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.

In my humble opinion, the bad idea of the day is to run 50 miles. Off road. In the mud. At 6am. In sub-optimal weather. Over hill and dale and all throughout the Green Mountains of Ascutney, VT for the Vermont 50. Yuck, that sounds miserable.

BUT I’m not a runner. I’m a cyclist, so the idea of mountain biking those 50 miles sounded like an excellent off-season activity. After all, I had a title to defend. Better yet, I had family to see.

My crazy cousin Jay (father to a pair of those children above), his friend Amy (mother to the rest of those children above, myself not included), and about 548 of their good friends took part in the running portion of the Vermont 50. While I think that sounds horribly unpleasant, they both succeeded and had a smashing time in the process.

Backtracking a bit, my cousin’s family and their friend’s family rented a house nearby and made a sweet weekend getaway out of it. The fringe benefit of being their cousin is that I got to tag along. In an awesomely quirky mountain cabin, complete with stuffed dear heads, gazelles, puzzles, and a fire-pit, we had a great time. Plus I got to Vermont in time to see the crew above dominate the mini-run. 1 mile around Ascutney sounds like fun. Multiply that by 50 and that sounds less fun. But that’s just me.

Meanwhile, I woke up at 2:53am so that I could be fully digested and ready to roll at early hour of 6am. Waking up to rumbling thunder and fog and mist so thick that merely driving to the venue seems dangerous was an ominous start to the day. But upon arriving to the race, even before 5am, the energy and excitement of the additional 800 cyclists becomes downright palpable! Or maybe it was just the fog and the two dozen port-o-johns. Either way, people were stoked and so was I! With the ginormous help of the cannon atop my head at the pitch-black hour of 6am under, I was able to take the lead early and carry that momentum to an overall smashing race win… as well as the new course record.

Again, here I am with my adoring familial fans – Anna, Emma, Freddy, Paige, and Luke. (I’m the guy in the middle who is over 5′ tall.)

Oh, well worth the side note: the night before the race before going to bed, these amazing, 3-5 feet tall people performed a talent show. A dancing Luke, the three year old, took the cake in my book.

In addition to that record, I also took home a beautiful glass container of Vermont maple syrup from Top Acres Farm, a block of Vermont’s best known cheese: Cabot Private Stock Cheddar. Plus a pair of Vermont Peanut Butter’s jars of nutty excellence. (Actually that’s an exaggeration; I bought one jar the previous day at race registration – because I think VTPB does great things – but then I won another jar, so that pretty much made my day. If one is good, two are better.)

STRAVA! Plus a handful of well deserved KOMs if you ask me.

Another good idea is to take advantage of the 6am start as it pertains to the rest of your day. Namely, finish up the race a hair after 10am, soak up the limelight of having just won such a massive bike race, bask in the bike cleaning station and warm showers before they become caked in frigid mud, partake in a tasty sponsor beverage, enormous BBQ, and festive music, and STILL have time to drive 3 hours south to eastern Massachusetts and watch the nation’s coolest bike race, GP Gloucester! Take folks, take a page out of my book: you’re not living unless you’re living.

I wisely opted not to double-up and I therefore packed up shop and drove down to MA to watch Gloucester rather than race it. I don’t do well in muddy cross races and this was some of the finest mud America has to offer.

Let the off season adventures continue! Oh speaking of which, I have a really good idea for you…

…instead we have man eating craters that rival the Grand Canyon that span the middle of the everyday thoroughfares.

My post-Paris-Roubaix/pre-Tour of California self titled Tour of New England is rapidly coming to a close, as I’m off to California tomorrow. It’s a blast for me to have family and friends all throughout the northeast because between weddings, baseball games, bachelor parties, and simply traveling for the sake of seeing close friends whom I would not otherwise see, I’ve been blessed to tackle some riding across the finest section of America – even if that means occasionally catching air at 70kph on a screaming downhill when I hit a frost heave and jet over it’s frightening crevasse.

One of my recent adventures took me into the White Mountains. I started the day in the basking sun of home down south, nearly two hours’ drive from my riding point. Down yonder it was warm and pleasant and I was definitely not expecting anything but a pristine day. So when I stepped out the car and saw my breath I was less than psyched. But I soldiered on and soon warmed up a bit, until I reached the top of the Kanc’ at which point it was snowing on me and I was reaaally unprepared and freezing, I therefore decided that a rapid descent into Lincoln was in order. A $0.99 coffee complete with a splattering of instant cappuccino warmed my soul while a $5 pair of gas station gloves warmed my fingers.

What’s topped even that is that I then began another, separate five-day journey that saw me in the Upper Valley of NH and VT for a pair of days, followed by a blustery day of riding in Burlington, and then off to the most northern and remote town in all of New Hampshire called Pittsburg (nope, no -h at the end). When you’re in Pittsburg, NH you may as well be on the moon except that we still Live, Free, or Die here in the great Granite State. Despite now being in the midst of New England’s well documented turbulent spring weather, I was still not anticipating snow… or maybe I was just not appreciating snow. So when it dumped snow in downright blizzard-like fashion for 18 straight hours, and I woke up Saturday morning to a blank white scene, I was extremely pleased that I still had those $5 gas station gloves safely stored in my car. I doubled up the riding gloves that day and my toasty warm and extremely stylish fingers were all the happier for it.

If you’re curious what the nether reaches of New Hampshire look like, when you haven’t seen a car in hours and there are far more “Brake For Moose” signs than there are moose, then you know you’re practically in Canada, eh, then let this photo above appease you. To one direction you look back south at New Hampshire and you see this wonderfully English and French signage. Bienevue!

And in the other direction you’ll see the fiercely impenetrable and vastly underused New Hampshire–Canadian border patrol.

Which, believe it or not, on the other side of these buildings looks curiously like northern New Hampshire.

Oh, I was concerned that I wasn’t going to see any moose on this adventure to the great white north. On my big ride in Pittsburg I saw one hedgehog or lemur or ferret or something sprint across the road. That was exciting, but I really wanted a moose – the forest’s most awkwardly tall and gangly animal. Then after feeling defeated upon leaving Pittsburg early Sunday morning, I was about an hour south on my way to show Tim a thing or two about how to ride a bike, I saw my elusive moose walking across the road.

No photo because it was too awesome.

And if you’ve made it this far into the post, you deserve something actually worth reading. Please let THIS site satisfy your viewing pleasure.

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.

In similar fashion, I have a lot to cover and so rather than simply bullet pointing it, I will ride-slash-race communique here to efficiently cover all grounds. I can’t compete with RKelly, but I can still do this cause I feel like it. Mostly this allows me to write in the third person, so please allow King to begin.

The First Annual Ted King Tour of New England – A two bike, primarily off road journey between New England’s two finest states with 5 tough races over the course of just 12 days. (Yes, that’s seven rest days.)

– Stage 1. Wednesday 9/14 King victoriously races the season opening Wednesday night training series at Kingman farm presented by Seahuston. Is awarded oatmeal and chocolate chip cookies; his benevolence knowing no bounds, King shares cookies with all present.

– Local cyclocross prodigy Dylan McNicholas is fined 50 Swiss franKs for only putting in a quarter effort despite being so ill he dropped 6lbs overnight.

– Saturday 9/17 King attends an evening wedding with the reception at a brewery for ideal pre-race preparation – little to no sleep and something more than just a slight headache on Sunday morning ensues in three hour drive to Sunday’s venue.

– Stage 2. Sunday 9/18 King races the UCI(!) Green Mountain cyclocross race at Catamount in Williston, VT. Starting 3rd to last, King drops 3 positions and maintains DFL for 1/2 a lap. He then turns on the afterburners and crawls his way to 5th place.

– Post race video. You can see how this stage race unfolds over the course of this video.

– King is awarded most aggressive by a panel of himself for racing the entire thing stone-faced, as exhibited below. Don’t show the competition that you’re hurting nor horribly out of your element with odd facial gestures. The jury also heard of his previous night’s escapades and issued a high five.

King deftly demonstrates that he doesn't know what he's doing.

– Monday 9/19 King and Kenda/5 Hour Energy’s Shawn Milne travel to Lyme, NH en route home from Vermont to slay mountain bikes with acquaintance turned friend, Joseph. General Classification leader King perform recon for next Sunday’s Vermont 50, a 50 mile mountain bike race in nearby Ascutney, VT. With the actual race route off-limits until race day, King scouts local knowledge that these Lyme trails mimic the terrain for next Sunday. (Race official’s editorial: Joe turns out to be exactly correct.)

– Stage 3. Wednesday 9/21 King continues to stage 3′s Catamount Wednesday Night Training Series. From his previous experience here the Sunday prior, King learns that starting last row is a bad idea. King therefore stages himself in the 2nd row in a field of about 60 riders, including all ages, all sexes, all abilities, and all bikes. Yes, bikes since a handful of folks race on MTBs. King goes on to win the race despite Al Donahue’s enormous late race surge, thereby cushioning his lead in the TFATTKToNE.

King plans his attack. Peace out Bobby!

– King, however, is docked 8.4 points by pro cyclist/race official/race promoter/tattoo maven Adam Myerson for starting so near the front. Unbeknownst to King, apparently if you’re a “pro” you position yourself in the back during such training races. With a lot of stammering and very little substance to his argument, King squabbles futilely with officials that he was unaware of this offense, but to no avail. Beers on King.

– King curiously thinks that he is now a cyclocross racer after three fluke results. Mind you, he is yet to shoulder the bike because King is yet to see a proper uphill run or sand section. Saturday looms on the horizon as thick and dank as the impending deluge of a forecast. Uugh.

– Friday’s rest day brings King to Coach Danforth’s White Trash Club Med, as titled by Ben Higgins. Complete with rope swing, zip line, various ladders and log river crossings, a tree house, and rope bridge a la Indiana Jones, this place is awesome. The two young children who live here love it – so do us adult guests.

Ben, left, contemplates seeing his life flash before his eyes

– Stage 4. Saturday’s NoreasterFest Cyclocross Race. Oh good grief, THAT’S what cyclocross is all about? Sheesh, axle deep mud sucks. Sand, absurd descents, mud sections in which you’re supposed to “drive” your bike, all add up to a horribly difficult outing for King. Starting mid-field, precipitously dropping backwards before learning a thing or two and picking off a few riders, King finishes the day in 18th. This photo exhibits the aftermath of a muddy CX race and this is after a leap into the lake for a quick bath.

–Stage 5. The crown jewel on the TFATTKToNE two weeks of excellence. Yes, the Vermont 50. Awake at 3:30am and racing getting underway by 6am, it is mysteriously dark at that time of day. In fact, it is still dark until around 6:40 when it’s time to open up the gas and really race… since participants without the benefit of a light can now see.

– Racing with a nice fellow named Neal from Connecticut, King and his breakaway companion Neal opened up a gap on the field for the opening ten miles. On an extended climb and sensing his partner in crime fading, King applied pressure to the pedals and went solo for the remaining 40 for the WIN. 700 cyclists and 500 runners can’t be wrong, the Vermont 50 is incredible!

– I would like to say, “Courtesy of Strava, the Vermont 50 race looks like this!” …however much of this race takes place on private land and apparently we don’t want to irk the folks who own this land. So instead of showing bugging those folks, let’s look at the Burlington NoreasterFest CX race instead.

And best yet, I won a pair of prizes: a headlamp and a custom jar of Vermont-50 Maple Syrup!

Sweet!

Speaking of singing, it was stuff like this that made this race special.

These fellows on dueling guitars and sometimes banjos served as our evening entertainment in Steamboat throughout dinner. The euros dining amongst us found it a bit odd, but us Americanos deemed it the perfect level of both hoakie and excellent. Plus, instead of the typical pasta, salad greens, and boiled chicken that are staples of the professional cycling circuit’s dinner buffet line, all week we dined on Colorado ribs, macaroni and cheese, river caught fish, hearty steak, and other such locally sourced fare. When you boil down what bicycle racers want in a bicycle race – a well-run race, tasty food, and a comfortable bed – the “Tour of Colorado” had it all. Plus evening entertainment.

Look, let’s not kid ourselves, Colorado has been due for a signature bike race for some time now. I feel fairly certain in saying Colorado is the cycling mecca of America (sorry Louisiana, I know you thought you had that title locked up, but I think CO wins out in the reality that we live in) so this is a timely and well deserved arrival of the race to the Centennial State. A gregarious high five to all those involved.

In other news, this never gets old. This of course referring to the champagne on the right. For three straight nights.

Bike racing for the week: OVER! And now onto a brief relaxing phase, some training, a long bout of traveling, as the Quebec City and Montreal races are on the horizon.

Specifically, after Colorado I flew out to California for the week. Landing in SFO, I drove with the li’l lady up to Lake Tahoe. Last time I was here there was snow blanketing the entire region and we couldn’t race. I therefore took the opportunity yesterday to try to recreate the scene 3+ months later. I’m very pleased with my memory to remember not only where I stood that fateful, snowy, freezing cold morning of stage 2 of the Tour of California, but also the perfect angle’ature.

Late May in Squaw Valley…

Late August in Squaw Valley…

And following a delightful ride yesterday, I rested my tired bones in the sun down by beautiful and ambiguously deep lake Tahoe.

Then we watching the movie 30 Minutes of Less last night, which is as crude as it is entertaining as it is dumb, and I gave it a mildly worthy one thumb up.

After about 25km of racing I was in a great move, big numbers, all teams present, although the pair of RadioShack riders in the break were (wisely) keen on shutting it down. So after a nice 10 minutes off the front, we were reeled in. I was in the midst of hitting reset and getting ready to go into the next move again when there was a cattle guard that took down a lot of riders. Nastily. Probably a dozen guys went down in total including a pair of cyclists suffering ugly fractures (one back, one face… uuugh, hate hearing that), also including Basso and myself. Thankfully as Timmy pointed out, “Ted King’s bionically repaired shoulder merely dented the cattleguard.” Not entirely true, but I’m happy(?) to say that I did land on my left side and that my shoulder feels completely normal. My hip, however, is a bit bruised up.

I’m good though.

So let’s now fast-forward though the 22km of dirt on Cottonwood, the mud, the incredible fans, the weather, the wet scary descent, then onto and up over Independence where we had the same as Cottonwood, but raised to the power of Independence (i.e. more of all of the aforementioned stuff). Continue fast forwarding until we descend into Aspen. Ooh la la, my FAMILY!

Of particular note is Dad’s awesome crown, Mom’s awesome cycling cap that reads, “One Tough Mother” which screams the truth, plus the entire collection of iamnotTedKing t-shirts present. Even though Dad is Ted King. Plus Lindsay toting Paradise muffins and cookies for all to share.

And now the close up of the fam. Mind you, this is the first BIG race Mom and Dad have witnessed firsthand. So needless to say, I’m elated to have them here.

Love you guys (that is, mostly Mom and Dad… but I love my readers as well)

Like I’ve said at least once before, I used to believe that the only person truly happy at a national championship race is the victor. The champ’ers spray hides it, but that’s a smile on my face too.

Photo courtesy Lyne Lamoureaux – PodiumInsight.com

A hundred-plus people line up at the start, presumably many or most will finish, but only the victor will finish satisfied. That was my incorrect assumption anyway. Turns out that’s not true. Look, sure I wanted to be on the top step of the podium. Just like the next style jockey out there, I want to see how a spiffy new red, white, and blue jersey would look flying proudly above a pair of Liquigas-Cannondale green and blue bib shorts. Furthermore, when some smack was laid down in the race and I then found myself in the race winning breakaway of four, I especially had the thought of winning on my mind. That all being said, I’m still extremely pleased with the race and to have finished on the podium.

I rarely use this site as an avenue to get all teary-eyed and emotional. In fact, it’s maybe only happened once. Let’s chalk up number two right here and now because Timmy and I were beside ourselves with the outpouring of support across the board that lead to our success this weekend. Going into a race with just two folks competing is one way to be outnumbered, literally and figuratively, right from the get go. Part of that, however, is that the past two years racing solo for Cervelo at nationals, I feel like I dumped too much effort into being ready and lining all my ducks up in a row only to see my race come crashing down (again, one time literally and another time figuratively). So I really wanted to go into 2011 with Timmy as relaxed as possible.

I feel badly in advance because for sure I’m forgetting names here, but more than a generic blanket thank you to our support crew, I want to offer explicit thanks where it’s due. This will resemble a year book throwing shout-outs to our homies. Oh well. Getting right down to it, thank you so much to Craig and Courtney for your BnB-like hospitality and making me feel at home. Again! Rich for your endless generosity, your car, your bottles, and patience replying to my oftentimes asinine emails, thanks. Carly and Matt, similarly thanks for your patience and unparalled level of support. Thanks for letting us rampage your house the day before the race too. To the youngin’s on the Hincapie devo team, you guys rocked out. Thanks and congrats on the win the SC state champs the day before! Randy, sorry for cursing in your general direction, but thanks for the successful feeds all the same. Debbie, your an allstar! Thanks so much for the support and superpro feedzone personnel’ing. MixMasterMechanic Dave I can’t thank you enough for the day before bike maintenance. I think we were mostly already dialed here in Greenville, but additional thanks (again) for all the help in CA too. Loren, you smoked it in the bottle preparation and cooler duty. Thanks also for kicking arse in the start/finish area along with Lindsay; I’m quite sure I heard you two distinctly while ripping through downtown Greenville. Steve and Kirk, superb car work in the caravan, gents; if you can hack it in a race caravan, maybe a career in rally car is in order. Jeremiah, I really appreciate the massages and especially making it easy for us by coming on down to la casa. Great convo’ too man! Thanks for that. Becky the maple syrup and socks are nothing shy of awesome. In fact, they’re worthy of a shot…

Congrats on the weekend to you too, Becky. @JTKatz, that is some well traveled speculoos. No lie, it’s still sealed, but that’s because I have some absurdly professional discipline. I reckon as soon as it’s open, I will finish it ohh, maybe an hour? To the folks who chalked up Paris Mountain, you all are champs (see below). I do apologize for missing the night before chalking party. Virtually any other time I would have swung by, but race meetings with Timmy and Co. sadly prohibited that. Product of circumstance. And to everyone else, please accept my apology for omitting your name here. Here is the aforementioned blanket thank you: still from the bottom of my heart, thank you. Timmy and I were floored and truly taken aback with the support all throughout Greenville for our two-man-Liquigas-Cannondale-hit-squad.

Okidoke, fast-forward now three days later and the temperature still hovers just shy of 100 degrees. It’s a far cry from just six months ago when I took in New Years in Greenville. This particular shot is of George navigating an unmaintained road that resembles an ice-rink I think on December 31. As a tried and true New Englander, I am powersliding my bike, one handed, while taking the photo and heckling George for his southern caution in the snow.

The photo above in the snow is about 10 meters beyond where this photo, below, was taken today. Mind you, it’s seriously 96 degrees when I took this one. Green and lush. And hot.

It’s so danged hot in fact that the air is palpable. I did a few efforts on some climbs and such and found at one particular point (and by “one” point I mean a variety of good, long 20 minute stretches) that my shins were sweating. MY SHINS WERE SWEATING! Seriously, every freakin’ pore on my body was spewing sweat. There’s no beating around the bush friends, 96 degrees is hot. A humid 96 degrees is just plain nutty.

Here’s the ride, since I know you want to see it, by the way.

Oooooh what else…? Ahh right, mid-ride I stopped by a little fruit stand and bought a fresh peach. I briefly considered doing the southern boiled peanuts bit, but then went for a refreshing fruit option instead. (some) Southerners are so jolly. This guy’s accent was thick like good southern biscuits and gravy. Yeah, that thick.

I capped off the ride by one last trip up Paris. By now the chalk is getting a bit light and worn over, but without rain it’s all still visible. And of course the crooks who used spray-paint have their tags permanently on the ol’ mountain.* I don’t endorse graffiti in general, but I do happen to love this one. It’s a good one because it’s so true.

And from the non-permanent-graffiti department, I’m partial to this number.

And on that note, I’m still exhausted from my sweaty shin ride today. I’m going to get horizontal for a bit.

Again, truly, sincerely, wholeheartedly, and genuinely THANK YOU. This has been an exceptional week in Greenville. And congratulations to Matt Busche on the win!

*I stand corrected. The graffiti artists used “spray chalk” which I think is amazing that the world created aerosol chalk and then sprayed it with hairspray to prevent smudging. So it’s a double whammy of good-for-the-environment!

I woke up to find my teammate and American partner in bike excellent Timmy Duggan. He was supposed to arrive last night, but USAirways decided it would be wise to cancel their flight from Charlotte to Greenville. A series of text messages and emails ensued between Timmy and myself offering different plans of attack before Timmy and the misses settled on a drive. A taxi drive, no less. It wasn’t quite an arm and a leg, but it was close. That said, being able to sleep in the location of where you’ll be sleeping the day of the race makes all the difference in the world, so it’s actually a stellar idea to have arrived at 1am or whatever rather than bunk up at a hotel and try flying today.

Timmy’s hard work earns him an A+ and gold star for the day.

As not quite the contributing editor but mere contributor, I then proceeded to write a piece for Bicycling Magazine. I’ve never had deadlines before for writing – or it hasn’t been since college I should say – but I thrive under this sort of pressure and think that the next piece you’ll read in Bicycling will cut the mustard, to be totally vague.

From there I kitted up and… actually no, that’s not right. Let’s backtrack to right when I rolled out of bed this morning. I then zipped down to my buddy’s Rich’s place and had coffee talk with the guys. Believe it or not, Saturday morning coffee talk is badass and manly, so it was a pleasure to start the day off on the right foot with proper caffeination and good company. Thanks fellas.

Okay, so then I kitted up and went outside. It was about 10am and the entire city of Greenville is melting from the sweltering heat. I was (nearly) racing in snow last week and now I’ve traversed the country only to find the thermometer busting at its upper seam. Oh, with 98.5% humidity. After having melted myself, I scraped myself off the pavement and went for a ride over the ICAR – whatever that means – and watched some of the USPro time trial. A lot of people generously wished me good luck today, which is very friendly, but all my eggs are in the road race basket for Monday. I did help out heckling some guys racing… actually no, that’s a lie. It was my intention to do that, but I was very friendly and bid my well wishes to everyone I saw with a number pinned to their hind-quarters.

I also received a jar of speculoos from one JTKatz. I nearly didn’t take it for risk of eating it all just 36 hours from the start of the race, which would be delicious, but probably not prudent.

You know the expression, There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell…? Well here’s my new one, There’s not a sealed-jar-of-speculoos’s chance of being unsealed… Oooh, speculoos. Oh so tasty.

In other news, things are coming along well for the race. As I’ve mentioned before, given that Timmy and I are basically flying solo, we’ve had to rely on the exceedingly generous help from a lot of people around us. Friends, mechanics, soigneurs, friends, spouses, and more and more friends doesn’t even begin to cover the number of people helping out. We sincerely thank you for all the help and offers we’ve received.

Bike racing in 3… 2… 1…