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

I don’t know what it is about camping, and it doesn’t seem to make any difference whether I’m in a tent or the camper, but I always wake up at the crack of silly even if, like last night, I go to bed cream crackered. Beside me Amanda was still happily sawing away and when I found my watch I discovered it was just coming up to six thirty, not so early then but still a time I didn’t want, nor need to see today. It was strangely silent as I lay there which at least meant it wasn’t raining.

Of course, once you are awake bodily functions kick in and eventually I had to give in and head for the toilet. The one in the camper of course, there is no way that I’d make it across to the toilet block! Yeah I know, too much information, anyhow, when I emerged I could hear Dad moving about so I guess its time to formally get up.

"Mornin’” I offered when I reached the lounge cum kitchen where I found Pater doing a few stretches to get the kinks out.
"Morning kiddo, stick the kettle on eh?”
"Sure, breakfast?”

Crack!

"Ooh, that’s better, I ordered some brötchen at the site shop, think it opens at seven thirty.”
“’kay,” I allowed as I fought with the stove to get a flame.
"There’s cheese and stuff in the fridge.”

Looks like I’m delegated caterer again.
 

It was a little after eight when we set off for the short ride to the event HQ, there was no point in delaying the move, Mand and I can get our gear on wherever and Dad was keen to get the parked and the Ezy-up erected a bit closer to things than yesterday. The overnight rain had left a few puddles, the morning was grey and threatening some more damp by the looks of things.

One of the issues with multi stage events is the potential to get through a lot of kit, once we were parked up it was time to get kitted up. It was with a sinking heart that I realised I only had one fresh sports bra, damn. A quick sniff and feel and the problem was solved, I’d wear the not too manky one from yesterday in the TT then the fresh one for the road race.

The pair of us were almost race ready when the red Audi turned up, the lads already in their skinsuits.

"Right you lot, go sign on and get your start times, Joe and I ’ll get your bikes ready, you can use the ride to the start to warm up, you can wear a trackie or jacket, i’ll be at the start so you can leave them with me. Joe’ll have your race capes at the finish. Whoever gets back first he’ll give the camper keys so you can get in and sort yourselves out, okay?”
"Aye,” Josh replied.
"Is there any service?” Daz asked.
"Not as such,” Dad told us, "There will be a sort of broom wagon, apparently if you can’t finish they’ll give you the time of the slowest rider.”
"Seems fair,” Mand opined.

Which I guess it is, at least you won’t get kicked off the race.

"There’s service this afternoon though?” I queried.
"Yes daughter, there’s service for that, we can talk about that once we’ve got this morning out of the way.”
 

It wasn’t a long ride out to the start, out of the campus, under the motorway junction and through a housing estate, the organisers having signed the way so we avoided the main road. Apparently the return from the finish was similarly signed to stop us getting lost. The others were starting around mid field, about thirty minutes before me but it made sense for us all to make the journey together.

By the time we got to the start area Joe had dropped Dad off complete with golf umbrella, which was just as well given the fine mizzle that was easing its way across the flat countryside.

We gathered in what shelter we could find and Dad addressed us, "I’ve spoken to the organiser, just to confirm that there isn’t any in event service but a van will be going round picking up anyone left stranded by mechanicals. Given everyone will get a time, don’t worry about trying to get yourselves back, worst case we’ll fetch you, I’d rather not have wheels to sort out before this afternoon.

There is a lot of wet on the course, big puddles rather than flooding, apparently there’s quite a deep one near the far turn, they’ll have someone there, there was mention of the THW pumping it off but that's not certain. Do keep an eye out for any wash out, there was certainly some loose stuff on the back stretch yesterday. Everyone okay?”

Bit rough if we weren’t really, there were nods all round.

"Okay, good luck and I’ll see you all back at the camper.”
 

I did the traditional back and forth riding that counts as the traditional time killing pre race warm up for time trialists waiting for their start slot. More usually we’ll have the camper near by and warm up on the trainers but today things are definitely old school. The wet came and went, annoying but not enough to soak you, hopefully it’ll stay dry out on the course.

"Time kiddo,” Dad advised as I rolled towards him for the umpteenth time.
"Finally.”

I stopped and stripped off my jacket to reveal my pristine skinsuit, I think its the first time I’ve worn it in anger. Yeah the rules are quite specific, you can only wear the stripey jersey whilst you are the champion and then only in the specific event that you won it in. As I’m the reigning Weltmeisterin for both road categories its not a problem but track riders could be swapping kit several times in a meet. Anyhow, its the first time I’ve worn it for a time trial.

"Bondt!”
"Here,” why can they never get the name right?

I scooted to the line, no fancy start ramp today just an Ezy-up which meant the timing gear stays dry.

"Dreizig.”

Deep breath, the pusher adjusted his grip on the back of my saddle as I reached to check my shoes were tight enough.

"Zwanzig.”

Check the comp is ready.

"Zehn”

Last deep breath.

"Neun, acht, sieben, sechs, funf.”

Start the comp.

"Fier, drei, zwei, eins, go!”

I stamped on the pedals, out of the saddle, the few spectators who’d braved the weather gave a bit of a cheer and I was off. The start is always an intense effort, going from nought to maybe forty five kph in the shortest possible distance. Today I sprinted up to speed in about fifty metres before sitting back down and getting comfortable for the best part of an hour’s effort.

There was little wind to worry about as I continued to wind things up, sprocket by sprocket, crouched low over the bars. Starting at minute intervals I didn’t expect to see anyone for a while and given the less than straight nature of the first half, the likelihood of having a carrot to chase is small. I settled into my rhythm, concentrating on the patch of tarmac ten metres ahead, trying to keep my mind on the job in hand.

Of course, todays seeding was very arbitrary, so I suppose I wasn’t that surprised to spot a rider not so far ahead after just a couple of kilometres. With the bends in the road, he was out of view then suddenly there, another couple of twists out of sight and I was nearly on him, maybe two hundred behind. He must’ve seen me as the next time I saw him he’d matched my speed but this is my speciality, I didn’t need to dial it up, just keep it steady and I’d overhaul him.

My guess was right, his ability or lack of, to pace the effort was no match for yours truly and the next time he came into view I’d closed to within fifty metres. Keep it steady Bond. I had to take a wide line to pass him as he was dodging puddles but I was quickly through and back on the right side of the road in time for the next bend.

Would I overhaul anyone else? With the non existent seeding who can tell, certainly not me, I’m not even sure the lad I just passed was my minute man. The houses became fewer until there was just fields on my left and scrubby woodland between the road and river to the right. Not that I was sightseeing but you aren’t entirely blinkered to your surroundings.

The road swung close to the river and seemed to take on a lot of wet, is this the flood Dad mentioned? I checked the distance, eight kilometres, nope too soon. I dodged the shallow pools as best I could, I don’t think there are any potholes but best best not take that chance. And then the wet came, properly raining this time, I saw it coming across the fields, a grey wall enveloping the countryside and all who dared be there.

Racing in the wet, not nice, its not quite as bad on your own in a time trial but its still unpleasant. I squinted through the murk, the sudden glare of vehicle headlights gave me a slight fright as I made the next turn. Not sure who was most surprised but the road was plenty wide enough, well once I swung back to the right, and we passed cleanly.

It wasn’t a case of dodging puddles now, the whole road was wet, with the falling rain separating puddle from tarmac was nigh on impossible. The result was a near constant spray onto already wet feet, did I mention I hate riding in the wet? I felt like a drowned rat, the wet beating a tattoo on my helmet and dripping off of my elbows, not nice.

I ploughed on through the wet, eventually coming into some sort of village then ahead, flashing lights. A bedraggled individual was waving a red flag, I eased off a bit as I got closer. It was indeed the THW, I could just make out that the trucks were blue through the wet.

"Keep to the left, its shallower!” the bedraggled flag waver instructed.
"Thanks,” I called back.

Shallower? The road really was underwater, okay, not metres but it was over my already soaked feet. I ploughed on past the pump truck with its huge worms of hose, the flashing lights casting weird shadows across the inky flood waters. But then I was through, the road obviously having risen just enough to drain to merely wet.

The road twisted about through a series of increasingly tight bends but finally I spotted a course marker, the turn was in two hundred metres. I placed myself wide on the approach much to the consternation of another very damp flag waver. Up the ramp and I was onto the bridge, halfway round, my clock reckoned I’d been going for nearly twenty four minutes.

Another marshall directed me off the bridge, I cut it a bit too fine really, the sudden drop in the corner nearly unseating me. Come on Bond, concentrate. I settled myself back into TT mode, dropped it into the eleven and turned up the power.

One moment it was pouring down, the next it wasn’t, weirdly the roads were almost dry too. At last, the sky even had a hint of blue. I made a fist to squeeze some of the wet from first one then the other mitt, can’t do much about the rest but my hands immediately felt more comfortable.

The return is less twisty than the outward leg, not straight but straighter and more open, looking across the fields I’m sure I could see several riders but it was difficult to say how far ahead they were. If the cessation of rain hadn’t been enough, seeing my fellow competitors spurred me on. My computer claimed forty six kph, a goodly speed but I felt there was more to be had, I pulled myself into a tighter crouch and concentrated on pedalling round.

It didn’t feel much faster but the digital numbers read five two as I swept along beside the Wümme. In the distance I’m sure I could see those riders but the deviations from straight never gave that long a view straight ahead. Sixteen kilometres, thirty minutes, not exactly cracking time wise but I don’t reckon anyone else is going any better.

There did seem to be a bit of a breeze now, not directly behind but sort of from my left, it was difficult to say with the waving about of the road. In general though it was helpful, no doubt contributing to me keeping the speed hovering around the fifty mark. Hmm, nine K at what, a minute and a half, that’s thirteen and a half minutes plus thirty, hmm, forty three thirty, kewl, I reckoned on forty five.

Of course, it looks good and simple on paper, well, in my head in this case, turning the numbers into reality is another thing altogether. Of course I haemorrhaged time at each change in road direction, maybe only a little but its not a simple one for one to keep up the average. Even thinking about it was costing me time.

Stop worrying girl, just concentrate. The road swung about a bit more for the next two, three kilometres, the ocassional glimpses of riders ahead of me suggested I was catching up to them, slowly but surely. I wouldn’t normally bother with a bidon in a time trial but to be honest I forgot to take it out of the cage, I pulled it out and took a slug, despite all the earlier wet my throat was getting a bit dry.

Thirty nine kilometres, six to go, the road made a long swing, south I think, and suddenly I could see for miles in a straight line ahead. Not only that but the breeze was quite firmly on my tail, maybe forty five is still on? I zipped past the five K board, legs going nineteen to the dozen, I know Dad said to not over exert ourselves this morning but come on, a race is a race.

The Pinarello was absolutely zipping along the asphalt, a couple of times I span out as the wind pushed me ever closer to the finish line. Another slight direction change put the wind more on my right shoulder, my speed dropping a little but when I looked up the road I had closed the gap to those in front dramatically. They weren’t in a group of course but they weren’t that far apart, with just four Kilometres to go, could I catch them?

I couldn’t say for certain but the gap seemed to stagnate, maybe I was gaining a little here and there but given the remaining distance, I didn’t think it was going to happen. I kept pushing of course, any time gained this morning means the better chance I have to take the GC this afternoon. The seconds ticked over, the kilometres more slowly, at two kilometres to go the road jigged left moving the wind back onto that shoulder, last effort Gabs.

I squirmed into what felt like a better position, hands hooked on the hoods, arms resting across the top of the bars, pretty much as aero as you get without tri-bars. Was I closer to the nearest rider? Dunno, no time to worry, lets just get to the finish. Is that it, the finish across the fields by those trees?

One kilometre to go, I’m not gonna catch anyone now, they’re still at least two hundred ahead, still, its the time difference that counts. I tried changing up but of course I was already in top, had been for ten kilometres. The road jinked about a bit, what I thought was the finish was a combine harvester, duh, but there’s the hundred board, one last effort, squeeze the last bit out.

I flashed across the line and just about arrested my speed to pull up where I saw Joe waiting.

"Well done lass, you okay?”
"Huh, uhuh, uhuh, yeah, just huh, a bit huh, out of breath.”
"Come on, we’ll take you back in the car, the others will be there by now I reckon.”

Hey, who am I to argue.
 

Dad wasn’t exactly surprised to see me sat in the car a few minutes later.

"I’m guessing you couldn’t help yourself?” he suggested once we were on our way again.
"I tried.”
"So what do you reckon you’ve done?”

I pulled my comp from where I’d stuffed it in the leg of my skinsuit and passed it forward to Dad.

"Forty four fifty nine, well you did say forty five last night,” he noted.
"I try to please, do we know what the others have done?”
"Not exactly,” Joe offered, "Darren thought he’d done a forty six something, Josh and Amanda about a minute slower?”
"You’ve all done well given the conditions,” Dad stated.
"Tell me about it, that flood was over my shoes, I had to slow right down to go through it.”
"Might have to have words about that.”
"It’d be the same for everyone,” I pointed out.
"Hmm, we’ll see.”

By now we were back at the Hymer, a pile of bikes under the Ezy-up suggested the others were back and hopefully got the coffee machine on.

"Gaby?”
"Dad?”
"Try not to drip over too much carpet.”
 
Maddy Bell © 15.06.2023