuff,” Mand told him.
"I’ve enjoyed it, wouldn’t want to do it every week but its been good fun.”
"I’ll tell Dad his job’s safe then.”
"From me at least,” Dieter noted.

We did the farewell bit and watched as the Luchow’s departed before heading into the terminal building.
 

On our arrival, was it really just two days ago? Anyhow, when we got here it was all a mad dash to get away and to the hotel which meant we didn’t really look at our surroundings. Today things are a bit more relaxed and we were able to take in our surroundings a bit more.

Frankfurt or even Köln/Bonn it is not, no Schönefeld is a much more modest affair. We eventually located a trolley, loaded the bikes and cases and between us made our way towards the check in desks. At Frankfurt there are whole banks of desks for each airline, here Air Berlin had just two, only one of which was open, we joined the queue, Mand taking charge of our paperwork.

You know what its like, there’s always someone with overweight bags or the wrong paperwork, the bags of time you thought you had seems to disappear at an alarming rate. We didn’t get just one check in blocker but two which finally prompted them to open the second desk as the queue now snaked halfway around the concourse. I thought the family in front of us were going to hold things up but they didn’t, we were checked in and on our way to drop the bikes at the oversize drop while the blockers at the first desk were still arguing the toss over the additional cost of their over weight, over size luggage.

"Phew! I thought we were gonna be there forever.” Mand opined.
"Tell me about it, did you see the size of that case?”

Its a small airport, the oversize drop was only a few metres away and within a couple of minutes we were heading through to the departure lounges.

"Still half an hour before they call the flight,” Mand advised after checking the departure board, "Coffee?”
"Good idea,” I agreed before my attention was caught by a shop selling tourist tat. "Tell you what, you get the coffee and I’ll meet you in a minute, I’ll give you the money.”
“’kay, the usual?”
"Of course.”
 

Most airports have something similar, a shop selling ‘souvenirs’ from the local region, why all the UK ones sell London stuff is beyond me, you don’t get Berlin stuff at Frankfurt. Anyhow, I wasn’t looking for me, I got a lifetime supply of Berlin tat on the school trip, no, I thought I’d get something for Drea. London tat is all red buses, black taxis and telephone boxes, Berlin its the Brandenburg Gate, Trabants and for some obscure reason, rubber ducks!

I perused the various wares, t-shirts, snow globes and toy cars but I settled on one of the rubber ducks, for some reason wearing a sort of dirndl. I know, weird but it appealed to my sense of the absurd and I’m sure Drea will like it. I did double up, a nice pink T with ‘BERLIN’ in sparkly letters on the front, I wasn’t sure of size so I went for the four to five years, if its too big it’ll save.

"You took your time,” Mand noted when I found her at the coffee bar, "I got you a blueberry muffin.”
"Cheers.”
"So what did you get?”
"A T for Drea.”
"You spoil that kid.”
"Someone has to.”
"If you say so.”
"Bern and Marty don’t have a lot of money.”
"I know but they’re not exactly on the streets are they? Plenty of people would like to be in their boots.”

She wasn’t wrong of course, compared to many in a similar position they were well off, two supportive families, a roof over their heads, yeah there wasn’t much for luxuries but there was food on the table and they seem happy enough. I still feel some responsibility though, Drea isn’t responsible for what went on before, if I can brighten her life a little with the occasional treat or gift, well I can afford it.

"Gab, Ga-ab.”
"Um?” I returned my attention to the now, "Wassup?”
"Finish up, they’ve just called the flight.”
"I thought we had fifteen minutes still?”
"That was fifteen minutes ago.”
"Sugar!”

What was left of my coffee was by now luke warm, I gulped the last of it down, grabbed my bag and the untouched American muffin and rushed to catch up with de Vreen’s departing back. How comes even the smallest airports have gates miles from the lounges? It felt like we and a trickle of others, were walking to the back of beyond, when we reached the gate, beyond was still a bit further on!

At least this queue was less stressed, if you get this far you’ve jumped through all the hoops. I dug out my handy while we waited for the gate to open.

"Who are you ringing?” de Vreen enquired.
"No one, just sending Dad a text so we get picked up.”
"Will they be back yet.”
"He said so.”
"We could just get the train.”
"With the bike boxes? And you have to get to the station in a bus first.”
"Taxi?”
"We’ll try Dad first.”

"Have your boarding cards ready please.”

I hit send for the SMS and we started the plane boarding shuffle.
 
Maddy Bell © 15.06.2023