While the World Is Still Asleep (The Century Trilogy Book 1)

by Petra Durst-Benning

  Josephine crouched and, for the hundredth time, looked to see that her bicycle was ready. Gerd Melchior had checked each of the bicycles thoroughly the evening before, but better to be safe than sorry.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Isabelle arrive, Leon at her side. Her expression was rigid, and she wore an elegant cycling outfit. The jacket with all the pockets that Jo had painstakingly sewn for her was nowhere to be seen. Instead of greeting the others with a handshake, as was the custom, she simply gave the group a nod.

  Adrian stood nearby with Gerd Melchior and raised one thumb in the air. “I’ve got my great cycling adventure behind me. Now it’s your turn!” Adrian had said to her the night before, just before he left. “Enjoy every mile, and don’t worry about anything or anyone, you hear me? I’ll be with you in spirit.” He was going to follow in one of the support wagons and meet her later at one of the checkpoints.

  Adrian traveling in a carriage. Josephine felt a knot form in her throat. She felt like crying, but would that have changed anything? No doubt the German doctors would be able to get his knee working again. If they couldn’t . . .

  To take her mind off Adrian, Jo checked her tools. A screwdriver, a pocketknife, patching gear, and a few odds and ends—just what would fit in the bottom pocket on the back of her jacket and wasn’t too heavy. If she got a puncture, she would not be forced to wait for Gerd Melchior or one of the other mechanics.

  Next, Jo checked her provisions. She had five rolls, a few handfuls of dried fruit, and two pieces of Danish cake packed with almonds and marzipan. That would have to do for the first one or two hundred miles. Her two metal flasks were filled with water. On Adrian’s advice, she had dropped a cube of sugar in each one. The sugar would dissolve and give her a burst of energy with every sip.

  Jo stretched her legs. They felt good. Strong, supple, with no sign of the cramps she had suffered a few times during her training.

  Her bicycle, her equipment, her physical condition—she had never felt more ready. The waiting was unbearable.

  “Ladies, gentlemen, this is a historic day. Because with this race, we will show that women are just as capable of great performances as men, if not greater. From today on, the fairer sex will be known as the stronger sex. Susanne and those riding with her will put to shame all those lies about the weakness of women that have proliferated—without a shred of evidence.”

  Charles Hansen’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes flashed with anticipation as he looked around the group assembled before him.

  “A long-distance race like ours deserves to be called by another name. The reason is simple. Unlike other cycling competitions, competitiveness is not what we are all about. We are not haggling over which rider is a few minutes faster than another. We are not racing. What binds us, rather, is the will to reach our goal together, with our love of cycling carrying us to the finish line. Which is why I want to impress the following upon all of you: If you see a rider, man or woman, standing by the road in need of help, stop and ask what the matter is. Share your food! Let him or her take a drink from your flask! And if a rider breaks down, see how you can help. It is time for community spirit to prevail. Arguments, jealousy, and childish quarrels have no place in the next six hundred miles.” He looked meaningfully at Isabelle, then Josephine.

  Jo nodded. She would not be the one to start something.

  Charles Hansen stepped over to Susanne, whispered something in her ear, and gave her a quick kiss. Then he turned back to the other riders one last time.

  “I wish you all an enjoyable ride through our beautiful Zealand. Bon voyage, or as we say in Danish, god rejse!”

  For the first hour, Susanne and the thirty other participants rode together. The mood was buoyant, as if they were off on a jaunt to the seaside. They laughed and joked, and some swapped stories about other tours they had done. Susanne talked about her wedding plans. “After we get married, I want to have at least a dozen children,” she admitted with a laugh.

  “If you can still have any after this tour . . . Cycling makes women infertile, or hadn’t you heard?” joked Luise, drawing laughter, but with a hint of bitterness.

  To Josephine’s great relief, the others treated her perfectly normally; some were even friendly. No one seemed to put too much store in Isabelle’s talk of prison. Everyone had seen how worked up she was, after all. And no one took her accusation—that Jo had betrayed her and stolen her former fiancé—seriously. Conversation focused on the ride ahead.

  As the enormous cathedral in Roskilde came into view, Susanne abruptly increased the tempo—the fun was over. A group of ten, mostly Danish and French women, went with her, as did Isabelle, Veit Merz, and Leon Feininger.

  Josephine considered increasing her own speed but decided against it. Her pace felt just right. So why change it?

  “Let them go,” said Lilo, drawing up beside Jo. “Whoever takes the lead now usually ends up pedaling in behind the rest at the end.” Changing the subject, she said, “So, did you get a chance to talk things out with Isabelle?”

  Jo told her she hadn’t.

  “What I don’t get is why you didn’t come clean to Isabelle long ago,” said Lilo. “To be honest, if I were in her shoes, I’d be angry, too.”

  “What about? Isabelle’s and Adrian’s engagement was a farce from the start. It wasn’t as if she had any real claim to him. You should have heard how disparaging she was every time she talked about him,” Jo answered heatedly. “Besides, what was I supposed to come clean about? A few hugs and kisses? We only discovered that we had fallen in love just before he left. Apart from a few postcards and one or two letters, I hadn’t heard from him since then. So what exactly was I supposed to confess to her?”

  “Well, if that’s the case . . .” Lilo frowned. “Then why is Isabelle getting so upset?”

  Josephine swerved to dodge a pothole. “I have no idea. I never thought that Isabelle would be offended. I thought she’d be happy for me.”

  “Maybe it’s just the timing. A lot of women riders get pretty overwrought right before a race. Isabelle’s been quite prickly over the last few days, don’t you think?”

  “Does that surprise you?” Jo replied. “With all the pills and stuff that Leon’s been giving her . . .” She shook her head. Of course, she had tried a few of the miracle pills herself, but she’d lost all sense for her own body. Unable to feel whether she was close to exhaustion or not, she had pushed herself much too far, and it taken forever for her to regain her strength. It had been a frightening experience.

  Lilo raised her eyebrows. “Isabelle is taking a little dope?”

  “More than a little,” Jo replied and picked up the pace.

  They rode into Kalundborg, where the first checkpoint had been set up by the harbor. Jo was rapt as she looked at the first stamp in her booklet. How lovely it would look when all fifteen stamps were in it!

  Susanne and her group had passed the checkpoint a good half hour earlier, they discovered. Lilo and Jo exchanged a look. The Dane really seemed to be in a class of her own.

  Jo decided to continue on. Lilo opted to stay and find a bathroom and catch up with her later. When Josephine saw Irene pull up alongside her, she sighed. Oh, here it comes, she thought. The nagging questions, the arrogant remarks, and—

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you about my brother,” said Irene.

  Jo glanced at her sideways in surprise. “Well, you know . . .” she began, without actually knowing what she wanted to say.

  Leaning low over the handlebars, Irene grinned back at her. “Forget it. It can’t be any worse than the thought of having Isabelle for a sister-in-law. Who knows, maybe you and I will get along famously one day?” There was certainly a dose of sarcasm in her voice, but she did not sound angry.

  “Who knows?” Jo said with a smile, enjoying the tailwind that carried them along the coast as if on the wings of angels.

  With the wind came an inner lightness. What kind of merciful fate was it
that allowed her to take part in this race? Breathing deeply, Jo took in the open countryside and the deep blue of the water beyond.

  “Magnificent, isn’t it?” said Irene, and her usually arrogant voice sounded almost humble.

  Jo nodded but said nothing. She felt an unpleasant dryness in her mouth. When she tried to gather enough spit to swallow, she couldn’t do it. A slight dizziness came over her, and her bicycle wobbled and nearly slid off the road. What’s going on? Concentrate! Jo coached herself. Then she realized she’d forgotten to drink. Frightened by her own carelessness, she dug her flask out of a pocket and drank almost half the water in one gulp. A quarter of an hour later she felt better and decided to eat a roll before her hunger got to her as well.

  A good hundred and fifty miles after the start of the race, Josephine, Irene, and an Englishwoman who had joined them reached Vordingborg, the southernmost point on the route. For all three riders, the race so far had gone well. They had managed to keep up a steady, brisk pace without burning up too much energy. Lilo pedaled into town shortly after they arrived.

  “What do you think? Want to keep going?” Lilo asked.

  Josephine considered what to do. Thanks to the tailwind, she was not feeling especially exhausted, so she set off with Lilo and Irene for Køge, where Charles Hansen had set up a support station and made sleeping arrangements for the riders.

  Darkness settled over them, and they had to light their gas lamps to be able to see the road ahead.

  Thirty miles on, Jo’s legs began to feel heavy. She had eaten all her bread and drained five water bottles. All she could think about was some hot soup. After another twenty-five miles, Josephine rode down toward Køge Bay. It was eleven o’clock at night, and she desperately hoped that the catering station hadn’t packed everything away for the night. Her legs were heavy and stiff, and she knew she couldn’t ride another mile. If she didn’t get something to eat, she would probably have to give up . . .

  When the church tower where the checkpoint was set up came into view, Josephine felt both relief and a sense of elation. This only increased when she saw Adrian standing beside the station.

  “So? How do you feel? You’ve got more than a quarter of the course behind you. Isn’t that fantastic?” Without waiting for her answers, he went on to tell her which riders had arrived in Køge and when. Susanne Lindberg and her team had gotten there first, of course, followed by Isabelle and Leon. Leon was giving a journalist an interview even as Adrian spoke. All the other riders were grabbing a few hours of sleep.

  Josephine’s legs were shaking so much that she could hardly hold herself upright. But Adrian’s enthusiastic descriptions gave her a little surge of strength. His cheeks glowed with excitement, and in his eyes Jo saw a dozen different emotions: respect for the racers, enthusiasm for the sport, the pleasure of being able to experience the comradeship of the riders, if only from the side of the road. And, of course, a little melancholy.

  “We’ve already changed horses three times, but you’re still on the same bicycles, an amazing feat! And your time is great, Jo. If you keep on like this, you’ll be one of the first to cross the finish line,” he said with genuine pride.

  “That’s going to change if I don’t get something to eat and soon. Because I’ll die on the spot like a flogged horse,” she replied with a laugh. Wobbling a bit, she joined the short line that had formed at the food table. The soup smelled enticingly of beef and potatoes, and Josephine’s stomach growled audibly as the servers filled her soup bowl to the brim. She grabbed a few rolls and added two sweet pastries to the top of the pile.

  Adrian had spread a blanket on the grass in the shelter of the church wall. A flaming torch that was stuck in the ground beside the blanket gave off a warm light, and the church wall still radiated the warmth of the day’s sun. With a sigh, Jo lay back on the blanket, while Irene and Lilo took their food into a barn that Charles had rented for the riders a short distance away.

  Never in Jo’s life had any soup tasted that good. Never had a roll been so delicious. Jo ate everything down to the last crumb. Full and content, she leaned against Adrian’s shoulder and was suddenly so tired that she dreaded the idea of getting back on the bicycle.

  “Sleep a little,” said Adrian, spreading his arms out gently. “I’ll wake you up in four hours, I promise.”

  After a long and deep farewell kiss, Jo pedaled on toward Copenhagen.

  She didn’t mind riding alone. The taste of Adrian’s lips rode with her.

  Copenhagen. The starting point was not the end of the race, not by a long shot. She wasn’t even halfway through the course! After their initial departure from Copenhagen, the riders then had to ride a northern loop of ninety miles that would bring them back to Copenhagen. That would mark the halfway point. Then they would ride the entire route a second time.

  The halfway point . . . If only I were already there, Jo thought, pedaling away, her legs still feeling stiff.

  After half an hour, Jo found her rhythm again. Unlike most of the other women, Jo was used to riding in the dark. And though she had enjoyed riding with Lilo and Irene, it was equally pleasant to ride alone. The air was filled with the scent of the sea and the weeds with yellow flowers that sprouted along the side of the road in thick tussocks. It was a clear night, dry and not too cold—one could not ask for better conditions.

  The sky began to grow light again shortly before six. As soon as she could more or less see again, Jo switched off her bicycle lamp to conserve gas—a mistake, as it turned out. It was difficult to detect variations in the road surface in the faint dawn light, and Jo hit a rock as big as her fist. The impact was so hard that she nearly lost her grip on the handlebars. That was lucky, she thought as she got over the shock.

  A little farther on, the road curved sharply to the left. When Jo squeezed the brakes, nothing happened. The impact with the stone must have a knocked off a brake pad. In a panic, she took both feet off the pedals and tried to slow herself down by dragging them on the ground, which was only partly successful. She took the curve dangerously fast, but she made it through safely and then let the bicycle roll to a stop on the straight stretch that followed. She climbed off with a sigh and lit her lamp again—she would need every bit of light she could get for the repair.

  The collision with the stone had, in fact, knocked one of rubber brake pads off the front brakes. She had thought of everything except replacement brake pads! First she forgot to drink, then to eat. And now this! How many more mistakes would she make? Jo set about removing the remaining rubber block from its holder. She was in the process of cutting it into two equal halves with the pocketknife when she heard voices behind her. But it was not the hoped-for carriage with Adrian and Gerd Melchior and his mobile workshop.

  “Need any help?” asked Leon as he pulled up beside her.

  “Thank you, but I’ll manage,” replied Jo, refitting one half of the brake pad into the holder on the left. The other half would go onto the right.

  “Really? I’d be happy to give you a hand,” said Leon. He gestured placatingly toward Isabelle, who was waiting impatiently a short distance ahead.

  Jo nodded. “I only lost one pad. But you know the old trick: make two out of one! I’ve already done it. Now I just have to tighten it against the stop, and off we go.” She looked around for a stone that she could use as a makeshift hammer to bend the brake holder so that she wouldn’t lose the rubber block a second time.

  “Well, then . . . safe journey!” said Leon, obviously not entirely convinced that she really knew what she was doing.

  “Help yourself,” Isabelle called back to Jo scornfully. “You’re good at that.”

  Jo watched sadly as Isabelle rode off. A few minutes later she swung back onto her bicycle and continued on.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “Did you have to stop for that traitor?” Isabelle hissed as soon as Leon had caught up with her. “Helpful as ever, pah! She’ll thank you with a knife in your back, just wait.”


  Leon looked at Isabelle with amusement. “I really don’t know why you’re getting so upset. Just because Josephine fell in love with one of your former beaus? What would you have done with a cripple anyway?”

  Adrian a cripple. Deep in her heart, Isabelle felt a pang of sympathy, but she swatted it away like a fly. “Adrian used to be a first-class rider. It serves them both right that his career’s over.”

  “Spite doesn’t suit you, chérie,” said Leon with a sigh. “Would it bother you if I rode ahead a bit? I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t catch up with Susanne and her troop before Helsingør!”

  “So you’re going to leave me in the lurch now, too? Then take off, go!” said Isabelle, flicking her hand at him uncharitably.

  When Leon really did accelerate and ride away, she didn’t know whether to be happy or sad about it. She pedaled on, feeling hollow.

  Why was she taking the news of Josephine and Adrian’s relationship so personally? She had embarrassed herself thoroughly with her performance on the eve of the race. And her behavior just now hadn’t been exactly sporting, either.

  Why did she even care? Was it the feeling that she had been excluded? Betrayed? Was it the ignominy of knowing that Adrian couldn’t love her but could love Josephine? Or was it the intimacy, the deep, mutual understanding that the two of them radiated? They obviously just wanted to parade their great love in front of everyone. Well, to hell with that!

  The road curved sharply to the left, and Isabelle only leaned into it at the last second. After several miles of straight road, she had not been prepared for a turn like that. Her heart pounding, she pedaled on.