2013 kicks into high gear with the Tour of San Luis here in the San Luis’ian region of Argentina. While not exactly old hat just yet, I did this race in 2012 with respectable success since we came home with a win for Elia Viviani.

Meanwhile, all is good in Team Cannondale Pro Cycling Land, which is where I file for residency. We wrapped up a pretty remarkable team presentation with the glam of Hollywood as the backdrop just last week. You may call me King… Ted King.

Needless to say, I looked awesome in my rented tux and plastic black shoes. Ahh yes, and green socks.

So after exemplary riding in the Malibu Hills and a festive Californian send-off, we began a roughly 42 hour trek to Argentina. The shortest distance between two points is a straight line, but we opted to go through Atlanta instead. Arriving in Argentina is a treat as this is a really nice re-introduction to racing since the weather is sunny and warm (err, baking hot), the local scene is very casual and generally this is a low stress environment. Sure, there is a world class field here, the 100+ degree heat and sun present harsh weather, the parcours are certainly not easy, but most ProTour teams field just six riders to balance the local national teams starting as many as ten riders(!).

Moreover the vibe is extremely friendly. For example, everyone drives around happily honking and with their wives/children/or themselves draped out of their car windows videoing our training, since I think this is the most exciting thing to happen to San Luis since last year’s edition of the race (…although the monsoon that washed through town two nights ago presenting noteworthy flooding was rather heart-pumping too). Plus the honking of horns is always indicative of an exuberant HOLA! rather than honking in place of four letter explicatives as we are so accustomed in North America.

And a quick “Tour” de San Luis to give you a lay of the land:

Typical ride. View to the right, not much going on…

…the view to the left, also not much going on, although there are some mountains…

…and then now descending those same mountains…

…and of course, into the town square. This photo doesn’t do it justice, but it is in the town square where around 7:46pm every day there are, in the words of Peter Sagan “more people than New York City on New Years Eve! …I think. I never been. Only see on the TV.”

Good stuff, good stuff. The bike’s ready, I’m ready, team’s ready, now time to go race a bike! Tomorrow.

Following the tail of my last entry, Tips from Ted, the inevitable question of diet arrived to my inbox. It’s wonderfully vague as Dan asks, “Diets tips would be greatly appreciated, Ted!”

Balance, Dan, you need to find balance. That’s my M.O. in this adventure called life, anyway. It extends from family to friends to travel to work to education to lifestyle to business to pleasure… to food. Life is about riding waves so that when you’re having fun, you’re HAVING FUN. Yup, caps-lock, full-gas, fun. And then when you’re deep into business, you’re serious, you’re 100% laser focused, get the job done. When you’re on top of the wave, you’re ON. When you’re in the nadir, you’re traaaaaaanquillo.

Food, namely good food, provides me enormous pleasure. All facets of food in fact, whether it’s sitting at a fine restaurant or standing next to an authentic taco cart, strolling and absorbing the colorful, aromatic, and bustling alleys of a fresh food market, or my time spent in the kitchen which I find tremendously cathartic, food provides incalculable joy to life.

(I recognize that this isn’t the case for everyone. There is a teammate of mine for the past two years whom I have never witnessed eat anything that is not some dull shade of white. He eats bread, pasta bianco, rice, and chicken, as well as such riveting toppings as salt, olive oil, and Parmesan cheese.

NEVER have I seen him consume a single vegetable nor piece of fruit. Ever. Mind you, I spend consecutive days and up to two weeks with my teammates between races, camps, and media escapades. For someone who’s job is critically hinged on the consumption of food as fuel, this is nothing if not mind-bending to me.)

I digress.

This past year, I’ve had the distinct and delicious pleasure to eat at a variety of pillars of cuisine. In no particular order, America’s greatest chef, Thomas Keller’s Ad Hoc, Sam Hayward’s Fore Street in the homey heart of Portland, Chris Cosantino’s always exciting Incanto (I highly recommend his twitter feed, @OffalChris for mouth watering food porn), Michael Chiarello’s Bottega (where I dined, ahem… twice in consecutive days), Tuscan butcher and restauranteur Dario Cecchini’s Antica Macelleria Cecchini, the pillar of Boulder’s fine dining scene, Frasca, and James Beard award winning restaurant Husk in charming Charleston, SC. Indubitably, the icing on the cake – or the pat of fois gras resting delicately atop the seared fois gras – was the final night of my season when Timmy and I gluttonously dined at Au Pied de Cochon.

Food porn to end all food porn: Anthony Bourdain’s “Food Porn” episode of No Reservations at Au Pied de Cochon.

The point being, Dan, you need to thoroughly enjoy the food when you’re enjoying food. If you want dessert, eat dessert. I suppose the “tip” here is just be sure you’ve somehow deserved it or earned it or know you’ll be stream-line-focused the next time you’re on the bicycle. Ride the wave, man. In a similar vain, that means eat the real ice cream; don’t cheat yourself by slurping the chemical rich, low-fat, low-cal, aspartame sweetened garbage. And goodness gracious, I hope you know my feelings on real maple syrup as opposed to the corn syrup supplemented with corn syrup, Log Cabin Bottle of Gross. When you eat, eat. When you work, work. When you’re on top of the wave, ride the wave. When you’re off the wagon, hop off the wagon.

Let’s now bring it full circle and jump right up to the present. We are currently amidst the 2013 Team Cannondale Pro Cycling‘s December training camp for the past week and a half and I’ve seen the weight plummet like, oooh let’s say a hot knife shredding through butter. It’s inevitable because my game-day business face is back on as it’s been since November the first, so even though Italy is world renowned for exquisite yet startlingly simple cuisine, that means salad raised to the power of salad here at camp. Hellooooooo lettuce!

What does a post ride 100g plate of pasta look like? It looks like 29 lonely pieces of penne.

Who wants protein? I want protein! Who wants a feast from the sea? Well actually I do, but instead we will have a small filet of white fish.

Dessert? Ha, yeah right. “Dessert” is a modest apple. Three hour ride food? Creativity be damned, how about that apple again. And there’s always more sparkling water if we’re really hungry.

Now finding ourselves ten days deep into camp, eating like Oliver Twist, racking up hours both on the new steed and in the gym, the body fat percentage is down nearly two full points and the kgs are in the realm of scrawny and again. In fact, it was just this morning I noticed a new rib bonily protruding from my mid section. Great success.

Of course, this is just a simple Tip from Ted, Dan… and everyone else. Take this with a grain or entire bagful of salt. You could always subscribe to another dietician’s advice and blandly eat exclusively from the White food group.

More to the point, all the fun and travel and adventure and excitement and baked goods and beers and copious wine and overall gluttonous living and burning the candle at both ends in order to maximize all things awesome have come to a close. Which is only slightly ironic that I now find myself in Napa for the better part of November – there are nooooo good restaurants nor wine here, right? Right. Good.

We can all agree that over the past month the internet has experienced a noticeable dearth of anything interesting. The fact that I haven’t written on this website in a month exhibits an starkly obviously correlation. So in order to bring you all back up to speed, please allow me to take you along my travels over the past 45′ish days, where we’ll rehash a bit of September and then tackle October before we all jump into November together.

Mid-September brought me to the rugged and pastoral Green Mountain state of Vermont. Which brings up a point of confusion in regards to me. Not that it really matters nor should you care, but let me clear the air and announce here and henceforth that I’m from New Hampshire, still have residence in New Hampshire, attended college in Vermont, have family in Connecticut, visit Massachusetts frequently when am back in New England, and we have a family island house in Maine of which I am the sixth generation to be lucky enough to summer there. (Yes, summer is a verb when you’re a snotty New Englander lucky enough to have a summer house in Maine.) Got it? Again, good.

Vermont brought great weather and some stunning scenery. That will likely be the theme of these past 7+ weeks since I seem to only go to stunningly beautiful places in the offie.

I participated in my requisite “handful” of cross races, which is anything from one to six depending on my level off off-season vigor. You’d be smart to guess that I’m smoking everyone and winning in this photo at the Green Mountain Cyclocross weekend. Unfortunately, you would be incorrect.

Speaking of, umm… beautiful landscapes, I made my way to Las Vegas for Interbike for the first time in a trio of years. Which was thrilling as usual and well worth the trip, but reminded me that I only need to visit Sin City once every three years to feel perfectly satiated in the department of overwhelming senses. Bright lights, loud noises, caustic smells, and delicious food. I also bought these shorts for myself. They are stunning.

Lining up 5th row, even with my copious UCI points (or maybe UCI point, singular. I don’t remember) did not help my cause at CrossVegas. The field was STACKED. Worse yet, the officials warned us that we would be immediately ejected if we took a beer feed. Which is lame as heck since it was hot as balls. Thankfully after a few embarrassing laps, I pulled myself together as well as pulled $10 worth of dollar hand-ups. That’s ten bucks more than anyone else who finished well out of the money like I did. Suckers.

I graciously have stolen this photo from Danny Munson. The crowd looks riveted.

The best way of celebrating a criterium in your home city is to win it! However, when the field is lined top to bottom with crit racers and when you haven’t raced a crit in a quarter-dozen years (that’s three years if you’re counting along today), then the next best way to celebrate is to sign some dude’s cast at the start line.

Early October had me treking down the eastern seaboard, beginning in NH, down to VA by way of NYC, then back to PA, and onto CT, and back to NH. This is all of course well before that heinous bit#& Hurricane Sandy reared her ugly head so things were still tranquil and beautiful. This photo is from the PA portion with the Bicycling Fall Classic; in particular, this is the ride winning final breakaway (“ride” and not “race”). Those thousand of us smart enough to disregard the weather forecasters call for rain, who were entirely incorrect, had an incredible day in the saddle.

Remember hanging out with my cousins? Well two weeks after kicking it with them in Vermont during my glorious VT50 win, I swung through CT and had a Patriots game, massive dinner, watched a four year old break dance the night away, and went for a bike ride to the center of town the next day. 2.6 miles round trip. Ayuup, all of 2.6 miles. Off season watts!

I may have mentioned gluttonous living and sweetbreads are nearly always categorized in the over the top delicious/over the top surely unhealthy column. Here they are at Fore Street, which I would argue is the best restaurant east of the Mississippi. Don’t believe me? Give it a try.

I went hiking a quartet of times and twice with my good friend Damon. I also attended his wedding this fall, so hats off to him for getting married during the season in which I can actually attend his wedding. As for the hike, it was warm and pleasant down at basecamp 1, then frigid and pleasant at the summit.

It has also been three years since I attended the Dempsey Challenge last. It’s up in the middle of nearly nowhere Maine and it’s truly amazing the number of people who come from far and wide to catch a glimpse of Patrick Dempsey. Thankfully, I’m called up as a VIP rider so I get to hang out with him and end up as the buffer amid a gaggle of frenzied soccer moms. It’s very entertaining. Plus there’s Gritty’s for ample late night entertainment.

The 38 degrees of rain on ride day were enough to make me want to keep trucking the entire day and not really stop and warm up (because warm up is followed promptly by cool down). But the day before was another smaller ride and I got to know Matt Updike who is a really great guy and something of a stud both on and off his bike; the paralympic gold medal in London this year is a testament to that. This photo shows Matt teaching Patrick how to use his ridiculously low to the ground bike with Freddie Rodriguez giving pointers to the side. Or else Fred is just trying to hold Patrick’s hand.

Six words, folks: Krempels King of the Road Challenge. My BFF, teammate to the stars for two years, and TBI survivor himself, Timmy Duggan made the week-long trip to the east coast to kick it with vigor, eat seafood like a champ, crush wine, and speak about TBIs to the Krempels Center. Plus he saddled up and rode the KKotRC with me, Jesse Anthony, Pat McCarty, and 200+ of our best friends and family.

I spy with my little eye…

Here we are slaying the dirt, also with vigor. Actually the dirt has just abruptly ended. Which is probably safer.

Our ride also featured an off season smorgasbord of riding delicacies. Peanut Butter & Co., Simply Stroops, and of course New England’s favorite Marshmallow Fluff were only part of what powered us through the ride.

Sheesh, where are we. Still two weeks of off season to go!

The day after the ride I went with a triplet of friends plus extended family to a New England Patriots game. I’m a Pats fan with the best of ‘em, but I only go to about one game per year. Or every other year. These guys know how to rock out a good game, and it all starts with the pre-game tailgating party. This array of scallops is only a taste of what we had on the tailgate that day. And yes, those are very nice bottles of vino.

The man, the myth, the legend George Hincapie retired this year. He’s a stalwart member of the pro peloton and as an American, something of a pillar to look up to over the years. His accomplishments of 418 grand tours and however-many national championship wins is enviable. I was flattered to be a distinguished guest among friends, family, and my ilk of pro cyclists at his Gran Fondo. I give him a hard time because I tell George that I was coming to settle our on-going battle of best tennis player in the pro peloton (me) and he really clinched my arrival when I learned chef Michael Chiarello would be cooking. I’m in!

This blurry and terrible picture is of Chiarello on the far left, his right hand man from Uruguay who is awesome in the middle, chef Lucas Euser in the middle, and my good friend Tebbetts stoked to be poaching the photo on the right. Hi Matt!

George’s Gran Fondo was ridiculously hard. I’m 100% certain that the folks who designed this course did so in mid-season fitness. They didn’t realize that late October would be zilch in the fitness department. Ouch.

This photo is a pure thing of beauty. I’m, umm, smiling and saying hello, the peloton is shattered, Scotty to my right is actually smiling despite the 18% grade, and Brian is looking less than content behind Scotty. Good work team breakaway!

Meanwhile in Charleston, SC there are more good friends needing a visit. Moreover, it’s a corner of the world that I don’t know much about, so I took a 48 hour reprieve there. Actually it was slightly longer because even though we had pristine weather, Sandy was wreaking havoc on the northeastern United States so my flight was delayed a whole bunch of… hours. And thankfully just hours and not days, because not even 36 hours of being home, I unpacked, repacked, and hit the road onto Napa where I find myself today.

So from Greenville, SC it was on to Charleston. In Charleston is Husk. And in Husk is an amazing restaurant. Their 2011 Best New Restaurant in America claim was worth investigating. Everything we ordered was delicious and the pig ear tacos were a highlight for sure. Turn on your adventure and taste buds, cause Husk is awesome.

It wasn’t just gourmandism ruing the day in Charleston. I also went for a pair of runs and took in some history. This here is a photo of Fort Sumter on the central island in the distance. 42 arbitrary Ted King history points if you can tell me exactly why this place sits prominently in the history books.

And that, my friends, is a chronological smattering of my off season adventures. I assure you that this is only on fraction of the fun had, but I figure this is enough to give you a taste of what I’ve been up to of late, which explains my lack of blogging.

Bring on monk-like living and the ruckus of 2013!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am riding parallel to a busy road, so I find myself on a bike path. Very few patrons in sight; in fact, I haven’t seen anyone for a good five minutes. I am approaching what is obviously an elderly lady, who is very well kitted-up on a fancy European bike complete with Euro-stylish riding clothes. That is, she looks both smart and ridiculous.

I slow considerably and upon noticing that she is resplendent with a helmet mirror, I spend a fair amount of time behind her so that she’ll observe that I’m there. I even make some noises and shift and so forth so that she’ll really notice me. I then slowly come back up to speed and approach to her left to initiate the pass. I’m now decently close to her and call out, “On your left”.

It was around about this time that I immediately recognized that she had NO idea I was ever there. She absolutely freaks out, clearly nearly has a heart attack, and cries “Great Jiminy Cricket!” …which just might go down as the best curse word ever. When I’m scared out of my wits I tend towards uttering four-letter words; apparently the elderly crowd in this town happen to be considerable fans of Pinocchio.

Oh and best yet, as she was crying out to Mr. Cricket, she also pulled one of these moves (that is, the awesome shimmying that takes place at 0:13). Thank goodness she stayed upright.

I apologized and she proceeded to scream that “…young man, I am a 75 year old woman! How dare you frighten me like that!” No harm, no crash, no heart attack, no foul. That’s what I always say.

(End of scene. Exit right. Look at trees in the town in which I was just visiting.)

The off-season adventures continue to chug along in high gear. I was easily convinced to go to Interbike for the unveiling of the Cannondale Pro Cycling team. This is enormous news and no better place to tell the world than in SinCity. So that was excellent. Rather than making Vegas a mere 12 hour adventure, I also opted for my first attempts at CrossVegas. My optimism ran high since I had just completed two UCI races the previous weekend, thereby completing 66.667% of my cross season in just two day, and therefore my cross skills were adept and honed. I also still had 10 UCI points from the fall of 2011 at my disposal for an awesome start position.

Wrong. I found out that at a stacked race like CrossVegas – where the beer, credibility, and ego run high – 10 UCI points plants you prominently in row 6. Out of 10.

From Vegas to Boston Criterium. Reaaaaady, and go!

I present unto you Boston’s TD Bank Mayor’s Cup Criterium. I haven’t raced a criterium since I did this one two years ago. So much like the stop-start of a cross race, this isn’t my bag. But it’s oooooh so much fun. If every criterium were run as smoothly and well as this, if every race took place in a major metropolitan city, if every race were thoroughly endorsed by it’s mayor and therefore were able to be run prominently through it’s central city streets, then cycling would gain an enormous foothold in America and everything would be perfect. If only…

So while we wait for that utopia, we graciously accept this amazing race in the meantime.

And then onto more adventures like 2 days in the Rocky Mountains

Followed by a wedding this Friday evening for two great friends, either watch GP Gloucester or attend this once in a lifetime (or once per year, I’m guessing) event on Saturday, and then defend my title in the Vermont 50 marathon mountain bike race on Sunday.

And lest we forget, we are now down to just three weeks and three days until the Krempels King of the Road Challenge. We’re thrilled to announce that Cannondale has generously upped the ante and will give away Cannondale EVO 2 complete with SRAM Red to folks who surpass the $5k mark in fund-raising. So that’s massive. So I encourage you to sign up today and start towards that goal (you have until November 30 to reach that mark, so bonus 1 month+10 days).

And if you can’t make it to NH then you can always participate in the very generous opening of your wallet and helping me reach my goal. A sincere please and thank you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some groggy eyes at 5:58am.

Good morning. ilovermont.

VT farm roads veiled in morning fog.

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

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

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

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

Ryan ain’t hallucinating yet.

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

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

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

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

Specifically, I’ve just returned from a quasi-cycling vacation to the northern reaches of the Italian Dolomites and then to the postcard perfect center of the country in Chianti. I’d be impressed, however, if you hadn’t yet pick up on that, because I’ve spent no shortage of time nor tweets nor other tweets nor blogs nor other blogs nor even more blogs all hinting at this escape to see some of my best friends, ride some of the finest roads on the planet, plus mangia and bevi in a manner only inGamba can. So if this is news to you, then your ability to ignore me is excellent and I tip my hat to you.

Anyway, it’s back to business (mind you, I spent this little “vacation” training my tail off for Tour of Poland, Utah, Colorado, Canadian races, and hopefully the World Championships among other races still to come) and I sped back into town approximately 12 minutes before the rental car was due at 10am. Mind you, when I rented the car I was told that I should return it “sometime around 10am” and therefore figured that I had this friendly buffer for any sort of Italian adventures that might arise.

My European home base of Lucca is a great city for a bunch of reasons, not least of which is that it doesn’t have the insane traffic issues you’ll experience in Rome or Florence or Milan. 12 minutes to spare is like a lifetime. Therefore, perfectly fittingly, there was a big traffic accident – or an “aggressive fender bender” since everyone appeared angry but perfectly alright in this seven car incident – just 300 meters from where I am due to return the car. 12 minutes pass. Then another 10, and 5, and 3, and 12 more, so that it’s now 10:30. A few more minutes tick by and around about 10:38 I ran into Hertz and tossed them my keys. I explained that I was here on time, or within 300 meters of their front door but was delayed by the accident, to which the woman freaked out thinking that I was in the accident. My response in Italian: “No no no, Lady, I’m late because there was an accident right there” (I point outside at the dozen authoritative police officers). She has no idea there was an accident, breaths a big sigh of relief… and proceeds to charge me the extra day’s car rental.

There are 1440 minutes in one day. Sitting in traffic for 38 of them costs the same as if one used 1439. Whatever.

Oh and don’t you worry, this day gets better. It’s not even 11am.

Most of my adventures in Italy take place on two wheels. Sure, the bicycle is one source of that, but I also have a sweet Vespa scooter, which needless to say is a chick magnet. From Hertz, I make the five minutes stroll to where I parked the scooter and am surprised to see that it’s covered in what appears to be morning dew, which is odd because it’s about 100 degrees and baking in the sun. On closer inspection, it’s pine pitch and it appears as though the scooter has been ridden through a fine mist of pine pitch every day for the past ten days. (sigh)

I find a plastic bag and sit on that so that my bum doesn’t get permanently attached to the seat and then as I throw a leg over this hog to drive home, I see that I have a parking ticket folded neatly in my seat.

My blood pressure was only slightly elevated because of the pine pitch issue, but it’s now doubled when I see the ticket. A quick scan around the scene and I don’t see Italian Candid Camera bursting out of the bushes, so I’m upset. When I parked here sometime last week, I went to a great deal of trouble to find the right spot. As hopefully some of you have experienced, parking in Italy is a comedy of errors since most people just put their car in park, regardless of where they are (middle of the road, middle of the highway, sidewalk, etc) and chuck on the hazard lights. Hazards in Italy translate to “don’t tow me, bro – I’ll be back before sunset.” And it works fine.

The problem being my scooter doesn’t have hazard lights. I therefore sought out what I thought was an excellent spot safely amid a dozen other scooters – although I obviously didn’t see the ominous pine tree looming above.

On closer inspection of the ticket, I noticed it was impossible to inspect the ticket closer! Seriously, click on that photo above and look closely. In the three days of sitting on my scooter, apparently the harsh Tuscan sun has rendered the friendly police officer’s pen entirely useless. Or else (s)he wrote it in invisible ink. You can’t read anything on the ticket except the faint scribbling that the license plate number matches my license plate.

Three letters crossed my mind. Double-u, taye, and ef.

I’ve been through the parking ticket process once before and was baffled to find that paying the ticket took nearly a week. Thinking that I’m now a resident pro, I was therefore less than impressed to flip the ticket over to read that the payment process is entirely different from the last time around – new location, new method, new everything. (sigh… sigh)

I not big on the idea of karma nor do I believe in fate. I do, however, believe that I am the first person in Italian history to pay a parking ticket here, so I have an equally strong belief that there is a crew of Italian officials stealthfully following me around in order to issue me more tickets. Slowly but surely Italy will rise out of the European financial crisis and I’m doing my part to help.

Thankfully friends, there is nothing but good news from here on out, so please issue a celebratory high-five to whomever is nearby.

Have you ever tried to remove pine pitch from a car? I’ve personally never been tarred and feathered, but I bet it’s equally tough to wash out. Yet, in a stunning show of magic, it turns out that Italian pine pitch comes out with mere dish soap and universal household spray cleaner. So from there, with a spiffy clean Vespa, I drove into town with the mind bending job of tackling the mysterious parking ticket issued in invisible ink. Not only did I get the location to pay the ticket correct at the first stab, but I arrived right as the post-lunch doors open and found myself third in line, which in the moments afterwards extended out to about 25 soon-to-be-bored line patrons. Best yet, not having any idea how much it would cost me with the incomprehensible ticket, and this being Italy I’m half expecting to take out a loan for four figures, I was pleased to walk out of this municipal office merely 40 euro poorer. That’s well worth the price of rinsing myself clean of further headache.

Prologue:

There is a moral to every story, so what’s the take home lesson here? I have no frigging idea! Maybe it’s that 40 euro is the price you pay for a clean Vespa? Or that you shouldn’t ever think you’re returning a rental car on time because you will surely run into the gnarliest fender-bender in Italian history? Again, I have no… frigging… idea. Oh, here’s a good lesson: install hazard lights on your scooter with an extra good battery to last 10 days.

Ciao. Happy 4th of July America!

After last week’s brief four day venture to the northern reaches of Italy, I swung through home in Lucca, enjoyed Taco-Tuesday(-on-Friday) with some friends, thereby bringing arguably the best Mexican food to Europe before continuing south to Chianti. The amazing part of riding down here is that virtually every time you go over a rise, around a corner, look over a wall, or down a city block it’s like catching a glimpse of a postcard. This place is absolutely incredible.

Have I mentioned inGamba Tours? Yes, I have. And in other news, they’re located right there –>

I decided to pay them a visit as one of their “pros in residence” in order to continue my cycling escape and soak in the good life, all the while training hard and not racing the Tour. Today I had salad. And it was delicious. Here’s a fairly standard day from behind the camera lens (and in fairness, this is an amalgamation of two days).

Lots of vineyards.

A road.

A breathtaking view that just isn’t served justice in this photo. Plus a fence.

It’s wine o’clock somewhere. In this case, it’s about that time in Panzano.

I didn’t eat here. But I liked the photo.

Dario Cecchini‘s macelleria and restaurant are worth the visit. Very un-salad like.

Sunday traffic. Estimated combined age of this duo: 197 years.

You ever see the Palio? It’s kind of a big (absolutely ginormous!) deal in Siena. I stumbled upon it yesterday.

Greenery.

A fountain. I think this one is called The Lion King.

Dusk.

Last night was a two’fer: a local town BBQ dinner plus Italy versus Spain in the EuroCup finals. Italy got trounced, but it was amazing to see the enthusiasm and patriotism. The entire room of 100 stood and sang the national anthem. Emphatically. Plus yelled, kicked, screamed, and cheered at every opportunity. Go sports!

But like I said, Italy lost. And they like their Chianti Classico in this region.

Goodnight.

Today was a proper day of bicycle riding. Looked something like this.

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!”