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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m beat. See you tomorrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’ll do. Au revoir.

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.

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!

…Or not. Of course not, because there’s more to it.

Utah was an up and down race, in both the figurative and literal sense. When racing in and around Salt Lake City, you soon realize that there isn’t much outside of this area for many many miles. Salt Lake City is something of an oasis. One particular stage took us to the southwestern reaches of the city in an area that one could safely assume to be the end of the earth. There is absolutely nothing for miles and miles (and then dozens and hundreds and seemingly thousands of miles more) except for one random teenage boy on the side of the road enthusiastically cheering. No driveway for miles in either direction, no bicycle nor vehicle for him to travel, just a boy. That was frightening. But he seemed content, so whatever.

(Photo poached from the internets at C’news by Jonathan Devich)

Much like a good chunk of the western United States, there are fires raging around SLC. So the dry air, in addition to the already decently high altitude, in addition to the smog and new-to-me Utahn pollens, and especially in addition to the smoke lingering thickly in the air, I was contending with a big breadth of breathing difficulties. This resulted in a many aggressive spurts of coughing, similar to what one might find in a person humming through four packs-a-day for the past three decades. Harsh dude.

Thankfully I made it to the other side, probably at an oxygen detriment, but that’s just fine since from Utah we’re off to Colorado where the altitude is thinner and clearer. One might safely assume that I’m in the clear now that I’m out of smokey and smoggy Utah and into the lush alpine air of Colorado… buuuut someone just showed me a map showing the Utahn wildfire smoke reaching well across into the Centennial State. So I will just follow my own sage advice: breathe deeper and breathe more often. Duh.

Utah wrapped up and with one Monday to burn before flying out that evening, I spent an excellent day cruising the mean streets of Salt Lake City with my best friend from college, Scooter McGavin. I got a haircut in the morning and the day also came complete with comida Mexicana at Lone Star plus a road trip and quick walk-about up to his stomping grounds of Snowbird, it was off to Colorado. Try to keep pace, folks, I know this is a lot.

Colorado is one of my favorite places on the planet. The entire state (ahem, west of Denver) is incredible with some of the world’s most stunning scenery, gracious people, incredible roads, and overall coolness. Teammate/comrade/best friend Timmy Duggan and his lovely wife were hosts for my four days there which included scoping stage four of Colorado. That looks something like this:

I did the previous chunk of that stage from Boulder up Boulder Canyon on an easy day the day before so I’m feeling charged up for stage 6.

It’s hard to put into words just how palpable the enthusiasm is for the entire USA Pro Cycling Challenge and especially how the race builds up to Boulder. With a few of my pro-biking cronies, we did a roller derby style hipster roller race to benefit Boulder Junior Cycling on Wednesday night and then a big’n of a cocktail party, signing session, dinner, and roast at the St. Julien on Thursday before jetting off to Durango where I am now.

So. Many. Kids. It is incredible to see the youth really stepping up in Boulder and riding at such a high level at such a young age. These kids are accomplishing a lot more in the sport at an age before I ever raced my bike! (Ahem, a reminder that hockey took up most of the first two decades of my life.) Yup, the rock and roll derby was for the kids for sure. Kids… so many kids, with many proud parents.

Then an excellent schoozefest 2012 to benefit the stage coming into Boulder, so yeah Boulder is a fun place.

But better yet, I got to stay in Nederland which is up in the hills beyond Boulder so that I could stay focused on the race ahead, dabble in town only when I needed to, scope the requisite course, get the pre-race media day off the to-do list, and overall stay relaxed. It was awesome.

Best yet, it’s worth pointing out that one of the finest bits of racing in America – besides the fans, the language, the simple use of my American dollar bills, not having to deal with a post office, seeing friends and family, racing in the coolest part of the world – is the street food. Hello recovery tacos.

And sriacha peas.

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.

Oh, that image has a canny resemblance to the Colorado flag, you say? Yes, indeed it does. Stay tuned…

———————————————————————————————————————————-

Staying with the present, I’m now about to start stage 4 of the Tour of Poland. We came into this race without a distinct team leader as Timmy, Eros Cappechi, and Moreno Moser all can climb well and seem to be hitting some excellent form entering the forever undulating ToP. Turns out that is the case as Moreno won a very impressive circuit race on stage one thereby dressing himself in yellow.

The Tour of Poland is a WorldTour race of the highest caliber and is basically a who’s who of who’s not racing that three-week dealie in France right now. There are 200 very motivated dudes all racing with a chip on their shoulder feeling slighted that they’re not in France. Or maybe 187 guys with such sentiments since surely a dozen or so knew they didn’t stand a shot at France.

Anyway, with the yellow jersey comes a boatload of work for yours truly. Stage two saw 237km from start to finish, but that was preceded by a 10km neutral (including one excellent moment when we cyclists are following two lead cars driving side by side. We came upon a roundabout and now you will picture a clock. We are arriving from 6 o’clock and the car to the left went left towards 9, the car to the right went right towards 3, but then when they met at 12 o’clock, the car to the left tried to drive towards 3 o’clock and the right car aimed towards 9 o’clock. Hilarity yet no fender benders ensued and after some reversing and squealing of rubber we continued to the start). So now we’re up to 247km, but then when I’m leading the peloton and forced to zigzag across the less than placid Polish roads, I think my total ride distance increased significantly.

Meanwhile stages one and three can be found there and there.

So Poland is Poland. This is my second time around having raced it once in 2010 and there are some characterizing characteristics that help make this race memorable. For example balloons. If you see any photos of the race, you’ll see what could either be called miniature hot air balloons on the ground, or else ginormous normal balloons. Emblazoned with sponsor names, they’re funny to race by and surely entertaining to see from television. Additionally the podium stage, overhead banners, and seemingly anything that has a sponsor logo on it also is somehow inflated with air.

As I mentioned the roads are generally, umm, how do you say politely, in need of improvement. Sure there are plenty of nice sections, but yesterday I had the distinct feeling that I was riding along a washboard. Or maybe a bit like riding cobbles when you’re riding pavement. It’s tough to find any rhythm in this scenario.

Hotels are very nice and distinctly American! The beds are large, the TVs are flatscreen and large, and the bathrooms are spacious and well decorated. Yup, the bathrooms.

There are tons of billboards along the side of the road which is just cementing in my mind that I have no idea how to speak Polish. Nor do I really wish to learn. The letters C, J, Z, are very popular as is the letter L with a line through it. Adding to the difficultly of the language, consonants arrive in a 9:1 ratio with vowels.

Meals are interesting. I alluded to this on Twitter that the defining characteristic of food early on is greasy since the first hotel featured dozens of salads – vegetable, chopped meat, fish, or gelatin salads – heavily incumbered with grease. Either mayonnaise or oil or seemingly fried. I’m pleased to report that the meals have gotten better, or I should say less greasy, and one nice thing is that so far if the dinners are the hotel are bad, then the breakfast the following morning is outstanding. In that regard we’re 2-for-2.

Lastly, late starts. We are graced with very leisurely mornings since stages are starting in early or even mid-afternoon. Which is mildly fascinating to me because Poland is way over in eastern Europe yet is still on the Central European Time zone, so when we finish up at 7pm, it’s practically night time. Or it should be night time, but instead it’s hop-on-the-bus time and drive-100+km-to-the-next-hotel time.

Don’t forget: #200NotOn100.

Or so they say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again, big ride today means a big hearty breakfast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There, now you owe me a nickel.

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

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

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

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

Summary:

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

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

Peace out nerds.

The same holds true with the wholesomely delicious American breakfast. Perhaps for no other reason (well, besides that American breakfast is amazing) than the sheer variety and spread of an American breakiedoodles. Let’s start with just eggs: scrambled, fried, over easy, boiled, omelets, poached, and so forth. Pancakes battle ferociously with waffles for the title of which will be doused with more maple syrup. Meanwhile bacon, sausage, and ham – or Scrapple if you’re really ‘merican – are also excellent options for raising one’s cholesterol. Add to the mix fruit of all varieties, pipping hot oatmeal, banana/pumpkin/blueberry/whatever bread, bagels, English muffins, donuts, blah blah blah, you get the idea. In two words: frigging yum.

So rather than longingly stewing over what we cannot have until we’re again stateside for Tour of CA/UT/CO, please allow me to profusely over-exaggerate in order to say that life just went from mehh to amaaaazing when I discovered last week that one of my favorite dinner osterias in Lucca does a Sunday brunch. Emphatic high-fives all around, especially given that a whole bunch of us American folks actually had the rare weekend at home instead of eating pasta and racing bikes.

I rounded up seven of the coolest cats I know, including one Italian just so we would fit in, and descended on Osteria del Manzo at precisely 2pm for a staunchly patriotic American Brunch.* Time to dig in!

Rob here sports his stylish denim in perfect tandem with a Harley-Davidson “Est. 1903″ mug complete with a ferocious eagle. America.

Meanwhile Bjorn rabidly goes after his omelet. Eating with great fury can mean just one thing: America.

Not one to pass up an occasion to look sharp, I dressed to the nines in my finest American apparel. Fear not Miss Manners, I removed my hat while dining and only donned it for this pic. My checkerboard red, white, and blue shirt was as patriotic as my trio of pancakes. Yes, drenched with MAPLE syrup. I nearly cried. America.

Please note the cheese themed mug in the previous photo. It came complete with a ceramic mouse contently sitting in the bottom. It was quite adorable to see him gazing up at me to remind me that my coffee levels are low and I should replenish the mug. MORE COFFEE. America.

Seriously? Light fluffy pancakes adorned with fruit, whipped cream, and maple syrup?! It even came with the American dusting of powdered sugar. I’m clearly beside myself. We all were. America.

Not everything was peeeEEEEeerfect. Service was a hair on the slow side, but we were so danged excited that it didn’t even matter! By this point I was ready to gnaw on my shoe so when they set the food down I snapped one more photo of Jessica’s bagel with lox, avocado, and an aggressive schmear of cream cheese before going nuts on my breakfast of champions. AAaaamerica.

Look dudes, it’s the little things offering a glimmering reminder of home that really make you smile. Great friends, an awesome spread of food, and an actual carafe of coffee. Again, high-fives all around.

* Yeah yeah, who eats brunch at 2pm, you ask? Turns out we do when they have serving hours from 11:30a-3:30p and you have a stout four hour ride on the docket. An earlier than typical morning to fit it all in. Sometimes you sacrifice tradition for the sake of eating a hearty breakfast.

(Pssst: word to the wise. Use coupon code tedking2012 to scratch ten bucks off your annual Strava membership.)