And with that having been said, I wouldn’t be a cyclist worth my salt if I didn’t talk about the weather. It seems anyone upwards of a pack-fodder category 2 racer can speak with at least some degree of proficiency about the meteorological trends of his or her geographical area. Reading a Doppler radar map and knowing what a forecasted 45% chance of precipitation really means is their M.O.

Most teams stick around the cobbled and blustery northern European front this week between Flanders and Roubaix, but we at Cannondale Pro Cycling are given the chance to press and hold the reset button and therefore briefly head home. It’s an opportune way to clear one’s mind, find some semblance of normalcy in life, catch up on missed internet, eat a non-hotel meal, get a few days of proper training in rather than the all too typical-canal-lap-and-coffee-shop-stop, and overall just rest up before bone jarring Paris-Roubaix on Sunday. Reconnaissance be damned(!), I’m perfectly happy sleeping in my own bed.

Embracing these few days of freedom, I did this ride yesterday, which much like Belgium was also horrifically windy, but extremely soul cleansing.

After having nary any skin exposed for the past, ooh, three months and having been particularly bundled up these past two weeks, I set out with both arm and leg warmers yesterday, but soon after removed them and boldly exposed my arms and legs throughout the day – if nothing else to absorb some succulent solar vitamin D. According to the SRM, the average temperature was 15C with a high of 18C, which is about 59 average and a high of 65 for you Fahrenheit fans. Brisk, but relatively balmy and warm. Worth noting for subsequent analysis, I also had a t-shirt length undershirt, thin wool gloves, a thin vest, and a cycling cap.

With a Strava ride title such as it is regarding clothing choice, waking up today I was heartily entertained by the detailed dialogue going on in the comments section of that ride pertaining to said clothing choice. The talk of what to wear, when to wear it, where one’s from, what are one’s standards for weather conditions, and blah blah blah, the comments section of this ride became a forum for cycling clothing nerdery. And therefore needs my input.

My first piece of advice is that it’s all relative. There I was at four in the afternoon, four and a half hours into my five hour day wearing a mere jersey (and aforementioned vest and cap) and shorts when I rode by a friend and cycling colleague. He was five hours into his ride with an hour to go clad in everything I would typically be wearing this past week in Belgium. That is, leg-warmers, a thermal jacket, gloves, and shoe covers. He’s a hearty Canadian and therefore knows cold weather. This is an example of PRO behavior and is certainly acceptable, but harkens back to traditional cyclists’ thinking that if you’re cold, you’re going to get sick. To which I say Boo!

There’s this and this and this and a litany of other results upon searching, “can you get sick by being cold” that scream no. Which is not to say that it is a bad idea to stay warm on rides. Heck, I hate being cold. But to each his (or her) own. Moreover, everyone has an internal furnace and thermostat, so to tell someone that they’re under-dressed or overdressed when whatever it is they’re wearing fits into the realm of mildly reasonable clothing is quite frankly uniformed and naive.

I digress. So what is “correct”? Per the above paragraph, there’s clearly a range of acceptable. And per the paragraph where I had an encounter with my Canadian cycling brethren, there’s a wide range of acceptable clothing options.

After the rave reviews of my last homemade chart, let’s create another one. Although this one will be more congruent and easier to read plus color coordinated, since we all know that red means hot and blue means cold… and apparently yellowy-orange means something in the middle. This chart breaks down what percentage of your current riding attire should consist of each of the following clothing types – Frigid, Medium, and just plain Jersey & Shorts – based on the temperature which is found in the Y-axis. This is pure science so pay attention.

Frigid Weather Gear means as much Gore-Tex, windproof, and thermal clothing as you can afford. Oh, your big bad self is sponsored and therefore can “afford” everything? Super. Put it all on cause it’s cold out. The rubbery’est of thick, rubbery shoe-covers are a must, mittens are mandatory over gloves, and a balaclava face mask is highly recommended. Undershirts should resemble long-underwear as if you’re going skiing or ice climbing; that is, thick and long sleeve. Function over fashion here; you’ll likely look like a bloated oaf with all this gear, but it’s better than hypothermia and losing a few digits to frostbite.

Medium Weather Gear means it’s time to sub out your thermal/windproof/water resistant tights from above for mere bib shorts and leg-warmers. Conveniently you may now stow away your thermal jacket when arm-warmers and a jersey will do. Alternatively long-sleeved jerseys are a superb item. Vests fit snugly into this category, both the ambiguously titled “wind” vests and the much sturdier thermal vest. I don’t use the word gilet because I think it’s dumb. Furthermore, if you use the word gilet, then you likely fit into the category of person who might wear this sort of gilet. In which case… I’m very sorry. Undershirts consist of all sleeve lengths depending on your preference: long, t-shirt, or sleeveless. Hand garments are still generally long fingered, but considerably thinner than Frigid Gear. Furthermore, mittens are not in this category. Shoe covers are frequently over-socks. Stylish and functional although not so much when it’s raining out. Wearing time trial specific shoe covers is generally pretty lame, unless you have a shoe sponsor conflict and you’re therefore covering up your own errors. Then I’ll let it slide. An iamnotTedKing neckgaiter is arguably the most functional item in this category and cycling caps are pretty darn handy too.

Jersey & Shorts means just that. Short fingered gloves are acceptable if you are racing, motorpacing, or if you have sketchy bike handling skills and might crash yourself in training and you value your hands. But otherwise, please consider going sans gloves. I met a kid once who told me that he always wore a cycling cap because that that was his thing. It was about 99 degrees outside and you couldn’t stand in the sun without breaking into a ferocious sweat. But he was my competition at the time and if overheating and sweating unnecessarily is his thing, then his detriment is my benefit and I let him go on his merry way.

You will notice that there is no category above titled Just Bibs. Even when it’s stiflingly hot out and you want to work off your farmer’s tan you should never ride without a jersey. Rules are rules, my friends. Furthermore I don’t care if it’s your thing.

So that’s a wrap for today. Stay warm, stay cool, stay well dressed, and have a super day.

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

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.

That, however, is entirely a figment of my imagination. As much as it pains me to say, I don’t know a Cassandra. Furthermore, even if I did she couldn’t be my pool girl because, among other problems with that scenario, I don’t have a pool. (Sigh.)

Instead I awoke yesterday to the sight of my frosty breath while nestled deep in my bed with just a small fraction of my face exposed to the elements of my bedroom, much like an Eskimo. Sometime during the night, and much to my shivery dismay this dreary morning, my winter ski hat had fallen off. Brrrr. This is the life.

The cause of and cure for all of my problems can be summed up with two words. THIS BOX.

Truth be told, I don’t even know what this box is. All I know is that it heats the house and our hot water. And when you’re cold, pretty much that’s all you’re thinking about, namely, just how freakin’ cold you are.* See that tiny window in the middle of the box? Up close, it looks like this:

I should point out that it looks like this when it’s working. When it’s not working, that precious blue flame is no where in sight; instead there’s just the unwelcome sight of my breath and not much else in this dreary, barren land. Winter has it’s cruel hands locked firmly onto Italy, folks, and spring is a long time away yet.

Thankfully, there is also this machine! Therefore in the meantime while the previous box is waiting to be fixed, this one that magically produces coffee serves as my cause-of-and-cure-for all of life’s problems.

I can tell you that a cold apartment is not all that pleasant, but quite manageable with the correct attire. However, returning from a frigid, damp, and dank training ride through the Tuscan hillside to an ice cold shower is the horrible hydrogenated icing on a tasteless Wal-Mart cake. It. Is. BAD.

I’ll cut straight to the chase and say that after a week of no heat nor hot water, the fix-it person – coincidentally not named Cassandra – thankfully came yesterday soon after I awoke from my chilly slumber and heroically fixed the issue entirely. Life just got a whole lot better.

Hot water: check!
Heat in the apartment: check!
Coffee maker still works magnificently: check!

Speaking of European machinery, I wonder why the bidet never successfully migrated to America.

* Okay look, I’m not going to complain all that bad, because relatively speaking I’m doing pretty well. I have a roof over my head and a sweater or three that I can put on to stay warm. Furthermore, I’m reading a book called Unbroken right now which is all about life in a Japanese POW camp during WWII, which sounds excruciatingly miserable especially through the brutal Japanese winter.

The mountains north of Greenville, SC are spectacular. As are my artistic photography skills.

So as you may have guessed – or perhaps read if you read my tweets and such – I’m down in Greenville for a week of fine weather. Fine is of course a relative term and relative to New England right after Christmas I’d say I made the right decision, since the very day I left, temps were in the low teens and wind gusts were reaching 50mph. As a kid growing up in NH, I wanted to ski and play in the snow all winter long, that sounds great. As a cyclist that’s terrible.

Temperatures here in Greenville mingle in the 30s-60s depending on the time of day and the current weather pattern. Thanks to El Nino or Global Warming or whatever, New England is also undergoing similar weather patterns, coincidentally. But I’m still happy with the decision.

Yesterday was the final day of 2010 and a handful of us ushered in the final day of the year with an awesome ride. There were 10 of us in total (and since someone asked, the pro teams represented include Liquigas-Cannondale, Columbia, BMC, Jelly-Belly and/or Cannondale-CyclocrossWorld CX team depending on the time of year, and Colavita).

Also as I’ve mentioned in 140 characters or less, a near 5.5 hour ride is optimized by a brownie stop at a middle-of-NOWHERE gas station.

The highlight of the previous day’s ride was something of a lowlight, but hilarious to me all the same. We had just pedaled a robust 4 hours and were cruising into town again. We were on a main road, but well off the side as a cyclist rightfully deserves to be. A circa 1998 Chryster minivan procedes to drive up to us, slow down, lower the window, and the driver issued a lengthy and sincere, “BOOOOOOOO” at us! I found it funny as heck so I then let out a mighty cheer. Seriously I think it’s great. If professional baseball, basketball, and football players elicit boos from fans, why shouldn’t cyclists receive the same fanfare? Plus he the fact that he’s slowing down to boo shows he’s at least paying attention to us. Right? Right.

Booooooo! Happy New Year.

…Just not outside of my house.

We’re apparently slated for a pretty wicked Nor’Easter with up to 2 feet of snow expected. I went to bed last night – a merry Christmas December 25th night that is – with the full expectation of waking up to a festive white abyss out the window today. Instead I woke up to dry roads and nary a snowflake in sight. So I took the opportunity to grab an hour on the road bike and then swing through home sweet home to get my brother and then we could meet some other friends for a mountain bike jaunt up Mt. Pawtuckaway as the snow began falling. Yup, and that’s what I did.

Alas, I returned home after the road hour and found Robbie still fast asleep (…in his defense it was not yet 9am. AAaaand yes, I’m still suffering a bit of early morning jet-lag). Furthermore, it was also a brisk 21 degrees Fahrenheit outside and considerably warmer in his bed at that hour.

Anyway, Robbie wasn’t interested in getting out of bed, spandexing up and onto a bike, so I swapped my road shoes for the mountain variety and set off in search of the Day-After-Christmas-Mountain-Bike-Crew. I arrived with two minutes to spare, but didn’t see anyone nor their cars… nor bikes. Figuring that they aborted – or more accurately, I figured that I picked the incorrect of two parking lots at the base of the mountain – I just headed up Pawtuckaway solo.

It was a very pleasant ride and eventual summit. Here’s a photo atop the legendary summit.

I did eventually run into my mountain biking comrades, but we were traveling in opposite directions and I unfortunately was on something of a time budget that I couldn’t budge from. Namely, come back and hang with the fam. But it was good to pass along post-Christmas salutations and exchange down mitten high fives… or is it a high two?

The way I figure it, it’s cold and harsh New England winter, so there are no roses available to stop and smell. But if you don’t stop and smell the roses, you may as well at least stop and take a picture every now and again.

Life’s an adventure. Remember that.

I went for a bike ride today. What makes this ride slightly more noteworthy than average was that the average temperature during this ride was somewhere hovering in the mid teens. Yeah yeah, not terribly interesting until you factor in the windchill and then recognize that the temperature I felt was somewhere in the -5 range. Yup, Fahrenheit. Nippy.

This brings me to a very important point that was brought up periodically during the King of Style reign of terror – namely, what happens to style when it’s WICKED FRICKEN’ FREEZING OUTSIDE, guy! Specifically, how does one maintain his or her semblance of looking ridiculously good while also trying to maintain all of one’s extremities and not sacrifice them to the single digits (hahaha. “Single digits.” Get it… like getting frostbite and having to remove your fingers/digits so as to not die? Oh man, I crack myself up sometimes.)

That was a very long introduction to this particular blog post’s subtitle, which reads: TUSB meets King of Style.

My loyal readers will fondly remember the TUSB series from a few years back. Part I featured the highly enviable ice faring and was documented back in my Rochester, NY days. Part II occurred back in New Hampshire exactly one year ago today. TUSB, to the fair weather crowd, means Toughen Up Sissy Boy. Mind you, TUSB was created before the TTFU phrase became popular, so they pretty much stole my thunder before the TUSB thunder even had a chance to growl.

I digress.

–Back to the question at hand: How does one remain stylish while avoiding hypothermia and subsequent death?

–Brief Answer: You don’t.

–Longer Answer: It’s all a balance of style versus function and when the temperatures start to dip to New England-like lows, function always plays it’s trump card.

Let’s revisit my ride today, shall we? It was freakin’ freeeeezing. I woke up to a cloudless blue sky, and the thermometer read four degrees. Do you have aaaany idea what four degrees feels like? Seriously now, do you? (You’re welcome to say yes, but if you don’t know, then don’t even try.) For a bit of relativity, your kitchen freezer is probably four or five times warmer than that. FOUR DEGREES… yeah, chew on that for a bit.

Thankfully yesterday’s hurricane-like winds had subsided, so we merely had 10-15mph gusts to deal with. With relatively dry roads today, I was more than happy knowing that I would eventually tackle the open roads rather than another basement trainer session. Late morning rolled around, and with the sun seemingly almost ready to set (that’s a joke) it was time to kit up. As any tried and true New Englander will attest, I wasn’t joking at all when I said it would take about 45 minutes to bundle up. Moreover, all said and done, I end up wearing seemingly 10lbs more clothes than I will on a normal summer ride. More clothing weight = more of a workout = much MUCH more badass. Obviously.

Fortunately, Castelli kits us out to the nines (whatever the heck that means), so it actually probably only took me about 39 minutes to deck myself out. And when I’m done, I look like something of a gray/black/white ninja… with blue lensed glasses.

...ignore the Crocs

For style aesthetics, note the full face mask in combination with a lowly worn hat and glasses. Skin exposure: probably less than 1/2 square inch. Style points: high. Function points: extraordinarily high. Winner: Function.

So three hours of riding later, as any New Englander will again attest, my bike was salted more than a sweaty fat dude on Alpe d’Huez in July.

Note the seasonal wreath. Festive.

You know the worst part about riding in the cold, nasty winter is? It’s arriving home and having to clean off your bike when you’re already pretty darn chilly. Thankfully, sound thought won out the battle of what-to-do when I reminding myself how poorly the bike cleaning had gone the previous day. Instead of cleaning my bici, I hopped into a steamy hot shower.

But before I did that, I stripped down and snapped a photo of what it takes to survive this wintry mess. In truth, it’s surprisingly little again thanks to the folks at Castelli. For me, my core gets up to an adequately survivable temperature relatively quickly – it’s my face, fingers, and toes that are the true worry. Plus the heinously cold pains to those extremities are the ones that will bring you in from an otherwise pleasant ride. Big BIG mittens tackled the fingers. Wool socks, those chemically/ski-style toe warmers, and big ol’ neoprene booties handled the toes. And the aforementioned facemask and hat fielded any potential problems with the moneymaker (…my face).

Now if someone would just be kind enough to please clean my bike…

My roommate Rich and I woke up at 5am to eat an early breakfast for the 112 miles scheduled for the morning. I flung open the shades and…

Are you serious?! As a life long New Englander, I just figure that everything south of about Pennsylvania is hot this time of year. Apparently that’s a farce. We knew that with NBC televising their first race in a decade, it would take much more than a simple blizzard to cancel the race. We arrived at the start an hour before it was set to go off. Upon arriving, we were told that the NBC helocopters weren’t yet in the air, so the race would be delayed. Oh yeah, that’s really wise. Even if the helocopters were in the air, there is no visibility anyway! Smart. Ultimately, the race did get underway 90 minutes after it was originally scheduled to.

The race was a doozy. Everyone and their mom thought it would be smart to be in the breakaway – maybe it would be warmer up there, or perhaps safer. There were so many attacks, that none actually ever succeeded to get more than about 30 seconds. Alas, as one would expect, the real race started 70 miles later when we hit the Richmond finishing circuits. The weather at this point has cleared up quite a bit, although it’s still frigid with temps in the 40s. The circuits were very cool, very difficult, and very laden with crappy roads. Flat tires were the name of the game, with Scott, Ben, and I (x2) suffering flats. Emile, Garrett, and Scott were our only finishers after the 112 miles of racing, so big props to them.

Garrett and I then packed up the Vibe to head to Lookout Mountain, GA while Omer, Ben-O, and Rich packed up the van and trailer for their drive to Sheedy’s house. We were literally seconds away from getting in the car to drive, when Rich noted that the Vibe had a rear flat tire. The Richmond roads strike again!

We then unpacked the Vibe, Rich took the donut tire out of the Vibe, and proceded to chase it around the parking lot.

So how many Priority Health riders does it take to change a flat?It takes 4 riders and 1 mechanic. The 4 riders mostly just stand around and make editorial comments while the mechanic makes the change. Actually, truth be told all 5 of us couldn’t get the wheel off the car; I had to call our friends at Triple-A for a wheel change. He wailed on the wheel for a while with his enormous rubber mallet before the rusty corrosiveness gave way and the wheel was removed.

Being Easter Sunday, not a single car-fix-it-joint was open. Alas, with our Triple-A man’s recommendation of not exceeding 50mph nor going more than 100 miles at a time, Garrett and I hit the road. Bear in mine, at this point we have over 600 miles of driving to complete in the next 9 hours. Do the math friends, at 50mph that would be 12 hours of driving. Thankfully, our $8 spare tire worked great and we made it to Tab and Mary Margaret’s house in Lookout Mountain, GA… with speeds exceeding 50mph. We have arguably the best view of Chattanooga, TN, amazing roads, great training partners (Eddy Hilger, our teammate from last year who lives 2 miles away), and perfect hospitality. I must say, waking up to the sweet smells of freshly brewed coffee and baked good – banana bread (twice) and amazingly delicious pear muffins – is pretty awesome.

So a belated Happy Easter everyone.