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.

I hit the road two days ago and will be a nomadic cyclist for, umm… a while. Fresh back from the first training camp for the 2013 season in Tuscany in mid-December, I embraced a scenic, white Christmas in New Hampshire before jetting out to the bay area of California. I’ll set up shop here for not quite a week, then come early January I’ll spend nearly ten days in sunny SoCal, complete with a bold and brash team presentation for the new Cannondale Pro Cycling, followed by travels to Argentina where I’ll have my second go at the Tour of San Luis, and then onto Europe for my spring campaign which runs through Paris-Roubaix. No moss grows under my feet, which is a weird expression, although I suppose it’s literally true so I’ll go with it.

Home sweet home for the holidays was exactly that. In recent years I can be found returning stateside from team camps about 48 hours before Christmas, which is a surefire way to be unjolly and brimming with stress. So it was a peaceful alternative when we were wheels down in Boston a full 10 days prior to Christmas, and it was merely three hours later that I donned my most festive yuletide apparel and was off to the first Christmas party of the season.

“Ho Ho Ho” indeed.

Mind you, that vest is reversible to a plaid green and white which is twice as amazing as it sounds.

A few other holiday parties filled my time home, in addition of course to riding my bike a’plenty. In two weeks home I was on the trainer a mere trio of days and the rest was a mix of neoprene, Gore-Tex, and sweet fenders. The trip home also provided a mirthful Christmas at my aunt and uncle’s house in Portland, ME. At every family holiday gathering, aunt Betsy provides some table-side party favors that are highly entertaining and in all likelihood made in China. My earphone-earmuffs were a hit this year, but the real crowning jewel to the dinner festivities were Dad’s stick-on mustaches which he generously shared with his two boys.

Goodness, if we three Kings don’t look regal and distinguished then I don’t think anyone does!

From there it was onto Wednesday and with just 364 days until next Christmas I had a smashing day on the bike. That was followed by a delicious home-smoked dinner of salmon and pork ribs, and while I can’t make the direct connection and I’m vehemently not pointing fingers at anyone involved, I then had a very unsavory 12 hour bout of food poisoning. Thank the good Lord I recovered miraculously because the next day, Thursday, was Mom’s birthday. And for goodness sake, if I’m going to be on the road as much as I am, I sure as shootin’ better be a good son and be home for Mom’s birthday. So I was.

When it’s written in cursive and in chocolate, you know it’s sincere! Even if they forget to cross the “t” and dot the “i”.

(Another sign of sincerity is when your two sons take you to one of New England’s finest eateries, Arrows Restaurant. You’re the BEST Mom! I love you and happy happy birthday… again.)

Yet another high point in this snowy time home was trying to remove my car from the driveway. A mere 4 inches of snow fell one day, but then it was topped by a crusty layer of rain and ice. My new snow tires didn’t stand a chance to such treacherous conditions. In an hour of shoveling, pushing, and tractor pulling (no lie), we finally got my car out of our 1% gradient and 100 foot long driveway. (That awesome noise you hear is the tractor idling in the background, waiting to give her snow-chained all.)

There is, of course, this YouTube masterpiece which is precisely what I was trying to avoid. Which we did, thankfully.

Well, life on the road continues and while I should wrap up this post right now, I’ll just say that from time to time I like to jump into my Way-way-back-machine and reminisce the days of yore. There’s this, for example – I decided that after having what feels like lived out of a suitcase for a few years, despite having apartments in various countries throughout my career, it was time to decorate my plastic’y, wheeled home with some housewarming accoutrements and make it really feel like proper digs. I’m still a huge fan of Santa Clause hanging out on my roof with Steve’s submission to that contest.

Okay, time for more adventures. Tootle-oo!

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.

People frequently pick my brain on the full spectrum of topics regarding life on two wheels. Ranging from tire pressure to how to dress, I’m always more than happy to oblige with a response. So when Martin posted a question on the last blog entry I figured that rather than answering on a one-off basis, why not make it a regular thing? Without delay, let’s kickstart the Tips from Ted campaign. (…actually, the KoS has partaken in at least one TfT. That’s style, this is function.)

Martin astutely asked, “Any tricks to keep your feet warm Ted?”

Boy do I ever! Mind you Martin, I’m born and raised in bucolic New Hampshire, home of the world’s highest recorded wind speed; I got into cycling in Middlebury, VT during my collegiate days and during one particularly snowy winter, I proudly only rode the trainer inside three times – those other days I just put on enough neoprene and Goretex to scuba dive or row a boat around the Antarctic, if that sounds like a fun weekend adventure. Moreover, I’m also the creative director of TUSB: versions 1.0, 2.0, as well as 3.0. Plus some other iterations thrown in for good measure.

Anywho, cold weather and winter conditions are rapidly approaching and Martin needs a response on how to keep his feet from freezing off and crashing into a snowbank. Probably more the former but whatever. Let’s go.

Hey Martin!

I’m glad to hear you’re sucking it up and going for a ride when it’s cold. Of course this all depends where you live; if you’re worried about your cold feet and you live in Phoenix, AZ then I’m sorry to be the first to tell you, but you’re a wuss. If, however, you’re inquiring about managing cold feet in the heart of winter in Anchorage, AK, well now you’re drinking my sake, Kimosabe!

Resolving cold feet will involve an investment, but frigid tootsies are a fast road to a miserable ride so I think you’ll find the purchase to be worth it.

First, you need to find as thick, wool (or similar synthetic) socks that you can fit into your cycling shoes without having your feet go numb due to the fact that there is now so little room in your shoes. One pair of socks is totally affordable, but shopping around for a dozen pairs to find the right ones will set you back into the triple digits. So shop wisely, feel how thick they are (as in, don’t buy 1/2 inch thick snowboard socks), and hopefully try some one before you buy.

Actually, let’s backtrack one more step: make sure your shoes fit with regular socks first. If your shoes are uncomfortable for any reason, maybe you’re strangling your feet and they’re freezing cause you have no blood flow in the first place. Just trying to cover all grounds here.

Depending on where you live, investing in some winter mountain bike shoes is likely a stellar idea, a la these. They are usually slightly larger to allow those warmer socks plus you gain the benefit of traction and studs if you’re a winter, snowy-conditions rider. As a fringe benefit, mountain bike cleats engage with the pedals easier if you’re fighting through snow, sleet, ice, and slush. But 9.9 out of 10 times you can work your road cleats/pedals with mountain bike shoes just fine as well.

Next, the thickest, ugliest, biggest pair of neoprene booties will soon become your best friend. They’re a brash effrontery to style, but looking extremely good on a bike when it’s 17F takes less precedence than not loosing your digits to frostbite. Usually in the sub-$100 range, this might be your best purchase yet.

Meanwhile, “waterproof” shoe covers are a moot point when it’s actually raining. Sure it’s a good way to keep your white shoes white(r), but with water coming down from above and up from below (the road and your tires), your feet are going to get WET, hence the use of quotes. Again, this means big, thick, ugly neoprene booties trump thin waterproof ones.

If it’s dry and it’s absolutely frigid, consider yourself lucky. In said scenario, I often slap one of those chemical toe warmer/hand warmer packs on top of your shoes and under the neoprene shoe covers. Heck, your toes might actually sweat with this genius set-up. I suggest a box of 20 or whatever, since they’re a buck each when you buy in bulk, versus maybe $4 a pop otherwise.

Lastly, as for mere “tricks” like you ask, try to cover up any secret holes in the bottom of your shoes. Often there are more cleat screw holes in the soles of your shoes than are necessary to accommodate all the cleats options out there. So either plug them somehow or make sure you have a durable, non-breathable insole to prevent cold wind from venting in and freezing your feet.

I wish you the best Martin. Warm feet are happy feet and Happy Feet is a movie… which I’ve never seen.

And that draws to a close the first ever Tips from Ted. Feel free to keep the questions coming, cause I answer them as long as they’re not dumb.

Happy weekend y’all,

Ted

John wrote:
“Tall socks?? Sorry son, you have not been in the game long enough. Tall socks are so lame. Lance et al. started this lame look but it will be a footnote in history, like the mullet.
If you look like Moser you are doing well…….ok, I’m an old git, behind the times but really, the King is wrong here.”

So without further ado…

Dear John,

You disagreed with me, which I prefaced in the third paragraph of the now very well commented KoS blog was unwanted and therefore would warrant not being published as a result of this being my blog and I am the self appointed dictator thereof. Yet I still published your comment. Why? Because you did it without being a turd, so I not only thank you, but I figure this opportunity could continue the forum style banter taking place in the form of comments below.

You also misused your punctuation, so I would like to make a small point of correcting that. This is in no way a personal dig on you; you see, I think I’m a pretty normal person, but I’m downright OCD when it comes to blatant incorrect punctuation. Double question marks and double exclamation points should never be used. Anything more than one bothers me. Periods should only be used one at a time or three at a time. Seven, as you used, is 2.667 x unnecessary.

Also, John, you are very correct when you say the mullet will just be a footnote in history. However, it will be a long and awesome footnote full of PBR and trashy mustaches and stone washed jean shorts.

I do stand by my initial comment about tall socks being considerably more stylish than short or ankle socks, however, so allow me to discuss this with you.

You end by saying “the King is wrong here.” Well, no I am in fact very right here. I certainly hope we can agree that style for the most part is arbitrary and subjective. However, to be considered stylish is to be the “going” or “in” or “happening” trend of the time and right now tall socks are definitely in style. Sure, there’s a pre-tall socks and post-tall socks era (namely the date when they started to exist), but for the current time being, short socks look dated or lame or triathlon’esque… which, as a road cyclist myself, is therefore considered lame.

To help with your case, however, I certainly don’t propose we yank them up to our mid-calfs, as some people do, because that too looks stupid and is therefore asking for criticism from the KoS. For the sake of ballparking it, I’ll say that your socks should be about 4-6 inches above your ankle.

Your friend,

Ted