Chloe Rides Again Pt. 07

This series is a sequel to the earlier work "Riding With Dirty Girls." You can probably get something out of the sex scenes in isolation, but to fully enjoy the story you really need to read Dirty Girls first.

This is a work of fiction. A figment of the author's imagination. It is not meant to be big on realism. It's a fantasy. The culture around world-class women's cycling probably isn't a hotbed of lesbian lust, but wouldn't it be fun if it were?

All characters are fictitious, and any that are involved in sexual activities are over 18.

***

Part 07: Heaven and Hell of The North

'All women can be tempted. Well, not ALL women, but all women who like sex - all women who are INTO sex.' So said Maisie with great conviction. 'I mean, how can you not be tempted to try pussy? Even if only out of curiosity.

'I've actually had straight women ask me what pussy tastes like, and I always say, "Well you have one of your own, so you have a pretty good idea." What they really mean is what's it like to eat pussy, and I sometimes open my legs and say "why not give it a try." They don't usually take me up on that kind offer, but I can tell they're tempted. Some are only a little nudge away. I've turned a few heads in my time, I can tell you.'

I saw no reason to disbelieve her. She is that naughty and incorrigible. I wouldn't put anything past Maisie.

On this occasion, she'd called me to congratulate me on my win at De Ronde, and to talk about the big pile-up and its aftermath. Most of the fallers escaped with a few scuffs and scrapes, but her team mate and compatriot Gracie Trent would miss a couple of races with a fractured finger, and Mia and Licia were out for weeks.

'Did you managed to miss the crash Mais?' I asked.

'Yeah, I was caught behind it but didn't go down, so not a problem for me really.'

The interesting thing, from Maisie's point of view was that the absence of Gracie, Mia, and Licia meant that new riders would be selected from their team rosters to replace them, and that meant new opportunities. Like I said: Incorrigible.

On Maisie's team, the new face would be the Irish rider, Sian O'Kane, who was straight, but 'turnable' according to Maisie's Law, hence the conversation about that subject. 'Have you seen her? She's so cute, with those freckles...'

I didn't know Sian, but I was suddenly interested to find out who was replacing Mia on our team. I called Gabi to find out, purely from a sporting perspective, you understand, and it turned out the new rider for this weekend was a Swedish girl called Trude Falskog, who I had only very vaguely heard of. I looked her up on Pro Cycling Stats...

Hm. 27 years old, 165cm and 55kg, so a little shorter and a little lighter than me. Very good-looking, with great cheekbones and a cheeky smile, and she seemed to have dark blonde hair, pulled back tight into a bun or ponytail.

Her palmares was very impressive, with a number of wins in MTB, two national championships in Time Trial, and a couple of podiums in stage races, including the Tour of Sweden, and the Giro Donne.

I decided to call the fount of all cycling knowledge, Molly, to see what she knew: 'Yeh, she's a pretty big name in mountainbike, but she's only recently started concentrating on the road. She's gay too, but last I heard she had a steady girlfriend, so don't get your hopes up.' I smiled to myself. Hm, interesting.

'We are not coming to Roubaix this weekend by the way,' she said, 'even though it's nearby. The weather isn't looking good, and spectating there on a bad day is awful. We'll be watching live on TV though.'

'Yeh, OK.' She couldn't see my sad face.

'Just stay near the front, be aware, and wary, all the time, and you'll be fine.'

'Thanks Mol.'

So, Trude was gay, eh? Hmm, I decided I'd have to find out her relationship status. Maybe Molly wasn't quite up to date. Maybe she was no longer attached, in fact.. free. I was becoming as bad as Maisie. Every girl was a potential free girl.

I called Licia. 'Hey babe, how are you?'

'Doing OK, I guess. Still a bit sore. I'm a long way from getting back on a bike, but I've already been over the road in the gym, pedalling their recumbent-style exercise bike. Lisa, the manager, wasn't keen on letting me in with the sling on, but I gave her a persuasive smile and she gave in. She had to 'supervise' me of course... I'm sure she was eying up my legs.'

'Well they are well-worth eying up... I think I'm a little jealous now.'

'Don't be. She's not gay... At least, I don't think so.'

'What's she like?'

Oh, she's a bit of alright, actually; small, slim, smiley. Nice tight buns in her tracksuit bottoms. Like two polecats fighting in a bag.'

I burst out laughing. 'Oh God, you don't half crack me up sometimes, Liss.'

'Anyway, she was a nice distraction as I sat there pumping away for nearly an hour.'

'Did she watch you the whole time??'

'No, she was floating about, doing gym-manager stuff, but she kept coming back to have another gawp.'

'Well I can't say I blame her. I'd probably be gawping too.'

'Yeh, but you're well known for lecherous behaviour.'

'Hey! Bloody cheek... Says she of the "two polecats in a bag."

'Ha! Well I never said I wasn't just as bad...'

Oh, it always does me good talking to Licia.

'Anyway, your absence, along with Mia and Gracie, has brought three new girls to the classics peloton.'

'Of course. I know Trixi ten Dam is replacing me...

'Trixi ten Dam? Is she?

'Yeh, do you know her?'

'I remember her doing 'cross when I was still a junior.'

'Yeh, she did. We had some great battles.

Who are the others?' she asked.

'Well, Gracie's being replaced by Sian O'Kane, and Trude Falskog is stepping in for Mia.

'Ah, Trude's solid. She's a great add to your team. She's lez too. Did you know?'

'Yeh, Molly just told me. Attached though.'

'Not sure about that. She was going out with that American, what's 'er name...? Lolly Steen, but Lolly's not on the tour this year. Maybe they've split up?'

'Wishful thinking maybe. Anyway, we'll see. I'm not going to Molly's this time. Getting picked up by the team bus at Brussels airport, Friday aft, then it's straight to the team hotel.'

'I'm staying at home - surprise surprise. I'm missing the action already, in more ways than one. Missing you too babe.'

'Get yourself in the gym and see if you can chat Lisa up.'

'Really?'

'Well, you have to have something to stop you getting bored...'

We chuckled. 'See you later, babe.'

'Ciao.'

I felt a bit flat after the call. Somehow, everything seemed mundane and almost melancholy. Obviously, Licia's injury cast a bit of a cloud, but it seemed more than just that. Maybe it was a touch of post-race blues. The hard come-down after the euphoria of my De Ronde triumph. I sensed it was going to be hard to get myself up for Paris-Roubaix.

***

Paris-Roubaix Femmes

Roubaix is a very big name in cycling circles. The Paris-Roubaix race is one of cycling's oldest one-day races and one of the sport's "Monuments." Some would say it's the biggest of all the Monuments. It's infamous for mud, multiple sections of very rough cobblestones, punctures, and even broken wheels, frames -- and riders - hence its epithet "The Hell of The North."

The men's race started in the 1800s, and it has a long and chequered history, but the femmes edition has only existed for a few years. It started the year Molly retired, so she never had the chance to do it, something she still laments. I'm sure she would have won it if it had existed a few years earlier.

As always though, the women's race is over a shorter distance. It finishes in Roubaix, in the iconic old velodrome, like the men's, but it doesn't actually start in Paris. Instead, we delicate little flowers start in Denain, almost 200km north of Paris, and only about 50km from Roubaix as the crow flies. It does a few contorted loops around the Denain area, then meanders its way to Roubaix, covering 150km. The men's race is 110km longer and, in truth, the women's edition is a pale shadow. Honestly, it's as if they think that women couldn't possibly cover the same distances as men, which simply isn't true.

It does have 17 sectors of rough cobbles ("pavé") though, and those who have done it say it's plenty tough enough, so who am I to judge as a mere rookie?

I wasn't sure it would suit me because, unlike De Ronde, it has no significant climbs. It's mostly just cobbles -- flat roads -- cobbles -- flat roads, all the way. OK, it's not COMPLETELY flat, but the undulations are minor. This race is not decided by the climbs; it's decided by the cobbles, the weather and, in large part, a slice of luck and, as Molly had said, the weather forecast was bad, with heavy blustery showers on the menu. Oh lovely... Are you detecting a certain lack of enthusiasm?

Anyway, I flew to Brussels on Friday, and rendezvoused with the team bus. My flight was quite early in the day, so there were a few hours of thumb-twiddling as I sat on the bus waiting for other flights to arrive. The girls arrived one by one and I got my first glimpse of Trude when she appeared in the afternoon.

She already knew some of the team; Helen, Tera and Marlen, but not me - and Selina hadn't arrived yet. Anyway, there were the usual hugs and kisses all round, and I checked her out as best I could in her team warmwear.

She was a little shorter than me, though hardly noticeably, with green-hazel eyes, and her bronze-coloured hair in a low ponytail. She had cute dimples when she smiled, and (I noticed) dark red painted nails. She obviously wasn't afraid to embrace her inner femme -- maybe even her inner vamp. Nice.

She seemed to know Helen and Marlen quite well, and the three of them sat together around one of the small tables. They seemed to be having a nice catch-up, so I didn't intrude.

I grabbed a seat on my own and started cleaning up some photos on my phone. I still had some very risqué images from phone sex sessions I'd had with Maisie, Licia, and even Lucy. I knew I should delete them really - if someone found my phone or something it could be embarrassing -- but I liked them. They brought back happy horny memories and I couldn't resist looking through them again as I decided which ones I could bear to delete.

God, they were hot stuff, and I vividly recalled the sessions when they were taken as I scrolled through them. I was in the middle of an erotic daydream when a voice said, 'Chloe?'

OMG, it was Helen. Had she seen what was on my phone screen? I must have gone bright red as I put the phone face down in my lap. God, this was cringe-worthy. I was sat there, lasciviously looking through pictures of female body parts like some kind of bloody pervert. I hoped she hadn't seen.

She didn't show any reaction though. She just said 'Come and join us. Trude wants to meet you properly.'

I got up and went to sit with them and we chatted about cycling, racing, and how we'd won De Ronde. Marlen and Helen were very proud of their part in it, and why not? For well over 100km we'd operated as a team, sharing the work and, even though Tera couldn't take advantage, that early team work undoubtedly played a part in my eventual success.

We talked about how to win Paris-Roubaix, but nobody really had a formula. The previous two editions had been won with long-range solo attacks, both by riders who are time-trial specialists, but the only thing we agreed on was the fact that a slice of luck was needed to win. All teams make plans, but the race almost never goes to plan.

You could say it's a bit of a lottery, but it's that unpredictability that makes the race so fascinating, and has built up its mystique. There's definitely a lot of kudos in winning it.

Marlen made the startling observation that we would be the most lesbian team out there, with 4 gay members out of 6. Wow, she was right. No other team had more than 2. 'What I'd love to see,' she said, 'is an all-lesban podium. It would be interesting to see if the news channels would be brave enough to point it out if it happened. I bet they wouldn't.'

It was an intriguing point, and I thought she was probably right. It would be way too controversial to bring up sexual orientation, even if there were three lesbians on the podium.

Selina arrived, and the bus rumbled into life. We were off to Roubaix.

I sat gazing wistfully out of the window as we passed by Waregem. I was missing going to Molly's; missing the comfortable conviviality of her house, missing the stoofpot, and missing the sex. Oh, what wouldn't I have given to have been in bed with Molly at that moment? I closed my eyes and thought about her and her wonderful body. Mmm, there was no getting away from it: I was fucking horny.

I prayed that the room roster would have me with Helen again. Helen would always be up for a little girly gratification, but for all I knew, she may have had other plans, maybe with Marlen again. And then there was the tantalising question of Trude. There was a lot to ponder on, but it wasn't unpleasant pondering.

We arrived at the hotel and I checked the roster. Hmph. I was with Selina, Trude was with Tera, and Helen and Marlen were together. I suspected Helen would be quite happy with that arrangement, if the previous weekend was any guide. In fact, I suspected that she may have had something to do with it.

I had nothing against Selina -- in fact she's lovely - but I was really hoping for some sweet stuff, and I didn't think she would be likely to turn just because I was horny. I needed to "take some soundings" on Trude.

We had a few minutes before dinner, so I turned predator and went in search of her. She wasn't in her room, and Tera said she was downstairs in the lounge/bar, so I went down there and found her sitting on her own, looking at her phone. Texting with Lolly, perhaps?

'Hey Trude, can I join you?'

'Yeah, sure,' she smiled.

It's hard to vamp it up in sports gear; trackies, trainers etc. are not the sexiest things, but I was wearing a yellow team polo shirt, which fit me very well, with no bra. I was hoping my nipples would misbehave and that she would notice.

'How's it going?' I asked, as a bland general question as I sat down next to her.

'Oh, not bad. I was just catching up with Lolly.'

Dammit. So they were still together. I nodded. 'How come she's not on the tour this year?

'Oh, she went back to the 'States to concentrate on MTB and gravel. She never really liked being in Europe.' She pulled a face that said "what the hell is up with her?"

'That must make it hard for you to be together.'

'Yeh, too hard. We both know it. We're over as a couple, we just haven't pulled the plug yet. I think we'll stay friends, because I really like her, but the long-distance relationship thing doesn't work for me. She's not going to move to Europe, and I'm not going to move to the 'States, so... ' She trailed off and looked pensive. 'I need intimacy in a relationship. I'm really missing that.'

'When you say intimacy, do you mean sex?'

'Not just that, but it's a big part of it, yes.' She gave me a slightly coy look.

This was good. I hadn't expected her to be so open so quickly. 'Well, there are ways to have intimacy without necessarily being in a committed relationship,' I ventured.

'Yeh, I know, your little sex club...'

'Oh my, has our fame preceded us?' I said with mock shock and horror.

'Well it's quite well-known, and I am friends with Helen and Marlen, after all. They are having a bit of a fling at the moment, rekindling an old flame, I think. They even suggested I could join them!... I wish I were that liberated.'

'What's stopping you? Only yourself.'

'Maybe. I'm not sure I want a reputation like yours, Chloe.' She looked at me devilishly.

'Like mine?'

'Yeh. It's quite well-known that you are... loose, when it comes to sex.'

'Loose??' I exclaimed, huffily. I prefer the term "free" but I'd also accept "libertine," or "unbridled."

She grinned. 'Must be quite nice, to be so uninhibited.'

'It is. I'm getting the maximum pleasure out of life. Literally enjoying the fuck out of it. To be honest, I don't give a toss what people say about it. It's my life.'

'And is your girlfriend happy with it?

'Licia? Oh God yes. She's as bad as me... At least.'

She looked reflective. I could tell there was a thought process going on, but we had to break off as people started heading to the dinner table.

I sat next to her, something I'm sure Helen and Marlen noticed, as they sat down together, and Helen's eyes had that familiar twinkle.

It was all the 4Ts (Tedious Team Tactics Talk) over dinner, but I thought, more than at any other race, tactics were largely futile here. The brutality of the Roubaix cobbles (far rougher than any I've encountered in Belgium) mud that would do credit to a cyclocross race, winds blowing across open terrain etc., add up to a true battle of attrition.

Every year a huge proportion of the field fail to finish within the time limit. The previous year, out of 144 starters, only 61 were listed as finishers. 36 were DNFs, while another 47 were over the time limit. It's definitely a brute. The fact that it's this attritional with almost no climbing tells you all you need to know about what a bastard those cobbles are.

After dinner, I went to talk to Tera. I wanted to know if she'd be amenable to Trude swapping with Selina -- 'It's just a possibility. Nothing's settled yet.'

She looked at me with one raised eyebrow. 'On the prowl, are we Chloe?'

'You could say that. Nothing's certain yet.'

'Well don't exhaust yourself. I need you good and fresh tomorrow.'

'Aye aye capt'n.' I saluted her.

I found Selina and had a similar conversation with her, except for the capt'n part, and the fact that she said 'ugh' when the possibility of lesbian sex was mooted.

In an impressive bit of Chloe scheming, I'd prepared the ground. Now I just needed to complete my seduction of Trude.

I noticed she'd gone to sit with Helen and Marlen in the lounge, so I went to join them. 'Ahh, here she is, that loose British woman...' said Helen, smirking. Trude blushed. '... we were just talking about you.'

'I bet you were. Helen, you're terrible.'

'Trude says you've been trying to seduce her, and Marlen and I said "oo, lucky you..." Trude was squirming with embarrassment, but she was wearing an adorably coquettish smile. She really is quite lovable.

'Well what if I was? You can't blame me, can you? I mean, look at her.'

'Chloe stop,' said Trude. 'You're going to make me blush...' She pointed to her face with both hands and shook her head, knowing full-well she was already bright red, and we all laughed.

I went in for the kill. 'So, what about it then? Do you fancy a bit of sweet stuff tonight, Trude?'

Helen and Marlen looked at Trude for her reaction and she looked at the floor for a few seconds, then those greenish hazel eyes came up to meet mine and she said, 'You are very hard to resist, Chloe. I'm sure you know that. There's something about you, and it's not just those nipples...'

So, she had noticed.

'I am going to give in to temptation. I need this. I've felt so deprived recently. I'm going to allow myself... This doesn't mean I'm part of your klatsch though.

'No, no, of course not,' we murmured, knowing full well how easy it is to become hooked once you have "allowed yourself" just once.

I grinned, and leant over for a kiss. It was just a quick peck really, but I tried to put some sauce into it, letting my lips linger just a fraction longer than expected. 'Excuse me, I need to talk to Selina.'

The room swap was arranged, and a simmering sexual anticipation took over. We didn't dash straight upstairs. We stayed in the bar for a while with Helen and Marlen, just chatting and letting the thrum of excitement permeate our bones. Or is it just me that feels like that?

'So, are Lucy's injuries worse than thought? She's not here, is she?' I asked.

'No, there are no fractures or anything, but her hip is still very sore. She didn't fancy the cobbles.'

'I don't blame her. It will be bad enough without a sore hip.'

'Yeh, so, I have her blessing to have a little fun with Marlen.' They smiled at each other.

'Oh yeh... What's it like getting together again after a few years?'

'8 years,' said Helen. 'It's good. Marlen is even more gorgeous now...'

'Helen, stop it. So are you.'

They looked at each other adoringly. It was very sweet, but I was bemused. As far as I knew, Helen had made a firm connection with Lucy, but I knew she'd said Marlen had "a bit of a thing" for her, and now they had rekindled their flame I could see that flame growing. Helen was going to have to do some serious soul-searching before long.

I looked at Trude and I swear her eyes flicked to the stairs and back again. I took the hint. ''Well, I think we'll go up,' I said. 'No point in leaving it too late, eh Trude?'

She smiled and we got up, kissed Marlen and Helen, and headed upstairs. Selina had already taken her things to Room 14, so we had 18 to ourselves. I had that delicious thrum of excitement in me, that sex with someone new always produces. The thrill of the new. The allure of the undiscovered.

As soon as we closed the door, she said. 'Can I undress you, Chloe? It's one of my favourite things.'

'Only if you kiss me first.'

We came together between the single beds, and we put our arms around each other's waists. She felt small-boned and pliant; different to Licia's muscular puissance, or Helen's soft womanliness. Honestly, the variation in women's bodies is an endless joy to me. I'd actually like to sleep with a really busty, or really voluptuous woman. Just to experience it. It's not likely with the circles I move in though.

Anyway, I brought my lips to hers, and the kiss started tentatively, almost hesitantly, Her lips were soft, and tasted faintly of the cherry cola she'd been drinking. She followed my lead as I deepened the kiss, rolling my head and opening my mouth wider. Our teeth clashed slightly as the kiss became torrid and our tongues were soon performing that twirling, swirling dance of passion. I could feel her want, her need, radiating out of her.

I broke the kiss and pushed her back by her shoulders, saying 'NOW you can undress me.'

She took hold of the hem of my polo shirt and I raised my arms so she could whip it off in one fluid movement, revealing my boobs and my peaky, pointy, nipples and their areolae, scrunched up with arousal. 'Did you go braless deliberately... for me?'

I nodded. 'Mm, I did.'

'Naughty.' She smirked.

'Guilty.' I smiled, fruitily.

Dropping to her knees, she took off my trainers, one by one, then started pulling down my trackies. She could easily have taken my knickers down at the same time, but she deliberately separated them, taking the leggings down as I deliberately gave a sinuous little wiggle, and leaving me in just my knix.

She held me by the hips and gazed at me. Then she leaned forward and kissed my stomach as she slowly eased my knickers down, following them with her lips and kissing her way through my pubes to my shy little pussy. Turning her head, she pressed her cheek to my mons and breathed, 'Oh my Gosh, I've been missing this...' she turned her other cheek, obviously savouring the feeling of cheeks to pubes. 'This intimacy, this warmth, this sensuous feeling.'

I pressed her head against me gently with my hand, just holding her to my sex. I was enjoying the sensuality of it too, especially when she put her arms around my legs, just below my bum cheeks, and squeezed me even more tightly against her.

She turned and kissed my mons, then stood up and started undressing. I sat down on the bed and leaned back on my arms, making my modest tits look nice and perky, and watched her reveal herself to me.

Her body was lithe and trim, as you'd expect, and she had the usual cyclists tan -- as do I -- with almost a ghost skinsuit and socks. It's something I don't find the least bit unattractive. It speaks of an active, fit body, and that alone makes it alluring.

Her waist was sylph-slim, making her breasts look bigger than they were, and she just had a very fine layer of pubic hair, neatly trimmed and revealing the fleshy ridge of her inner lips peeping tantalisingly.

Reaching behind her head (and showing off her boobs very nicely) she pulled the band out of her ponytail and shook her hair free. I could tell she was proud of her hair, and not without good reason. It was gorgeous. About shoulder-blade length, it was full of body, and the shade was perfectly poised between dark blonde and golden brown. A light bronze colour.

'Your hair is... wow, Trude. Is that colour natural?'

'Yes, it's all me.'

It's gorgeous.'

'Thank you.' She smiled, a little bashfully.

'Come here and kiss me.' I lay back and she crawled up over me, her hair falling around us and forming a scented cave, as I knew it would. The kiss was sublime; all soft lips and wet tongues, and she moved down, kissing my throat and my décolletage as she homed in on my ballistic nipples...

'Oh my,' she chuckled, 'I have never seen nipples like these. Can we make them even harder?' She sat up slightly and rocked from side to side, brushing her hair across them, and I groaned and shivered. My juice machine jumped into overdrive.

She bent her head and took one of my little spires between her lips and sucked on it, then she opened her mouth and made circles with her head, running the nipple round and round her lips and wetting it with drool. If she wanted to make them even harder she was going the right way about it.

I knew her need was probably greater than mine though, so I urged her upwards to sit on my face, slipping my arms between her legs and pressing her to me by the small of her back. She was hot and wet, and I revelled in the taste of her, and the feel of her oily flesh riding my tongue as I slurped and licked her hungrily.

Her lips were quite thick and surprisingly firm, almost rubbery, as she rode then back and forth across my mouth and nose until trickles of her cream ran down both my cheeks.

She didn't last long. There was obviously a lot of pent-up desire bursting for release. 'Oh, fuck Chloe that's so good... Uh... Uh... yes... fuck... yes.. yess... Yess... Yess.... YESS.. OHHHH...'

I savoured the orgasmic change as she came. The change of taste and texture as her juice became suddenly more runny and piquant. I rolled my tongue round and round her entrance, bathing it lubriciously in that musky elixir as it trickled copiously into my mouth, until her come subsided and she rolled off me, with a breathy 'Ohh.'

She lay next to me, and I turned my head to kiss her, so that we could share that delicious orgasm a little longer, and the kiss was SO luscious I just wanted it to go on and on. I broke it just long enough to whisper ' finger me, 'then we resumed.

Her fingers slid delectably through my pubes and over my aching clit, then deftly slipped into me. I closed my eyes and just allowed myself to be transported to a world of sensational pleasure. For long elysian moments, the only things that existed were lips, tongues, the taste of pussy and saliva, and the feeling of nimble slender fingers expertly teasing my most sensitive places.

This was a good way to come, and OMG she was good at finger fucking me. Her fingers curled and stroked, teasing my spot, then pumped smoothly in and out for a while, then curled and stroked again, and the kiss never faltered until I flung my head back in a paroxysmal spasm and my climax howled through me.

She bent her head and kissed the crook of my neck, over and over, as I rode the orgasm express to blissville and back, then she slipped her fingers out and brought them up so we could both suck them.

We stayed just like that, dazed with pleasure, until the chill finally made us get under the covers, then we drifted off into a deep, deep sleep.

Race Day.

I was a little distant over breakfast. Robbie and Gabi were droning on about the usual plan; try to stay together and near the front as much as possible, 'Stay on the crown of the road if you can because the pavé is amazingly slippery and people have come to grief just by straying onto the camber in the wrong place.'

I knew all this, Molly had engraved it on my head bone, but I was barely listening. I was musing on a dream I'd had during the night, where I was out on my own, leading the race, with no-one in sight behind me. It was a wishful dream because, despite my victory at De Ronde, my designated role was still to work for Tera. Her weakness in Flanders was attributed fatigue from the mid-week race. She was still regarded as the team's strongest rider, and therefore number 1.

My broody reverie was interrupted when I became aware that Trude was staring at me from across the table. Our eyes met, and we smiled at each other. She was obviously bored by the tactics talk as well.

After breakfast, we went up to the room and I tried to do some visualisation, but I couldn't get that dream out of my head. If felt like a premonition.

We talked about rivals instead. Trude thought the race would probably be dominated by us and Team Veloviewer, who had Elisa Abruzzi (a former winner), Kat Bohringer, Hayley Sandler, Inga van Touren (Molly's Inga), and Romi Wilde -- a very strong line-up. Amstel-Rabo, who would normally be one of the strongest teams were missing both Lucy, with her sore hip, and their no.1 Suzy, who's wrist was still too weak to tackle the Roubaix cobbles.

A characteristic of the Roubaix race is that the peloton usually fragments almost as soon as the pavé is reached, 66km into the race, and small groups then battle it out to the finish. Breakaways do form, but the break has only survived to the finish once, and even then they were nearly caught, with the chasers less than one lap of the velodrome behind them at the end.

I peered out of the window at the weather. 'It's not going to be much fun in this weather, is it?'

Trude's only response was, 'It's been worse.'

We got on the bus for the 1 hour trip to Denain, and everyone was quite subdued. I think Roubaix, more than any other race, has the power to produce this feeling of apprehension, with everyone praying it won't be them that has the bad luck.

I was feeling OK though. I was sure I was up to the cobbles, and I knew I had the power to stay near the front and out of trouble, so I was just thinking of it as a job of work to be done.

Gabi tried to whip up some motivation as the bus rolled along, but the response was muted. I think we all just wanted to get on our bikes and get going.

The weather was having one of it's tantrums as we formed up behind the commissaire's car, with splattery rain assailing us, and I was glad to finally get rolling on the neutralised start. Kilometre zero and the real start couldn't come quickly enough, and as soon as it did I took up a position at the head of the team, with Marlen, Helen Trude and Selina in line behind me, and Tera bringing up the rear. We had Veloviewer to our left, and Amstel-Rabo to our right, and the pace was, let's say brisk.

There were a few attempts to form a breakaway, and a group of 5 did go clear for a while, but they were reeled in before we even got to the first sector of pavé.

This initial part of the race was all on big open roads, and involved two laps of a circuit within Denain, followed by a big loop to the south and back to Denain before heading for the first pavé. The showers were infrequent, but the wind was strong and blustery, knocking us about noticeably. It was not easy to provide meaningful draft in these conditions, and I could see that getting worse later in the race, as the course zig-zagged and meandered towards Roubaix.

For 60km the peloton remained pretty much intact, with teams sharing the work, and thus far it was "a normal day at the office," but that was about to change dramatically when we reached the cobbles.

The 17 sectors of cobbles (secteurs in French) are numbered in reverse order, starting with 17 and counting down to 1, which is right outside the Roubaix velodrome.

One thing that is missing from the women's course (apart from 100km distance) is the infamous Trouée d'Arenberg, the most difficult of all the secteurs. The organisers say it's because it's too near the start in Denain, but I think they are just keeping it as a preserve of the men, so that its fearsome reputation isn't diluted by letting weak little girlies do it.

Anyway, the Arenberg wasn't needed; the first two secteurs of cobbles -- Hornaing and Warlaing - caused sufficient carnage. I was trying to stay close to the front and out of trouble, and that was working, but just a few places behind me, chaos was breaking loose.

I didn't fully realise the extent of it until I watched the TV coverage later, and then my jaw dropped. There were multiple pile-ups as riders went down on the slippery stones and took others with them. There were riders diving headlong into ditches, and bikes somersaulting into fields. The peloton was blown to pieces in the space of less than 10 kilometres. And I'd thought the reputation of this race was exaggerated...

As we exited the Warlaing secteur onto tarmac again, I found myself in a small leading group of about a dozen riders. Helen and Marlen were both there, along with Pam, Gigi, Stella, and others. It was a group entirely made up of domestiques though. All the main favourites were missing.

I looked behind to see empty road behind us. I had no idea what had happened to Tera. I said to Helen, 'What do we do now? Do we wait?'

'NO,' she said firmly. 'Who knows what's happened. We race!' So, we picked up the pace again, waiting for news to hopefully come over the radio.

It took a while. The team car had obviously been caught behind the crashes and they probably didn't know what was happening either.

We rode on, through secteurs Tilloy and Beuvry, and into Orchies before Gabi came on the radio. 'Tera, Trude and Selina caught in a crash. All OK, but 5 minutes behind you.' That was it. There was no instruction to wait, thank goodness.

I looked around the group. None of them were at my level, and I thought about my dream. This was my chance to make it a reality. I considered the distance remaining. Could I time trial almost 60km, solo, to victory? There was only one way to find out.

As soon as we hit the tarmac at the end of the Orchies secteur, I was off. I swung right across to the left-hand side of the road and attacked. I expected determined resistance, but there was none. Nobody chased, they just let me go, obviously thinking the attack was suicidal.

I got straight into time-trial mode, barrelling through two more secteurs before the next radio message. I had been half expecting an edict from above, telling me to desist and wait for Tera, but no. Perhaps they had decided that I may be the best chance of victory.

The message was just to tell me my time gaps. I had 1.12 over the next group (a gap which was growing) and 4.45 over the group of favourites containing Tera, Marieke and Elisa. I drove on, concentrating on staying out of the red and just applying the power smoothly -- and hopefully staying upright.

In the Pont Thibaut secteur (no. 9) I had a bit of a scare. The rain was pelting down, and the cobbles were coated in an evilly slippery layer of slimy mud. I applied a little too much power and my rear wheel broke traction and slipped off the crown of the road. The bike went sideways and I almost fell. I over-corrected and the bike went sideways the other way. I ended up fish-tailing for a short distance before regaining full control. Amazingly, I kept pedalling throughout!

Meanwhile, the chasers were getting organised behind me, and Gabi kept me informed over the radio. An elite group had formed, including Tera, Marieke and Elisa. And they were about to sweep up Helen and Marlen's group. Tera still had Selina with her, and Elisa had Kat and Hayley, whereas Marieke had no team mates and was just hitching a ride, as usual.

This elite group had good pace and they were eating into my gap -- obviously working together quite effectively. At Templeuve the gap was 2.18, and at Bourghelles, 10km later, it was 1.28. My chances of survival weren't looking good.

At the end of the very rough Camphin-en-Pévèle secteur there were 20km to go,. I was starting to suffer, and I was about to enter the Carrefour de l'Arbre, the toughest secteur on the whole course, with a 5-star rating (the highest difficulty). 2km of bone-jarring stones. I slithered, snaked and juddered my way through there, but by the time I emerged, my hands were numb with the vibration and my gap was down to under a minute.

With almost no respite, I was straight into the Gruson secteur, which was well-named as it was gruesome. I was struggling to hold the bars now, and the chasers were hunting me down. It was looking like my dream was going to be shattered.

The pace of the chase had shredded the group of "poursuivantes" so that only Tera, Marieke, Elisa, and Pam remained, and they were now only a few seconds behind me.

With under 10km to go, as I reached the last secteur of rough pavé, I realised the game was up and I eased off until they came up to me. They barrelled past without any acknowledgement at all, which miffed me a bit. Hmph. Surely I deserved a pat on the back or something after such an effort?

As is sometimes the case, this niggling annoyance served to revitalise me. I tagged onto the back of the group, and I was surprised to find that the pace was not too stretching at all. When I'd eased up to let them catch me I'd been amazed how quickly my breathing and heart rate recovered, and now, sitting on their wheels, slightly miffed, my fire rekindled. Maybe there was one last roar in me.

Tera, Elisa, and Pam all tried to escape as we approached Roubaix -- they wanted to get rid of Marieke, who they knew was the best sprinter in the group, but their attacks were lacking in power. Their fatigue was evident, and the group stayed together, with me sitting at the back, enjoying all the slipstream they could give me.

We crossed the final secteur, which is only ornamental really, and passed through the tunnel into the old velodrome. This was it. The iconic, historic finish of Paris-Roubaix. One and a half laps to go. 750 metres of concrete track to bid for glory.

The pace gradually wound up as the capacity crowd of 2000 fans cheered us on, and we flew past the bell with me still hanging onto the coat-tails of the group. Waiting, waiting.

Usually, you'd expect some cat and mouse, some slowing and looking at each other before launching the sprint, but there was none of that. Everyone was fearful of Marieke's kick, and the pace was kept high, in the hope of taking the sting out of her.

I'd never tested my sprint against someone like Marieke, but my legs were feeling good and I was keen to give it a go. You never know until you try.

The pace wound up, and the crowd got louder as we approached the final bend with Elisa leading it out. Wait, Chloe, wait.

Pam was the first to launch, and everyone was suddenly standing and sprinting for the line. Go, Chloe, go!

I stood up and just went for it! They knew I was coming, but they couldn't do anything about it -- they had no legs left. I passed them all in the last 150 metres, Pam, Elisa, Tera... none of them could hold me off, and I swept past the whole group and crossed the line half a wheel in front of Marieke.

My momentum carried me far down the track and then I rolled down onto the infield and just crashed to the ground. I lay there on the grass, arms crossed over my eyes, chest heaving, and burst into tears. Great sobs racked my body as the emotion of the victory just overwhelmed me.

Someone took the bike away and I was aware of people crowding around me. I opened my eyes and saw concerned faces peering at me, but it was a little while before I could sit up and get my head around what had just happened.

I got to my feet and started walking shakily back towards the start/finish, and suddenly there were multiple arms around me; Tera, Marlen, Trude, Selina, and lovely Helen. My team. Everyone wanted to hug me. 'We're so proud of you,' said Helen.

I couldn't believe it. I had won two of the biggest monuments in cycling, in the space of a week. My life would never be the same again.

The way I'd won this one was something special. The stroke of fate with the early crashes, the audacious escape, the disappointment of being caught, and the final excruciating effort to take the win. I was sure there wouldn't be many like this one.

There was a whirl of hugs and congratulations, crowds of journalists shoving mics and phones in my face, and the usual round of interviews. My old ally and supporter, Mark Richards of Eurosport, seemed genuinely pleased and excited; 'Wow, Chloe, what an epic win. Chapeau! He mimed doffing his cap in admiration. 'Do you realise what you've just done?' I shook my head. 'I've never seen anyone, male or female win two Monuments in their first year on the tour. You've arrived with a bang that will be heard around the whole world of cycling...'

I was a bit lightheaded, it was overwhelming. The podium, shared with Marieke and Tera, was a blur, and I came down the steps in a daze. It was then that Aimée came to me.

She didn't congratulate me - she knew I'd had more than enough of that -- she just said 'Are you OK, Chloe? You look a little stunned.'

'I am,' I said. 'It's... it's...'

'I know.' She took my hand. 'Come with me for a shower.'

The Roubaix showers are famous (or maybe infamous). Located in an anonymous square building they are laid out in completely open concrete stalls, which provide no privacy at all, and they have become an iconic part of the aura surrounding the race. In the past, everyone would go there for a post-race shower, to wash off the mud collected in the journey through the French farming country.

Now though, it's different, for two reasons. Firstly, many riders don't partake any more, preferring the comfort of their team buses to showering on cold cement. Secondly, now there's a women's race, privacy is a little more important.

It was a good call by Aimée because the showers were a haven of calm amidst the post-race melee. Only females were allowed in, and there were three officials on the door, preventing any sneaky male ingress. Inside there were just a few girls and we chose two stalls opposite each other.

Cold cement they may be, but the hot water, delivered by a pull chain, was as delightful as ever after a cold, muddy race. We soaped ourselves luxuriously, smiling at each other, then I spent long beautiful minutes just standing holding the chain down and letting the water cascade over me.

Although she's gay, I don't think Aimée's intentions were sexual. She just thought this was what I needed at that moment, and she was spot-on. It was like therapy.

As we were drying ourselves she startled me though. 'You know, I live near here. If you want a little more amicale convivialité you can visit me. Anytime.'

Oo er.

'This is my address.' She handed me a card from her kit bag, with her address and mobile number on it.

Oo, thanks Aimée...' She smiled and we headed back to our team buses.

I was last to board the bus and got a load of good-natured grief as we moved just across town to the hotel.

.

The messages of congratulation continued to pour in:

From Maisie: 'Chloe, you are THE BOMB.'

From Molly: "Well done, Chloe, that was very, very impressive."

From Licia: 'Oh baby, what a win. I groaned when you got caught, but it wasn't over was it? Outsprinting Vox... Bloody awesome.

I was drowning in approval and admiration; toasts at dinner, kisses, compliments and wide-eyed amazement. It was all very nice and gratifying, but I was thinking about Aimée and some of her "amicale convivialité."

(End of Part 07)