“Dude, you’re stealing my bandwidth!”

This tech-savvy day in age, that’s the ambiguous and frequent expression when more than one person is on a wireless network. Turns out that 97.3% of cyclists have no idea what that means on a technological level. Superficially though, it turns out to be quite true – when you take a team of six riders at a South American race hotel with already poor internet, and then supplement the hotel’s capacity with another dozen cycling teams, plus cycling press, and their corresponding need for internet, the result is flickering hopes and shimmering seconds of working wifi followed by mind-numbingly futile hours of hitting Connect. Again and again and again all for not. That goes to explain why I became internet-quiet as soon as the race started.

Now that I’m back in the arctic tundra that is Europe, let’s quickly rehash some things and then move on to the present. Aaaand GO!

The team presentation for the Tour of San Luis was the most entertaining such event we’ve ever experienced. You see, a typical presentation in Europe lasts 30 seconds in the time leading up to a race, right on stage where we sign-on; line up as a team, shoulder to shoulder, they announce your name, you wave, smile (or frown and look badass) at the camera, step off, done. Meanwhile in America, it’s generally the night before a race in a ballroom with the race/town/state/city’s VIPs wearing their Sunday finest.

Definitely a different scene here: in stifling heat in the center of main street in downtown San Luis, we arrived at the tender hour of 8pm where it was still light out, and proceeded to wait protected by metal barricades from the ebullient and growing crowd.

Team after team are being called while we wait. We learn later that each team is standing under deafening speakers and in front of a roaring crowd, so we’re actually winning this situation since we can sit in relative quiet peace. After a good long while, we’re called up, and in this photo are waiting behind an enormous TV monitor:

And to the booming delight of the crowd, dodging a canon shooting glittery paper, a smoke and light show, cheerleaders, we walked on stage. Smile, wave, move right… and join the other 150 cyclists standing on another stage.

The point being, these San Luis’ians know how to have a good time. The entire town, and I do mean the entire town, came out to this rock star team presentation. It set the tone for what was going to be a unique week of bike racing.

And since I don’t write race reports more than once ever seven years, let’s say simply the following, in no particular order:

-We interrupted the Saxo-QuickStep show by taking an impressive victory with Elia Viviani. Yup, I called it that morning.
-The weather all week leading to the race and the entire race itself was roughly 38-45 degrees Celsius (100-113F). Except the first day which featured hail, sleet, wind, and three turn over the course of 170km. That day was bitter in every sense of the word.
-The TT featured a variety of set-ups. I had a skinsuit and shoe covers, which shaved 0.8 seconds off my time. I’d guess 1/2 the field had TT bikes. I just used it as a sweet fitness test and sat at a million watts for a bit shy of a half-hour.

-Courtesy: Bettini Photo

-And you can see the entire race on yonder Strava website. (Hark friends! Use the code tedking2012 and knock $10 your annual paid membership. And as always, you can still use the basic account for free.)

And then it was time to make a sufficiently long trip to Europe. I started to take photos of all the modes of transportation I used to get from our hotel in San Luis, Argentina to my apartment in Lucca, Italy but after the first three successful photos, I found myself sprinting between terminals and airports and vehicles so it became impractical to snap a photo in lieu of missing my connection. So for a quick summary: San Luis hotel, 20 minute bus to San Luis airport, 3 hour delay, 1 hour flight to Buenos Aires, 3 hours checking in/security/passport control, 13 hour flight to Rome, 2.33 minutes in Italian security and passport control,… ooooh, mind you it’s now day two of my travel which means it’s my birthday, everyone’s favorite day January 31. So with 32,000 of my best friends in the Rome airport, I bought a celebratory glass of Brunello and a mixed app’ plate. T’was excellent and since I like to photograph food, it looked like this.

And for the record, that short red cylinder on the left is beef tartar and the one on the right that looks like a red, disembodied finger is a stuffed red pepper.

Continuing on, I passed through Roman customs in a matter of seconds – opposed to America’s 2-3 hour wait to protect our borders – and then took another hour long flight to Lucca where I had our friendly soigneur Michelli pick me up and drive me the half hour to Lucca. I noticed upon landing that the ground was damp and the arrival staff was wearing lots of clothing. Clearly this was a far cry from the stifling heat of Argentina. Moreover, on the drive to Lucca it started misting, then sleeting, then a full fledged blizzard. (Sigh.)

With internet coverage deader than a doornail in hotel-Argentina, I didn’t know what sort of weather to which I’d be arriving on The Continent. Wet precipitation isn’t fun, cold isn’t so bad, but the combination is heinous. As Michelli said as he graciously chauffeured me from the airport, “Merry Christmas! Welcome to white Italy.” How thoughtful.

The biggest shock to the system hasn’t been the culture shock nor time zone shock. It’s the 47 degrees Celsius at the start of day seven San Luis (116F) as compared to -1C here (30F)

BrrrrRRRrrrRRrrrrr

Thankfully I’m here to help out those of you trying to stay warm this winter and have created this gem. (Yes, sold out, but check back in daily as inventory is about to be back up to stock.)

An Italian winter wonderland, complete with blanketed vineyards, craggy snowed-in mountain roads, and all of town/school/banks shut down.

And if you’re still after more Argentinian stories, give this a minute of your time. Time to bundle up and go for a bike ride.

Go to the Source – http://iamtedking.com

There’s the ambiguous and frequent expression this tech-savvy day in age when more than one person is on a wireless network, “Dude, you’re stealing my bandwidth.” 97.3% of cyclists have no idea what that means on a technological. However, superficially it turns out to be quite true – when you take a team of six riders at a South American race hotel with already poor internet, and then supplement the hotel’s capacity with another dozen cycling teams, plus cycling press, and their corresponding need for internet, the result is flickering hopes and shimmering seconds of working wifi followed by mind-numbingly futile hours of hitting Connect. Again and again and again all for not. That goes to explain why I became internet-quiet as soon as the race started.

Now back in the arctic tundra that is Europe, let’s rehash some things startlingly quickly and then move on to the present.

The team presentation for the Tour of San Luis was the most entertaining such event we’ve ever experienced. You see, a typical presentation in Europe lasts 30 seconds in the time leading up to a race, right on stage where we sign-on; line up as a team, shoulder to shoulder, they announce your name, you wave, smile (or frown and look badass) at the camera, step off, done. Meanwhile in America, it’s generally the night before a race in a ballroom with the race/town/state/city’s VIPs wearing their Sunday finest.

Definitely a different scene here: in stifling heat in the center of main street in downtown San Luis, we arrived at the tender hour of 8pm where it was still light out, and proceeded to wait protected by metal barricades from the ebullient and growing crowd.

Team after team are being called while we wait. We learn later that each team is standing under deafening speakers and in front of a roaring crowd. After a good long while, we’re called up, and in this photo are waiting behind an enormous TV monitor:

And to the roaring delight of the crowd, dodging a canon shooting glittery paper, a smoke and light show, cheerleaders, we walked on stage. Smile, wave, move right… and join the other 150 cyclists standing on another stage.

The point being, these San Luis’ians know how to have a good time. The entire town, and I certainly do mean the entire town, came out to this rock star team presentation. It set the tone for what was going to be a unique week of bike racing.

And since I don’t write race reports more than once ever seven years, let’s say simply the following, in no particular order:

-We interrupted the Saxo-QuickStep show by taking an impressive victory with Elia Viviani. Yup, I called it that morning.
-The weather all week leading to the race and the entire race itself was roughly 38-45 degrees Celsius (100-113F). Except the first day which featured hail, sleet, wind, and three turn over the course of 170km. That day was bitter in every sense of the word.
-The TT featured a variety of set-ups. I had a skinsuit and shoe covers, which shaved 0.8 seconds off my time. I’d guess 1/2 the field had TT bikes. I just used it as a sweet fitness test and sat at a million watts for a bit shy of a half-hour.

-Courtesy: Bettini Photo

-And you can see the entire race on yonder Strava website. (Hark friends! Use the code tedking2012 and knock $10 your annual paid membership. And as always, you can still use the basic account for free.)

And then it was time to make a truly epic trip to Europe. I started to take photos of all the modes of transportation I used to get from our hotel in San Luis, Argentina to my apartment in Lucca, Italy but after three photos when I found myself sprinting between terminals and airports and vehicles, it became impractical to snap a photo in lieu of missing my connection. So for a quick summary: San Luis hotel, 20 minute bus to San Luis airport, 3 hour delay, 1 hour flight to Buenos Aires, 3 hours checking in/security/passport control, 13 hour flight to Rome, 2.33 minutes in Italian security and passport control,… ooooh, mind you it’s now day two of my travel which means it’s my birthday, everyone’s favorite day January 31. So with 32,000 of my best friends in the Rome airport, I bought a celebratory glass of Brunello and a mixed appetizer plate. T’was excellent and since I like to photograph food, it looked like this.

And for the record, that short red cylinder on the left is beef tartar and the one on the right that looks like a red, disembodied finger is a stuffed red pepper.

Continuing on, I passed through Roman customs in a matter of seconds – opposed to America’s 2-3 hour wait to protect our borders – and then took another hour long flight to Lucca where I had our friendly soigneur Michelli pick me up and drive me the half hour to Lucca. I noticed upon landing that the ground was damp and the arrival staff was wearing lots of clothing. Clearly this was a far cry from the stifling heat of Argentina. Moreover, on the drive to Lucca it started misting, then sleeting, then a full fledged blizzard!

With internet coverage deader than a doornail in hotel-Argentina, I didn’t know what sort of weather to which I’d be arriving. Wet precipitation isn’t fun, cold isn’t so bad, but the combination is heinous. As my team soigneur said when he graciously chauffeured me from the airport, “Merry Christmas! Welcome to white Italy.” How thoughtful.

The biggest shock to the system hasn’t been the culture shock nor time zone shock. It’s the 47 degrees Celsius at the start of day seven San Luis (116F) as compared to -1C here (30F)

BrrrrRRRrrrRRrrrrr

Thankfully I’m here to help out those of you trying to stay warm this winter and have created this gem. (Yes, sold out, but check back in daily as inventory is about to be back up to stock.)

An Italian winter wonderland, complete with blanketed vineyards, craggy snowed-in mountain roads, and all of town/school/banks shut down.

And if you’re still after more Argentinian stories, give this a minute of your time.

Go to the Source – http://iamtedking.com

It was merely a matter of time before the ferocious Argentine temperatures got the better of my overall well-being and something had to be done. That is to say, despite being on a style-centric Italian cycling team, I don’t feel like sweating profusely exclusively for the sake of high fashion. Thankfully my teammates have traveling hair clippers in the event that in our travels to the nether reaches of the globe a barber shop does not exist.

In a surprising turn of events, Argentina does in fact have both hair salons and barbershops. However, free was a better price than any number of pesos I would have had to spend and I’m quite pleased with my end result handiwork.

With temperatures again in the 40+ Celsius range, we’ve put together a few consecutive days of excellent San Luis’ian training (this is the Tour of San Luis, after all – basically a tour of the central, western province of San Luis that looks like a mirrored image of the state of Vermont). The first day was curious because it started out with a horrifically boring 30km out and 30km back along a dead straight road with nary a turn nor geographic aberration in sight, but eventually it turned into one of the best days of training I’ve ever had with the team. With a fairly dramatic sky overhead, those boring as heck first 60km looked something like this:

Absent turns nor virtually anything even mildly interesting for miles on end I nearly passed out from boredom. Just before that fateful, sleepy moment thankfully there was one, umm… I don’t even know what to call it. Let’s dub it, Yee Highway 7 Shrine to Plastic Bottles. In this photo, Timmy considers adding one of our team bottles for posterity’s sake, but thought better of it since our bottles claim to be biodegradable as opposed to the mountain of plastic that will perhaps someday cease to exists nine billion years from now.

 

We also returned home that day to witness a massive tour bus being removed from the roof of a nearby building. It was precariously parked 1/2 on and 1/2 danging precariously over the edge. The rear portion was painted black (no, it was not burned) and the front, which by this time has been sawed off and removed already, was painted white. In a stunning show of coincidence, we noticed the bus fully intact and perched happily up there the previous day, and then the next morning I read on the front news of the local newspaper that after nine years being parked up there in this position, city officials decided that it was simply too dangerous to remain up there. So one crane and a dozen workers later, KAPOOF, gonezo.

The following day we set out to scope a good portion of stage 3 of the Tour of San Luis. After a short stint along the same road we have ridden each of the past six days, we discovered the first climb of this particular stage. Someone mentioned that it was 12km give or take a few. Additionally, given that the area in which we’re staying is relatively flat with a few rolling mountains in the distance, surely nothing could be terribly long nor difficult. Some went as far as to say that this climb was facile… easy.

More than 25 arduous kilometers later, we reached the top. This shot below is Vinny Nibali, our new Columbian ace climber Jose Sarmiento, and American all-star Timmy Duggan. I was pleased to summit with these whippersnappers considering I’m 6’2″ and as they admitted during a sweaty respite at the top, they were not going easy at all. Punks.

Roughly the shape of a giant D, the ride looked like this:

In related news, if you are not yet on Strava, I’ll take this opportunity to say that you should be. One, because it’s awesome and I’m truly passionate about their product. Two, because when you sign up now and use this coupon code, tedking2012 you’ll save yourself $10 on an already completely inexpensive account. Two words: Do. It.

Aaaalora.

After a tough day of training, it was high time to soak up some Argentinian urban culture. Not far from our fancy hotel we came upon this buggy of travel patiently waiting for a green light which left me amused. No, not the scooter, it’s the horse attached to the rear end of a pickup truck that left me needing a photo. H’yaaa horsey!

On this cultural excursion walk-a-bout – and similar trips trying to figure out a particular new society in which I’m traveling – I frequently find myself at grocery stores and local fresh markets. I have been surprised not to find any exotic fruits and vegetables here in San Luis since the produce section is often the most culturally enlightening section of the grocer. I was told seemingly correctly that Argentina is known for two things: beef and Malbec. After an amazing feast last night with some Liquigas VIPs, I can attest that both are excellent.

When it came time to shoveling through the frozen meat section on my grocery run, however, I was confounded with so many options. Do I want the simple Paty Express or should I be watching my waisteline and go for the Paty Light? And how do either of those stack up to the delicious sounding Barfy? Ooh, so many decisions…

 

Go to the Source – http://iamtedking.com

Two days ago, my first entry pecked away here in Argentina claimed absurdly hot and dry temperatures characterize the climate. That was true on that day, however the two days hence have offered a little bit of everything. So my assumption that Argentina is exclusively hot, dry, and full of friendly people is not quite true (well, the first two aren’t necessarily true. The final claim that everyone is friendly is so far extremely accurate. More on that later).

So day one exhibited temperatures reaching 42 degrees Celsius which is an uncomfortable touch over 107 degrees Fahrenheit, or in contemporary vernacular, “Wicked friggin’ hot.” It was dry and sunny and enough to make you feel unpleasantly toasty just by looking out the window. Here’s a photo I snapped as I stepped outside our hotel of the Liquigas-Cannondale South American support vehicle convoy, complete with a trailer ideal for a vertically challenged mechanic. The trailer door comes to just above my navel, so you’re basically guaranteed to hit your head even by crawling on all fours in the trailer. Thankfully I ride my bike and therefore need to spend more than 0 minutes in there. Look carefully by the driver’s door; I’m fond of the engine snorkel just in case there are any 2+ meter water crossings. Not knowing what we might encounter, I think the only thing lacking here is a snowplow.

The following day was significantly cooler in the morning. Furthermore we were blessed with the added excitement of about seventeen raindrops falling over the course of yet another training ride. Cooler temperatures and undeniable signs that it actually rains here – THAT’S good stuff. It was clear to me that things were bound to start off well that particular day, because I descended to breakfast and found a pair of matching team issue man-purses reserving the patrons’ seats. I prefer to put my book or perhaps my butt in the seat to stake claims to seating rights. Turns out that man-purses serve the same purpose.

That day two was further enhanced by riding for a short stint with a very friendly group of Argentinian cyclists. I had the pleasure of riding along with a fellow named Pampa. I spoke Spanish back in my high school days with the abrupt un-fluidity of your typical American bi-linguist who did not start his second language in kindergarden. That is to say, I speak some Spanish. But with the many similarities of Spanish and now my new, native Italian tongue, I frequently find myself tongue tied speaking some sort of Span-alia-ish while trying to communicate here in the southern hemisphere… complete with hand gestures when I can’t get my point across.

Cutting to the point, I learned from my nuevo amigo Pampa while riding along together past the vast expanses of rolling green fields that Argentina is the 2nd leading exporter of corn in the world and the 3rd leader in soy. Moreover, they will soon be exporting these crops to China. Which is absolutely stunning to me since I figured China was entirely self sufficient by now and certainly telling about just how abundant those crops are here.

Corn fields on a somewhat cloudy day:

One thing you cannot export is an awesome hairdo. And I hairdid! (…thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all night). I think it looks like a clone to Homestar Runner’s 2003 Halloween costume. Given how hot it is here in Argentina, this particular coif is more about style than function. We’ll see how long it lasts.

And continuing the theme of Argentinian exports, I found on my recent cruise through the grocery stores to be fully stocked (and therefore, they’re likely exporting) such fine breakfast offerings as these. However, unable to decide between Best Bran and Good Bran I opted for the lesser known and poorly selling Average Bran.

And lastly, onto the gratuitous friendly nature of the local folks here. I’ve obviously only experienced a small slice of Argentina, but at seemingly every opportunity people go out of their way to encourage us, show their support, and cheer us on… mind you, this is on training rides. Every second or third car that passes us (as we’re training on the country’s main two-lane highways) lets out a festive toot with hands clapping, cameras flashing out the window, and giddy ole‘s of encouragement. Cars frequently pass us and stop on the side of the road to catch the fly-by photo op’. And it was during the aforementioned bran cereal grocery shop that a very kind old woman and her grandson approached me and asked me all about how I’m liking Argentina, how we expect the racing to go, how’s the weather (ahem, why such a boring blog post is important), and plenty of other stuff. At which point I continued to hone my Span-alia-ish to her delight.

.

Go to the Source – http://iamtedking.com

A lesser man may have heeded these signs’ collective advice. However, mostly paying attention to the stenciled sign on the right, I looked down and noticed that I was not riding a motor vehicle and therefore proceeded beyond this gate and along my merry way on this very ominous road.

Who knows what the locals call it, but I’ve dubbed this the Paradise Loop north of Santa Barbara. It starts out entirely paved with a nice climb, San Marcos, out of Santa Barbara. Then a ripping descent, then a right handed turn, an entertaining visit with a local grocer who unsolicitedly blurts out, “Boy, those have to be the most uncomfortable shoes I’ve ever seen!” I took the time to correct him, that they are in fact quite comfy and that even though I walk as though I’m struggling through my seventh day of having learned how to walk, they’re not actually made for walking and that they make the sport of cycling much more pleasant. He didn’t really care what I was saying because he interrupted to say, “Cycling is one sport I just don’t get. My wife? She’s a sleeper. She’ll sleep all the way until 7 o’clock in the mornin’. Meantime, I’ve already run six or seven miles by then. I wake up around four, four-thirty and get out the door. I just like to run…”

Thanks for sharing that Forrest Gump. Please give me my water and stop dissing my shoes. I bid you adieu.

So from there, you rip through a park and past maybe one car for the subsequent ten miles before you dodge your first road closed sign, river crossing, and ardent attempt to be badass while wearing spandex all within a short mile of each other. Minutes later, you’re greeted by the above photo of very foreboding nature. But ignorance is bliss so I darted by it and crossed my fingers that I wouldn’t get flats and started issuing watts to my bike.

Many watts later, the view was spectacular. You’re now approaching Gibraltar Reservoir, you’re surrounded by some amazing mountains, spectacular rock formations, and you’ve seen one mountain lion too many (yup, true story – darned scariest animal on earth in my humble opinion). You’re also low on water, but you just know that everything always works out in the end. So you carry on…

Look closely and you can see the road crossing left to right through the mountains ahead. Three miles later, I’ll be over there.

And now even more than three miles later, I reached the summit and descended Santa Barbara’s well known Gibraltar Road. I took the opportunity to rest my brakes pads and speak with some local hang-gliders who were about to launch. Without much thought, I just figured you could stay up in the air for an hour max; turns out when the air, wind, and temperature are all working in harmony (and user error is low) those folks can stay afloat for six hours or more!

And so many hours later, zero flat tires later, a few NPR podcasts later (excellent, edifying riding “tunes”), and many watts later, I arrived home.

In the meanwhile fastforwarding to the present, after 36 legendary hours of travel in which I drove to the Santa Barbara airport, flew to LAX, jogged through the airport, flew to Miami, sat on the tarmac for about an hour which caused me to unhappily run through the Miami airport, I then flew to Buenos Aires, Argentina, waited for my luggage to arrive on another incoming flight from Miami because putting my suitcase and bike onto my plane would have made too much sense, ignored customs and security entirely because I had a bus to catch and it was exhibited to me that playing ignorant and acting as though I’m in a hurry will make most people get out of your way here in Argentina, then bussed across town to another Buenos Aires airport, flew to Mendoza, then took a bus to our final hotel here in San Luis. Obviously that’s how you get from point A to point B when they’re on nearly opposite ends of the western hemisphere.

Oh, so I was saying in the meanwhile, I’ve arrived to Argentina where it is hot and dry and the people are friendly and the billboards are excellent for honing my high school Spanish. My favorite so far translates to, “It is easy to be happy!”

Here are a pair of photos of our ride today. I’m particularly fond of the first one which takes place in our hotel’s version of our team HQ-slash-garage. Everyone is carrying about their business, filling bottles, airing tires, putting on shoes and helmets… including Timmy who’s already accomplished that lengthy list of stuff and therefore found time to read the paper (a lot of being on any pro cycling team is finding time to occupy time).

Next are the friendly folks riding along and taking photos of us. Given how freakin’ hot it is here, you might think this is just fifteen minutes into the ride – optimum for mid-ride water topping off. But no, we made it a full hour before thirst got the better of us. Anyway, Argentina is so far excellent.

As I said to the verbose grocer before, adieu.

Go to the Source – http://iamtedking.com

As a Socrates once said, a picture is worth a thousand words. By that logic, what follows here is quite the verbose essay because it would therefore be nearly a hundred thousand words. Yes friends, fasten your seat belts because coming right up is a rudimentary and somewhat random photo essay of my January 1 through December 31 of the very fine year 2011.

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.

And now onto another camp, this one in 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 to. 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 some 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!

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 ay 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. A la 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 took on a hot cocoa).

From New England, I set forth to CA to get ready for the Tour of California. 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 known for it’s wines and therefore picturesque vineyards. Here I am escaping that swarm of vehicles, workers, half drunk wine samplers, and other four wheeled beasts and one some quiet roads.

From Napa to Tahoe to acclimatize, 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. (“Ted, is that a neckgaiter?” “Yes it is Brad. This is called 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!

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 unsuccessfully digging a 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.

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.

It also 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.

And 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 see you in Massachusetts!

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 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.

More Aspen. Actually here’s 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 couldn’t quell my familial happiness seeing Mom and Dad being able to attend one of my races. 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 did win a sprint from about 800 meters out in a local New England spring classic once upon a time 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 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 is the original 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.

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. They won, naturally.

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

Wow, Hawaii is nice.

The top of Mount Haleakala is nearly as mysteriously amazing. It offers a feeling a bit like being on the moon.

Hawaii to Mill Valley, just north of San Francisco. That there is called the Golden Gate Bridge. On a bet and a whim 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 glass 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 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 away), 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, we actually managed to sneak back 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.

Back to my folks’ home sweet home and 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 ANDA 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 and all. Well, I have a Christmas sweater, an ever-growing white person’s afro, and a loving family. All three of which are excellent.

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 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.

Go to the Source – http://iamtedking.com

As a Socrates once said, a picture is worth a thousand words. By that logic, what follows here is therefore nearly a hundred thousand of ‘em. Yes friends, fasten your seatbelts because coming right up is a rudimentary and somewhat random photo essay of my January 1 through December 31 of the very fine year 2011.

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.

And now onto another camp, this one in 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 to. 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 some 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!

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 ay 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. A la 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 took on a hot cocoa).

From New England, I set forth to CA to get ready for the Tour of California. 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 known for it’s wines and therefore picturesque vineyards. Here I am escaping that swarm of vehicles, workers, half drunk wine samplers, and other four wheeled beasts and one some quiet roads.

From Napa to Tahoe to acclimatize, 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. (“Ted, is that a neckgaiter?” “Yes it is Brad. This is called 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!

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 unsuccessfully digging a 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.

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.

It also 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.

And 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 see you in Massachusetts!

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 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.

More Aspen. Actually here’s 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 couldn’t quell my familial happiness seeing Mom and Dad being able to attend one of my races. 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 did win a sprint from about 800 meters out in a local New England spring classic once upon a time 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 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 is the original 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.

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. They won, naturally.

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

Wow, Hawaii is nice.

The top of Mount Haleakala is nearly as mysteriously amazing. It offers a feeling a bit like being on the moon.

Hawaii to Mill Valley, just north of San Francisco. That there is called the Golden Gate Bridge. On a bet and a whim 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 glass 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 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 away), 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, we actually managed to sneak back 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.

Back to my folks’ home sweet home and 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 ANDA 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 and all. Well, I have a Christmas sweater, an ever-growing white person’s afro, and a loving family. All three of which are excellent.

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 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. But now that I have bona fide Mexican food right at my fingertips, this burrito is a billion times more authentic and just about as big.
Pretty much sums it up in random excellence. Over and out.

Go to the Source – http://iamtedking.com

Well worth suffering through the grainy poor image quality to see this piece of rich cycling history. Makes me want to snap into a Crunch Wrap Supreme to celebrate.

Go to the Source – http://iamtedking.com

Well worth suffering through the grainy poor image quality to see this piece of rich cycling history. Makes me want to snap into a Crunch Wrap Supreme to celebrate.

Go to the Source – http://iamtedking.com

Hark… Snow!

I mentioned yesterday that it snowed here in Sardinia on our fourth to final training ride. I did not put enough emphasis into the fact that the snow was preceded by some righteous wind and sopping rain. I also don’t mind pointing out that when it snows after such conditions, one feels it straight to the core. It was wicked Brrrrrr. I’m currently deep in the heart of the Mediterranean and I longingly miss the holiday cheer currently transpiring 8,000 miles from home in New England – alas the appropriately corresponding festive holiday cold and white goodness has arrived to “the Continent.” Odd given that the thermometer was reading a hearty 8 degrees Celsius at the time.

Under the impression that not everyone believed my claim to snow, I recommend staring off into the distance of the grainy photo above – we set out today to the majestic beauty of white capped peaks in the distance. Sure, just a few snow flurries on us yesterday, but snow is snow.

Regardless of all that, snow is not the reason I began this post today. Rather it is to offer my observations from last night’s feast.

Groundhog day gets kicked squarely in the teeth as once per ten-day camp we are allowed a pizza night. Giddy like a group of twelve year old girls at a slumber party, the anticipation is palpable. To set the scene, we’re in the same hotel as last year and dine in the same restaurant for every meal. It’s quite a lovely spot and I should add that being surrounded by an abundance of local wines decorating the wall – the forbidden fruit that we are allowed to enjoy strictly visually – only increases the excitement for this special occasion.

Timmy opted for the Frutti del Mar, which scared the living daylights out of our teammates. Seafood? On pizza?! E-gads you’d think he ordered a deep fried block of SPAM. With the plumpest mussels that I’ve honestly ever seen and a handful of their best friends named Shrimps, it looked a bit like this.

Meanwhile I was the only one of us who went with the aptly titled Fantasia! The subtitle read the Flavor Choice of the Pizzaiolo. I had met our friendly pizzamaker, err pizzaiolo, a few days prior and I came away with the distinct impression that he knows a thing or two about how to please his clientele. Who knows what exactly inspired this specific amalgamation, but my mini hot-dogs, zucchini, artichoke, mozzarella, and Gorgonzola was quite tasty. I personally would have opted for an additional salty kick found in olives, but I’m obviously no pizziaolo.

And now an appropriate commentary regarding Italian efficiency.

No one in their right mind will accuse the Italians are being overly efficient. Exhibit A: one waitress who serves as the sole barista taking table orders for 29 caffeine deprived cyclists and a dozen staff, producing, ooooh probably 100 espresso beverages in the morning. Last night elicits Exhibit B. One pizzaiolo making personal pizzas for 29 riders – plus an addition 15 pizzas for everyone to share for a grand total of 44 pizza pies – in an oven that reaches capacity with seven pizzas. Yes, all individually hand-made, all extremely delicious, all extraordinarily inefficient.

Here’s a photo of hungry riders watching their teammates eat whilst pizzaiolo prepares to toss dough in the background.

And lastly I offer you this warning: do not even begin to sass me that this is all part of the Italian charm, because the true “charm” becomes evident when 1/3 of the team is already finished with their dinner while another 2/3 haven’t yet submitted their order. Violent and gratuitous hand gestures ensue in tandem with heated voices from the hungry hoards of cyclists. Not me, however, since I just sit back and take it all in.

You see, this isn’t my first time around the proverbial Italian block. I’ve grown accustomed to this unique element of charm and appreciate it entirely. I’m by no means not asking Italians to change nor to take a page out of American (or Indian or Swiss or Japanese) efficiency. It’s these confounding human interactions that make waking up every day a treat, not yet knowing what I yet have the luxury to experience. Quite simply, la dolce vita, I get it.

Oh, to appease a mass audience you propose sharing a pizza? Not a chance, ace. One pizza per person to start – may as well be a law, no matter if you’re Grandma or Fat Tony.

And at the end of the day I will not cry fowl to all of Italian efficiency. That is, these gems are rife across this country. Mark my words, the utilitarian dynamo three-wheeled pick-up truck will someday dominate all the world’s streets, not just here.

Go to the Source – http://iamtedking.com

Hark… Snow!

I mentioned yesterday that it snowed here in Sardinia on our fourth to final training ride. I did not put enough emphasis into the fact that the snow was preceded by some righteous wind and sopping rain. I also don’t mind pointing out that when it snows after such conditions, one feels it straight to the core. I’m currently deep in the heart of the Mediterranean and I fondly miss the holiday cheer 8,000 miles from home in New England… but the appropriately corresponding festive holiday cold and white goodness has arrived. Odd given that the thermometer was reading a hearty 8 degrees Celsius.

Under the impression that not everyone believed my claim to snow, I recommend staring off into the distance of the grainy photo above – we set out today to the majestic beauty of white capped peaks in the distance. Sure, just a few snow flurries on us yesterday, but snow is snow.

However snow is not the reason I began this post today. Rather it is to offer my observations from last night’s feast.

Groundhog day gets kicked squarely in the teeth as once per ten-day camp we are allowed a pizza night. Giddy like a group of twelve year old girls at a slumber party, the anticipation is palpable. To set the scene, we’re in the same hotel as last year and dine in the same restaurant for every meal. It’s quite a lovely spot and I should add that being surrounded by an abundance of local wines decorating the wall – the forbidden fruit that we are allowed to enjoy strictly visually – only increases the excitement for this special occasion.

Timmy opted for the Frutti del Mar, which scared the living daylights out of our teammates. Seafood? On pizza?! E-gads you’d think he ordered a block of SPAM. With the plumpest mussels that I’ve honestly ever seen and a handful of the mussel’s best friends named Shrimp, it looked a bit like this.

Meanwhile I was the only one of us who went with the aptly titled Fantasia! The subtitle read the Flavor Choice of the Pizzaiolo. I had met our friendly pizzamaker, err Pizzaiolo, a few days prior and I immediately the distinct impression that he knows a thing or two about how to please his clientele. Who knows what exactly he was thinking but my mini hot-dogs, zucchini, artichoke, mozzarella, and Gorgonzola was quite tasty. I may have opted for an additional kick of salt with some olives, but I’m obviously no pizziaolo.

And now an appropriate commentary regarding Italian efficiency.

No one in their right mind will accuse the Italians are being overly efficient. Exhibit A: one waitress who serves as the sole barista taking table orders for 29 caffeine deprived cyclists and a dozen staff, producing, ooooh probably 100 espresso beverages in the morning. Tonight was Exhibit B. One pizzaiolo making personal pizzas for 29 riders – plus an addition 15 pizzas for everyone to share for a grand total of 44 pizza pies – in an oven that reaches capacity with seven pizzas. Yes, all individually hand-made, all extremely delicious, all extraordinarily inefficient.

Here’s a photo of hungry riders watching their teammates eat whilst pizzaiolo prepares to toss dough in the background.

And do not even begin sassing me that this is all part of the Italian charm, because the true “charm” becomes evident when 1/3 of the team is already finished with their dinner while another 2/3 haven’t yet submitted their order. Violent hand gestures ensue in tandem with heated voices from the hungry hoards of cyclists. Not me, however, since I just sit back and take it all in. Oh, and sharing a pizza, a la pizza in America? Not a chance. One pizza per person to start. May as well be a law, no matter if you’re Grandma or Fat Tony.

I will not, however, cry fowl to all of Italian efficiency. That is, these gems are rife across this country. Mark my words, the utilitarian dynamo three-wheeled pick-up truck will someday dominate all the world’s streets, not just here.

Go to the Source – http://iamtedking.com

Go to the Source – http://iamtedking.com