This is also Easter week. Over the past three years as a result of a spring Classics race program I’ve come to really savor my time in Belgium during this particular slot of time on the calendar. Weather over these years has been generally agreeable so that the daffodils are budding, colorful Easter decorations are everywhere – but in a warm welcoming sense, as opposed to the abrasive Christmas decorations spotted in September; plus especially on the sunny days as we wind through Kortrijk, there is a friendly buoyancy in the air.

Today also marks ten years since my dad’s stroke which occurred March 23, 2003. As he says with his fondness for all things nautical, it’s the day that took the wind out of his sails. Homeward bound and driving north on the New Jersey turnpike from a collegiate bike race, I remember the exact feeling I had as I heard the news that Dad was in the hospital. Like a swift punch to the gut taking the wind out of me, I literally couldn’t breathe.

I can recount most of where I’ve been on each March 23rd for the past decade. Where my mind grows fuzzy, I scroll through past training logs for an easy and exact reminder. Cycling has clearly characterized the past ten years of my life since every single one of those March 23rds featured a big training day with the exception of 2007 when there was a number pinned to my back and I was racing Redlands.

With inclement weather churning outside and feeling as if it’s still the dead of winter, today has just had a very strange cloud hanging over it. My mind is spinning somewhere, everywhere, and nowhere all at the same time. Which somehow is a bit like riding the trainer, therefore going literally nowhere on a rest day for 41 minutes, sandwiched into the most animated week of bike racing of the year.

My thoughts today always turn back to Dad, both my incredible parents, my entire family, and what we’ve been through the past ten years. It’s impossible for me to describe what it’s like living with a brain injury, but as the son of a brain injury survivor all I can say is that it changes everything: the emotional, the physical, the mental. Every day presents its challenges back home – imagine injecting Novocain into the entire left side of your body rending it numb, next put a sock over your left hand to remove nearly all acute dexterity, and now go about your day, your year, your life. It’s a silly comparison, but likely as literally accurate as I can offer.

What’s incredible is that while a stroke often and easily tears families apart, there is still every bit as much love and support in our family as before – in fact, I would say more. After some troubling periods, Dad has come to graciously accept all that’s transpired. In fact, talking with my parents who are back home in New Hampshire this morning, he announced that he is as happy as he has ever been in his life. My parents are an incredible source of inspiration and resolute determination. It’s therefore flipping through these training logs and seeing the places I’ve been all across the globe each Easter week – with considerably more away from my family than with – that I recognize all the more how much support they truly provide.

Hopefully someday soon this frigid, dank weather will lift across the European continent and we can race in conditions more suitable to short sleeves. Tomorrow’s Gent-Wevelgem has already been shortened and there’s talk of postponing it or canceling it outright because of the weather. I’m absolutely focused on the race at hand, but will still be thinking about my entire family today, tomorrow, yesterday, and always. While the wind howls outside right now, the proverbial breeze is steadily picking up, putting life back into dad’s sails.

I hit the road two days ago and will be a nomadic cyclist for, umm… a while. Fresh back from the first training camp for the 2013 season in Tuscany in mid-December, I embraced a scenic, white Christmas in New Hampshire before jetting out to the bay area of California. I’ll set up shop here for not quite a week, then come early January I’ll spend nearly ten days in sunny SoCal, complete with a bold and brash team presentation for the new Cannondale Pro Cycling, followed by travels to Argentina where I’ll have my second go at the Tour of San Luis, and then onto Europe for my spring campaign which runs through Paris-Roubaix. No moss grows under my feet, which is a weird expression, although I suppose it’s literally true so I’ll go with it.

Home sweet home for the holidays was exactly that. In recent years I can be found returning stateside from team camps about 48 hours before Christmas, which is a surefire way to be unjolly and brimming with stress. So it was a peaceful alternative when we were wheels down in Boston a full 10 days prior to Christmas, and it was merely three hours later that I donned my most festive yuletide apparel and was off to the first Christmas party of the season.

“Ho Ho Ho” indeed.

Mind you, that vest is reversible to a plaid green and white which is twice as amazing as it sounds.

A few other holiday parties filled my time home, in addition of course to riding my bike a’plenty. In two weeks home I was on the trainer a mere trio of days and the rest was a mix of neoprene, Gore-Tex, and sweet fenders. The trip home also provided a mirthful Christmas at my aunt and uncle’s house in Portland, ME. At every family holiday gathering, aunt Betsy provides some table-side party favors that are highly entertaining and in all likelihood made in China. My earphone-earmuffs were a hit this year, but the real crowning jewel to the dinner festivities were Dad’s stick-on mustaches which he generously shared with his two boys.

Goodness, if we three Kings don’t look regal and distinguished then I don’t think anyone does!

From there it was onto Wednesday and with just 364 days until next Christmas I had a smashing day on the bike. That was followed by a delicious home-smoked dinner of salmon and pork ribs, and while I can’t make the direct connection and I’m vehemently not pointing fingers at anyone involved, I then had a very unsavory 12 hour bout of food poisoning. Thank the good Lord I recovered miraculously because the next day, Thursday, was Mom’s birthday. And for goodness sake, if I’m going to be on the road as much as I am, I sure as shootin’ better be a good son and be home for Mom’s birthday. So I was.

When it’s written in cursive and in chocolate, you know it’s sincere! Even if they forget to cross the “t” and dot the “i”.

(Another sign of sincerity is when your two sons take you to one of New England’s finest eateries, Arrows Restaurant. You’re the BEST Mom! I love you and happy happy birthday… again.)

Yet another high point in this snowy time home was trying to remove my car from the driveway. A mere 4 inches of snow fell one day, but then it was topped by a crusty layer of rain and ice. My new snow tires didn’t stand a chance to such treacherous conditions. In an hour of shoveling, pushing, and tractor pulling (no lie), we finally got my car out of our 1% gradient and 100 foot long driveway. (That awesome noise you hear is the tractor idling in the background, waiting to give her snow-chained all.)

There is, of course, this YouTube masterpiece which is precisely what I was trying to avoid. Which we did, thankfully.

Well, life on the road continues and while I should wrap up this post right now, I’ll just say that from time to time I like to jump into my Way-way-back-machine and reminisce the days of yore. There’s this, for example – I decided that after having what feels like lived out of a suitcase for a few years, despite having apartments in various countries throughout my career, it was time to decorate my plastic’y, wheeled home with some housewarming accoutrements and make it really feel like proper digs. I’m still a huge fan of Santa Clause hanging out on my roof with Steve’s submission to that contest.

Okay, time for more adventures. Tootle-oo!

In my humble opinion, the bad idea of the day is to run 50 miles. Off road. In the mud. At 6am. In sub-optimal weather. Over hill and dale and all throughout the Green Mountains of Ascutney, VT for the Vermont 50. Yuck, that sounds miserable.

BUT I’m not a runner. I’m a cyclist, so the idea of mountain biking those 50 miles sounded like an excellent off-season activity. After all, I had a title to defend. Better yet, I had family to see.

My crazy cousin Jay (father to a pair of those children above), his friend Amy (mother to the rest of those children above, myself not included), and about 548 of their good friends took part in the running portion of the Vermont 50. While I think that sounds horribly unpleasant, they both succeeded and had a smashing time in the process.

Backtracking a bit, my cousin’s family and their friend’s family rented a house nearby and made a sweet weekend getaway out of it. The fringe benefit of being their cousin is that I got to tag along. In an awesomely quirky mountain cabin, complete with stuffed dear heads, gazelles, puzzles, and a fire-pit, we had a great time. Plus I got to Vermont in time to see the crew above dominate the mini-run. 1 mile around Ascutney sounds like fun. Multiply that by 50 and that sounds less fun. But that’s just me.

Meanwhile, I woke up at 2:53am so that I could be fully digested and ready to roll at early hour of 6am. Waking up to rumbling thunder and fog and mist so thick that merely driving to the venue seems dangerous was an ominous start to the day. But upon arriving to the race, even before 5am, the energy and excitement of the additional 800 cyclists becomes downright palpable! Or maybe it was just the fog and the two dozen port-o-johns. Either way, people were stoked and so was I! With the ginormous help of the cannon atop my head at the pitch-black hour of 6am under, I was able to take the lead early and carry that momentum to an overall smashing race win… as well as the new course record.

Again, here I am with my adoring familial fans – Anna, Emma, Freddy, Paige, and Luke. (I’m the guy in the middle who is over 5′ tall.)

Oh, well worth the side note: the night before the race before going to bed, these amazing, 3-5 feet tall people performed a talent show. A dancing Luke, the three year old, took the cake in my book.

In addition to that record, I also took home a beautiful glass container of Vermont maple syrup from Top Acres Farm, a block of Vermont’s best known cheese: Cabot Private Stock Cheddar. Plus a pair of Vermont Peanut Butter’s jars of nutty excellence. (Actually that’s an exaggeration; I bought one jar the previous day at race registration – because I think VTPB does great things – but then I won another jar, so that pretty much made my day. If one is good, two are better.)

STRAVA! Plus a handful of well deserved KOMs if you ask me.

Another good idea is to take advantage of the 6am start as it pertains to the rest of your day. Namely, finish up the race a hair after 10am, soak up the limelight of having just won such a massive bike race, bask in the bike cleaning station and warm showers before they become caked in frigid mud, partake in a tasty sponsor beverage, enormous BBQ, and festive music, and STILL have time to drive 3 hours south to eastern Massachusetts and watch the nation’s coolest bike race, GP Gloucester! Take folks, take a page out of my book: you’re not living unless you’re living.

I wisely opted not to double-up and I therefore packed up shop and drove down to MA to watch Gloucester rather than race it. I don’t do well in muddy cross races and this was some of the finest mud America has to offer.

Let the off season adventures continue! Oh speaking of which, I have a really good idea for you…

Therefore when the stars align and the intricate schedules of six very good friends overlap for one special Saturday in July, this not only marks a reason to celebrate, but it serves as excellent reason to go for what amounts to two massive bike rides… in one day. Naturally, a two-for-one is the picture of efficiency.

Or the 200 Not On 100, clearly. Dang, you know it’s a decently large day in the saddle when it doesn’t even fit on this map.

I won’t repeat myself, so the full song and dance (that is, the reason why this ride came about) can be found here. This ride is simply a ride. Getting out with friends, tackling a head-slappingly long route, throw some requisite dirt into the mix, precede that with a road trip followed by late night antics the night before, toss in some of New England’s most scenic and historic roads, and you’ve got yourself a soul-ride. Racing bikes for a career is truly incredible and I’m humbled and blessed to be in that company. Massive soul rides like this, however, are one of the primary reasons why I ride a bike.

The 200NotOn100 gained plenty of regional and then national recognition. The day is characterized by a whole slew of mini stories, which collectively surround this special Saturday building it into what it ultimately became. One of my favorite of these stories is that of a Kathy and her family of four who caught wind of the original 200 on 100 ride and rode it over the course of five days with her husband and two young boys. Staying apprised of our 200 on 100 ride, which became the 200 NOT on 100, this Saturday they flew their plane from Massachusetts, took aerial photos of noteworthy segments of the route, found a landing strip on the course and were out emphatically cheering with posters in hand(!), before it was wheels-up and they flew on to Portland to be part of the “unofficial welcome committee.” Another great story is Rich who found us right after the ride’s high point on the Kancamagus Highway and with a special gift bag delivery of NH maple syrup and Moat Mountain tall boys to help prevent the mid-ride crack. Again with two very young children in arms. I reckon the word is getting out!

Chomping a Fluffernutter, Ryan graciously accepts the maple&Moat gift bag. Thanks Rich.

While not a charity ride, it has enormous potential to go in that direction – as is, in addition to the t-shirts we’re selling, we passed around a hat at the wicked post-ride BBQ and collectively have generated close to $4,000, entirely for the Colorado Red Cross.

Community. That’s what the ride is all about. It’s the cycling community in Colorado to which so many of us are connected. Moreover, the sense of community last Saturday rivals anything I’ve experienced on two wheels. A dozen riders before the sun was even up in Burlington joined us rolling out of Burlington, while plenty of riders latched on for five minutes or fifty miles. The reception upon our arrival at Scratch Baking Co. was phenomenal, including my family, childhood neighbors, my best friend, his wife, and newborn son, the incredible community inherently built around Scratch, the Healthy Kids Happy Kids Me organization, folks I’ve known from my local bike shop for a dozen years, supporters, fans, and a whole bunch of others. Cycling is a community like no other.

Oh, another noteworthy addition to the day was watching Andy and Dave roll into Scratch more than three hours later. These two intrepidly set out with us at 6am from Burlington, were dropped before mile 50, but kept on truckin’ to arrive in Portland at 8pm. Incredible. And now a photo montage.

Some groggy eyes at 5:58am.

Good morning. ilovermont.

VT farm roads veiled in morning fog.

Only time we touched last year’s route all day.

Chandler tucks into the draft to ensure he can make the full 200 miles via scoot’.

Watching Tim drink maple syrup at the 1/2 way point to dig out of the bonk inspires the mega-sammy: speculoos, Fluff, and maple almond butter. White bread, naturally.

Maybe I’m gaining something of a reputation for Fluff? Nearing the top of Bear Notch.

Ryan ain’t hallucinating yet.

Support staff and the 3 riders, 200 Not On 100 complete!

Burgers, brats, beers, and plenty of this. Recovery food, my friends.

Oh right, these guys rolled in three hours later. Andy and Dave, you’re a couple of heroes!

Community. Cycling is community. Thank you. Thank you family, supporters, folks who made the signs on the side of the road, mid-ride delivery crew, our sincere “Friends” at Skratch, Scratch Baking Co., Strava, Allagash, Cutaway, and our friends from Maine to Colorado. Be safe, be well. Thank you.

Yesterday, 3/23/2012 was E3-Harelbeke, a WorldTour pro ass bike race (to use NYVelocity vernacular). This rapidly raced bicycle lap around Belgium kicks off the biggest of the northern Belgian Classics thereby planting a firm stamp on the spring cycling season. E3 is one of the coolest names for a bike race, even if most people have no idea what E3 actually means. I’m sure even fewer can pronounce it correctly in its native tongue due to the heavy emphasis on phlegm producing noises to properly emit “Harelbeke” in proper Flemish.

Nine years ago yesterday, 3/23/2003, Dad Dr.Edward King, suffered a stroke changing his life in ways we never thought imaginable. I remember exactly where I was when I received this call that shattered my world, saying he was in the emergency room — ironic since the Exeter Hospital ER is his workplace in normal times as an orthopaedic surgeon (…Oh, and the New Jersey interstate highway, stopped at a tollbooth driving back home for spring break from a collegiate cycling weekend, since you asked).

March twenty-third is forever imprinted in our family’s history. While certainly not a blessing nor anything we would ever want, without that day we likely never would have been introduced to the Krempels Center nor the lengthy and ever growing list of people on Dad’s so called A-Team who have helped throughout his recovery. Not the retirement he ever expected, juicing lemonade from grotesquely sour lemons, among the list of accomplishments he is chasing the 2012 Paralympic team for disabled sailing, he’s downhill skied with decent regularity, hobbled around the tennis court, has been re-certified as a licensed driver, is a guest lecturer for occupational therapy students at UNH, and serves with the Brain Injury Association of NH.

Dad spits out illustrious insight every single day, which continues to boggle my mind. While I can’t remember what I had for dinner last night, Dad recalls poetry and information straight from the dictionary that he acquired in grade school. The complimentary adjectives I would use to describe Dad before the stroke run the gamut from lovingly supportive to laser-focused. Due to the events of March 23, 2003 I can now add to the list a particularly resilient side of my father I had no idea ever existed. He fights tremendously hard every day to get better and makes his sons, wife, family, and so many others incredibly proud.

Furthermore, the Krempels King of the Road Challenge would not have come about without this life changing event. Thanks to everyone who helps make this event a stunning success and here’s to an amazing 2012! (…including teammate Timmy Duggan, left, Dad right with #1, and that cool kid in the sporty shades in the background.)

If nothing else, give www.twitter.com/KingChallenge a follow on twitter and Like us on Facebook. Ciaooo.

-iaTK

I started off the year amid Italian style by witnessing my first man-purse in its native environment. That is, around a dude’s shoulder and placed securely by his hip. I was just so baffled that I had to snap this photo. This is in Sardinia at the first camp of the year.

How does one get to Sardinia? Some folks use modern technology and take the airplane, but those in the know take the motor-yachting ferry. I’m on a boat!

Won’t like, still have no idea what Vitamin Teddy C does. But given my middle name is Carrington, I’ve probably replied to someone calling me Teddy C at least once in my life. Apparently I’ve now been bottled in delicious capsule form, which stinks because I haven’t seen a single penny for this. (This is in an Italian grocery store, obviously.)

And now it’s time to get down to racing. Early in the season we kicked off some Giro di Sardegna. Yessir, back to the mythical isle of Sardinia.

The advantage of racing alongside the likes of Peter Sagan (dot com) is that he wins a lot of bike races. That generally quenches one’s longing for champers… or Prosecco if you race for an Italian team.

From one bottle to the next and from and one part of Italy to the next. This one is Tuscany in late February. The Tuscan grocery store sold StEEves Maples in their ethnic food section. Everything about this product made me happy.

And everything about this picture makes me happy too. Click, click, click, click… the sweet sound of metal cycling cleats on grocery store tile. Timmy and I are grocery shopping.

From Tuscany onto Tuscany. In particular I drove from camp in Tuscany to my Italian home of Lucca in Tuscany. Italian vistas provide very most excellent views.

Similarly, inside the Lucchesi walls there’s some excellent views to be had. This one in the Piazza dell’Anfiteatro.

About two towns away from Lucca is Collodi, the home of the author who once penned Pinocchio. More importantly, Collodi is the home to the world’s largest statue of Pinocchio. Titillating!

Speaking of big, THAT is one enormous piece of meat. There isn’t much scale to offer here, but the diameter on this pile of protein is at least a foot and a half.

Lucca at dusk. I’m going to say that this is about mid-March, if you care.

Rode my bike with some Americanos while in Lucca. Bjorn and Tejay lead the chase to the man with the massive fishing boots.

I green-thumbed a pretty righteous garden throughout the spring. It was a caprese salad just waiting to happen with basil and tomatoes as the centerpiece.

Following that bit of homespun agriculture, I arrived Belgium. And what do people think of when they think of Belgium? Yeah, this stuff. (Mind you, this photo is a Belgian airport, not a grocery store of bar.)

And when people aren’t thinking of beer when Belgium is on their minds, they’re likely thinking of flat, windy, farmlands. Perhaps something like this:

One advantage of professional bike racing is having mechanics to tend to all your needs. Saul, how’s my front end looking? Solid? Nice.

Tour of Flanders was my favorite of the super Belgian mega races. Paris-Roubaix was pretty wild too. Here Ben King chases a harried Ted King.

Jered Gruber is rumored to take good photos. I think he took this one. And if not, compliments to whoever did take it.

Following Paris-Roubaix, I returned stateside to prepare for the next round of bicycle racings. However even before that could happen, I made my way to Boston to see some friends and in doing so witnessed the Boston Marathon. This is somewhere in the latter section of the race when people are really suffering. As in… REAAAAALLY suffering. It was nearly as painful to watch as I’m sure it was to run.

Oddly enough I endured near summer-like weather in northern Belgium for the Classics, but then returned to New England to bask in late winter snow for the Milliman UV Epic ride of New Hampshire and Vermont. Here the diminished peloton slogs up the 23%, muddy incline (I took KOM honors on this climb, clearly. Soon after, I also took on a hot cocoa).

From New England, I set forth to CA to get ready for the Tour of California. Two weeks prior, in helping throw a birthday party with friends in Napa someone managed to snap this photo which truly shows that I rock the party that rocks the pinata.

Napa is obviously known for it’s wine and therefore picturesque vineyards. Here I am escaping that swarm of vehicles, workers, half drunk wine samplers, and other four wheeled beasts in order to seek out some quiet roads.

From Napa to Tahoe to acclimatize to racing at 7,000′, here I shared this hearty portion of raw fish wrapped in rice while up in Lake Tahoe. They apparently refer to this food stuff as Sushi.

More pre-ToCA bike practice, this time north of Tahoe at Donner’s Pass.

Here’s a day of riding around the lake with a good friend and teammate, Cameron Wurf. In this photo I’m playing with the camera’s settings and I’m highlighting his blues. Nice right sleeve Cam.

Team presentation, ToCA. I’m that handsome tall fellow in the middle waiting for Paul Sherwin to ask me about what it’s like being a handsome tall fellow.

Aaaaand of course all my hard work at altitude became moot when the snow cancelled the opening stage and a half.

Brad: “Ted, is that a neckgaiter?”
Me: “Yes it is Brad. This is called ironic foreshadowing. Wait until later in the year and you’ll see a much more stylish neckgaiter unleashed to the world.”

And instead of racing that first day, we rode the trainer in a parking garage at Squaw Valley.

Someone sent this photo of their computer screen. We won this stage with our speedster Peter Sagan. If you look really carefully at the screen, the computer shoes that I’m putting out a smoking million and a half watts.

California went swimmingly and from there I was off to Greenville, SC for the national championships. Aptly artistic chalk adorned the treacherous summit of Paris Mountain.

And then I was in a breakaway…

And then I didn’t win the race. I got 2nd loser. Cheers to that George!

Albeit blurry, I like this photo of my housemate for the majority of 2011, Tejay, and me exchanging a post race high five. Actually, more like a low or mid-five.

And that euphoria all came tumbling down when I went from national championships podium to the Philadelphia emergency room after cracking my shoulder in an unmarked crater on the race course. I later learned someone was attempting the hole to China. My loving parents made the trek to one of their first “big” races of my career only to accompany me to the hospital. Sheesh. Dad’s thumbs down brought a tear to my eye.

The only good news of such precipitous tragedies like broken bones is that I got to take my red socks to Maine. Vacationland is an apt state motto.

Beneath that sweet muscle shirt is the scar over the slab of metal holding my shoulder together. Maine gave me a chance to practice my sea legs. Here I am trimming the sheet on the high seas. Yaaargh! Ahoooooy!

Continuing the perpetual life on the road, it was also a good time to visit friends in Middlebury and go for a wicked awesome bike ride. If you find yourself in Middlebury, I recommend the Otter Creek Bakery. Regular mid-study-break jaunts to OC-Bakes were the best when I was once a college studying lad.

Around this time, my cousin practiced his artistry and drew this masterpiece. He’s on the top, clearly, because he is announcing that “I am not Ted King.” Meanwhile, festooned in appropriate attire, I’m at the bottom.

In unrelated news, I nearly was forced to bunnyhop this mythical prehistoric animal riding around New England. He snapped at me, so I took his photo.

I eventually made my way to the Naaawth Shaaaaw’ Wicked Not-Good-At-Golfing Tournament of Champions. Tim Johnson, left, practices his no sighted driving while growing a mustache, while Jeremy Powers tweets accordingly.

200 on 100 was a good way to make up for any lost base miles in this shoulder recovery. Hello Canada, I’ll be seeing Massachusetts soon!

Proper New England fuel for this quintessentially New England’y ride: 5lbs of Fluff and Fluffernutters.

Ta da! Arrival in Massachusetts. (And if you have 10 minutes, go spend them here.)

And if you have a heart and even an ounce of style, you can purchase this shirt which helps rebuild the flood ravaged and excellent state of Vermont.

From New England, Aspen seemed the best subsequent place to spend some time.

Some more Aspen. Actually here’s me on a mega ride scoping the roads from Aspen to Crested Butte.

A particular highlight of the USA Pro Cycling Challenge – or what should be called the Tour of Colorado – was my parents attending the race. Even a rainy, somewhat frigid day into Aspen with two trips over 12,000′ couldn’t quell my familial happiness seeing Mom and Dad being able to attend one of my races. You see, travel isn’t the easiest after Dad’s stroke, but they’re a mighty duo. Plus this made up for any poor showing at stupid Philly.

Next stop was up to Canada (eh?) and the duo of Quebec and Montreal. Known for my vicious sprint since I once upon a time won a sprint from about 800 meters out in a local New England spring classic many many (many) moons ago, I was selected to do the Sprint Challenge the day before Quebec.

With my road race season finishing up in mid-September, and with the itch to keep on racing given my bone healing mid-season absence, I dabbled in cyclocross. No big deal, but I got some UCI points in my first ever UCI race. I hear Sven Nys is nervous that I’m gunning for him at the World Championships this year. Anyway, here I am in the beer garden run-up at Gloucester. Don’t worry, I partook…

I went for a mega ride from New Hampshire to Portland, ME and then back home sometime this fall. It wasn’t quite a 200 on 100, but seven hours later, I was satisfied with my day. It also provided some nice New England photography.

The hard working people of Scratch Baking Co. That was the entire reason I went – for a bagel.

What better way to embrace the off season than with a bike trip to Chianti?! Here’s one of a million little Italian towns that date about a thousand years older than our mighty nation of America.

Here I am riding with my good friend and former teammate Joao. He put the F in FMT. Want some good food, wine, and maybe a bike ride or two? I’m serious: join FMT.

This fall marked the first ever Krempels King of the Road Challenge, my eponymous charity ride benefiting the Krempels Center. Timmy Duggan served as one of the keynote VIP riders so in this photo he and I are at a presentation to the Krempels Center explaining our exciting lives as bike racing bike racers to the media and members of the Krempels Center.

My best friend from youth, Matthew, took up bike riding four days before the KKotRC ride. He rode once, tapered for two days, then did the entire distance. The Cannondale shorts are nice, but better yet are the duct taped shoes. That just screams quality.

Ahh, good friends standing and good friends squatting semi-awkwardly after the Krempels King of the Road Challenge.

PATRIOTS game. Whoop! Thanks Matty T. They won, naturally.

And after all that, it finally was time to embrace the off season. So I bought a straw hat… aaaaand went to Hawaii. Not necessarily in that order.

Wow, Hawaii is nice.

The top of Mount Haleakala is mysteriously amazing. It offers the feeling comparable to being on the moon.

Hawaii to Mill Valley, just north of San Francisco. That there is called the Golden Gate Bridge. Side note: on a bet in 8th grade, my friend Jon and I did our science fair project on the subject of suspension bridges, and of course we showcased the GGB. Ironically we were the only group in the entire class who received an A.

The quickest swing through New England on record, coming in around 72 hours, included an off road Turkey Trot which I did not win. And better yet, Thanksgiving with an electric knife. Just like the Pilgrims used.

Meanwhile I made a Martha Stewart award winning pie. You simply cannot argue with height, and that meringue’y badboy is the better part of a foot.

Right back at it! Dominik (farthest), Timmy (stylish shades and hat), and I crammed into the back of the team car and were off to team meetings and camps in San Pellegrino and Sardinia. Rallying in the back of said car with three adults fitting into room presumably designed for two is less than awesome. Good thing we’re friends with each other or else that really would have sucked.

In between San Pellegrino and Sardinia, I actually managed to sneak back home to Lucca. Ho ho ho, Santa Clause is coming to town. This photo showcases the 750,000 people shopping in downtown Lucca as well as the Christmas lights. Very festive.

Sardinia: back to bike riding with 28 of my neon and blue clad best friends!

Also back to the proper Italian ways: (miniature) coffees and La Gazzetta dello Sport. Two peas hanging out in the same pod.

And from there back to my folks’ home sweet home. That can mean just one thing: thumb war with my dad. After three heated battles, it was a draw.

Perhaps even more exciting than thumb war, my return to America also marked the debut of the iamnotTedKing neckgaiter. With just a hint of irony, the iamnotTedKing neckgaiter is a versatile thing of beauty. If you don’t own one yet AND you don’t live in Hawaii or southern California/Arizona/Florida, well by golly you’re wasting your own time.

I think it’s more than just convenient circumstance that camp ends two days before Christmas… I think it’s so that we can be home FOR Christmas. That would make sense. So this photo is at our festive Christmas dinner. I have a Christmas sweater, an ever-growing white person’s afro, and a loving family. All three of which are excellent. Ho ho ho!

You see this? That’s snow on the road in a photo taken the day after Christmas. I love snow and I love being in my home state of New Hampshire and I love winter and I love bike riding. I just don’t necessarily love doing all of those things at the same time.

So where am I now? Sunny Santa Barbara of course. Mid-January of 2012 marks the start of my race season and it’s time to ramp up the training. New England is quaint and amazing and all, but late December isn’t the nicest in the weather department. In related news, much like the next cyclist, I love a good Chipotle buttiro. But now that I have bona fide Mexican food right at outside my door, this el pastor burrito is a billion times more authentic and just about as big.

And lastly, I brought in the new year with a dinner at a local seafood joint. I shared a “Two Tiered Seafood Tower” which was like whoa. It included sea urchin. I’m fairly certain we can agree that new years isn’t new years without a proper, raw sea urchin.

Pretty much sums it up in random photographic excellence. Over and out.

Allow me to digress.

Dear old Dad.

The worst day of my life was March 23, 2003.

My father, Dr. Edward W. King – also familiarly known as Ted – was a prominent orthopaedic surgeon in New England, an avid skier and sailor, a truly brilliant man, and the exemplary pillar of the King family. He woke up that particular morning suffering a stroke. Our lives were immediately thrown into the blender and have been forever changed.

While every day since that fateful date is a challenge, Dad has been piecing his life back together as best he can. The support group around him – spearheaded unequivocally by Mom – is indescribably helpful. One of the best outlets we have found is the Krempels Center, which Dad attends three days per week in Portsmouth, NH. This non-profit organization is aimed at bettering the lives of adults with brain injury whether it by by stroke, traumatic brain injury (TBI), or tumor. In partnership with universities and community volunteers, the Krempels Center offers programs that engage members in meaningful and productive experiences and provides ongoing support and resources to those impacted by brain injury. This community of brain injury survivors as well as the support group built around these individuals is absolutely incredible and unlike anything I’ve witnessed ever before.

I’ve teamed up with Loco’s Cycling and the Krempels Center to create the Krempels King of the Road Challenge, a full day family cycling event (not a race) open to all ages and abilities on October 15. The entire King family will be there, yes Dad included, taking part in the riding events. With music, food (ahem, beer garden), and an enormous expo afterwards, the first annual Krempels King of the Road Challenge promises to be an incredible event.

As a first year event like this, we’re looking for participation across the board. Riders, riders, riders, come one, come all! Again, we stress that this is not a race. This is a fun, family event with three different distances to cater to all abilities and is open to all ages.

Registration for the event is here.

And while it is certainly not required, but if you can create a team and draw one, two, twenty, or fifty or more riders to join your team, that obviously only helps the event. But the event starts with you, the individual, so start by registering today.

My personal fund raising page is found here. If you can’t make the event, your donation of any amount whatsoever is the best, simplest, and most beneficial way you too can be instrumentally involved in the first annual Krempels King of the Road Challenge.

Sincerely,

Ted(dy) King

A bit of press for the event here.

Enough of that waxing poetic stuff! You want sappy? Then go read Family Circus.

In that post, I also happen to allude to the fact that I had fifteen minutes of restfulness before restlessness set in. Let’s delve into a somewhat typical day over the course of the past month. Hold onto your pantaloons my friends, because there’s no rest for the weary!

This particular day was a Thursday and it begins with me spryly leaping out of bed to brew up some coffee. No exaggeration whatsoever, coffee still brings enormous joy to the start of my day. The routine of it all – grinding the beans, deciding and executing the method of brew (French press, standard drip machine, espresso… maybe cutting straight to the chase and eating the beans), impatiently waiting for the good stuff while mindlessly doing something else – yeaap, it’s the routine of making coffee that makes me as happy as anything else. Okay sure, drinking seems to provide me with a buzz as well, but truly there is something wonderfully calming and reassuring in the process of making of the coffee. LOVE.

Now properly en route to caffeination, it’s probably a hair after 7am. Perhaps needless to say, I’m an early riser. While not necessarily into an obsolete taxon used by Carolus Linnaeus and Jean-Baptiste Lamarck for all non-arthropod invertebrate animals per se, the early bird gets the worm.

I’m trying to hone Italian, or maybe learn is a better word, so the next forty five minutes is occupied by keenly studying Rosetta Stone. With my Italian now coming along bene, and while still on the computer I’ll tackle the one to one-hundred emails filling my inbox. Some fun, some back and forth banter, and some downright business related. You can use your imagination and fill in details there.

With the clock ticking towards 9am, it’s time to get some exercise. I’m a new user of the TRX so with a brief joggy mcjog and then some dynamic, plyometric-style movements to funky beats in the garage, I’m feeling strong and nimble in no time!

Despite being merely mid-morning, it’s never too early to be thinking about dinner. It the freakin’ off season after all, so indulging in some fine foods is the only way to go. Tonight’s dinner is pulled pork, which doesn’t take all that much effort, but is a long, low-heat, braising style process that takes some decent foresight. Sugar and spice and everything nice plus one pork butt later, that was in the oven and it’s now time to whip out a two hour ride.

Continuing to ride first-class on the productivity train, my two hour ride includes a swing by the post office and the bank. One delivery, one bank deposit, and about thirty riding minutes later, I then visit the LBS to discuss the impending cyclocross race that will be both excellent and awesome. As it turns out, carbon tubular wheels are a helpful addition to one’s quiver of bicycles especially in a ‘cross race, so very unworthy but quite unbegrudgingly, I accept a pair of carbon wheels and spend the next half hour critiquing the installation technique of said wheels (mind you, I have no installation technique myself, so whatever they’re doing, they’re doing it better than I ever would).

From here, it’s a fifteen minute sprint home followed by an hour on the lawn mower. I’ll remind you of these gems just to assure you that I am both a) safe and b) a prolific lawn mowerer. As any tried and true New Englander knows, autumn is beautiful with it’s majestic swath of colors (yup, I just said that) but it’s also the backbreaking time to rake, pick up, and mulch leaves. I opted for the third of these methods and therefore spent an hour on this particular fine day making a powder out of freshly fallen leaves. This was preceded by some more ’round the house work for Mom and Dad with a solid twenty minutes using the blower to shuttle leaves off the deck, off the patio, and into TO-BE-MOWED territory.

By now it’s lunch time and a quick, delicious, and salad ensues. You might say that a salad isn’t nearly enough, but if you saw the size of the salad, you’d think I’m serving a family of four. Nay, this is for a voracious eater of one, namely me. I also house a can of sardines, which are delicious and bursting with omega fatty acids. Being home and in the kitchen, I’m now able to tend to my pulled pork – which means the laborious three second task of flipping it over – and then head out the door to run more errands. A separate visit to a bike shop, back to the original LBS to pick up my tubies, and a swing through the grocery store. Next I meet a friend at a coffee shop where I briefly consider having a cup of decaf, but then right my ways and have a real cuppacoffee. It’s good to catch up for a bit before it’s time to head home.

With family friends on their way for dinner, I’m asked to make a dessert. Impressively, these friends are coming with the goal of making dinner for us (now that’s service!) so the pulled pork will come out of the oven but continue to steep in its own delicious and spicy juices for dinner tomorrow night. So I whip up the most amazing batch of homemade brownies that I’ve ever eaten with the secret ingredients being dark chocolate chips and about 3/4 teaspoons of cinnamon. Do it. DO IT.

While that’s baking away, I hack out a dozen emails, and then FINALLY have a bit of time to relaaaaaaaax. Nice glass of wine, kick it with the family, hang with these good family friends, and then enjoy an incredible cioppino dinner created by the fam’ friends who began their day in Maine including plucking fresh Maine mussels from within the shallow depths of the Atlantic Ocean. Wow.

And yes, that was complimented by decadent dark chocolate spice brownies.

So there you have it, youarenotTedKings of the world. Welcome to a day in the life of yours truly. Maybe interesting or maybe not, but it goes to show that we cyclists are more than a one-dimensional strictly bike racer type. Or else that idle hands make the Devil’s work, so I may as well stay busy.

Pedaling, standing, sprinting, and most other movements related to bike racing continued to open the tear, so that by race’s end, I was literally moments away from incidentally bearing the full monty.

Based on how many friendly comments I’ve received on the subject, however, I’m proud to say my bum is on the computer desktop backgrounds of many cycling fans the world over. And THAT is the best Mothers’ Day gift a Mom could ever ask for.

And now the smoothest pick up line out there. I swear 50% of the time, it works every time…

“Nice bum, where ya from?”

Thank you! Thanks for a fun off-season back in my homeland of America. It’s been an excellent trip, a restful time, a time full of bodacious adventures, and an all-in-all fun time. So let’s recap with a photo montage, shall we?

Golf outing (yes, that’s a safari inspired shirt).

Not one, but two Red Sox games (including the final game of the season, where they lost dramatically to the Angels).

Bonfire on the beach. Ethan is housing a piece of wood to fuel the fire.

Then off to Toronto to hang with the fine folks at Cervelo! L to R: me, Dominique, and Heinrich are doing a little publicity at a local bike shop.

From Toronto to Vegas for my first ever Interbike. I think I was there for about 46 hours total and slept about 8 hours in that period of time.

The inaugural Boston Mayor’s Cup Criterium was a huge success! (Except when I finished 4th and not 1st.)

I participated in the Dempsey Challenge in early October. Front and center are Rich and George Hincapie and Patrick Dempsey. The event was a blast for everyone involved, from the VIPs to riders, runners, walkers, the organization, and Patrick himself.

La Festa… wow, wicked yum.

Off to Vermont to see my friends the Dan4ths and partake in Middlebury’s homecoming. “Coach” is up in the tree installing a pretty fantastic rope swing. Do NOT try this at home, kids.

I did a speaking event at Landry’s. Thanks to everyone who came out and a special thanks to Mark for hosting the event and Richard to emceeing like a champ.

In late October Robbie and I took in a Patriots game. Or more like, we took in a blizzard which happened to coincide with a Pats game. This picture doesn’t do it justice – we got about a foot of snow… in October!

My adventures continued out in Boulder where I spent most of November. Frank and I are discussing how to summit this ferocious peak. (I think we settled on snowshoes and continued hiking.)

Thanksgiving at Kathy and Jim’s was a blast as always. Lots of family in attendance always makes the holidays special. So does a smoked turkey in the BBQ. Deeeee-licious.

Wine Club 2.0 was nothing short of excellent. Here’s a homemade flatbread.

Next stop, Santa Barbara. Nearly perfect weather for 3 straight weeks made for a good reintroduction to a normal training regiment.

…of course, it would all even out when I got back to New Hampshire to see the fam. Sun and warmth in CA is quite the stark contrast to snow and snow and snow and cold of NH.

Mom’s birthday and Christmas were two massive highlights of being home! This may turn off some of you animal lovers out there, but as I’ve mentioned in the past, we four Kings are a family of gourmands, so Dad gave us all a morsel of fois gras as a special Christmas gift. We enjoyed it immensely.

Many more adventures occurred, but some didn’t make the cut, others didn’t happen to have a camera handy by, and others simply need not mentioning.

Thanks again to all… And now I’m off to Europe!

Love,

Teddy