After an all too speedy but successful swing through New England after the spring Classics of which you can see the highlights in this brief photo essay, I hopped aboard a plane bound for the crisp, thin air of Colorado.

Tour of California is next on the racing horizon, so an amalgamation of friends, family, and ample New England training in late April provided me the opportunity to press-and-hold what I call the Life Reset button. Thoroughly brought back up to speed on life, backed mail, and bills, plus it brought me here to the Centennial State. The first few days upon Coloradan touchdown, I was with my aunt and uncle, with whom I lived briefly back in 2001 when I had a few months of relaxing, outdoorsy reprieve before starting college. So not exactly parents to me, they’re superb people whom I know and love and like to pretend to call my three-months surrogate parents. Back then in aught-one, I soaked up the mountain life and continued to cement Colorado in my mind as an excellent place to someday call home — that is, when I hang up my bike and move more permanently out of my suitcase. Ahh, someday…

So now thoroughly lost in the time warp that I’ve unfolded to you above, fast forward to last week, the weather was stellar here in Colorado those first few days, the training was stunning as testament to my laser precise tan lines, which had previously long been hidden by the arctic freeze across Europe all spring. Here I am soaking in natural excellence near the very top of Flagstaff.

This being spring in Colorado, they’ve already received their standard alternating snowy dump/beautiful weather/blizzard/stunning weather that’s characteristic of this area the past month or two. Thinking that this was now out of the system — especially with the last storm less than a week ago dropping a foot of snow in Boulder — it came to some as a surprise that there was another big’n in the forecast.

Because it’s been so frigging freezing across Europe the previous six months, I finally had my first hard effort amid 70 degree heat which resulted in acidic sweat burning my eyes. It hurt so good. So that happened one day and then I woke up to this the next day. Please note Timmy front and center out for a morning hunt with Karli:

Let me toss in the reminder that this is Colorado Awesoming, so how does one make limeade from these limes? I hung out with my cousins by road tripping it to Denver to speak to my cousins’ 2nd and 3rd grade class. It’s hilarious speaking to really well versed seven and eight year olds as found here in the fittest state in the nation, Colorado. For example, when one of these adorable kiddos politely raises his hand when I am telling the crew about the “Tour of Colorado” by correctly explaining that it’s the “USA Pro Cycling Challenge”… now that’s a kick.

Cousin Billy, with his radical bleach streaked hair and his ear to ear grin, is just a little bit stoked that he got to bring me to school for Show-and-Tell.

It’s not just fun and games and making excuses when there’s a blizzard spewing outside. Back to Boulder and back to the office.

And, of course amid Colorado Awesoming, one day later we had a bit of this cloudless sky and brisk perfect training weather.

And on a side note, I also met Justin’s of Justin’s Nut Butter fame. He’s the frigging man, so I’m mildly star struck in this photo. The King of Nut Butters meets the King of… iamtedKING. The entire operation at Justin’s is outstanding — their original farmers’ market to going big story, their ethics and ethos, and best yet their FLAVOR. Consider me a fan.

So I made some pulled pork not too long ago and hosted a big ol’ dinner. It wasn’t pulled pork in the southern BBQ sense, but more of a slow roasted, spicy carnitas recipe that we served with pico de gallo, some frijoles, and atop a tortilla. This was Mexican night in Girona. Ole!

I was asked for the recipe for this carnitas/pulled pork, but I don’t have a rote, verbatim recipe. Instead, what follows below is my stab at pulled pork. And since I was asked for the recipe on no few than two occasions but the diners on hand, I trust it was at least palatable. Ready? Cook!

Tedwardo’s Spicy (but not too spicy) Carnitas Deliciosos:

In a nutshell it’s: dry rub, sear, cover and bake sloooowwwww and looowwwwww, then sauce, and shred.

Dry rub recipes you can find online. I usually look at a half dozen and then wing it. Salt, pepper, cayenne, paprika, garlic, brown sugar, maybe clove, cinnamon, cumin, allspice, etc. If you want sweeter, more brown sugar. If you like spicier, more red pepper.

Dry rub recipes are always insanely too large. If you follow the typical recipe, you’ll probably end up making enough for a BBQ once per week for the entire summer. Not that there’s anything wrong with that! Just a heads up. Furthermore it stores well since it’s just spices. Even if you “contaminate” it and have it touch the raw meat, just put the excess in a bag and freeze it. (And if it’s not contaminated, also freeze it. Just ’cause I said so.)

Next go buy a pork shoulder. Or “pork butt”. Or “Boston pork butt”. I don’t know why they have these names but surely Google does. This buying step is easier said than done in Spain than America. And now a brief story: I was at the big Red Market in Girona and I asked for a “pork shoulder please” (in Spanish, of course. I think “uno hombro de cerdo, por favor” was my request) and as I waited and my eyes drifted the other way, my adorable little old lady server pulled out AN ENTIRE HALF 200 POUND PIG out of the freezer! It was great. I casually responded, “Naw, that’s a bit large” and bought something 1/100th the size. That’s all just a heads up; if you ask for a pork butt, I imagine you’ll get the latter regions of tripe. And if you ask for a Boston pork butt, they’ll have no idea what you’re saying. Good luck.

I truly think any big piece of pork will do. But for sure ideally you have bone-in. More flavor, far less dry, well worth it.

I’ve had my best results when there’s an entire 1″ layer of skin/fat on half the cut. I chop most of that off to the best of my speedily ability. Again, just like the bone, leaving some on will keep it moist. Furthermore if you’re scared of fat, this entire thing cooks in the most miraculous fashion that the juices all fall to the bottom, TONS of fat falls to the bottom, then you later separate these two components and you have some delicious, super lean meat. Magic? Almost. Exquisite? Obviously.

Cut off obvious bits of fat too, in addition to that skin.

Next put the meat into a plastic bag and chuck in some dry rub. Ehh, probably a 1/2 cup of rub. Shake shake shake.

Put a pan on the stove and chuck it up to high. Get it hot. Then wait another minute so it can get even hotter. I don’t bother using oil but you can if you want. And if you do, make it smoke!

Delicately huck meat into the pan and after waiting a little while, roll it around so that all sides get browned. Maybe 90″-2′ per side. If it’s getting blackened that’s totally fine.

Next put the meat into an oven-capable pan and then into a preheated oven at about 250F. Save yourself some serious clean up and line the pan with aluminum foil. Then cover the pan and seal it best you can with more foil. Or a lid. Whatever.

I’m sure there’s a simple formula for time as a function of weight. If the meat is about 1/2 the size of a proper NFL football, then I reckon 8 hours. Or find a proper recipe and Google it. But I’m yet to find overcooking it to be possible. And undercooked pork is gross so don’t bother doing that.

Okay it’s now afternoon and your pork is done. Remove meat from pan and put all the liquid into some sort of liquid container dealie, relatively carefully. As in, don’t stir or try to mix the liquid or pour it unnecessarily fast. Just pour it into said container. To expedite things, put that into the fridge. Or don’t, frankly I don’t care. As the temperature drops, you’ll see the fat rising to the top and the succulent and spicy jus sinking to the bottom. It’s slightly gelatinous and totally amazing.

Let’s fire up the stove again and over medium-low heat we’re now going to make BBQ sauce. In a stove pan of whatever size you want, mix up ketchup, molasses, random dry rub spices, and a splash of liquid smoke if you’re awesome. Stir and let simmer a bit. Also, skim the fat off the contain I mentioned in the previous paragraph and put that rich, brown pork sauce drippings into the pan. Oh man, that’s the good stuff! Simmer for 5 minutes, 10 minutes, 1 minute, whatever.

With your cooked pork now cooled to room temperature, take a fork in each hand and shred it. You will find this step either incredibly tedious or incredibly satisfying. The meat should shread somewhat like a hot knife through butter. And if not, then you did something wrong and just give up now.

Once shredded, pour stove-top-BBQ-sauce-mixture (once you’ve tasted it and given it your nod of approval) over the shredded meat. I’ve found that I almost always have too little liquid. As in, it’s hard to over sauce it. Go nuts here cause the meat is now a sponge and sucks it all up.

Eat. Then eat more because as we recently discussed, it’s lean and therefore good for you.

As soon as a stage finishes, we’re quickly trying to escape the barrage of people pouncing on us for a bidon (that is, in France, they want a bidon, in Italy it’s boracha, in Belgium… well I guess they ask for bottles since they dabble in English there). With all due respect, we’re seeing cross-eyed after the day’s effort so smiling for cameras and being picked apart like indefensible meat from vultures to satisfy someone’s appetite free cycling swag doesn’t rate highly on our to-do list. Sorry to be crass. We’re tired.

Onto the bus and usually you’ll either chug a recovery shake or jump right into the shower, depending on if there’s a line. Some folks make their drink mix with soy milk or regular “white gold” from a tried and true cow udder, but I opt for water since I do a whey based protein recovery drink. It’s delicious, and especially sates my wary muscles.

A shower is a magical thing coming so quickly on the heals of a hard effort. To rinse the road grime off your wary body, out of your ears and eyes and nose is euphoric. Shower: done.

Soon the bus is rolling and we’re sorting our day’s laundry into bags. Soigneurs are a wonderful asset and will have these bags whisked away and into the laundry in no-time-flat upon arrival at the hotel. Their ability to remove a lot of the mindless chores that would otherwise take away from our time is invaluable. Thank you swannies! That goes on their laundry list (yes, pun intended) of things to do to pamper us as much as possible throughout the day/week(s).

There’s usually  (…hopefully) a bowl of some type of carbohydrate rich food waiting for us as the bus rolls towards the evening’s hotel. This being an Italian centric team, you can safely guess pasta will be available. Olive oil and salt make for great accompaniment. Thankfully they’ve been mixing it up this week, so potatoes and rice are also occasional options. We even had some rice intermixed with corn, peas, plus diced ham and cheese one day. T’was delightful if for nothing else than the variety.

The fridge has yogurt, all the water you could ever want, Coke, Fanta, and, well that’s it. Oh, one day I saw some iced tea. Actually there’s usually a quarter wheel of Parmesan cheese but taking a bite of that doesn’t sounds terribly appetizing. Fruit is usually bouncing around somewhere too.

Here’s a shot taken from the back of the bus, looking forward out the front window which captures a lot. You can see a teammate gnoshing a plate of food, we’re watching the end of Tirreno-Adriatico on TV, and we’re stuck in the maze of traffic as the exodus of cars winds out of the city center. Dirty laundry, towels, and anything else that looks misplaced is on account of us being treated like babies and the soigneurs will soon clean up after our mess. Have I said thank you yet? Grazie mille rigazzi!

Upon arrival, we’re immediately given our room assignments, by, you guessed it, a soigneur patiently waiting for us. I’ve been rooming with Argentinian awesome guy, Sebastian Haedo, new to the team this year. He’s always happy, forever smiling, and brings some good vibes to our room. Suitcases are waiting in each room – again, thanks to the swannies – and we’re given a massage right away or are second (or third) in line for a good rub. There’s an order of operations what pros prefer: massage, stretching, or a visit from the chiro. Massage is always available, stretching you can obviously do on your solo, and a chiro is occasionally available. I’m a massage-first kind of guy, with stretching and the super visit from a chiro in a dead heat. Unless there’s something clearly not right with my body, perhaps after a recent visit with the pavement. Then I’ll feel well tweaked and a good chiro session is in order.

There’s a food room belonging to one of the sougneurs. I can surely guess with about 98% accuracy which team is which based just on their food room. And surely with 100% accuracy the national origin of the team. Abundant (or absent) peanut butters, maple syrup, certain cereals, are all giveaways. The importance (ergo, cost) of olive oil is a serious indicator. And speculoos means the team is has a generous swanny or else the director hasn’t recently visited the food room to confiscate  (read: eat) it.

If I have any energy whatsoever, I’ll do some stretching and then it’s off to dinner, typically at 8pm. I’m not kidding about that; staying in bed often sounds luxurious as compared to standing up and stretching for three minutes.

Back to the room right around internet o’clock. Write a blog about recovery, go pass out for the evening because breakfast is at 8am.

And before I bid you farewell, I will note that I could talk about breakfast at length, but it’s now 10:07 and I’m amply exhausted. I did want to include a picture of breakfast though, because to this day, I still find it fascinating. Pasta for breakfast:

Some folks can do it, but I fervently try to avoid it. Which is why you see an empty bowl of oatmeal, previously occupied by oatmeal, yogurt, a banana, a few nuts, a spoonful of rice, and some raisins in the foreground. Yes that is mine and yes, that’s my Starbucks cup and empty Starbucks Via. Who else would I happily pay $1 for a cup of delicious, instant coffee? Funny enough, I would pay a lot of people that kind of money for such a product! But currently only Starbucks is pulling it off. Any other takers out there in the coffee world, I would pay you 10% over Starbucks to make a similar product! In the meantime, thanks SBUX. And the aforementioned main point of this photo: a heaping plate of pasta, olive oil, and a few scoops of Philadelphia cream cheese for my teammate, right. Breakfast!

I’m beat. See you tomorrow.

My hypothesis on the matter is that this country is simply so accustomed to hosting bike races, that they have since learned all the corners available to cut and therefore take full advantage of them. Let me explain.

I wouldn’t be a cyclist if I didn’t have a reason to complain (It’s too hot, it’s too cold, the transfers are too long, the blah blah blah is blah blah blah…), but I ask you to please try to empathize and understand that I’m not exaggerating; ask any European cyclist and they’ll give you the same story. French hotel race food is known for its overcooked pasta and undercooked chicken. After countless plates of cold pasta arrived night after night, it all made sense with my favorite water-logged anecdote: we once asked for another plate of tepid, starchy, gummy pasta – simply for the sake of ingesting calories – and were apologetically turned down. Why, we asked, couldn’t they throw another bag of pasta on the stove for another seven minutes for the perfect al dente bite? Because, they replied, they cook pasta the night before for the following day’s race meal. (Ergo, we also learned that the pasta remains in the pot for many hours while cooling to room temperature, to give it the ideal, French texture of slime.) Seven minutes of cooking, seven seconds of straining, and three seconds of plating… or make it an all day event. Whatever.

And undercooked chicken? That’s their specialty. Gross? Dangerous? I won’t disagree. Meanwhile, I love a good rare steak. It frightens my teammates to be anything besides grizzly, charred gray both inside and out, but a delicately cooked, pink in the middle steak is just what the Doctor Ted King ordered! (I also enjoy a well prepared steak tartare, but central France at a one or two star hotel is not the place to request this from the menu.) Last night’s serving beef, however, was both bloody and cold. Asking for 4 more minutes on the grill was like asking if they would kindly donate to me their annual salary on a silver platter. Begrudgingly, the steak went back.

And since I don’t have any photos today, I’ll insert a Strava file instead:

And now examining beyond fine dining: Picture the smallest room in your house. Perhaps its a closet or maybe a half-bath? Yes, well now put two cyclists and their suitcases in there. Sleep tight fellas!

The year is 2013. Al Gore invented the internet a long time ago. So why can’t we learn that the best way to keep cyclists entertained is with hotels with even mildly functioning internet. The number of skinny, shorn-legged men in the hotel lobby cursing the wifi right now is comical.

And in related news, Paris-Nice has begun here in France, which marks my return to European racing in 2013. I kicked the season into gear back in January and then had a pleasant month free from racing in February, before jumping into the thick of things now in the Race to the Sun. It’s amazing how fast, how hard, and how full bore this race is. In my third go at it, I’ve decided that’s because this is the first
big BIG race on the global race calendar, and everyone wants to be guns-a-blazin’. You know it’s a big event on the race calendar if someone voluntarily gave up charcuterie for it.

That’ll do. Au revoir.

I could say the “USA Pro Cycling Challenge” or I could incorrectly say “Tour of Colorado” or I could simply say “Colorado”. Anyway, that race in the end of August in the Centennial State pretty much just came and went in my book. I won’t dwell on it, because I already did that for the days afterwards. But suffice it to say that a) it wasn’t my cup of tea and b) racing over a 30km ascent the first thing into a stage, plus pedaling yourself over 12,000 feet in the process is difficult as is. Next throw aggressively throwing up into the mix which interferes with the all important process of breathing at 12,000′. I was seeing stars going over Independence Pass and my day didn’t get much better in the 60km chase following that.

A highlight of that morning before gasping what seemed like my final breaths, though, was meeting young Dante here. The kid is a cycling fanatic, but perhaps you could have guessed that from his daily attire here. It’s so cool to see that level of passion at such a young age in America. I was playing with hockey cards and GI Joes at that age – definitely not yet playing “peloton.”

Me: “Just keep doing what you’re doing, Dante. Trust me kiddo, chicks dig scars.”

So post Colorado, I then enjoyed a bit of Boulder in all her Rocky Mountain splendor with hosts and best friends the Duggans, before setting off back to the right coast for eventually this week’s Quebec City and Montreal Grand Prix-es. Getting my head back in the right place really couldn’t happen in a better place than right here in Vermont. Middlebury College is where I fell in love with cycling, and quite literally Middlebury and Appalachain Gaps are where I found cycling (see, that’s where I first watched a bike race. I obviously picked a good one since that’s where my brother Robbie won the first of his three collegiate national titles).

If Normal Rockwell were alive today and somehow mysteriously into virtual reality instead of painting picturesque scenes, AND if he wanted to create a New England late summer weekend, he truly couldn’t have done it better than this four day Labor Day block. The perfect weather matched the impeccable scenery paralleled the idyllic roads in tandem with the lush green foliage that’s just beginning to show the hints of burnt orange and red. The pumpkins are coming out for fall jack-o-lantern’ing, the dirt roads were aplenty, and the stonewalls and maple syrup were as abundant as I remember. I’m fairly certain that I never once stopped grinning for the full 96 hour weekend.

I’m equally sure that part of the exorbitant good times are due to smashing out three progressively massiver rides on these roads upon which I found cycling. My nostalgia bone was tickled to the point of tears. I’ll quit waxing poetic here – just please recognize that even though this was merely meant as a training-block get-away, this was a very special weekend that just makes me say wow and thankful I’m able to do what I do.

Remember this very weekend in 2010? I was racing and looking dapper in the the Green Mountain Stage Race leader’s jersey for half the race. Soon after that, however, a whole bunch of political mumbo jumbo ensued that I don’t understand, and the UCI decided that they would prefer my WorldTour colleagues and I not race rather than support local races like this. The Green Mountain Stage Race is either the best race you’ve never heard of… or the best race you’ve ever heard of. Period.

This photo above is from the West Hill B’n'B looking out upon another flawless green mountain morning. With requisite “laundry” hanging on the front porch, our hosts Susan and Peter are obviously in the right mood for the weekend. I don’t what was greater: their incredibly benevolent hospitality or their selection of oatmeal toppings. Both were exquisite (yes, complete with maple syrup, obviously).

Right out my back door lays the steepest one mile of pavement in America, Lincoln Gap. Don’t believe me? Google it. I rode it twice, because there are two sides to ever coin and two sides to ever Lincoln Gap and they’re both frigging steep.

As I said, dirt roads were abundant. This is day one going from Middlebury towards Bristol. I don’t know why it looks like it’s 7:52pm because this is about 2 in the avo. More to the point, this particular ride featured a Chris Milliman-like 50′ish miles of dirt. “Rad” sells the ride very very short. It was awesome.

Waffles were available from Susan this morning, but I still went with the oatmeal. The left over waffles resulted in the perfect ride food. She had them wrapped like the perfect little ride treats with the blueberries secretly nestled inside. It was a very satisfying first bite when I gnoshed into this badboy.

Convenience stores are a token New England characteristic. Misspelling ICE is only part of the fun in Ripton, VT.

Roxbury Gap. Dirt. Steep. Very most excellent.

The final day I rode the legendary L-A-M-B ride. Aptly named since it criss-crosses the Green Mountains over four of the gnarliest gaps, Lincoln, Appalachian, Middlebury, and Brandon. In truth, I guess my ride was more LAB-M since that’s the order in which I rode. I want to swear with excitement and spike a football in celebration it was so good! But 6 hours later, I was pretty cooked so I had some corn on the cob instead. Yes, naturally it was freshly cooked, salted, and peppered at the local general store. Learning something from my roommate for the weekend, I also procured some ride beverage – a mini maple syrup.

Twist my arm, Tim and Peter. Yeah, I went golfing afterwards. It was pretty excellent since even if I was exhausted bordering on passing out; I hit a good dozen balls decently well, we didn’t crash nor flip nor flat the golf cart, no one was arrested, and I had my best score for the 14.5 holes we decided to play. That has never happened before when I hit the links.

Isn’t Vermont magic?

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.

Epic is a strong word. I believe it should be retired outright, never to be used again. But since that’s not going to happen, I say a hundred-plus mile ride, 75% of which is dirt, over the steep bergs characteristic of the Upper Valley of New Hampshire and Vermont is worthy of such a description.

To backtrack, the Tour of Poland ended amid a black-sky thunderstorm which arrived dramatically in the final kilometer of the seven-day race. It also wrapped up successfully for us as we at Liquigas-Cannondale snatched two stage wins, two second place finishes, and the overall victory. That’s called domination. From there I could be found jetting back to Lucca where my ability to clean a house top to bottom was that of legend. Mr. Clean would have been envious as I swept, vacuumed, scrubbed, dusted, and polished with great vigor. A pair of tasty and authentic goodbye dinners in my 36 hours home in Italy capped off my Italian summer before jetting to the United States where I have the Tour of Utah, the USA Pro Cycling Challenge Which Should Be Named The Tour of Colorado, followed closely by the Canadian WorldTour races, and (fingers crossed) the world championships in mid-September. Giddyup.

So now caught up to speed, returning stateside is always reason to celebrate, and especially so with awesome stuff to do straightaway. A delightful BBQ dinner with my very good friend as well as freshman college roommate plus his newly wedded wife in the Granite State segued perfectly to Saturday’s ride which you see above. The same masochistic genius who created Stoepid Week is also now into version 7.0 of the U(pper)V(alley)Epic – the aforementioned hundred mile ride, thickly laced with steep dirt roads, stunning views, and featured prevalently in this year’s event, flat tires.

Believe it or not, my bike doesn’t have a kickstand. Thankfully chivalrous manners are rife in the spandex clad world of cycling, so rather than plunking my bike down in the dirt, this kind gentleman held it for me while I changed my first of three flats. Ten intrepid souls set out on the UVEpic 7.0 early Saturday morning. Then at hour four and just 48 miles in, I warned folks that I was going to emit more watts (ergo, go faster), at which point the brave peloton was whittled down to five. Soon thereafter a flat tire sadly took out my kickstand-man. One other waited for him while three of us found the elusive Cooler-of-Hope. Now more than five hours into the ride and with hunger pangs coming at us with the same ferocity as sharp stones in the dry conditions, Chris made us very happy with water, Red Bull, sports drink, and, err, some other tasty treats.

A quick glut of calories and unfortunately being on a tight time budget – as well as places to go that evening – I dropped the entire crew and soldiered on solo for the full epoch epic Epic.

And to where was I rushing off that evening? To grill corn with my brother, obviously! Well that and chicken and relax by the lake. I promise you, it’s a tough life.

Mid-season breaks are critical in maintaining peak freshness over the course of a 10-month race season. The way my race schedule was unfolding, I couldn’t find a time to relax after California, nor after nationals the following week, nor Tour of Suisse. So finally after Poland, I had this window of respite and sitting lakeside is a mighty fine way of RnR’ing. (“Bwaa’?! How do you go on a UVEpic and call that rest?” Well friends, sometimes there’s more ways than one to sooth the soul. Letting boys be boys, beating each other up on bikes, riding gnarly dirt roads is certainly one of those ways.)

It’s said that bath salts are a good way to heal the body. I believe that being in Maine is equally therapeutic. There’s something cathartic about the salty sea air that makes me feel like a better person on the other side. But mid-season breaks are always short lived, so I decided to tackle in three days what I would ideally prefer to spread out over three months. In the days of yore, or at least when I was between the ages of zero to twenty, I would come to this magical island in Maine with my family the very day school ended in the summer and would stay there until the dreaded day before school started up again in September. I’m the sixth generation of my family to come to this island and my best friends are here, our neighbors are like family, and my happiest memories on earth are here. The Maine license plate reads Vacationland and the welcome sign driving into this serene state accurately states The Way Life Should Be. As a very wise man once said, “Maine is like heaven. Just with the distinct aroma of fried seafood.”

So my three-months-in-three-days vacation featured swimming daily in the frigid Atlantic, rock hopping, cocktail parties, lobster cruises (seen above), seeing friends and family, tennis, boating (where it has been blowing like stink the entire time – one of the nautical world’s finest expressions, hence the title of this blog), napping, reading, and soaking in the thick sea air. Rest and repeat.

And let’s be honest: beyond Maine, where else can you buy fresh lobsters at the Walgreen’s pharmacy?!

Or so they say.

No one ever asks me how much I sleep. I do, however, receive a nearly equal smattering of questions regarding how much do I ride and what do I eat. Thanks to Strava I post a lot of my races and training rides, but on average only about 4-5 per week. Meanwhile, I use this blog and showcase the more noteworthy meals I eat. That gives an idea of what’s going in and what sort of energy I’m burning, but that obviously doesn’t paint the entire picture because I’ve never combined the two. Well wait no more my curiously analytical cycling friends, because I’m doing that exact thing right here right now! What follows is one of the most rudimentary food/hydration/fuel/training investigation you’ll ever see.

Specifically, I took a photo of nearly everything I ate today; also, photo or not, I logged everything I ate. This being iamtedking dot com, I have a story to two to add to the mix to keep it spicy. In fair warning, I don’t claim to be a nutritionist (…err, actually I do exactly that in my next column for Bicycling), but after years of being part of this professional athlete thing, I’m quite astute when it comes to estimating food sizes, portions, and corresponding nutritional value. For the sake of adding even slightly more legitimacy, I’ve also used FitDay‘s calorie tracker. There, the internet says it, so it’s gotta be true.

Today’s ride, which you see at the top, was a big one. It’s my last big training session before the Tour de France East, which this year is seven days of racing all throughout Poland and curiously is more accurately called the Tour of Poland.

Starting a day without coffee is just foolish. Note the particularly colorful bag of beans from Berti Caffe.

This roaster’y is located just 1km from my Lucca home and I ride by these guys all the time. One day the door was open and out of the corner of my eye as I zoomed by I saw the telltale cycling rainbow colors emblazoned on the back of their shop. I locked up the breaks, flipped a U-ie, ducked my head in the shop, and asked what the colors signified. When the kindly woman told me that her father is a cycling nut, I knew I had a new favorite local coffee roaster! Moreover – and remember this is a very Italian woman in a very Italian town – the woman asked me where I was from; I said New Hampshire to which she replied that NH’s finest Lake Winnipesaukie is one of her favorite places on earth. Wow, small world.

2 cups of black coffee (5 calories) down the hatch.

Again, big ride today means a big hearty breakfast.

I ate a small smattering of this fruit. It’s fresh cantaloupe, white peaches, and apricots. I only ate a few bites of this as I was preparing the rest of breakfast.

1/5 of the melon (37 calories), 1/4 peach (10), 1/2 apricot (9). Now back in the fridge for you!

From there it was breakfast time proper. Throwing an egg into oatmeal and whipping it up quickly gives it the most satisfying, custardy texture in addition to providing a nutritional boost from farm fresh eggs. You saw eww, I saw try it. So in this bowl of oatmeal we have water, oats (310 calories), an egg (60), three cherries (13), one dried fig (37), and three dried apricots (27). This being me, there is also a bit of New Hampshire maple syrup (105), some cinnamon and a dash of salt. In the background, you’ll also see a thingy of banana yogurt (150).

A short while later it was time to kit up and practice the art of bicycle riding. I met a friendly fruit-stand-man riding with Ben King two weeks ago as we rolled back into town from another legendary ride. It turns that he’s a huge cycling fan, being Italian he loves Liquigas, and I therefore wanted to bequeath him some wicked bright green and blue swag. So with a brand new team issue water bottle and cycling cap in hand, I rode 10 minutes to his corner of the globe. Note his right hand – he’s giddy as a school girl after her first kiss in this photo with his new stuff.

It’s around about this time that I should point out that I love figs. Truly I feel sorry for anyone out there who has never had the opportunity to bite into a fresh fig. And by fresh I mean you literally have a mere 12 hour window when it goes from exquisite to rotten. It is divine! (One fig eaten on the spot, 37 calories.)

I was about to ride bid him farewell and ride away when he hollered something, scurried into his barn, grabbed a bunch of fruit and handed it over. I had to laugh since it was literally a handful of fruit. Actually it was two handfuls. First, I received more than is in this photo. He handed me three massive peaches and six of those mini pears. Secondly, no, I did not eat everything in this photo. I pocketed all of it in a show of my grateful thanks, but ended up having to toss what I didn’t eat.

I had somewhere between 5 to 5.5 hours on the training program today with a handful of relatively short bursting intervals. It was hot today too. As we say at home “H-O-double-T, hot!” As you’ll see in the SRM file below, the average temp was 31.5C (88F), but that includes a relatively cool morning. The brunt of the ride was in the 37-40C range (98-104F) with a max of 45C (113F) in one particular valley that radiates heat on a road right next to it’s bone-day river bed. That’s like riding into a hairdryer.

I mention all that because I drink a frigging ton on days like today. Allen Lim is a friend of mine and he knows a thing or two about hydration. I value his opinion and know that staying ahead of dehydration is enormously important especially on longer days like today. At 6’2″ I’m tall and therefore have a lot of surface area to pour sweat. During the harder parts of the the training intervals, in the hotter sections of the ride, I don’t think it’s humanly possible to sweat any more than I was – my flipping calves were sweating at those times.

Sorry to be gross, if you find sweat nasty. My point is that in the course of these 5.38333 hours, I drank at any and every opportunity. Thankfully all throughout Italy – and lots of European for that matter – there are these magical water springs. They’re both in the middle of nowhere like the top of mountain passes or right in the middle of small downtown squares. With the help of a relatively low-calorie/high-electrolyte hydration formula, I reckon that I drank 12 bottles (250 calories).

Over the course of my career I’ve eaten more race food than I care to even picture, so given the option of real food or race food, I choose the former. In general in the real food category, I tend towards sweet over salty. So in today’s hundred-plus mile ride, I ate the following:

I know I’ve mentioned il Re del Cappuccino – the aptly named King of Cappuccino – who’s been serving capp’s for more than 60 years. The man is a legend. Now that I have a signed jersey decorating their shop, I’m basked with their exemplary service. Which is the same as their standard service, since they’re always hospitable. Cappuccino (200 calories) and Nutella laden baked good (250) after 75 minutes is precisely the fuel I want for the rest of the day.

Next, top left: those aaaaaamazing honey waffles, which cost like $2 apiece in America, but are like $0.25 in Belgium. I bagged up and had five of those gems (670 calories).
Bottom: every cafe in Italy has biscotti. Mind you, these are Italian biscotti and not SUPERsized American portions, so they’re about the size of your pinkie. A half dozen of those spread out over the day is about 500 calories.

Oh and remember those peaches and mini pears swimming in my jersey pocket from farm stand man? I ate two peaches (76) and two mini pears (40).

By now you’re saying, “Ted, you ate like a horse.” To which I reply, yes, but look at the SRM file and you’ll see that I burned through a hearty 5,067 calories… and that’s just in the 5:23 ride time, let alone my basal metabolic rate which is running hot so I’m zipping through another ~2,000 calories over the course of the day.

…Good grief, this is a lot of work rehashing everything I ate and it’s not even lunch time. Okay (breathe breathe), let’s keep going.

Famished and thirsty, I got home from my ride and chugged some water and a fairly light recovery drink (150). I also ate a fig- yes, another one (37).

Shower time and 4pm lunch time followed. I made the most amazing risotto that I’ve ever made – admittedly, it’s the first risotto I’ve ever made – the night before and I had ample leftovers. This beauty is a zucca (basically squash/zucchini) and onion risotto (500 calories), topped on a bed of raw arugula (10), three luscious Italian tomatoes (35), a beet and a half (50), all drizzled with truffle balsamic glaze (10). To the left is a rice cracker (15) schmeared with homemade sun-dried tomato hummus (80)… ’cause that’s what I do.

It was nearly time for another fig, but I thought I would take a nap instead. ZZZzzzZZZzzzzzzz Nap: over. Now it’s time to tackle some errands in town, but I decided that I had a hankerin’ for some chocolate peanut butter, which conveniently I had in the form of Dark Chocolate Dreams from Peanut Butter & Co. I had a modest spoonful (170) atop another rice cracker (15). It would likely behoove you to do the same or perhaps try their Mighty Maple.

I did some reading before dinner and they say that your brain consumes a lot of calories when deep in thought. I don’t have the SRM file for this specific reading interval, but I reckon I burned another 5,000 calories by finishing up my latest book… The Hunger Games, curiously enough. Here’s my five-cent book review: an interesting read, but I don’t see what all the hype is about. Yes, it’s very engrossing and despite the post-apocalyptic nature of the plot, the emotions of the book are still something with which we can relate. But without giving away too much, when there are human-meets-wolf creatures sprinting around on their hind legs with 4″ razor sharp claws attacking the protagonists, WTF?! I don’t like science fiction. I’d be hard pressed to read the second of this series.

There, now you owe me a nickel.

Dinner time and I wanted to reward myself for a hard day’s work without laboring in the kitchen. If you’ve ever had pizza in Italy, you know that each person order one pizza. It’s kind of like how in America, if you go to Mexican food, one person is going to order one burrito. Are we now clear with the 1:1 ratio? Good, let’s continue. The pizza is typically 12″ in diameter, incredibly thin with a basic flour/yeast/salt/water crust, and most certainly is not the oil injected, 2″ tall pizzas we’re accustomed to in America. A few toppings decorate the pizzapie and voila, you’ve got yourself dinner. All for 6 euro.

Prosciutto cotto, arugula, tomato pizza (1,000) on a very colorful yet camouflaged plate. A crisp, fruit-foward (whatever that means) glass of Austrian white wine (125) gifted to me by our friend Timmy Duggan perfectly accentuated this entree on a still stifling evening.

And yes, that’s my iamnottedking-stickered wallet.

It’s nearly dinner time, but not first without another pair of figs (74). What?! I issued the warning earlier, I love figs. Succulent, sweet, and literally bursting with flavor, it’s kind of like your food giving you a high five when you take a bite.

Summary:

So what have we learned? Who knows. Like I said, this isn’t a normal example. This was obviously a day of heavy training, so I’m going to ride hard and eat a lot to fuel the fire. On an easy day I eat like a ballerina and crush some salad. So since there isn’t anything more to really do, let’s just summarize.

– By my calculation, I consumed 5,082 calories. All of which were delicious, especially the risotto and the honey waffles
– Calories expended on the ride: 5,067.69
– Ride time: 5:23 and change
– Ride distance: 172.5km (107 miles)
– Average power: a massive 261 watts

Peace out nerds.

We can all agree that nothings says “Tour de France” like bicycle riding around Belgium for three days and then migrating west to France. I’m therefore going to stay true to myself and hold out on my inaugural Tour de France by waiting until we stick exclusively to France – dabbling in other European countries obviously sullies the authentic Tour experience. (For those of you reading along and completely confused, this year’s Grand Bouche begins in Liege, Belgium before entering France for the rest of the three week race.)

That proclamation of holding out is of course is of course drenched in sarcasm. To be honest, I get sick to my stomach thinking that I won’t be there this year. To call the first half of my 2012 season successful is a gnarly understatement. My fitness is there, my motivation is sky high, and in the past not-quite-six-months I’ve been integrally involved with fifteen wins for Liquigas-Cannondale. Geeze, I don’t think I was involved with fifteen wins in all of 2011. I won’t stew on it any longer, however. I can’t thank you enough for the enormous show of support – especially over the past month – to have me lining up for my first Tour. The messages, the tweets, the emails, the calls, the very entertaining #KingfortheTour, and other signs of support mean a lot to me. More than you can imagine. It just makes me that much hungrier for that first Tour whenever that happens.

Moving on.

In order to clear my head, continue exploring the globe, while still staying true to my job and therefore training extensively I recently made my way from my home in Tuscany up to the Dolomites in north eastern Italy.

Surrounded by some of the biggest, awesomest mountains I’ve ever seen, I once again rejoined my BFF Timmy Duggan who is also up in this neck of the woods soaking up the same Dolomite excellence.

I raced the Giro di Italia in both 2009 and 2010. What’s tattooed in my mind more than anything is the Dolomites. My words here won’t do justice to just how spectacular they are, so I won’t even bother. Click on that panoramic photo above and you’ll get a sliver of our surroundings from high atop Timmy’s porch.

Jumping headlong into things, here’s my first ride. I’m only up here for a few days, so rather than lamely wasting time acclimatizing simply for my departure, I went for a bike ride.

My memory is sometimes sieve-like. So speaking of those 2009 and 2010 Giri d’Italia (the plural of Giro is Giri, not Giros),  I apparently wanted to put the painful specifics out of my mind – that is to say, I raced up the very access road to my hotel, but I didn’t recognize it whatsoever until I bothered to check the Giro route map. Oops. Namely, Stage 5 to Alpe di Suisse. Here is that particular Strava segment, on which I conveniently now have the KOM. In your face, whoever actually won that stage!

Anyway, that first ride was long and arduous and stunning and calorific. So Timmy and I took a moment to rest our weary souls atop some random mountain pass, I think that’s Passo Valparola.

Obviously well fueled, that initial big day was then followed by another big day. Given my thorough one day of acclimatization, I felt like a million and a half bucks the next day. Here she is:

Clearly, another good’n’.

That’s all I got for now. Cycling is a sport of ups and downs, both literal and figurative. Sure, I’d like to be racing the Tour de France in two days, but that’s now out of my control. Putting in the time and effort to get up here to the Dolomites, seeing and training with my very good friend Timmy, and putting in the hours on the bike are a phenomenal alternative. I am lucky and I know it.

I said that’s all, but actually here’s one more panoramic picture for your viewing pleasure. Here I am high atop Passo Sella looking east towards, umm, well towards whatever is east of Passo Sella, which in this case appears to be even more mountains. Again, click on the image for an even better view.

“Aaaaaand go!”

I finished up a beautiful Tour de Suisse about four days ago. On the final day, one particular Russian on Katusha, who lacks an “e” in the name typically spelled AlexandEr (the extra capitalization is my emphasis) didn’t see a section of parcours where the sidewalk met the road. Actually in fairness it was a bit awkward; the sidewalk and road are at the same height and then suddenly the sidewalk rises out of the pavement to what one might call “standard sidewalk height”. Anyway, at 40kph he didn’t see that and took that as an opportunity to crash. With me following in his draft at the time, I thought it would be wise to visit the pavement as well. Turns out, it wasn’t so wise.

I won’t show you pictures of my bum, but as I said in some tweets or something, I donated some skin from my hind quarters to the Swiss Pavement Center only to learn that such a center does not exist. Also sparing you details, I can attest that despite missing some skin on my butt, doing number 2 is not an issue for me, so things are quite good. In fact, now four days out from that incident with Alexandr Kolobnev – oops – I’m doing just fine, thanks for asking.

Just prior to that final day of Suisse, I took this Hollywood worthy video from high atop my hotel room balcony. This is somewhere around 2,000 meters above sea level in Switzerland.

Pretty much all of Switzerland is beautiful. Like, stunningly beautiful. Massive alpine mountains called the Alps, lush rolling hills reminiscent of the Ardennes in Belgium, ginormous crystal clear lakes, and nary a piece of trash anywhere. Actually it’s a bit like being on a reality show or on the set of the Truman Show since it’s sooo nice it’s almost surreal. Once up on a time I even lived for a short period in a tiny town outside of Lucerne whist on my Cervelo TestTeam days. Actually, scroll down to the latter part (after the cake decorated as a rabbit) and you can see some sweet sights by the side of the road in scenic Littau, Switzerland.

I don’t know why I said any of that. But now you know.

So I’m back in Lucca now and am spending my days anxiously waiting to hear if I race the Tour. I know that I’m “on the bubble” as Velonews as put it. I don’t know what that means exactly, but I know it means I’m far from a guarantee. We’re going to send a pretty stellar team of nine riders – as all teams will d0 – with a good chunk of two-legged resources going to help Peter continue his slash and burn take on the season as well as put in a good run for Vincenzo Nibali who can very likely end up on the podium. I’m proud to say that I’ve been part of 15 wins so far this year, which by my count is more than anyone else on the team. It’s something I’m proud of, but would trade all of those for a spot at the Tour de France.

I’m also riding my bike, which is of course excellent as always.

I also had an overabundance of all the right ingredients so I made pesto. Actually, they were nearly all the right ingredients. This is more like arugula, basil, and green pea pesto with pecorino rather than parmesan cheese and with almonds rather than the standard pine nuts. But on a carrot or atop some freshly made risotto, I find it exquisite regardless. Plus in this newfangled instagram dealie-o, it looks extra artistic.

And to wrap things up, I recommending going to the fun banner above and to the right –> which advertises inGamba Tours. It’s red and white and full of fun photos. I’ve had the privilege to be part of two inGamba Tours over the past year and without question I can say that they’re a) one of a kind and b) incredible. Basically you get to mishmash that includes the best parts of the life of a professional cyclist in Europe (massage, phenomenal training roads, etc) with the best parts of being a cyclo tourst with a dramatic emphasis on lover-of-exquisite-food-and-slap-the-table-this-is-good-wine. Yeaaaup, that good. The riding, the comraderie, the food, the wine, the doors that open for you… it’s certainly something that you won’t find elsewhere. I recommend giving that ad a perusal, if for nothing else than some nice eye candy.

Bu’bye now.