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*Chapter 11*

Play Time

 
 
‘What are that pair up to?’ Dave mused as his riders slipped across the line to the bell announcing the lap five prime.
 
 

Out on the circuit the two cream and blue shod riders kept a steady forty kph going, a punishing pace that even the Wunderkind couldn’t sustain for another fifty five kilometres. But that was never the idea, no that was to stir up the pack and hopefully get a response from the more able riders to make a race of it. As a tactic it was potentially lethal to their chances but you don’t get to be nearly World Champion by sitting in the bunch doing nothing.

“How long?” Ron wheezed.

“Chicane,” Drew offered.

“Kay,” his companion agreed.

 
 
Almost half a minute behind them the remains of the peloton were finally getting into some sort of order, the more experienced riders taking a more measured approach to chasing down the ‘girls’. The result of course was a string of riders chasing their tails but with little real prospect of getting back into the action.

Drew and Roni eased off some after the chicane, which marked a lap since they took flight. Eased off but certainly not sat up, their speed was still over thirty-five as they began the return towards the lap end. It might be September but the morning was starting to warm up, Drew taking the opportunity of a turn at the back to tug his arm warmers down.

They were still well clear of their pursuers through the last turn of the lap, Drew was surprised when Ron accelerated off, oh hang on the prime.

‘You sneaky bitch!’ he muttered under his breath before giving chase.

Drew might pride himself on his sprinting skills but Ron is hardly a slouch either, with the late start to his effort he was never gonna catch her before the line, instead sitting up some distance early. A glance behind didn’t reveal any chasers, what are they doing back there?

 
 
“Ha, gotcha!” Ron grinned as Drew rejoined her.

“I wasn’t trying and anyway you got a head start.”

“Excuses, excuses.”

“It’s not an excuse,” Drew humphed.

“Is so, anyway we still racing or what?”

“Guess so, I thought some of them might get up to us.”

“Well I can’t see anyone,” Ron noted looking back down the circuit.

“Two up?”

“Sure,” Ron agreed.

 
 
The chasers certainly hadn’t given up but closing the gap wasn’t happening quickly, the two escapees remaining stubbornly out of reach. It was a further two laps before their quarry came into view again, some big turns and eight riders contributing to the pace finally making an impression. From the sixty odd starters, less than a dozen were now in contention, the rest spread across an increasingly large part of the circuit.

 
 
“They’re coming up,” Ron observed as we entered the chicane.

“Not very quickly.”

In fact we were still clear at the end of lap six although the gap was under fifty metres. No point in wasting energy, we both sat up and within metres the huffing and puffing remains of the peloton didn’t so much zip past but crawled through. It was easy enough for the two of us, apparently spent (as if!) to slip in at the back job done.

The groups pace had dropped when they caught us ‘girls’ but several of the lads clearly wanted to lose our presence and the tempo returned to a higher level. We, the intended victims weren’t the ones to suffer, instead by the end of the lap and approaching half distance another of the lads lost contact leaving a good sized group, ten in all to share the pace. I suppose you tend to know the riders you er ride with, for these guys the Baden League, for us the National series, it’s not often our paths would cross which is proving to be to our advantage today.

“Nice try, girls,” a lanky youth sporting the strip of Sporting Pforzheim half sneered as the pace once again settled down.

Whatever moron!

“It was just too hard on our own,” Ron hammed; by the look in her eyes she was ready to slug the condescending twit.

“Do you guys always race this fast?” I enquired.

“Faster sometimes, guess you aren’t used to this speed eh?”

If he keeps this up they’ll need mining equipment to get out of the hole he’s digging.

“It’s definitely different to what we’re used to,” I agreed, like 10kph slower!

There wasn’t any organisation, no cooperation within the group, no wonder it took so long to catch us, the pace was being forced by schoolboy half wheeling. A couple of our companions looked a bit more with it and will probably pull their weight when we make the real move. Time enough for that in a few laps.

 
 
We ‘managed’ to hang on to the back of the group, it was halfway through lap nine when ‘Pforzheim’ came alongside again.

“You girls still here?”

“It’s been difficult,” Ron supplied.

“Yeah,” I agreed, “I don’t think I can stay here much longer.”

“That’s a shame, you’ll miss my sprint at the finish.”

That is indeed the idea Spotty.

“Is it like you see on the telly?” my co conspirator asked.

“Sure, I reckon I could give that Englander who won the Worlds a run for his money,” he bragged.

“We didn’t see that did we Ron?”

“Well you wanted to go shopping,” Ron ad libbed.

“See you at the finish, girls.”

“Pity we won’t see that sprint,” I offered as he moved forward again.

Ron was miming being sick which caused a giggle to escape my lips.
 
 

“What a berk,” Ron stated.

I couldn’t disagree with that and the way he keeps saying ‘girls’ is a bit creepy too.

“Next time?” I suggested.

“Ready when you are.”

 
 
The bell at the end of the lap alerted everyone to the upcoming second prime, you might’ve got the drop on me last time Ron but this one’s mine. I couldn’t believe it when half of our companions started finessing with four kilometres to go before the sprint, talk about amateurs! Super Sprinter clearly liked to go from the front as he was marking everyone else and had dropped the speed enough that the chasers were, I’m sure, closing the gap to us.

A couple of others were clearly not happy with this, it’s not like it was even the finish! First one and then a second made efforts that Creepy couldn’t contain, stretching the group into a long string – well to be factual, two strings on opposite sides of the tarmac. The two of us bade our time letting Gobby do the chasing before making our move.

I signalled my intention to Ron before snicking up a sprocket, lifting our pace to cross the circuit to what I considered to be the more serious riders. The pair of us went straight through to the front where I let Ron take over wind breaking duties. Five against four, the numbers were in our favour, now to get them working.

It didn’t take more than two rotations between me and Ron before the others caught on, for the first time in this race these guys were working together. The gap between our and Gobalot’s groups started to stretch but now I had Ron watching me like a hawk! We weren’t the only ones up for the sprint though; the guy from VS Stuttgart who’d started the move was most definitely up for it.

As we hit two hundred Ron was the first to break, Stuttgart made to follow with the other two following. Ron isn’t the strongest sprinter so it was no surprise that the others were soon at her shoulder. I turned on the Bond turbo, accelerating quickly up to and past the others, crossing the line a good ten lengths clear.

Take that Roni Grönberg!

 
 
The cat was clearly out of the bag now, we weren’t the poor girlies hanging onto the back, we actually know what we’re doing.

“Sugar!” Stuttgart spat as he came up to me through turn one.

“Sorry, mate, Ron surprised me last time.”

“Siggy,” he offered.

“Drew and that’s Ron.”

“Hang on, I thought I recognised the shirts, oh shite.”

“Wassup, Sig?” one of the others enquired.

“You any idea who these two are, Arn? Recognise the jerseys?”

“Apollinaris, oh bugger, don’t suppose you girls just make up the numbers?”

“Nope,” I grinned, no point in correcting him on the gender issue, at least for now.

“Come on you lot, Helmut’s catching us,” the third of our fellow breakaways noted.

“You guys up for it?” I enquired.

“Sure,” Arn grinned, “Helmut can be a right arse.”
 
 

We quickly started a new rotation, Ron, Siggy, Arn, me and the other lad, Jurgen I discovered later, following through. The others had got to within twenty metres after the sprint but now as we started to turn up the gas the gap started to stretch once more. After the last couple of months I was pretty comfortable as we held forty kph and with under five laps, twenty-five kilometres to go, my confidence was high.

With no real climb on the circuit we were able to maintain our effort pretty much unbroken for the next couple of laps. Arn was the one to crack, missing first one then a second turn at the sharp end.

“That’s me, guys.”

“Nice riding, fella,” Ron offered giving his shoulder a friendly pat.

“See you at the finish, Arn.” Jurgen told him.

He slipped off the back leaving just four of us to contest the last three laps, Ron perhaps the weakest. We could have been on our own if we hadn’t sat up but we are a lot fresher having had some assistance for the latter part of the event. The big question now was how to play the finale, wait for a sprint or take a long one, I’m pretty confident in my abilities in either scenario.

 
 
I was however pre-empted by Siggy, with just under two laps to go he made his move, waiting until I was at the back of the short rotation. Bum. Jurgen wasn’t sure what to do and Ron was already on the rivet, looks like any response is mine to make.

I took a slug from my bidon then sprinted away from the others towards the escapee. The VS Stuttgart rider was really going for it, head down, churning the gears, reminding me of Josh. Time trial mode was required, I assumed a tuck and the gap started to close, perhaps a little slower than I’d like.

One became two just before the bell signifying the last lap. The small crowd were quite animated; this was perhaps the most action they’d seen all season. Siggy eased off when he realised I was on his wheel, I was huffing a bit now, okay not as much as my companion but feeling the effort nevertheless.

We acknowledged each other but neither of us was willing to work with the other at this stage. A quick look behind revealed Ron and Jurgen some three hundred metres behind, Ron wouldn’t chase my move unless she could lose her shadow but they were fairly evenly matched. Through the chicane and we are into the final run in, the question of how to play it was now becoming more pressing.

What the heck, let’s go for it. Siggy was being quite attentive but he had to look where he was going at some point, I was ready when he did. Out of the saddle, let’s get some clear tarmac, a curse behind signalled the pursuit starting. Something like a kilometre to the line, come on Drew, it’s yours for the taking!

Maddy Bell © 10.10.2014