Page 98 of Head Over Wheels

A month ago, I might have panicked about bursting into tears in the middle of a race, but that day I wasn’t focusing on what could go wrong – only on what felt right. I would always have the scars, but my skin and muscle had grown over them – and I had grown more emotional soft tissue to protect my fearful heart. I was strangely glad neither Mum nor Dad was there that day. I was racing for the new me, the one who loved a dorky Star Wars fan and occasionally ate waffles and cuddled goats.

When Laura surged out from behind her support riders and went on the attack, I inwardly celebrated, hopping onher wheel and following easily. We took turns in the lead and I apparently freaked her out with my cheerful camaraderie, if her flummoxed looks were anything to go by.

As we hurtled towards Grenoble, through the sun-drenched valley of the Isère river, with rocky outcrops ranging on either side, a spectator shaking a sign up ahead gave a whoop loud enough to draw my attention.

After the supporter who took down half the peloton with a cardboard sign that just said, ‘Hi Granny and Grandpa’ a few years ago, we all had a healthy fear of unpredictable fans, so I flinched and ignored him, even though he waved the sign more frantically as I passed him.

At the last minute, I caught sight of the writing on the cardboard, messily handwritten, and I almost did a double take. Glancing over my shoulder before I could stop myself, I read the text again, still in disbelief.

‘Allez, Lori!’ he called out with a grin and I snapped my attention back to the road.

Three kilometres later, approaching Grenoble, I saw another one, then a cluster of three together, held by a group of women who whistled and cheered as I zoomed past. But no one knew I had used the handle Folklore99 – or, only one person knew.

Prickles of anticipation shuddered up my spine as more signs appeared in the crowd the closer we got to the finish at the top of the old fort in Grenoble. The stage ended with a gruelling climb, which gave me ample time to spot more signs as my heart expanded as though filled with helium.

Laura tried to drop me several times, nearly succeeding on the flat, but I was still within reach as we headed for the finish.

‘Go, Lori! Colombini looks like she’s struggling. Go for the win if you can!’I heard Alf over my radio.

As the lead rider, I was supposed to be saving my strength for the later stages, but I felt so damn good that I went for it, catching and then shooting past Laura 100 m before the finish. Time slowed down as the momentum of my bike hurled me towards the line. My heartbeat echoed in my ears – lavish and powerful. As I stretched to raise my arms above my head in victory, for the first time since I’d crashed and hit bottom, the future opened up in my mind, bright and shiny and new. And I bellowed from the depths of my stomach.

Coming to a stop and leaning heavily on my handlebars, time sped up to its normal pace. The burn in my lungs and shooting pain in my muscles were familiar, but the elation… I wanted the whole world to be as bright as this. I’d just fought my first victory as a woman in love – with a man who’d pulled a stunt that gave me every hope of fixing things between us.

Pushing to the barrier, I beckoned for a fan holding one of the signs to hand it over, stopping to give a couple of autographs, which nearly made me cry again.

The cardboard rectangle tucked under my arm – probably getting sweaty, but I didn’t have time to care – I paused for jubilant hugs from the swannies and from Doortje and Leesa and Bonnie when they rolled in a few minutes later.

I briefly wondered if Mum would see my finish, but she’dhave to do a lot more than congratulate me on a good result to be allowed back into my head. Today was for me. Regardless of her feelings and sacrifices, it wasmycareer – my life.

‘What was the story with all those signs?’ Doortje asked, making me laugh all over again.

‘I’ll tell you later,’ I promised, as a race organiser shepherded me behind the barriers for the post-race podium protocol.

Then it hit me: I would wear the yellow jersey. Even if I lost it again over the course of the next week, I’d wear it tomorrow. Every disappointment of the past year fell away and I burst into ugly tears, right in front of the cameras.

The reporters were going to freak out to see ‘Top Gun’ bawling, but between the pain and uncertainty of the past few months and the wonderful sign under my arm, I was a different rider – a different person. And that was okay.

I only had time to wipe the sweat off my face before someone was zipping me into a yellow jersey over the top of my team kit, slapping a little cyclist’s cap with a flat visor over my sweat-soaked hair, and then I was shoved out onto the stage to confront the cheering crowd. Clutching the sign, I dipped my head to receive the stage win medal, sobbing again and swiping at my nose with the back of my hand.

Someone else handed me a floral bouquet and I held it up high, blubbering and grinning. Fumbling with the slightly damp sign, I turned it towards the cameras and hugged it to my chest. I’d have to answer questions later, but I wanted Seb to see me holding it in the pictures – in the yellow jersey.

He was in Paris drinking champagne – as he deserved after three weeks of fighting his own fight. But he must have mobilised the fan groups in his absence to remind me of everything we’d shared, as though I needed any reminders, when everything from those early weeks – his patience, acceptance and even his bad jokes – was still fresh in my memory. I had no idea what he’d told them, but I kind of hoped it was the whole story of how we’d found each other.

I was more than ready for the world to know how I’d struggled after my injury and how that vulnerability had brought me to this moment. No matter what happened during the rest of the Tour, I was the luckiest person in the world.

I held up the sign, decorated with hand-drawn hearts and bearing my new favourite hashtag: #FolkyDunes4ever.

23 July 19:12

LoonieDunes: Congratulations on winning!

Folklore: You pulled a stunt today…

LoonieDunes: I did. Did it work?

Folklore: You’ll have to find out.

Chapter 39

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