Whatever Next?

by Angharad ap Gwilym

Edited by Gabi Bunton.

(A Gaby fanfic based upon the characters created by Maddy Bell)

Part 26

The race against Bryanston School drew closer and closer. Gaby had borrowed a turbo from Matt and was using it every evening for an hour. Harry had brought his rollers over to the garage and did some training with her. He would then ride back to his house and shower, whilst Gaby went in and showered.

Because the mornings like the evenings were drawing in, the turbo got used in the mornings as well, with a ride at lunchtime for the willing volunteers and their police escort. When Ben couldn't come, the police sent a car of some sort which drove along behind the riders.

Gaby was pleased with the progress of the squad, but knew in her heart, they had no chance against Bryanston—except with her, and she'd be riding against boys a year or two older than her.

The sewing class was a bug-bare, it made her late one evening a week—time which she could be using on the turbo, or running circuits in the gym. Despite the fact, she wasn't time trialling or training like she did at home, she was feeling pretty fit and very trim. Maddy did the running with her and discovered to her delight, she'd lost half an inch off her waist.

School remained the same, wherever you are—lessons, homework and more homework. Gaby fell asleep over her maths homework one evening, and Carol asked if she was perhaps doing too much? Gaby thought not, but would reconsider after the race.

On the final Saturday before the race, she was out riding with Harry, about half a mile behind when she spotted two riders out on a training ride. ‘Targets,' went through her mind and she changed up.

Within two minutes, she'd caught them, then shouted, “Hi,” as she passed them, her ponytail waving behind. Of course, the two riders rose to the occasion gave and chase, which was what she wanted.

Puffing and panting, they caught her about a mile later, Harry was a distant speck behind them. “Some riding, kid,” gasped one of the men as he rode alongside her.

“Was it?” she pretended to be oblivious to her speed. “Race you to the crossroads,” she snapped and flew off again. Taken by surprise once more, the men had to stand on their pedals to up their pace, by which time, Gaby was a hundred yards up on them. She'd already rested a little and had recovered, they were still recovering when she forced them to go again—a trick she learned from track racing with British Cycling. Whilst she had proven her pedigree in the individual pursuit, she quite enjoyed the points racing—a race where every ten laps there's a sprint for points and anyone who gains a lap on the others, gets twenty points. If you strike after a sprint, especially if you've not been involved—the top riders can't always stay with you—and by sacrificing five points you possibly get twenty. Her road racing meant she was fit enough to make the break and keep the pressure on—and her points racing meant, she had the nous to out think the two riders she'd beaten to the crossroads, where she stopped to wait for Harry.

“You ride for a club?” asked one of the two men.

“Back ‘ome, yeah, but not down ‘ere.”

“'Ow long are you staying ‘ere?” he asked her.

“Dunno, why?”

“I know the local club would be delighted to have you ride for ‘em—on a temporary basis, of course.”

“Who's zat, then?” she asked, knowing the answer.

“CC Weymouth, you can contact us through British Cycling.”

“I'll see—I'm pretty busy with school at the moment.”

“If this is how you go without regular training—I'm glad I didn't meet you when you did. Oh, I'm John Thomas, my friend is Jack Tarrant.”

“John Thomas?” Gaby sniggered.

“Yeah, I know, I feel a bit flushed—I've heard all the gags. So, who are you?”

“Me? Gaby—Gaby Bond.”

“Any relation to wossername?”

“Nah, there's no wossernames in my family,” Gaby joked back again being aware of whom they meant, her mum.

“You, know—thingy Bond, the woman's champion?”

“Don't know a thingy, either.”

“Try Jenny,” suggested Jack.

“Yeah, that's it, Jenny Bond. Is she related?”

“Could be, my mum's name is Jenny.”

“Does she ride a bike?”

“Now and again,” teased Gaby.

“Is she the world champion?”

“You know, I think she is. I know she won something last year.”

“Your mother is a world champion and you don't know?” gasped John.

“She's teasin' you, mate,” observed his friend.

“She's not stayin' with you, is she?”

“No, she's in Germany a lot of the time—rides for Appollinaris.”

“Pity, I'd like to have met her.”

So would I, thought Gaby. “You'd like her, she's nice.”

“Yeah, gotta go—who's this comin'? Anyone you know?”

Gaby glanced behind—“Yeah, my training partner.”

“Come and train with the club—you'll get a better work out than with that slowcoach.”

“I'm okay, thank you.”

The two men rode off and Harry caught up with Gaby. “Who were they?” he puffed trying to get his breath back.

“Two riders from Weymouth Cycle Club, why?”

“Y'coulda told me you were gonna race ‘em.”

“I'd ha' lost the element of surprise if I ‘ad, besides, when you buzz ‘em like that, they come after you ‘ell f'leather, which means they're tired when they catch you and you can do it again.”

“Sadist,” Harry puffed. Gaby simply chuckled and set off again.

******

On the day of the actual race, Maddy felt very anxious—“I don't think I can do this.”

“Course you can,” Gaby encouraged her.

“I dunno, all those riders—I could get knocked off.”

“You won't, besides, just follow me—I'll take you into the leading bunch.”

“Yeah, it's alright f'you, I'm not as fit or fast as you.”

“Neither will be many of the others. You'll be alright—promise.”

William's dad again ferried the four bikes to the school, where they would be joined by the two others of the rest of the team. The morning was normal lessons, then after a light lunch, the team and a group of supporters were loaded onto a coach.

The headmistress, herself accompanied the children, the bikes being brought separately by Matt, who provided a van for the purpose.

The journey towards Blandford Forum, was uneventful, with Gaby trying to teach her team some blocking moves.

“But if we, like, do that, we won't finish—will we?”

“It doesn't matter—the whole point is to support the strongest riders on the day, and obstruct their best riders—well not obstruct ‘cos that's like, illegal, but just slow ‘em down a bit.”

“Strongest riders, I s'pose that means you, Gaby?”

“Dunno, we can all have good and bad days.”

“I seen you ride, you're better'n the rest of us.”

“She should be, her mum's champion of the world.”

“Cor, really?”

“Yeah, dumbo.”

“Keep it good natured, please,” interrupted the headmistress.

“The course is two Ks with a bit of ups ‘n downs, accordin' to the map they, like, sent us.” Gaby continued her briefing although she felt it was almost a waste of time. The two who had the best chances, were Harry and her, with Mad or William, next best. The other two were useless to hopeless, but they could get in the way—so might yet be of use.

The distance was thirty kilometres, or about 18 miles in old money. About an hour's ride for the wunderkind except the map showed some tricky turns and the hill up to the school. It was quite a technical ride, possibly even going to be tricky for our heroine, given that they were up against a team who would have trained on it. Oh well, she'd give it her best shot—that was all she could do.

At the approach to Bryanston, the bus went through an archway and up the long drive towards the school. Suddenly looming up at them was the old red brick mansion—formally the family seat of the Viscount Portman—which the school occupied. It was huge, and as a house must have been as big and impressive as any in the area.

How could a single family have built and occupied such a place? Gaby was well impressed. The supporters got out and unfurled a banner for the Dorchester Middle School—maybe a couple of dozen, they weren't going to make much noise up against the in-house support from six hundred students of Bryanston. The other coach was from Poole, a school there had accepted the challenge.

Matt checked over the Dorchester bikes, while Tim looked at the Poole ones. Then they both quickly examined the Bryanston bikes. All were deemed suitable to ride. Gaby checked her water bottles and energy bars in her shirt pocket. Each of her team had two, which Matt had supplied. In her bidons, she had water and an energy drink.

Eighteen miles was well within her distance, but on a technical course and against some older riders, she was going to have her work cut out to get anywhere in the first three.

She looked at the other riders preparing themselves—as usual, she was the smallest. One of the boys from Poole, looked as if he shaved every day—his palms and soles! He looked more like a teacher than a student.

The Bryanston team looked confident—two of them must have been very close to sixteen, even though it was an under sixteen event. They were big and hairy, too. Then she noticed a girl in their team, she looked tanned and fit and bigger than Gaby. It was going to be a toughie to get in the first six, never mind three.

The eighteen riders lined up, the course was explained to them and they were told there would be marshals at all the junctions so the course would be well controlled. Matt would act as commissaire in that he held the recognised qualification from British Cycling as a National Commissaire for road racing.

Essentially, the race would do fifteen extended circuits of the school, with some climbs and some tight turns. Gaby had done a quick reconnoitre by slowly riding over the course with her team. Some of the turns down towards the church were going to be quite tricky at any sort of speed, especially if it got crowded, and San Hill as it was called, going back up to the school had just enough of a kick to make it an effort. It was here she would strike, if she had the chance.

The road surface was pretty good, in fact better than some of the public roads they'd used for training, where potholes were a real and present danger.

The flag to start the race was waved by the Headmistress of Bryanston, who shouted, “May the best team win,” as she waved them off. The race started behind the school, went up then down to the turning for the boat house, past that round towards the church, round a fiddly bit and back up towards the farm buildings and Bryanston village, and then round and up San Hill, where the school's old sanatorium had been, and up to the school. Near enough two klicks, and Gabs reset her computer.

The home team pushed into the lead with Poole muscling in behind, leaving Gaby and her motley crew to try and scrabble their way up the field. The speed of the start soon reduced for the technical element, and two riders one from the home team and one from the Poole team, clashed or crashed and took down two more riders from Poole.

By lap three, the field was stretching out, with Gaby in a group of four behind the leaders, another group of four. In it with her was Harry. They were the only two from Dorchester in any sort of contention, the others in her group were one Bryanston and one Poole, as they each had two in the leading group, they weren't going to help her bridge across, if anything, they might try and stop her. The distance was probably about a hundred yards.

At lap ten, the gap between the two groups was longer and Gabs made her move. A nod to Harry meant the next climb and she was going, he was to try and stay on her wheel if he had any chance to get a podium finish.

They came past the technical element near the church and Gaby accelerated through it, catching even Harry by surprise, then she rushed down the relative straight before sweeping round to the climb, half way up the climb she'd bridged and surprised the leading group, who were all boys. By the finish line at the top, Gaby was leading although she knew she'd be unlikely to hold it for another five laps.

Her attack stirred up the leaders, and two Bryanston riders took it on, as she expected and wanted. They pushed past her and accelerated away, with Gaby sucking the wheel of the second one.

Two more laps to go and the status quo stayed the same, with one of the Poole riders and Harry desperately trying to bridge, but fading as the pace seemed to increase.

The two Bryanston riders had the final lap to get rid of this pesky female, who seemed to be stuck to them like glue, and as she seemed to know what she was doing had them worried. Maybe a little nudge at the sharp turn past the church? They agreed, but ‘Dangermouse' as Ben Martin had called her, read their minds.

Deciding the two older boys were too strong to outsprint on the hill finish, Gaby, went for it blistering between the two leaders just before the sharp turn, and skidding round it almost sideways. She kept upright, but her attack so surprised the the two boys that one nudged the other who crashed into a yellow coated marshal, meaning Harry and the Poole rider had a chance to slog it out for third.

By the hill climb, Gaby was a hundred yards ahead of the Bryanston chaser, who although gaining was never going to catch her as she dug in and sailed over the line. Tim caught her as she stopped and nearly collapsed.

She dismounted and saw the second rider cross the line then fifty or sixty yards behind, she saw Harry and the Poole rider neck and neck as the crowd yelled and cheered.

“Come on, Harry,” she shouted and seeing her at the finish he pushed harder and took the rider from Poole on the line, by half a wheel. Tim caught Harry too, Gaby grabbing his bike as he keeled over with complete exhaustion.

After an energy drink he roused enough to see Maddy and William cross the line in tenth and eleventh places, their final riders finishing seventeenth and eighteenth.

“Where did you learn to ride like that?” asked the runner up, “and a girl, too?” he shook his head almost in disbelief.

“Her Mum's a world champion,” said Tim and smirked at Gaby.

“Shit. You've raced before, haven't you?” the boy aimed at Gaby.

She nodded.

“Tell him, Gabs,” urged Tim.

“Tell me what?” asked the boy.

“She's a national champion at under fifteens.”

“Now you bloody tell me—Geez-uz, if I'd known that, I'm not sure we'd have let them race.”

“Why not? You're older and stronger than a little scrap like her.”

“Bugger that, she's got a turbo charger there, somewhere—I demand a recount,” he laughed at his mock indignation. “Damn me, beaten by a bloody girl.” He shook his head.

“Yeah, but her pedigree is pretty good, young fellah,” remarked Tim, “her mother is Jenny Bond, the world road race champion.”

“You're kidding?” the boy shook his head again, “You're not kidding?”

“It's true, ask her.”

But Gaby had moved away, to hug her team mate, Harry, who'd achieved even more than she felt she had. Okay, she'd won the race—but then she had experience and fitness beyond most if not all of them—in short, she was in another league. Whereas Harry, had raced his socks off and given his all, and to his delight his triumph had been witnessed by the person he most wanted to impress.

“Geez, did you see me, I caught him on the line. I caught him on the bloody line.” He danced around, tears in his eyes as Gaby tried to give him a congratulatory hug. “I caught him on the friggin' line. Wow-ee—that was like so good.”

The prizes were presented by the Headmistress of Bryanston—each had an engraved silver plated cup, plus some book tokens. Gaby got a hundred pounds, the runner up, fifty and Harry got twenty five.

Photos were taken and after a shower and a change of clothing, Bryanston put on a buffet meal which meant none of those attending were likely to need food for several months, if they ate their share.

“So where do we go from here?” asked Gaby's headmistress.

“Um—sorry, I don't like, understand?”

“Do we try for a school cycling team, and will they be interested without someone like you to motivate them?”

“I dunno, do I, Miss? I mean, I dunno how long I'll be down ‘ere, do I?”

“I hope a while longer yet, Miss Bond, I'm beginning to see you have some hidden qualities, which I'd love to see you develop.”

“Me—nah, I'm an open book, ask Mads—she knows.”

“Does she? I'm not sure that even you know what a potentially gifted future you have.”

“I don't get you, Miss.”

“No, maybe not yet, Gaby Bond, but one day you will—and I'd like to think I'd helped to get you there? Well done, young lady, you're a credit to the school and to your mum, whom I know would be delighted with your win here today.”

“Um—thanks, Miss.”

The headmistress wandered off to speak with her counterpart from Poole.

“What was all that about?” asked Harry, as he came up to his girlfriend.

“Oh she thinks I'm—just wonderful,” Gaby smirked and blushed.

“I coulda told her that,” said Harry slipping his arm around her waist and squeezing her against him.

To Be Continued

Angharad ap Gwilym 03.04.10 © 2010

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