Three days ago it was about 7C / 45F and it was raining down buckets. I plead hearty New Englander and just don the appropriate neoprene and Goretex combination to handle the task. The task, of course, is to not lose a limb or smaller appendage of your body to hypothermia. A lesser man (namely my teammates, and virtually everyone in Italy apparently since I didn’t see a soul on the typically cycling strewn Saturday morning streets) would not brave the elements, especially when the calendar has hardly cracked December. But I plan on winning everything in sight in 2013, so excuses aren’t part of my training routine. Two words, my friends: game. on.

Two days ago was simply absurd, but goes without mention. Whereas yesterday was quite simply frigid. But complete with crystal clear blue skies, so I was pumped to stay dry even though the thermometer read well below freezing. (Oh, mind you that I packed for this three week trip to Italy having seen forecasted temperatures never dropping below 10C / 50F. Apparently Mother Nature doesn’t exchange notes with the friendly folks at the Weather Channel where I did my reconnaissance. But nearly five hours later and without ever breaking into a shiver, I call it a success.)

Today, however, was the most epic combination of both cold and rain that I’ve ever experienced. And that’s not hyperbole. Rolling out the door, the temperature was hovering around 3C / 37F. Meanwhile, the rain was truly indescribable. I’m staying at my friend and new Danish teammate Brian Vandborg’s house along with our Canadian amigo, new teammate, and lover of hockey, Xbox, and riding his bike fast, Guillaume Boivin. The two of them were absolutely floored that I was stepping outside – let alone attempting a ride. The combination of wind and pounding rain make the house a consistent 80ish decibels… minimum. All said and done, I still eeked out almost 2.5 hours despite dodging fallen trees, being diverted amongst roads due to flooding all throughout Lucca, contending with virtually black-out skies meet white-out rain, and nearly being blown off my bike perhaps a dozen times. Freakin’ nutty.

(And when you delve deeper and look at the temp on this ride, mind you the GPS was tucked safely under my jersey, under my raincoat. Nice and warm, nice and err… less-sopping wet.)

Let’s also celebrate my mere surviving today by giving you the coupon code: tedking2012 which will entitle you 10% off a Strava premium membership. There are some incredible things coming down the line from the Strava braintrust, especially in the premium arena. You want premium, trust me.

So hopefully this should paint the picture of Europe in the winter for you. Sure, Italy juts prominently into the balmy and majestic Mediterranean Sea, but go stare at a world map for a while. We’re flipping far north.

Anywho, 2013 team CANNONDALE PRO CYCLING(!) meetings kicked off last week up in Milan and we were greeted by pissing rain and being holed up in a hotel for four days. Which I suppose is efficient for conducting meetings, but I like to at least see sun, or at least know it’s there. Or perhaps see less flooding. And now tomorrow we are off to the start of a ten day camp in scenic southern Tuscany. I’m just going to guess that in 10 days we ride the same loop, hrmm… oh, 9 out of the 10 days. (Psst, shoot me a reminder in a week and a half and I’ll give you the update on how close my guess is to reality. We might even go 10 for 10!)

And now down to the real business: Food Porn.

Brian VB turns 31 today so we are celebrating by cleaning the house, surviving the impending elements, doing a massive round of laundry all before trekking off to camp tomorrow. So in our last moments of freedom we are hosting a dozen of his Danish cycling buddies and their family who live in town for a birthday dinner. I made a smashing pulled pork, roasted sweet potatoes with red onion, and deep ruddy red beets two days ago for our romantic dinner of three. Turns out it was such a hit that Brian asked I do it again. Birthday boy gets his wish! Given this gnarly weather of late, a heartwarming and hearty home cooked meal warms the soul.

And now, to backtrack: the best third Thursday of November in all the land has come and gone. Thanksgiving arrived complete with all the token fixin’s: a morning boost to the heart rate, hors d’oeuvres, cocktails, friends, family, schmoozing, wine, more hors d’oeuvres because they’re still out, more wine, throwing the football in our Sunda… err, Thursday’s finest attire, stuffing-potatoes-creamed onions-turkey-mashed potatoes-more stuffing-gravy-and-more-turkey-plus-celery to make it healthy creating a mountain on my plate, wine, a riveting game of smashing old pumpkins against a tree in the backyard, an aptertivo, watching the Patriots thump the Jets, wine, and watching the Campaign. This photo of dinner is blurry cause I’m in the early stages of a fine food coma. Ahh, just like the Pilgrims…

Of the ten desserts on the sweets table, my entirely homemade maple-pumpkin, gingerbread trifle was the hit to end all hits. T’was truly glorious. Again, just like the Pilgrims.

And simply for the sake of sharing more food photo-ops, I partook in an orphan Thanksgiving the week before while training in Palo Alto and created another rendition of my 2011 Thanksgiving dessert masterpiece, the Martha Stewart Mile High Pumpkin Pie. For something loco, like 30 people at this party, I decided to double up and make two pies. Despite all the self-discipline in the room, they were gone in no time flat.

Looking above, there are pies beneath that velvety smooth meringue topping, I promise. Just look at this for proof. And no, of course I don’t make my own crusts. That’s hard.

One last big meal tonight, then time for salad and team camp. Over and out.

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!

This fall has cruised by in rapid fashion with stops all throughout New England – some of which were for my bi-annual dabbling in cyclocros, a speedy trip through Italy, more jaunts through New England followed by a proper vacation in Hawaii which lacked a bike to the same proportions that it provided an abundance of beach time and poke, and now finally this entry greets you from Italy. Ciao! Of course you could have simply scrolled down at previous entries and relived these moments in time this fall, but I thought I would rehash it for your now regardless.

I have just one word to describe the off-season as of today: OVER. This aforementioned “teleportation shuttle” is often called an airplane and after jetting me around the northern and primarily western hemisphere, I freshly stepped off the airplane in Milan mere hours ago where I am now a bit shellshocked that the past two months went by so quickly. Amidst my time-zone hopping, some things simply don’t add up given this gratuitous amount of travel – case in point: I’m sitting here in the hotel lobby listening to Bing Crosby melodiously sing some of my Christmas favorites, followed immediately by Afroman’s Because I Got High, then book-ended by the Babes in Toyland fight scene song. Meanwhile an Italian marching band is belting out a cacaphony in the hotel restaurant to a group of Italian policemen and their families adjacent to where I sit. I couldn’t make it up if I tried. Oh, did I mentioned I slept four hours last night? Yeaap, I’m shellshocked.

Let’s now switch gears entirely and discuss Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday for most likely the same reason it is yours. Namely, there is no stress lingering in the air in regards to gift giving and all the pretension that coincides with another festive holiday. Instead wafting through the air you have the magical amalgamated aroma of baked fowl, green beans, pumpkin pie, and a small slice of heaven, which is considerably more pleasant.

Waking up at the tender hour of 3am on Thanksgiving Eve, I took in America’s busiest travel day from high above the headache and gridlock at 35,000′ as I flew from my November training grounds in California to home in New England. From there to the busiest bar night of the year, I slept a few hours before Thursday morning’s turkey trot. I’m a regular to this sort of five kilometer activity, but it was still a nice surprise to have this version be entirely off-road where I finished a respectable 22nd out of 500 runners and now I am still awkwardly sore. I would offer you to go to the site to peruse results, but the timing company is still boasting their most recently posted results… which happened in 2009.

More importantly yet, let’s discuss pie. I was in charge of the pumpkin pie as is my standard chore come Thanksgiving day. I’m always looking for ways to spice it up and after dabbling off the beaten path of late with a pumpkin trifle and pumpkin cheesecake in recent editions, I sought help from Martha Stewart. The Deep Dish title is misleading because that’s not the showcase feature. Instead it should be dubbed Mile High Meringue with Pumpkin Pie Underneath. I even opted for an extra egg white to give it even more vertical.

I couldn’t help myself. 99% candid, 1% posed.

And lastly the pie in its native habitat. I didn’t mean to outshine the other eight desserts feeding this army of 18, but needless to say, my 7″ tall pie was nothing short of exemplary. And the icing on the cake was the meringue on the pie. It was divine.

Okay and now I must bid you farewell. Camp starts tomorrow and there will likely not be any pie in attendance. It’s back to the grind.

Oh and in related news, it is fall and that means it’s soon winter and that means it’s cold. But you’re obviously still riding your bike so you need a neckgaiter. This is a Euro-neckgaiter inspired garment and fits the bill for any chore above your shoulders. Hat, neckgaiter, ear warmer, and do-all-style-piece. It’s the bomb.

I was also warmly welcomed with a visit to the local convenient store around the corner from our hotel because it conveniently vends America’s favorite canned meat’ish product, SPAM. Oooh… wait. Hmm, SPAM is spelled with an S isn’t it? …umm, yeah that’s just bizarre.

Street sprints ensued in which I got smoked. This is a great way to open up the legs, but it also takes a bit out of you about 18 hours before the start of 200 really tough kilometers of Canadian racing. So I wasn’t “all-in” so to speak, regardless it was a ton of fun with a huge crowd turn out.

Honestly I think this sort of event stands to flourish in America. Look, we love our NASCAR-like criteriums in this continent and it is therefore fitting that like fast action quickly. This is the country that demands immediacy and therefore has a remote control for virtually everything. We want results and we want results now. So what better discipline of cycling than one that takes mere seconds from start to finish? (Trackies are jumping out of their seats to claim that track racing offers all that, but that also requires a track. Comparatively, a street is much more prevalent than a track since America loves its inefficient modes of long-distance travel as much as we love immediacy.)

Although I didn’t win, I certainly looked good in the process. Photo poached from the world wide web. I think Casey Gibson shooting for V’news.

Fastforward 24 hours later and I have now completed the Quebec City Grand Prix. With the act of racing through city streets, despite the sun shining and pristine weather, comes road grime. This is what my legs looked like after the race. No, I didn’t use any embrocation. I nearly applied a sheen of maple syrup embro’ but quickly realized that would be nasty. That’s pure and simple Canadian road dirt adhering to my legs with ample sweat. Gross.

And in entirely unrelated news, you all will recall the 200-on-100 with great fondness. First, I recommend watching it again right now because I said so. Second, you recall it with fondness, because it still is as brutally real as it is hilarious. You will also recall that Ryan was run down by a dumptruck full of awesome somewhere approaching hour 8 into this ride. People took kindly to that phrase and our friend Phillip of Cutaway Clothing used his creative and artistic genius to create this fine article of clothing, the official 200-on-100 Dumptruck Full of Awesome t-shirt.

Moreover, after Vermont offered us so much with her rich heritage and regal natural beauty on that fine July day, we decided to donate 100% of the profits to help rebuild the flood ravaged state of Vermont. Buy yours here to save the Green Mountain State.

Don’t be fooled by competitors’ imitation threads, folks. THIS is a genuine t-shirt.