Gaby Book 17 - Seasons

 
“Good drive over?” Chris enquired as we helped ourselves to the mediocre coffee.
“Not much traffic about at silly o'clock in the morning,” Dad supplied, “someone slept most of the way.”
“A girl needs her beauty sleep,” I countered.
“Hmm,” Chris raised a finger as he reached behind him and retrieved a bag, “team kit.”
“Er thanks, is there somewhere I can change?”
“You’d best use my room, here,” he passed me the key card, “114, end of the corridor opposite.”
“Thanks, keys?” I demanded of pater.

Dave waited until his daughter was out of earshot, “We’re grateful for the opportunity Chris but what’s the real reason for today?”
“Straight up?”
“Works best,” Dave agreed.
Chris continued in a lower tones, “You’ve seen the lads we’ve got, don’t get me wrong, they’re a good bunch but with a couple of exceptions.”
“Mark and Josh?” Dave suggested.
“The same, well the rest are still not at this level, oh we’ve got a couple coming through but they’re not ready yet. Dre, sorry Gaby has proven form over the distance and at this level, it’d be nice not to be a laughing stock at Roubaix for a change.”
“So who is riding?”
“Mark’s here although it’s not his thing, Josh of course, his uncle brought him down yesterday.”
“Joe’s here?”
“Staying somewhere in Cambrai I think he said.”
“Who else?”
“Jamie and Gethin, we’ve got five seats.”
“Well at least they know each other.”
Chris checked his watch, “Well, best get this show on the road.”

Gab adjusted her bibs, why can’t they make some that don’t squeeze your boobs, it can’t be that difficult. The jersey was short sleeved but the matching arm warmers were in the bag so she pulled them on first. It was only as she checked her appearance in the mirror that she noticed the rainbow bands around the sleeves, cool.

She put her stuff in her case and left Chris’s room, the door wouldn’t shut so she turned to give it a harder pull.

“Oof!”
A body slammed into her, knocking her off her feet.
“Hey schaut es euch!”
“Er sorry, mademoiselle, like.”
“Dumkopf!”
“Gab?”
“Ja, Josh? what’re you doing here?”
“Racing?”
“Well gi’s a hand you great lummox.”

“So, any questions?” Chris enquired as he concluded the briefing in the team bus parked on a street in central St Quentin.

He’d laid it on the line for them, it was going to be brutal if it stays dry, apocalyptic if it rains and then there were the cobbles. As far as plans went, getting to the first cobbles in the front group was it, after that, well it was pretty much everyone for themselves. No one had anything to say so he concluded.

“I won’t tickle anyone's ego today, just getting to the finish will be a result, there are riders out there who train on these types of roads, that’ve ridden this before that won’t make it today. It’s no disgrace not to finish, it’s all a learning process. Right, go out there and show ‘em what you’re made of.”

“So what’s with the hair, man?” Josh asked as we waited for the introductions, Mark after all has his Rainbow jersey on so he’ll be called and I'm sure there are some others they’ll want to mention.
“Er, hairdressing malfunction for last night.”
“Last night?”
“Prom? I told you guys last week,” I pointed out.
“Gab, shush!” Jamie suggested as the MC started his spiel.

I'd been surprised by all the infrastructure for a junior race but of course it’s the main event tomorrow, the Hell of the North proper. The chatter was of course in French but even I could recognise ‘Champion du Monde’ but ‘Contre la montre’ was beyond my schoolgirl French.

“That's you, Gab,” Gethin mentioned with a nudge.
“Really?”
“Yes, go on!”

I stepped forward and waved to the crowd, small though it was receiving some cheers and claps for my effort.

“Et enfin le junior Champion du Monde, Mark Cavendish!”

The pocket rocket grabbed my hand before I could escape and raised it as he took his plaudits, what could I do but smile prettily. “We’ll show these Frogs how it’s done, Bond,” he suggested.

There was the usual pre start rider chat then with some enthusiasm, Monseur le Mayor waved us away for 160km of Northern France’s best roads.

The large field was made up mostly of national teams, I think I saw Desgrange earlier but there were also some ‘club’ teams making up the numbers – I don’t mean that nastily, just that they aren’t on the national teams. We threaded out of town under the neutral flag, having Mark – and apparently me here, had gained Team GB a front row start so at least we were starting in the right place! We cleared the town and the green flag replaced the red – game on!

If any rider or team had much of a plan they hid it well for the first dozen kilometres of almost straight road. We were in a sizeable peloton across the full width of the fully closed road, motorcycle outriders, flashing lights the lot but cruising at about twenty five kph. In fact we were almost an hour in before there was a hint of action.

Riders attacked, the peloton reacted and repeat. The roads were mostly wide and straight, with today's light winds, no one was going to get far. Another hour and more had passed, a little over sixty kilometres under the tyres before a turn changed everything.

From wide and straight roads we were squeezed onto narrow and twisty lanes and there was an almost immediate selection. As usual Josh was my wheel man, Cav in close attendance behind and we forced our way forward. it was full gas and brutal – we haven’t even seen any cobbles yet, we were in the front group, we’d made the cut.

There wasn’t any organisation, no proper rotation, riders taking pulls on the front as they felt able. That did at least mean that I, and to a lesser extent, Mark, could hide from the effort although Josh took several long pulls. The first cobbled section was quite tame, even so it had us strung out in a long ribbon across the gently rolling fields.

Gaps opened, it only needs a slight hesitation and you lose the wheel, by the end of those first 1500m the forty plus front group was broken into three. The leaders, which included Josh had maybe ten seconds, group two contained me and Mark, the third group perhaps the same again behind. Things now started to get a bit more organised, it’s serious now and there was an informal truce on the tarmac between the cobbles.

It was impossible to keep track of where we were, my computer giving nothing more than a clue. There wasn’t much movement between the groups on the tarmac, no it was on the cobbles where that happened. It was the third sector where I managed to bridge across to Josh but lost Mark on the way.

The feed came up soon after, on the first decent bit of road for about twenty kilometres. Our group was a healthy ten rider strength, maybe we can go the distance?

“You again,” a familiar voice stated.
“Me again,” I agreed.
“Bit different to the Saarland,” Michael suggested.
“No kidding.”
“Be careful on the next pavé, there are some big holes.”
“Cheers.”
“Can’t have my favourite Rennraderin crashing out,” he returned with a wink.

What was that about? Does he fancy me or something?

Michael wasn’t wrong about sector four, the cobbles were huge, gaps between them gargantuan, there wasn’t even any respite in the edges.

“Shiiiit!”

It happened so fast I could do nothing other than hope the landing was soft. It wasn’t me that made the error but some Dutch lad who’s wheel I was tracking, when he went down all I could do was ride into him resulting in an unscheduled flight.

“Oof!”

I landed on the verge thankfully, winded but apparently otherwise undamaged. I got up and retrieved my bike from the ditch, a quick check, bum, front wheels had it. I quickly dropped it and held it up for service, of course the damage was done, the second group went through before the service bike arrived with a wheel, I'd lost a good minute. I got going again, managing to hook onto a three man group just before we cleared the sector.

“You okay, Gab?” Jamie asked.
“Had an off, mashed the front wheel, you seen Mark?”
“He’s a couple of groups back with Geth, Josh?”
“Front group where I was.”
“We’d better get back there then, lassie!” he suggested.

And so started a frenetic chase, chasing down single riders, small groups, there was no let up. Sometimes it was just the two of us taking turns at pace setting, occasionally another dusty body joined us for a bit. Our progress was however pretty steady and by sector seven we were by my reckoning riding top ten, Michael and Josh both still ahead of us somewhere.

“’Bout forty k left,” I gasped to Jamie.
“Best crack on then,” he grinned back.
The damned Scot’s enjoying this.
“Whatever.”

It really was becoming a war of attrition, over the next sector of pavé we passed two retired riders, one with a broken bike, the other looked like a collar bone. The famous Arenberg Forest was next, the crowds were out to watch the carnage even if it is only a bunch of Jungere racing. Speed is your friend on cobbles but also your enemy, Jamie accelerated into the killing ground, yours truly as close behind as I deemed safe.

There was an off ahead of us, we had to pick our way past, I couldn’t see who, my glasses being covered in shite and everyone looking the same in dust grimed kit. The crowds cheered us through, it was with some relief that I took a swig from by bidon when we reached tarmac again. Our session by the Rhein had been quite tame by today's standards but at least it prepared me for the jelly arms.

Jamie really seemed to be in his element, seemingly relishing the cobbles, powering smoothly over them, unnervingly picking the smoothest line and avoiding the chasms. To be honest I was pretty much just hanging onto his wheel, had been for a bit now, if I lose contact that’ll be me done. There were cars and motorcycles ahead, we must be coming up to the leaders.

The last sector was only bad due to its length, two kilometres of city street quality setts that nevertheless shook us to bits. We cleared it and I blew. Jamie slowed for me to get back on but my legs were numb.

“I'm done, go get ‘em for me.”
“You can sit in, lass,” he offered.
“No I can’t, go, shoo.”
“Here,” he passed me a full bidon, “you need it more than me, see you in Roubaix!”

It hurt, oh boy did it hurt to see Jamie quite rapidly disappear up the road. I was feeling a bit sore from my off, that's not an excuse just a statement of fact, best I can do now is get to the finish. I took a swig from the fresh bottle and coaxed a bit more speed from my abused body.
I was more than a bit surprised when a few minutes later two riders caught me, one of them being Desgrange.

“You again!”
“I could say the same,” I opined.
“Who’s ahead,” I queried.
“You were,” he advised, “guess it’s us now.”

We’re in the lead? Hmm, he doesn’t know Jamie’s up the road and I'm not about to tell him.
“Guess so.”

I checked out the other rider, he looked how I felt, his legs going round on automatic, by his jersey I think he’s Polish but I could be wrong. We traded riding point, with any luck we can hold off anyone else coming from behind, the presence of a service bike behind us was, to say the least, some comfort. The road tracked back and forth across the fields but eventually what I presumed to be Roubaix appeared on our horizon.

The Pole lost his fight with fatigue three K out and I could tell my companion fancied his chances of victory when we reach the velodrome. To be honest, I fancied his chances except I knew that we’ll be fighting for second not the victory. He was clearly stronger than me at this point, it was taking all my energy just to hold his wheel.

We were in the city now, flat fields replaced by boulevards and apartments. And then we were directed off the road and through a wide gateway, up a ramp and then we were on the track. The gathered crowd gave a roar of approval and I decided Michael would have to fight for his ‘victory’.

You could tell he was a roadie through and through, he went straight for the bottom of the track. Not the fastest place to be at this point, I stayed higher, it’s not a steep track so holding it fairly high wasn’t too difficult. We circled the track, I dropped down giving it all I'd got left as we headed for the line – I got alongside him but he just edged me.

I pretty much steered to the track centre and fell off next to a grinning Jamie.

Maddy Bell © 22.10.16