Yesterday, 3/23/2012 was E3-Harelbeke, a WorldTour pro ass bike race (to use NYVelocity vernacular). This rapidly raced bicycle lap around Belgium kicks off the biggest of the northern Belgian Classics thereby planting a firm stamp on the spring cycling season. E3 is one of the coolest names for a bike race, even if most people have no idea what E3 actually means. I’m sure even fewer can pronounce it correctly in its native tongue due to the heavy emphasis on phlegm producing noises to properly emit “Harelbeke” in proper Flemish.

Nine years ago yesterday, 3/23/2003, Dad Dr.Edward King, suffered a stroke changing his life in ways we never thought imaginable. I remember exactly where I was when I received this call that shattered my world, saying he was in the emergency room — ironic since the Exeter Hospital ER is his workplace in normal times as an orthopaedic surgeon (…Oh, and the New Jersey interstate highway, stopped at a tollbooth driving back home for spring break from a collegiate cycling weekend, since you asked).

March twenty-third is forever imprinted in our family’s history. While certainly not a blessing nor anything we would ever want, without that day we likely never would have been introduced to the Krempels Center nor the lengthy and ever growing list of people on Dad’s so called A-Team who have helped throughout his recovery. Not the retirement he ever expected, juicing lemonade from grotesquely sour lemons, among the list of accomplishments he is chasing the 2012 Paralympic team for disabled sailing, he’s downhill skied with decent regularity, hobbled around the tennis court, has been re-certified as a licensed driver, is a guest lecturer for occupational therapy students at UNH, and serves with the Brain Injury Association of NH.

Dad spits out illustrious insight every single day, which continues to boggle my mind. While I can’t remember what I had for dinner last night, Dad recalls poetry and information straight from the dictionary that he acquired in grade school. The complimentary adjectives I would use to describe Dad before the stroke run the gamut from lovingly supportive to laser-focused. Due to the events of March 23, 2003 I can now add to the list a particularly resilient side of my father I had no idea ever existed. He fights tremendously hard every day to get better and makes his sons, wife, family, and so many others incredibly proud.

Furthermore, the Krempels King of the Road Challenge would not have come about without this life changing event. Thanks to everyone who helps make this event a stunning success and here’s to an amazing 2012! (…including teammate Timmy Duggan, left, Dad right with #1, and that cool kid in the sporty shades in the background.)

If nothing else, give www.twitter.com/KingChallenge a follow on twitter and Like us on Facebook. Ciaooo.

-iaTK

I started off the year amid Italian style by witnessing my first man-purse in its native environment. That is, around a dude’s shoulder and placed securely by his hip. I was just so baffled that I had to snap this photo. This is in Sardinia at the first camp of the year.

How does one get to Sardinia? Some folks use modern technology and take the airplane, but those in the know take the motor-yachting ferry. I’m on a boat!

Won’t like, still have no idea what Vitamin Teddy C does. But given my middle name is Carrington, I’ve probably replied to someone calling me Teddy C at least once in my life. Apparently I’ve now been bottled in delicious capsule form, which stinks because I haven’t seen a single penny for this. (This is in an Italian grocery store, obviously.)

And now it’s time to get down to racing. Early in the season we kicked off some Giro di Sardegna. Yessir, back to the mythical isle of Sardinia.

The advantage of racing alongside the likes of Peter Sagan (dot com) is that he wins a lot of bike races. That generally quenches one’s longing for champers… or Prosecco if you race for an Italian team.

From one bottle to the next and from and one part of Italy to the next. This one is Tuscany in late February. The Tuscan grocery store sold StEEves Maples in their ethnic food section. Everything about this product made me happy.

And everything about this picture makes me happy too. Click, click, click, click… the sweet sound of metal cycling cleats on grocery store tile. Timmy and I are grocery shopping.

From Tuscany onto Tuscany. In particular I drove from camp in Tuscany to my Italian home of Lucca in Tuscany. Italian vistas provide very most excellent views.

Similarly, inside the Lucchesi walls there’s some excellent views to be had. This one in the Piazza dell’Anfiteatro.

About two towns away from Lucca is Collodi, the home of the author who once penned Pinocchio. More importantly, Collodi is the home to the world’s largest statue of Pinocchio. Titillating!

Speaking of big, THAT is one enormous piece of meat. There isn’t much scale to offer here, but the diameter on this pile of protein is at least a foot and a half.

Lucca at dusk. I’m going to say that this is about mid-March, if you care.

Rode my bike with some Americanos while in Lucca. Bjorn and Tejay lead the chase to the man with the massive fishing boots.

I green-thumbed a pretty righteous garden throughout the spring. It was a caprese salad just waiting to happen with basil and tomatoes as the centerpiece.

Following that bit of homespun agriculture, I arrived Belgium. And what do people think of when they think of Belgium? Yeah, this stuff. (Mind you, this photo is a Belgian airport, not a grocery store of bar.)

And when people aren’t thinking of beer when Belgium is on their minds, they’re likely thinking of flat, windy, farmlands. Perhaps something like this:

One advantage of professional bike racing is having mechanics to tend to all your needs. Saul, how’s my front end looking? Solid? Nice.

Tour of Flanders was my favorite of the super Belgian mega races. Paris-Roubaix was pretty wild too. Here Ben King chases a harried Ted King.

Jered Gruber is rumored to take good photos. I think he took this one. And if not, compliments to whoever did take it.

Following Paris-Roubaix, I returned stateside to prepare for the next round of bicycle racings. However even before that could happen, I made my way to Boston to see some friends and in doing so witnessed the Boston Marathon. This is somewhere in the latter section of the race when people are really suffering. As in… REAAAAALLY suffering. It was nearly as painful to watch as I’m sure it was to run.

Oddly enough I endured near summer-like weather in northern Belgium for the Classics, but then returned to New England to bask in late winter snow for the Milliman UV Epic ride of New Hampshire and Vermont. Here the diminished peloton slogs up the 23%, muddy incline (I took KOM honors on this climb, clearly. Soon after, I also took on a hot cocoa).

From New England, I set forth to CA to get ready for the Tour of California. Two weeks prior, in helping throw a birthday party with friends in Napa someone managed to snap this photo which truly shows that I rock the party that rocks the pinata.

Napa is obviously known for it’s wine and therefore picturesque vineyards. Here I am escaping that swarm of vehicles, workers, half drunk wine samplers, and other four wheeled beasts in order to seek out some quiet roads.

From Napa to Tahoe to acclimatize to racing at 7,000′, here I shared this hearty portion of raw fish wrapped in rice while up in Lake Tahoe. They apparently refer to this food stuff as Sushi.

More pre-ToCA bike practice, this time north of Tahoe at Donner’s Pass.

Here’s a day of riding around the lake with a good friend and teammate, Cameron Wurf. In this photo I’m playing with the camera’s settings and I’m highlighting his blues. Nice right sleeve Cam.

Team presentation, ToCA. I’m that handsome tall fellow in the middle waiting for Paul Sherwin to ask me about what it’s like being a handsome tall fellow.

Aaaaand of course all my hard work at altitude became moot when the snow cancelled the opening stage and a half.

Brad: “Ted, is that a neckgaiter?”
Me: “Yes it is Brad. This is called ironic foreshadowing. Wait until later in the year and you’ll see a much more stylish neckgaiter unleashed to the world.”

And instead of racing that first day, we rode the trainer in a parking garage at Squaw Valley.

Someone sent this photo of their computer screen. We won this stage with our speedster Peter Sagan. If you look really carefully at the screen, the computer shoes that I’m putting out a smoking million and a half watts.

California went swimmingly and from there I was off to Greenville, SC for the national championships. Aptly artistic chalk adorned the treacherous summit of Paris Mountain.

And then I was in a breakaway…

And then I didn’t win the race. I got 2nd loser. Cheers to that George!

Albeit blurry, I like this photo of my housemate for the majority of 2011, Tejay, and me exchanging a post race high five. Actually, more like a low or mid-five.

And that euphoria all came tumbling down when I went from national championships podium to the Philadelphia emergency room after cracking my shoulder in an unmarked crater on the race course. I later learned someone was attempting the hole to China. My loving parents made the trek to one of their first “big” races of my career only to accompany me to the hospital. Sheesh. Dad’s thumbs down brought a tear to my eye.

The only good news of such precipitous tragedies like broken bones is that I got to take my red socks to Maine. Vacationland is an apt state motto.

Beneath that sweet muscle shirt is the scar over the slab of metal holding my shoulder together. Maine gave me a chance to practice my sea legs. Here I am trimming the sheet on the high seas. Yaaargh! Ahoooooy!

Continuing the perpetual life on the road, it was also a good time to visit friends in Middlebury and go for a wicked awesome bike ride. If you find yourself in Middlebury, I recommend the Otter Creek Bakery. Regular mid-study-break jaunts to OC-Bakes were the best when I was once a college studying lad.

Around this time, my cousin practiced his artistry and drew this masterpiece. He’s on the top, clearly, because he is announcing that “I am not Ted King.” Meanwhile, festooned in appropriate attire, I’m at the bottom.

In unrelated news, I nearly was forced to bunnyhop this mythical prehistoric animal riding around New England. He snapped at me, so I took his photo.

I eventually made my way to the Naaawth Shaaaaw’ Wicked Not-Good-At-Golfing Tournament of Champions. Tim Johnson, left, practices his no sighted driving while growing a mustache, while Jeremy Powers tweets accordingly.

200 on 100 was a good way to make up for any lost base miles in this shoulder recovery. Hello Canada, I’ll be seeing Massachusetts soon!

Proper New England fuel for this quintessentially New England’y ride: 5lbs of Fluff and Fluffernutters.

Ta da! Arrival in Massachusetts. (And if you have 10 minutes, go spend them here.)

And if you have a heart and even an ounce of style, you can purchase this shirt which helps rebuild the flood ravaged and excellent state of Vermont.

From New England, Aspen seemed the best subsequent place to spend some time.

Some more Aspen. Actually here’s me on a mega ride scoping the roads from Aspen to Crested Butte.

A particular highlight of the USA Pro Cycling Challenge – or what should be called the Tour of Colorado – was my parents attending the race. Even a rainy, somewhat frigid day into Aspen with two trips over 12,000′ couldn’t quell my familial happiness seeing Mom and Dad being able to attend one of my races. You see, travel isn’t the easiest after Dad’s stroke, but they’re a mighty duo. Plus this made up for any poor showing at stupid Philly.

Next stop was up to Canada (eh?) and the duo of Quebec and Montreal. Known for my vicious sprint since I once upon a time won a sprint from about 800 meters out in a local New England spring classic many many (many) moons ago, I was selected to do the Sprint Challenge the day before Quebec.

With my road race season finishing up in mid-September, and with the itch to keep on racing given my bone healing mid-season absence, I dabbled in cyclocross. No big deal, but I got some UCI points in my first ever UCI race. I hear Sven Nys is nervous that I’m gunning for him at the World Championships this year. Anyway, here I am in the beer garden run-up at Gloucester. Don’t worry, I partook…

I went for a mega ride from New Hampshire to Portland, ME and then back home sometime this fall. It wasn’t quite a 200 on 100, but seven hours later, I was satisfied with my day. It also provided some nice New England photography.

The hard working people of Scratch Baking Co. That was the entire reason I went – for a bagel.

What better way to embrace the off season than with a bike trip to Chianti?! Here’s one of a million little Italian towns that date about a thousand years older than our mighty nation of America.

Here I am riding with my good friend and former teammate Joao. He put the F in FMT. Want some good food, wine, and maybe a bike ride or two? I’m serious: join FMT.

This fall marked the first ever Krempels King of the Road Challenge, my eponymous charity ride benefiting the Krempels Center. Timmy Duggan served as one of the keynote VIP riders so in this photo he and I are at a presentation to the Krempels Center explaining our exciting lives as bike racing bike racers to the media and members of the Krempels Center.

My best friend from youth, Matthew, took up bike riding four days before the KKotRC ride. He rode once, tapered for two days, then did the entire distance. The Cannondale shorts are nice, but better yet are the duct taped shoes. That just screams quality.

Ahh, good friends standing and good friends squatting semi-awkwardly after the Krempels King of the Road Challenge.

PATRIOTS game. Whoop! Thanks Matty T. They won, naturally.

And after all that, it finally was time to embrace the off season. So I bought a straw hat… aaaaand went to Hawaii. Not necessarily in that order.

Wow, Hawaii is nice.

The top of Mount Haleakala is mysteriously amazing. It offers the feeling comparable to being on the moon.

Hawaii to Mill Valley, just north of San Francisco. That there is called the Golden Gate Bridge. Side note: on a bet in 8th grade, my friend Jon and I did our science fair project on the subject of suspension bridges, and of course we showcased the GGB. Ironically we were the only group in the entire class who received an A.

The quickest swing through New England on record, coming in around 72 hours, included an off road Turkey Trot which I did not win. And better yet, Thanksgiving with an electric knife. Just like the Pilgrims used.

Meanwhile I made a Martha Stewart award winning pie. You simply cannot argue with height, and that meringue’y badboy is the better part of a foot.

Right back at it! Dominik (farthest), Timmy (stylish shades and hat), and I crammed into the back of the team car and were off to team meetings and camps in San Pellegrino and Sardinia. Rallying in the back of said car with three adults fitting into room presumably designed for two is less than awesome. Good thing we’re friends with each other or else that really would have sucked.

In between San Pellegrino and Sardinia, I actually managed to sneak back home to Lucca. Ho ho ho, Santa Clause is coming to town. This photo showcases the 750,000 people shopping in downtown Lucca as well as the Christmas lights. Very festive.

Sardinia: back to bike riding with 28 of my neon and blue clad best friends!

Also back to the proper Italian ways: (miniature) coffees and La Gazzetta dello Sport. Two peas hanging out in the same pod.

And from there back to my folks’ home sweet home. That can mean just one thing: thumb war with my dad. After three heated battles, it was a draw.

Perhaps even more exciting than thumb war, my return to America also marked the debut of the iamnotTedKing neckgaiter. With just a hint of irony, the iamnotTedKing neckgaiter is a versatile thing of beauty. If you don’t own one yet AND you don’t live in Hawaii or southern California/Arizona/Florida, well by golly you’re wasting your own time.

I think it’s more than just convenient circumstance that camp ends two days before Christmas… I think it’s so that we can be home FOR Christmas. That would make sense. So this photo is at our festive Christmas dinner. I have a Christmas sweater, an ever-growing white person’s afro, and a loving family. All three of which are excellent. Ho ho ho!

You see this? That’s snow on the road in a photo taken the day after Christmas. I love snow and I love being in my home state of New Hampshire and I love winter and I love bike riding. I just don’t necessarily love doing all of those things at the same time.

So where am I now? Sunny Santa Barbara of course. Mid-January of 2012 marks the start of my race season and it’s time to ramp up the training. New England is quaint and amazing and all, but late December isn’t the nicest in the weather department. In related news, much like the next cyclist, I love a good Chipotle buttiro. But now that I have bona fide Mexican food right at outside my door, this el pastor burrito is a billion times more authentic and just about as big.

And lastly, I brought in the new year with a dinner at a local seafood joint. I shared a “Two Tiered Seafood Tower” which was like whoa. It included sea urchin. I’m fairly certain we can agree that new years isn’t new years without a proper, raw sea urchin.

Pretty much sums it up in random photographic excellence. Over and out.

I’m in a similar spot now except instead of an actual relaxing off-season all out of commission with my broken collarbone and poor ribs, I’m still staying as active as possible thanks to my gym membership and the upright, stationary, recumbent excuse for a “bicycle”. Plus a walk here or there. And some work on the pumping of iron. Furthermore I’m “sessioning” this relatively rare mid-season reprieve from racing full of bone-healing goodness with ample business… or busy-ness rather.

My shoulder is still swollen now one week out of surgery, but with a follow up appointment down in Boston early this week, I’m hoping to plant my behind on an actual bicycle seat – albeit with my bike planted in a stationary trainer – in the coming days. The swollen shoulder is fairly entertaining, or at least unique to me, in the sensation I feel of a swollen, floppy shoulder, umm, flopping around during my brisk strolls. I’lltellya, having just one shoulder bobbing around all asymmetrically-like it just bizarre.

And now a photo montage courtesy of my phone since I forgot my camera. Like I’ve said entirely too many times, there are worse places to be than New England in June. After a swing through Ver(t)mont seeing some extraordinary friends and their baaaaaabies (and dog) – where I had an incredible time hanging out, eat some meals at Middlebury’s best gnoshing joints, watching the Bruins hoist the Stanley Cup, petting their dog, and watching the elder of the two children swing on the gym – I realized that I was entirely out of my element. They own a home. And family. Comparatively, I own a suitcase. Truly it was a blast and I love them dearly, so from there I sadly bid them farewell, hit the road, and subsequently took care of some fun administrative insurance woes Thursday night, before jetting up to Maine.
Foggy Saturday morning. Coffee in hand. Feet on deck. Check, check, check.

Turns out, boating is chicken soup for the sole and ailing bones. So I took in a dose of boating. Captain Brother Robbie is not in the least bit entertained, is he?

And the only thing better than beauteous photos of Vacationland and the Atlantic, I reckon, is beauteous PANORAMIC photos of Vacationland and the Atlantic.

That thing in my mouth is my tongue. Just like my friend T-Pain, I am singing when this photo was captured about the glories of being on a boat. Obviously.

Anyway, with a successful first round of the TKToNE checked off, more (recumbent) bicycling is on the horizon so I will graciously bid you adieu.

Sent from my phone.

I have graduated from doing virtually nothing for a few days to now dropping myself into a recumbent stationary bike. I can’t yet bear weight on my shoulder so the recumbent is the only way to go… for now. Anyway, THIS photo yesterday segued into what amounted to a bet, which has now segued into an incredibly charitable event. Once I get $1,000 donated to the Krempels Center, I’m going to ride the indoor stationary recumbent bicycle in public at the gym in FULL TEAM KIT – yes, photos provided for proof. In a series of $20 donations to the extraordinarily benevolent Krempels Center, you can buy an installment a) for my public embarrassment and b) to slowly save the world, one donation to Krempels at a time. See here:

Step right up and make a donation. Ready… GO!

(If that link doesn’t appear above, then try HERE. And if that doesn’t work, then just go buy a t-shirt and look stylish while donating to the Krempels Center.)

My poor collarbone heals no thanks to the storm grate in Philadelphia, but entirely thanks to an exemplary surgery job where it was plated back together in Boston late last week. Additional thanks to generous ingestion of milk and cottage cheese. Yummy, delicious calcium. I’m also using some electro-ultrasound therapy in the form of the Exogen 4000+ bone stimulator healing system. Calcium, surgery, ultrasound, and tons of get well wishes coming in worldwide are my path to recovery!

I also had arguably the youngest iam(not)TedKing fan send in a photo. Very impressively, he candidly took the photo himself and sent it into heistedking at gmail. I swear, kids are learning modern technology at younger and younger ages. It’s wild, kiddo.

This elicits my thumbs up of approval, even if it comes just seconds from being completely anesthetized.

The Ted King Tour of New England kicks off today with two more hours at the gym on this sunny beautiful day. From there, I hop in the car and visit my dear friend Eliza and fam’ in Vermont. Then I’m off to Massachusetts tomorrow and up to Maine on Friday for the weekend. This includes other trips through the gym in an attempt to remain fit and slender despite not being outside on the bike.

And of course don’t forget that the proper TKToNE is the Krempels King of the Road Challenge in October! With proceeds going to the Krempels Center once again, we’re looking forward to an awesome day this fall. Scope details on the above link and then zip on over to the Facebook page by the same name and be sure to LIKE it!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A picture is worth a thousand words, right? As it turns out, similarly, so is a click on the “picture” below thanks to the fine folks at STRAVA.

Jumping to Recap’ville, t’was a big day today. Actually, it started last night when I received a call from one of my sports directors telling me that I’m going to meet my teammate Sabbatini in a nearby town and then rendezvous with a team trainer for an LT climbing test. In my best Italian (wisely, as opposed to my worst Italian), I proceeded to explain that I haven’t ridden my bike hard since the Giro di Sardegna and that I was a bit wary about doing an uphill LT test.

However, with no knee pain in over a week and with ever increasing hours and effort on the bike throughout this week, I was okay with the possibility of going hard. No time like the present, right? Ready, set, rock and roll.

So it wasn’t a full test to maximum exertion, just increasing power each time up the short’ish test climb… up to 430 watts. Yup, that’s 4.333-repeating standardish lightbulbs.

Let’s cut to the chase: NO KNEE PAIN! I would by no means say I’m 100% back, but actions speak louder than words, so to hear from my therapists that “things are progressing nicely with your knee, Edward” pales in comparison to having no knee pain on the bike for 4 hours with a handful of climbs.

I am one happy camper. Again, thanks for all your patience, concern, and continued support. Yeaa bikes.

So here she is bubbling away, pre-being zapped and whirred into a fine, consistent slurry. Pumpkin, onion, carrot, apple, garlic, S’n'P, basil, red pepper flakes, curry, and some EVOO.

Wait wait wait, I hear you say. What therapy, Ted? you earnestly ask. Well pull up a chair and I’ll tell.

I don’t want to rehash what you might already know, so let’s just say I raced the Giro di Sardinia a week ago, we did pretty darn well, but somewhere in the process I hurt my knee. Defending young Sagan’s leader’s jersey is a team effort and my job typically takes places in the opening four hours of each day, give or take an hour. Specifically, I monitor early attempt breakaway attempts, yank them back as necessary, and eventually let the “correct” group go up the road. That’s followed by controlling of the bunch for the ensuing hundred-fifty-K or so. Ready, set, go!

(Me. Plus 100 or so of my best friends.)

On the final day of Sardinia, I completed my job and then rather than painfully pedaling the final 25km up to the summit finish, with more anxiety and angst than I typically contend with, I pulled the plug and got into the team car to the finish. And please don’t think that I was looking for an easy out; it’s been over two years since the last time I ducked into the team car rather than finishing a race. Suck McSuck Pants in full effect. Size XXL.

So let’s now jump to Monday, five days ago – rather than passively suffering the mental anguish of wondering what the heck is wrong with my knee, I went with a soigneur who lives nearby down to Pisa to a sports clinic to see what’s shakin’ in my knee. A quick exam with an awesome sports physiologist/therapist named Emanuele followed by a trip to the nearby hospital for an ultrasound revealed that a) I’m not pregnant and b) I have a decent amount of swelling around a critical tendon behind my left knee. Again, Suck McSuck Pants: on.

However, this thorough, exceedingly friendly, and outgoingly knowledgeable crew around me has been very optimistic about the entire situation. There is nothing torn, nothing ripped, and all the damage to my ginocchio (Italian for knee) appears to be reparable in a timely fashion… although patience is absolutely critical here. I was subbed out of Paris-Nice, which sucks of course because I would be going to help Peter Sagan tear that race apart. After seeing his form at Sardinia, I know he’s bound for great things in France this week. Heck, the whole team for that matter. Crap. But as it stands now, my next race isn’t until De Panne two full weeks after P’Nice is due to end. Therefore I have the time to let well… time, patience, therapy, prayers, and some good discipline do its thing. Heal Teddy! HEAAAAL!

Today was my fifth day of therapy down in Pisa. The world of R.I.C.E. is apparently a thing of yesteryear because I receive four different electric-type therapies from various machines that all appear to cost a lot more than, say, a toaster. Two electro-shock-type therapy, one ultrasound therapy I think, and a laser therapy. These all function to reduce the swelling and now five days later, we went back to get another ultrasound (I’m still not preggers!) and the knee has received the medical clearance nod to go for an eaaaaasy ride today. They limited me to just 90 minutes and told me to basically pedal as easy as I possibly could without toppling over. I’m not a number’s guy, but comparatively here are some digits I accumulated before pulling the plug on the final day of Sardinia:

145km of bike racin’
3:35 race time
286 watts average
3,660 kJs
1,350m of climbing

Today, I think I did 90 minutes at 160 watts average. No, I did not tip over at that pace. I then followed that up with proper R.I.C.E.

Back to things bigger than just riding a bicycle, I want to extend a sincere thank you to everyone who has sent me messages, prayers, warm and fuzzy vibes, thoughts, as well as endearing thanks to everyone who has helped me in one way or the other the past week. I imagine Michelli, my Italian massagatore who has been loyally driving me daily to Pisa, isn’t reading along, but Michelli you’re amazing. Thank you. Another thanks to the guys on SpiderTech who tossed me some kinesio-tape and for speaking some English on the boat ride home when I needed a little Americana decompression.

As a professional cyclist, to not be riding a bike with a lingering and somewhat cryptic injury like this is as mentally draining and anxiety provoking as seemingly anything. I’ve had some folks near me here in Italy tell me they’re impressed with how smoothly I’m taking this all, which is flattering in some regards… but that just means that I have a really good superficial wall, because I’m flipping out on the inside. Suddenly I’m allotted an abundance of extra time to think about it all. I try hard to maintain perspective – okay, it’s merely March; in the grand scheme of things the injury is not that bad; otherwise I have my health, etc – but man oh man, this is a toughie. But I needn’t shed that anxiety on you now.

So again, to everyone out there: thank you. It means more than you could possibly imagine.

And now it’s time to try the soup.

Bicycling.com

Also BNET.com

And this will change your life. RKelly’s finest

Meanwhile, I’m doing therapy daily and recovering the dickens out of my knee. Here’s a photo I took while horizontally and awkwardly on my stomach, having my knee undergo some electro/laser zapping therapy.