*Chapter 13*
Seaside Rendezvous

"So what’re we doing for food?” I queried – yeah when its not bikes my brain quickly reverts to food as backup subject.
"I've promised Angela some real British fish and chips.” Dad advised as he passed Dieter one end of the Ezy up to stow.
"Really?” I'm not a great fish aficionado and even less so of the nasty batter its often served wearing.
"Don’t worry kiddo, Mrs Drake has booked us tables at some Italian place in the old town that does fish and the more usual stuff.”
"Pasta again,” I complained.
"Its going to be a harder day tomorrow, you all need fuelling up.”
"No chance of pizza then?”
"We’ll see.”
"I suppose we have to dress up,” I sighed.

The look he gave me was answer enough.
 
We were packed and ready to depart a mere ninety minutes after the finish and rather than go directly to The Moorings we found some parking overlooking Scarborough’s south bay.

"Back here at six,” Dad intoned as we descended to the slightly wind blown tarmac.
"Neat!” Gret stated, I'm not sure whether she meant our couple of hours of freedom in Yorkshires premier seaside resort or the view out over the still busy beach, harbour and the brooding silhouette of the castle.
"Oh and before you get started on the junk food, remember we are eating later,” Dad added with an accusing look at yours truly.
"Huh!”
 
"This place is amazing,” Ron suggested as we sat looking over the harbour partaking of some ice cream.
“’S okay I guess.”
"We don’t have anywhere like this in Germany.”
"What about on the Ostsee, we rode through those seaside places on the Hamburg race,” I pointed out.
"Pah, they’re nothing like this.”
"Its all fancy resorts up there,” Gret offered from the next bench over.
"Well you can hardly call Scarborough fancy,” I chuckled.
"I wouldn’t even call Brighton fancy,” Mand added.
"Have they even got sand down there?” I queried.
"Not much, you have to go out to Kent for that.”
“Kent?” Gret enquired.
"The bit nearest France,” Mand supplied.
"Can’t think of any seaside that’s exactly fancy,” I mused, "Certainly not Skeg Vegas.”
"That’s a real place?” Ron asked.
"Skeggy, it was our nearest seaside when we lived here, its actually called Skegness, miles of sandy beach and loads of slot machines.”
"Ah, the Vegas thing,” Gret supplied.
"You got it, there’s miles of holiday homes too, you know, big caravan things?”
"There were some when we went to Rügen1 last year.”
"We’re talking like thousands,” I noted.
"So what’re we doing now?” Mand posed.
"Slots are still open,” I suggested.

And so the four of us spent the next forty minutes trailing through the amusement arcades – oh how common! Where are Josh and Tal I hear you ask, well there was some muttering about a walk on the beach but if you believe that…..
 
"How’re we getting into town?” Mand queried as she slipped her shoes on.
I shrugged, "No idea.”
"I hope we aren’t walking, these shoes rub,” Tal opined.
"I've got some plasters,” I offered, "We ready?”
"Yeah,” Mand allowed standing up.

From North Bay to the old town isn’t really that far but its perhaps a bit far to walk, especially dressed like air crew and wearing heels.
 
"There you are, the taxis should be here in a minute,” Dad advised.

Well that's one thing sorted. When our transport didn’t head the direct route into town I thought they were having a laugh. In fact the ride along Marine Esplanade and around the headland made perfect sense for approaching the restaurant, a place called Tricoli on a lane just above the harbour where we had ice cream earlier.

It was certainly Italian, I reckon some of the staff might have even been there! The décor wasn’t anything I'd expect, a cross between ‘vintage’ Yorkshire and, to our surprise, a homage to Italian cycling. When it was revealed we were a cycling team the owner was summoned and to my chagrin he even knew who I was.

It got even weirder.

"My cousin Giovanni, he is in Lezzeno, I think you stay at his hotel last year?
"The Hotel Como?” Dad offered.
"Si!” our host beamed.
"Small world,” Dad allowed.
"You mind if we take the photo?”

And so before we’d even ordered we found ourselves posing for Julio’s camera – fame, who’d have it?
 
"So where’d you pair get to earlier?” Ron queried over our minestrone starters.
“Josh was showing me the sights,” Tal hedged.
"I bet,“Gret smirked.
"Well okay, we did have a sit for a bit,” Josh admitted.
I nearly spat out my soup, "First time I've heard it called that!”

Josh merely shrugged and Mand looked a bit uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation for some reason.
 
The food was good, the volume ample and the pasta cooked properly unlike last night. I actually had cheese and ham gnocchi in a Milanese sauce, after the minestrone, real Italian style, it was quite enough – well apart from the ice cream of course. Food finished, coffee served I found myself admiring the décor, reproductions of ancient photo’s of the likes of Coppi, Bartali, Moser and more I couldn’t identify, riding for the iconic Italian teams like Bianchi, Faema and GIS – now there’s a dream team, all the ice cream you can eat.

"Interesting décor,” Ron stated.
"Yeah, never expected this in Scarborough.”
"You see the cabinet by the toilets?”
"No? Should I?”
"Have a look when you go.”

Well that sounded intriguing, worth a trip even if I don’t really need it.

Said cabinet was something else, a homage to Campagnolo which included one of the boxed 50th anniversary sets along with some really ancient gears and stuff artfully displayed.

"Ah you lika the Campanola?” Julio asked joining me at the display.
"Its what we ride, only Record mind. And our bikes are Pinarello.”
"Ah like Battaglin eh, a fine combination.”
"You collect this old stuff?”
"A leetle, here and there, you know this?” he pointed to a lightly distressed but ancient looking rear mech.
I peered a bit closer, "Super Record?”
"Ah yes but not just any Super Record this is the Model 78, the first with the Titan bolts, they change hands for hundreds of pounds.”
"Really?”
"Only last year a collector offered me three hundred pounds.”
 
“Even with the scratches?”

My mind homed in on the thought of the boxes of old bike bits in the cellar, have to take a look when we get home.

"They are quite rare, this was on my race bike back before I move to England, see the levers and front dérailleur are the match. Today though even the Italian bikes they have the Shimano, it is not so popular the Campanola eh?”
"Well Dad likes it, it doesn’t break as much as the Shimano we had last year.”
“Quality, I see your father he looks for you.”
 
"Told you it was worth a look,” Ron noted as we walked up to the taxi rank.
"That old rear mech, the black and silver one? Apparently its worth like three hundred quid.”
"For something like that?”
"Its rare, from the seventies I think he said apparently he raced in Italy.”
"Accounts for the decorations then,” Ron opined, "So we now have to save every bit of old kit in case its worth something in like fifty years.”
"I guess I could look after it,” I smirked.
 
Back at The Moorings it wasn’t straight to bed, oh no, Dad wanted to go over tomorrows race first. The B&B has a lounge but a couple of other guests were in there so we headed out into the Hymer. The good thing with that was that Sonja made us Cocoa and Angela magicked some chocolate cake – don’t mind if I do!

"Okay everyone, I'll try to keep it brief then you can get off to bed,” Dad started once we were settled.
"Well done for today, it wasn’t entirely to plan but we got the result, we’re in a good position to clean up but tomorrows Queen stage will be much more difficult to control. Firstly they’ll all be looking for a repeat of today’s early escape so you’ll be more heavily marked and of course its a more technical course. I know it would be nice but winning tomorrow isn’t required to win overall, I reckon that there’s only about twenty riders with a shout and six of them are in this room. So here’s the plan...”
 
"What do you reckon?” Tali queried as we waited our turn in the bathroom.
"About?”
"You know, tomorrow.”
"I'd like it more if I didn’t have that stupid jersey on,” I motioned to the race leaders jersey on top of my bag.
"I guess, wish my climbing was better, I reckon me an Gret’ll get dumped on the first big climb.”
"You did alright in Switzerland last year.”
"But not brilliant and look at that thing on the Nurburgring the other week.”
"I thought you did well there.”
"I could hardly move the next day.”
I shrugged, "I don’t suppose any of this lot are really any better, Geth can climb a bit, and maybe Jamie.”
"What about, whatsisname, Woggle?”
"Wogan, dunno, doesn’t seem to have much discipline.”
"Done!” Mand announced, returning to the main room.”
"You next Tal,” I suggested.
“’Kay.”
"So what were you two talking about?” Mand asked as she towel dried her hair.
"Tomorrows plan., Tal's concerned about all the climbing.”
"Not the only one, that Rosedale Chimney sounds a right sod.”

I've no argument with that summation, the climb proper is just over a kilometre but its steep, 30% in places and averaging over 13% with a close set pair of hairpins on the steepest stretch. I've got the feeling some of our number will be resorting to a walk!

"I don’t think the one on the first lap will be much easier.”
"Its not as steep,” Mand pointed out.
"But its a lot longer and if the wind’s the same as today...”
"That descent will be mega!” I enthused.

 
Maddy Bell © 06.05.17