The frigid winter wrath across Europe is finally beginning to subside after the coldest European late winter and early spring that I can remember. And admittedly I’ve only been to Europe since I dabbled in 2005 and on the reg’ beginning in 2009, but still this spring has been freakin’ weird. And unequivocally cold! Let’s all remember that Gent-Wevelgem was the coldest day on record in the entire Flander’ish region since the late 1800s. That’s brisk baby.

It’s amazing how much of a difference this makes in my overall well-being. I previously thought that seasonal affective disorder was hocus-pocus or else just a complaint among people who had exceptionally thin skin in combination with their extreme warm-bloodedness. Heck, I love winter. With maple syrup running through my veins, it’s probably the New England in me having grown up on ice skates and skis that says I love cold temperatures. But just as the belting hot sun melts away the snow, there is some magical combination of a cloudless sky, warm temperatures, birds chirping, and flowers budding that makes my smile morph to an even bigger smile and then I’m in a very good mood. In so many words: finally, it’s nice out. (…for now)

There’s no rest for the weary, however. As soon as I arrived home to Girona just yesterday — after a mighty successful Spring Classics campaign I might add — to take in my Catalonian spring, I’ve already packed up shop and am off to greener pastures. Or, hopefully at least as green since as you can see in the above photo, Girona is gorgeous right now. First, this evening I head to Tuscany to help with a fun little (read: big) media project for our dear friends at Cannondale. That takes me through the middle of next week as I noodle all about Chianti. And then directly I’ll be off to Los Estados Unidos for a typically action packed few days at home complete with seeing the fam and recharge the batteries (plus hopefully a Bruin’s game, a belated birthday celebration with my bro complete with a well traveled Westvleteren 12, a celebratory dinner or two, plus requisite New England bike slaying adventures) before I storm the high altitude of Colorado and then onto the Tour of California. Phew, makes me tired just thinking about it.

In lieu of rest for the weary, there’s only coffee. Plus jet lag supplemented by napping and more coffee. Ready…? Go.

Paris-Roubaix sees its first set of cobbles about twenty meters into the race. But I’ll call this “Sector Zero” since twenty meters from the start line is actually still in the neutral, parade roll out and therefore doesn’t actually count.

The first real set of cobbles arrives just shy of two hours of racing when the odometer clicks past 98km. That means we are trucking along at a good clip those opening 120 minutes – roughly 50kph or a hair over 30mph.

Almost exactly one-fifth of the 256km race bounces along on these defining Paris-Roubaix cobblestones. With 27 sectors totaling 52km, they run the range from perfectly acceptable, where you’re gliding along at a nice 49′ish kph pace with a low ranking on the arbitrary 1-10 Perceived Rate of Exertion scale, to mind numbingly frustrating, at which point your brain is spinning where-the-crap-is-my-rhythm, I’m-spewing-out-500-plus-watts-and-I’m-going-12-kph?! …frick.

The irony isn’t lost on me that this hitherto dank 2013 season – the season where winter won’t release its stranglehold on savagely cold temperatures in addition to copious snow, sleet, and hail – featured arguably the nicest day of European bike racing weather all year during yesterday’s Paris-Roubaix. A race renowned for notoriously nutty conditions only exacerbated when the weather turns inclement. The only “weather” we had to deal with on this particular Sunday was swirling, blinding, and suffocating dust. Correction: I saw a puddle at least once and two unfortunate dudes caked head to toe in mud, so they clearly found either that one or another errant puddle.

The pace today was stiff from the get-go. That’s to be expected since there are probably 120 guys with either general or explicit orders to get themselves into the breakaway. Teams with big aspirations around the business end of the day want to have cards to play, while smaller teams know that they won’t factor into the race when the front of the peloton reaches Roubaix’s Velodrome and therefore seek invaluable television exposure. Guillaume Boivin, my Canadian teammate did some fine work to get himself into an early group of fifteen riders. That looked to be the successful breakaway of the day, quickly gaining nearly a minute, only to be yanked back by a pair of hard charging French teams unhappy not to be represented in the break.

In turn, I then jumped into one promising move which was soon after reeled in. I then intrepidly set out alone, was then joined by three other guys jumping as far away as maybe ten or twelve fruitless seconds. Time to rest up and get ready for the rapidly approaching first set of cobbles.

Let’s step aside to reflect how my mind spins; I spent a good chunk of the day wondering what would be the single worst place in Paris-Roubaix to get a flat tire. Maybe with 500 meters to go if you’re about to unleash your ferocious sprint in a two-up battle for the win? Or is it somewhere in the final three cobble sectors, again if you find yourself in a small group vying for victory? Perhaps. Another particularly terrible place to suffer a flat is 100 meters into the first cobbled sector. Pavé secteur Troisvilles à Inchy. Sector number 27 and 98.6km into the race with an ample 157.4km to go. Is it the worst? I don’t know. Probably not.

I happen to know from firsthand experience yesterday that that particular place is remarkably inopportune.

Back to the action. So I was just caught from my stabs at the breakaway and the pace has recently shifted from fast to faster-nervous-and-hectic as we approach the first section of cobbles. I fought hard to be in crucially good position, we then entered the cobbles, and it only took a few seconds before I felt the telltale bone jarring rim-on-pavé sensation rather than the considerably more plush, inflated-tire-on-pavé sensation. In a word, it just feels hollow. It’s deafeningly loud already, but the unforgettable echo of carbon pounding on stone screams louder than the thunderous crowd. We fetched caravan car position 21, which means a tediously sloooowwwwww wheel change will follow.

In my three editions of Paris-Roubaix, 2011, ’12, and ’13, I’ve had three flat tires, which is probably about par for the course, heck maybe even better than average. Last year I flatted a few sectors after Arenberg. You may remember that without any support behind my group, that earned me some luscious Easter chocolate, a thermos cup of coffee, and three generations of friends. Then coincidentally in my first and third editions I suffered flat tires both times on sector number one. I’m considering in next year’s race, I’ll scout for a shortcut to avoid this sector… or for the sake of keeping within the rules, just avoid the sharp rocks.

At this point in the race, there are about twenty people behind me and 170 or so ahead of me. Crud. Time to play a serious game of catch up.

A furious and dust blinded chase ensues after my front wheel change. There are plenty of people who start Paris-Roubaix exclusively to go full bore to sector one, then pull the parachute and clog the already congested roads, looking for a team car to take the considerably easier route to Roubaix. Others are woe like me plagued by flat tires and other mechanicals. I’m therefore left to deftly negotiate this human shrapnel, cars, drunk-by-noon Flemish, French, impressively well traveled American, and plenty of other cycling fans on roads no wider than a single car.

You’ve possibly noticed that so far this above column has a lot of numbers and here are a few more: four, seven, forty-six. As in April 7th, 1946. Dad’s birthday. Yesterday was the 111th edition of Paris-Roubaix and Dad’s 67th birthday. My parents have always been stalwart supporters of my cycling career and while I’m not sure if the phrase has ever actually been uttered by Ted King the senior, I occasionally think “Papa didn’t raise a quitter”. Whereas two years ago when I got a flat in sector one, I soon rejoined the peloton thanks to an aggressive chase on my part and a conveniently timed nature break on the peloton’s part. This year after my flat, an infuriating hour long chase among a small group of riders with the peloton always painfully in sight, before realization that it was not to be.

From there, you’re presented with a Yogi Berra-like fork in the road. There are a pair of feedzones in the race lined with the luxurious comfort of supporting team cars, snacks, and a means to a piping hot shower awaiting you at the finish. Or you can keep going. Our groupetto’s population ebbed and flowed between ten and thirty guys as we picked up and lost riders. Some just entirely sapped of energy to continue (mind you, I did 310 watts for six and a half hours. That takes its toll to the tune of 7,300 calories), others suffer flats without team support behind just as I did last year. While others understandably just crave the comfort of the car. But Papa didn’t raise no quitter, so especially with Luke Rowe, Luke Durbridge, Jetse Bol, and Russ Downing we made it to the finish line.

So a very happy birthday Dad. And Paris-Roubaix, you’re an awesome beast and I love you.

And with that having been said, I wouldn’t be a cyclist worth my salt if I didn’t talk about the weather. It seems anyone upwards of a pack-fodder category 2 racer can speak with at least some degree of proficiency about the meteorological trends of his or her geographical area. Reading a Doppler radar map and knowing what a forecasted 45% chance of precipitation really means is their M.O.

Most teams stick around the cobbled and blustery northern European front this week between Flanders and Roubaix, but we at Cannondale Pro Cycling are given the chance to press and hold the reset button and therefore briefly head home. It’s an opportune way to clear one’s mind, find some semblance of normalcy in life, catch up on missed internet, eat a non-hotel meal, get a few days of proper training in rather than the all too typical-canal-lap-and-coffee-shop-stop, and overall just rest up before bone jarring Paris-Roubaix on Sunday. Reconnaissance be damned(!), I’m perfectly happy sleeping in my own bed.

Embracing these few days of freedom, I did this ride yesterday, which much like Belgium was also horrifically windy, but extremely soul cleansing.

After having nary any skin exposed for the past, ooh, three months and having been particularly bundled up these past two weeks, I set out with both arm and leg warmers yesterday, but soon after removed them and boldly exposed my arms and legs throughout the day – if nothing else to absorb some succulent solar vitamin D. According to the SRM, the average temperature was 15C with a high of 18C, which is about 59 average and a high of 65 for you Fahrenheit fans. Brisk, but relatively balmy and warm. Worth noting for subsequent analysis, I also had a t-shirt length undershirt, thin wool gloves, a thin vest, and a cycling cap.

With a Strava ride title such as it is regarding clothing choice, waking up today I was heartily entertained by the detailed dialogue going on in the comments section of that ride pertaining to said clothing choice. The talk of what to wear, when to wear it, where one’s from, what are one’s standards for weather conditions, and blah blah blah, the comments section of this ride became a forum for cycling clothing nerdery. And therefore needs my input.

My first piece of advice is that it’s all relative. There I was at four in the afternoon, four and a half hours into my five hour day wearing a mere jersey (and aforementioned vest and cap) and shorts when I rode by a friend and cycling colleague. He was five hours into his ride with an hour to go clad in everything I would typically be wearing this past week in Belgium. That is, leg-warmers, a thermal jacket, gloves, and shoe covers. He’s a hearty Canadian and therefore knows cold weather. This is an example of PRO behavior and is certainly acceptable, but harkens back to traditional cyclists’ thinking that if you’re cold, you’re going to get sick. To which I say Boo!

There’s this and this and this and a litany of other results upon searching, “can you get sick by being cold” that scream no. Which is not to say that it is a bad idea to stay warm on rides. Heck, I hate being cold. But to each his (or her) own. Moreover, everyone has an internal furnace and thermostat, so to tell someone that they’re under-dressed or overdressed when whatever it is they’re wearing fits into the realm of mildly reasonable clothing is quite frankly uniformed and naive.

I digress. So what is “correct”? Per the above paragraph, there’s clearly a range of acceptable. And per the paragraph where I had an encounter with my Canadian cycling brethren, there’s a wide range of acceptable clothing options.

After the rave reviews of my last homemade chart, let’s create another one. Although this one will be more congruent and easier to read plus color coordinated, since we all know that red means hot and blue means cold… and apparently yellowy-orange means something in the middle. This chart breaks down what percentage of your current riding attire should consist of each of the following clothing types – Frigid, Medium, and just plain Jersey & Shorts – based on the temperature which is found in the Y-axis. This is pure science so pay attention.

Frigid Weather Gear means as much Gore-Tex, windproof, and thermal clothing as you can afford. Oh, your big bad self is sponsored and therefore can “afford” everything? Super. Put it all on cause it’s cold out. The rubbery’est of thick, rubbery shoe-covers are a must, mittens are mandatory over gloves, and a balaclava face mask is highly recommended. Undershirts should resemble long-underwear as if you’re going skiing or ice climbing; that is, thick and long sleeve. Function over fashion here; you’ll likely look like a bloated oaf with all this gear, but it’s better than hypothermia and losing a few digits to frostbite.

Medium Weather Gear means it’s time to sub out your thermal/windproof/water resistant tights from above for mere bib shorts and leg-warmers. Conveniently you may now stow away your thermal jacket when arm-warmers and a jersey will do. Alternatively long-sleeved jerseys are a superb item. Vests fit snugly into this category, both the ambiguously titled “wind” vests and the much sturdier thermal vest. I don’t use the word gilet because I think it’s dumb. Furthermore, if you use the word gilet, then you likely fit into the category of person who might wear this sort of gilet. In which case… I’m very sorry. Undershirts consist of all sleeve lengths depending on your preference: long, t-shirt, or sleeveless. Hand garments are still generally long fingered, but considerably thinner than Frigid Gear. Furthermore, mittens are not in this category. Shoe covers are frequently over-socks. Stylish and functional although not so much when it’s raining out. Wearing time trial specific shoe covers is generally pretty lame, unless you have a shoe sponsor conflict and you’re therefore covering up your own errors. Then I’ll let it slide. An iamnotTedKing neckgaiter is arguably the most functional item in this category and cycling caps are pretty darn handy too.

Jersey & Shorts means just that. Short fingered gloves are acceptable if you are racing, motorpacing, or if you have sketchy bike handling skills and might crash yourself in training and you value your hands. But otherwise, please consider going sans gloves. I met a kid once who told me that he always wore a cycling cap because that that was his thing. It was about 99 degrees outside and you couldn’t stand in the sun without breaking into a ferocious sweat. But he was my competition at the time and if overheating and sweating unnecessarily is his thing, then his detriment is my benefit and I let him go on his merry way.

You will notice that there is no category above titled Just Bibs. Even when it’s stiflingly hot out and you want to work off your farmer’s tan you should never ride without a jersey. Rules are rules, my friends. Furthermore I don’t care if it’s your thing.

So that’s a wrap for today. Stay warm, stay cool, stay well dressed, and have a super day.

Oh… wait a tic. Oops, yup that’s right, Paris-Roubaix is Sunday. Okay well then, I’ll head up to le France and bang out another cobbled classic in a week, but my point still remains that finishing Tour of Flanders yesterday wraps up two exemplary weeks for Cannondale Pro Cycling in Belgium.

In the meantime before Sunday’s menacingly nicknamed Hell of the North I’ll rest up with ample siestas and enjoy this quick week at home in tranquillo Catalunya. For a quick run-down, over these past two weeks in chronological orders, Peter nabbed 2nd at the race with the coolest, most robotic name since the Ster-ElectroToer, that is E3/Harelbeke on Friday. He then took the win two days later in the ragingly fast, kermess-like, wind-torn, weather shortened Gent-Wevelgem. Carrying solid momentum we won stage one of the ZreeeDaaasgeofDePa(i)n… naturally with Peter. Elia Viviani had a solid 2nd place on stage two an then he rounded out the podium on stage 3a. We decided that riding “easy” in the final time trial would be prudent with the gem of the entire week, the Ronde Van Vlaanderen taking place just about 60 hours later on Sunday, so no podium on De Panne’s stage 3b. Easter Sunday, just yesterday, was RVV and Peter came up one step short of the win. Obviously Peter is a prodigious young talent and will have his day on the top step, but we are a hard working team and are still pleased with the hard work throughout this chunk of time.

I’m also pleased with this picture from BrakeThrough Media. See that fellow in the green? That’s me rolling to the start, whistling a lively tune, amid the 80,000 person masses in Brugge. The energy at Flanders is just mesmerizing.

And if the above information and rad picture were too much to handle, I’ve created a nifty chart. It has both color and images, but it’s neither color coordinated nor in any way congruent.

My oh my, now that’s a nice chart!

Here are even more interesting numerical tidbits from the week:

29F = Estimated average temperature for our entire stay in Kortrijk. This is spring, right?
2 = Number of Trappist Westvleteren 12s that I acquired during my stay, through means I won’t explain here. But I will say a sincere thank you Dave.
10 out of 10 = my stoke factor for the above acquisition. Remember, these beers are perfect, 100 out of 100.
3 = Number of times in two weeks that I nipped from the secretly delivered maple syrup. My Sunday’s RVV was certainly helped fueled by nature’s mapley goodness. Thank you Dave, Rory, and flannel clad maple sugaring man who produced this sweet prize.
7,300 = kJs burned on Sunday’s race.
1 = # of hours of sleep that we were robbed the night before the race, because Europe does their daylight savings the inconvenient evening before RVV. This is particularly painful when we have to wake up when the clock reads 6:30am… so it feels like a 5:30 wake up.
10 = lbs of exquisite Belgian dark chocolate shaped into an Easter egg that Peter won at Wevelgem. It may have been more than one meter tall, it may have shattered in transit back to the hotel that evening, and we maaaaaay have wrapped up the evening of Flanders with what I’ll call “recovery chocolate”.

I will also add that the mysterious Kermit the Frog green Cannondale, photos of which you have have seen circling the internet, on which we have been perched the past two weeks, have been outstanding and serving us exceptionally well. More details, you ask? TBD. Patience, young Grasshopper(s).

And lastly, I snapped one final photo just before leaving Belgium that I needed to share with you. It’s a rare picture of the native Flemish Speculoos in it’s natural habitat. Moreover, it’s the even rarer sighting of the pair – yellow and red. Extremely elegant as they stand there, I dare say.

None of this knock off TJ’s “Cookie Butter” which just sounds misplaced, artificial, and wrong.

To others, maybe it’s Christmas Eve since the RVV is their religion. Yup, it sounds like hyperbole, but if people can worship the sun, then I’m fairly certain there are folks who bow to the hallowed cobbles and repeated climbs of Flanders.

So with the pillar of the spring classics on tap in just a few hours, we spun 2013′s final team easy ride up and down the Kortrijk canal, had one last trip to the cafe/bakery/chocolate shop, and one last photo op with the friendly folks inside. Lots of horizontal time today with naps, massage, and generally exerting ourselves as little as humanly possible occupying the majority of the day.

So until next year Kortrijk, hasta la pasta! Meanwhile, we’re going to bed hoping to be doing some of this in 24 hours.

A few minutes down the bike path, I was chagrined to see that they frown upon upside down anchors. What a bummer, right?! Mehh, what can you do.

It’s nice being back in this corner of the world since Izegem, right down the road, is where I first received my first schooling in European cycling with the u-23 national team. The bike path you see above is the same one we would ride on easy days from Izegem to Kortrijk for a cup of coffee and a relaxing day spent out and about rather than staying pent-up in the national team house.

The more things change, the more they stay the same holds starkly true here; just yesterday on a recovery ride after the 3 Days of De Panne we Liquigas-Cannondale folk went on a similarly relaxing ride, but at the end of the ride rather than hanging with the boys in neon green and blue during the mandatory coffee stop, I spotted a pair of Americanos at the cafe next door, whereupon I met Lawson Craddock and Ryan Eastman of the Bontrager-Livestrong team. Good kids, but man if you ever want to feel old, go hang out in your old stomping grounds and reminisce with the people currently doing what you were doing a half decade ago in their exact same position. I felt all of my geezerly 29 years even though apparently nothing has changed since 2005: drinking coffee with the national team boys on a damp day in Kortrijk.

Meanwhile fast-forwarding to the present, we stopped at a nice new coffee shop right in the main square of the letter J loving town of Kortrijk. Since none of us can read Flemish, we mostly looked at the pictures since virtually every newspaper has cover-to-cover information about de Ronde. We’re pretty fired up and ready to roll tomorrow! We’re coming off an excellent round of Classics races, including a podium at Gent-Wevelgem, plus a stage win and overall podium at De Panne. I’m miles ahead of where I was last year when I was using the harsh Belgian classics as my reintroduction to racing after an unpleasant month long bout with knee tendonitis. (psst: not recommended)

Everyone is gung-ho for RVV in Belgium. Even the friendly people in the cafe weren’t upset that we parked our bikes specifically in the no-bike-parking zone. They welcomed us neon clad Italian speaking cyclists with open armed gusto.

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.

Admittedly, something of a blogging hiatus occurred after my unvirginization of Paris-Roubaix last Sunday – sorry about that. Let’s sum it up by saying that Sunday wasn’t my day. Aaand then rather than forgetting about it entirely, let’s continue that thought by stewing over it briefly here. Let me (not) be the first to tell you that that race is an beast. Here’s a nice photo early on in the day before the start gun fired and while everything is still tranquil and peachy.

Let’s call this photo Pre-Roubaix. (Get it?! Pre, which almost sounds like “Paris” when pronounced really quickly with the proper French silent S. Comedian-slash-pro-cyclist Ted King strikes again.) By the way, this photo is courtesy of BrakeThrough Media. Thanks Jim!

As I was saying, Paris-Roubaix is an animal. Similarly, it’s an awesome! It’s an adventure, it’s incredibly hard almost beyond words, and among other things, it can be a brutally honest kick to the teeth. The dusty road conditions were a bit like talcum powder lubricating the road and cobbles in a way I’ve truly never experienced before.

As for my day, things started off swimmingly. A really fast start and I was content to be shuffling in and out of early moves. This of course being Paris-Roubaix, virtually every team is told to be represented in the break so it’s no small feat to make the successful breakaway. To be expected. So after about three hours of action, a pretty gnarly crash unfolded directly in front of me which was followed by my ensuring up close and personal meeting with the pave. A few scrapes and a slight tweak to my knee (unrelated to my other knee woes from earlier this spring… uuugh) left me breathing dust as I chased through the cars. My brother-from-another-mother, Ben King (no actual familial relation), was also caught behind this early mayhem. The only good news from this frantic escapade is that someone snapped a photo of we two Kings chasing. Yes, very astute loyal reader, I am suffering while I think Ben has something of a Mona Lisa smile. That sly dog.

I was sent this photo second hand, so if I’m totally encroaching on someone’s intellectual property rights (or whatever goes alongside photography), I am sorry. Send me a comment if you’re upset and I’ll take it down and/or give you appropriate shout out. Otherwise, thank you very much for your artistic handiwork.

So let’s now fast-forward to the present. If you scope your favorite Schedule page with any regularity, you will see that Tour of California is my next race and that I am no longer racing Romandie. I was on the roster, off the roster, on the roster, and ultimately I opted to be off the roster for Romandie so that I could muster a proper bit of post-Classic RnR and really be moving for ToCA. This spring has been full of tumult and turbulence that I thankfully haven’t had to experience up until this season. Namely a chronic knee injury. Therefore, this break after the Classics, immediate trip back Stateside, is like the best pressing-and-holding of the Reset button I could have asked for.

I returned stateside late last week and this time home has been extremely refreshing. Seeing the people I have needed to see in tandem with really focusing on the rest has been key. (Along with sincere apologies to the friends and good folks I have not had the time to visit.) For additional peace of mind, I visited Access Sports Medicine and had them give me their assessment of my knee including a see-all MRI. Outstanding news of the day is that everything I gleaned from my Italian diagnosis/therapy/treatment related to my knee while back in Italia was echoed by Access (mind you, they don’t cover orthopaedic medical terminology in Rosetta Stone). That is to say, I did everything correctly to expedite a full and timely recovery, so thank you to the crew on both sides of the pond. There is still a lot of racing on the horizon, so I excitedly have my jazz-hands spinning uncontrollably as I get ready for 2011 part II.

Among other things on the at home hit bregade, I’ve hung out with these chumps while taking in the Boston Marathon from Jerry’s Washington Tavern. I’ve never witnessed a marathon before, so why not absorb the biggest one out there from the world’s greatest city? Enormous props to the 26,000+ who ran it, including my two awesome cousins, whom I somehow missed amid the 26-thou’. The diversity of runners is phenomenal – all ages, all body types, all with a different reason or story for doing the race. The gamut from smiles to looks of absolute agony is incredible and interestingly occurs in a bell curve fashion. That is, the super fast folks are serious and don’t smile, the middle few hours are the brunt of the running peloton and the smiles are more abundant, and the last 1/3 of the crowd is just SUUUUUFFERING. No matter who you are, more power to you. The completely smashed audience was nearly as entertaining.

Here is a photo courtesy of amateur camera photographer, Ted King.

That’s a good smattering of the goings-on lately. As much as I appreciate the 44 degree rides with piercing rain soaking me to the bone here in New England, I’m fairly amped to get out to California next week. That said, it’s also nice to score hundred mile days in under five hours while pumping some watts throughout New Hampshire and Maine.

In any event, Napa, Tahoe, Tour of California: strap on your seatbelt, here I come.

Oh for the curious green-thumbed reader out there, I have hired my good friend Phil to oversee – correction, babysit – my tomatoes and basil while I’m half the world away. He reports that they are doing excellent and well kept. In related news, yesterday was his birthday, so happy birthday Phil.

Ronde van Vlaanderen that is. That’s a fun word, I just like saying it. Vlaaaaanderen. Or typing it, rather. Not many words in the English dictionary carry out the consecutive-A with such authority. Aardvark is about a close as it gets in my mind. Aaron is a close second, but we’re playing Scrabble rules here so no proper nouns. Sorry. In any event, I’m digging it.

I dig the race too. Hard to put words to describe it, so I’ll begin by calling it legendary and then digress.

Some other folks have put together various pre-race montages, summaries, videos, and masochistic “Heads up! This is what you’re about to get yourself into” vignettes. Nothing really can do justice to this race though until you have taken it all in, full-gas, with 200 of your closest colleagues. Regardless, here are a few people’s take on the prep’, which being cycling nuts like yourselves, I’m sure you’ve seen once or twice already.

Superb analysis over at Inrng.
CyclingTips has a nice vid’.
Do you have any idea what 22% feels like… on cobbles?
And if THIS doesn’t get your heart racing, friend, you aren’t living.

In all honesty, never have I been so anxious leading up to a race as this. Rarely do I have my nerves tied up in a knot, but for my first Ronde I continued to find myself in the days and hours leading up to it with an elevated heart rate just just thinking about the race. The parcours, the hype, the crowd, the cobbles, the climbs, the competition, and mayhem of 260km of nonstop fighting tooth and nail for position. Nope, this isn’t your standard jaunt through the park.

My day lasted less than 260km however. My job was to look out for Daniel Oss, who’s a genuine all-star and along with Peter Sagan was one of our two captains for the day. I don’t remember where we were exactly, but we were a good three hours in, beginning to feel the heat of the race with Garmin driving it on the front for good position leading into a handful of back-to-back-to-back cobbled sections and climbs when Oss flatted. A wheel change ensued followed by my frenetic dig back through the cars and to the peloton with Daniel in tow. That was a proverbial match-burner. From there, I continued to shadow him until about 180km when Peter had a bout of bad luck and a wheel change himself. I helped pace him back for a while in vain. No excuses here, just a general explanation. Day: over.

And now a few general observations of the RVV:

• You’re going to burn a lot of calories over the course of 5-6-7 hours of racing. Furthermore, the race starts earlier than average on account of the length. My astute observation: it’s difficult to stuff yourself to the gills when you’re hardly awake shy of 6:30 in the morning.
• I considered putting a charm in my pocket in case I found myself off the front of the peloton with the victory virtually sewn up to show my love for my yet-to-be-conceived child (…I’m not yet married yet either). But at the last minute I decided not to.
• The weather was perfect. Chilly in the morning, still cool to mildly warm throughout the day, but never HOT hot, and most importantly dry. I saw  entirely too many crashes – altogether probably a dozen or more – with this flawless weather. I truly don’t want to even imagine an alternative.
• I think that marks my friend George Hincapie‘s sixteenth RVV. On the start line we chatted a bit – weather, family, travel, life in general. Believe the hype folks, George is a genuinely great guy. But he’s also a bit nutty: 16 Rondes?! RESPECT, bro.
• Lastly a wise man once said, “If you’re not giving out ‘taters, you’re taking yourself too seriously.”

Next up, Paris-Roubaaaaay.

If you haven’t given it your requisite five minutes, please read my piece over at Bicycling found here, thank you kindly.

Here are a few shots from the ride. This is the main pedestrian street through Kortrijk where we’ve startled many an unexpected walker with the whizzing by of a half dozen Liquigas-Cannondale clad cyclists. Upon being recognized, we usually get a quick and unintelligible Flemish yell. Usually the tone sounds positive, so we reciprocate with a festive yelp ourselves.

Again, coffee was an integral part of this ride, but it isn’t all fun and caffeine for us with a monument like Flanders looming on the horizon. After bidding farewell to the friendly bakery couple who have hosted us on the easier rides this week, we set off off in the direction of our nearby hotel. Some guys saved their legs after a tough week at De Panne and went straight to the showers, a pair of others spent nearly an hour behind the car for a bit of motorpacing to hone the leg speed, and others went off to do their specific work. Me, I went for an addition 45 minutes with varying speed. I kept it mostly easy with a few absurdly high cadence drills in addition to even stumbling on what resembled a hill – a rarity in this particular region. Click below to further scope the ride courtesy of Strava.

Here’s an artful shot of my steed for tomorrow’s romp through Flanders, a Cannondale Synapse. Built to absorb much of the harsh reality that is Flanders and its cobbled together goodness, but still deliver a snappy and responsive ride, I’ve been loving this bike lately. “Artful” because it was taken with one of themthere photographer-in-the-making image editors that accentuates colors and makes it look like I spent some time (butchering) with the photo in a darkroom. Also please note the windmill and the cows. Yuup, art.

Less art, more stark reality: Belgium. Farmland, dirt, trees forever bent from the prevailing wind. It’s almost too easy to characterize this place.

Lastly, I found a sheep. I stopped next to this sheep and it wouldn’t take it’s eyes off of me. It’s smokey black face and tar-black eyes don’t really exhibit many emotions, but I did give it a reciprocal inquisitive stare just to leave him confused. Point: King! While there’s not actually anything interesting in this paragraph, I did actually find it incredibly odd that this little fella wouldn’t stop staring. I figure he sees cyclists all the time being Belgium and all. Okay sure, maybe not many cyclists stop and take photos, but still.