Ryan on the Road

Things Are Changing Around Here

2011-04-03T13:22:00.000-07:00

This blog and I have been through some good times together, but lately I just haven't been happy. And when a relationship gets stale and you can tell things aren't going to work out it's better to just break it off instead of dragging things out. I'm moving up and moving on.

I'm going to make a concerted effort to create a site I can be proud of and write some things people will be anxious to read (myself included). So, with that goal in mind I've started this new site. I had everything dialed in over there, and then I blew up the whole thing and had to start from scratch. But that's part of the fun: you can join me on this adventure as I strive to create something worthwhile. Hey, this might even be your chance to get some input on what you're looking at.

So don't worry. It's the same inane ramblings but with a new look. Jet on over, check it out, and (hopefully) enjoy.

THE NEW STUFF

Good Day in the UK

2011-03-25T05:27:00.000-07:00

I won a race this past weekend. How sick is that?

Now that you've had time to process your shock and excitement at that declaration, I'll level with you: this was not the most prestigious race I've ever won. In fact, I was hesitant to even call it a legitimate race until I saw that British Cycling had awarded me bona fide points for it. Those sweet, sweet points have shot me up the national rankings. Look out, Britain, this Yank means business. I'm gonna claw my way to the top of the heap one chipper crit at a time!

The race was the Stan Jones Paramount Circuit Race #2. (We all know how highly regarded races are that feature a series number. Ugh.) Team Raleigh had no big races on the sched so a whole troop of blue smurfs turned out for this race, meaning we had 7 riders in a field of about 40. I like those odds. The course was a purpose built circuit in an L shape with a 180 turn on each end, the second one being a real screamer. (Sorry I don't have any photos, but just picture your favorite NRC crit and then double the number of spectators.)

There's really not much to say about that race. Our team rode hard out for 60 minutes, but nothing got away, and then my boys rallied at the front to give me a stellar leadout. Despite some interesting timing and poor gear choice on my part I managed to snag the dub and thus crack the seal on 2011. Hopefully it's the first of many and not the most prestigious. They had locker rooms again at this race and they were definitely one of the highlights of the day. Liam rolled a 3rd, and G6 4th which meant we all made back our entry fees + enough skrilla for a cup of coffee. Bonus.
On Sunday I got to roll my first British RR, the Evesham Vale. Again the team laid it down, zwaffling the field and cleaning up the first 4 spots in the race and landing 6 guys in the top 10. There were some strong dudes in the race, but as you may have guessed the field was missing some riders from the other big teams. Whatever. Races like that are a total blast to ride, they're good for the confidence and for team bonding, and so long as we didn't make any lifelong enemies then it's all in good fun.

I've been blitzing all over the country again, playing chicken with tanks, sipping drinks in the officer's mess, scoping Stonehenge and pulling a Rip Van Winkle, but more on that later. Time to strip down to my skivvies and go sprint in the sunshine. Booyah!

The Promised Land

2011-03-16T13:31:00.000-07:00

I finally got to smash up a cobbled pro race in Belgium, and it was everything I hoped it would be. Sure, I only have this single race to judge from, but as far as I can tell if you take all factors into account Belgian pro racing has got to be the sweetest bike racing in the world. Certainly the sweetest I've ever done.

Belgium is the world center of cycling. Okay, that's a big claim, but look at the facts: it has coolest races on the calendar - the cobbled classics (sorry TdF, thems the facts), the fans are the purest, and it produced Eddy Merckx. I can't speak for every American cyclist out there, but when I think about true feats of heroism on the bike it's always images of hardmen smashing hundreds of miles over cobbles in the rain that come to mind. I never really thought I'd get the chance to be doing the smashing myself, and I got chills just crossing the border into Belgium.

Belgian kids waving at the team car.

At the team meeting the night before the race we got a handout to study detailing all the sectors of pave (cobbles) on the course. That was the first time I've ever gotten one, and for some reason I thought it was very, very cool. I went to sleep studying the thing and thinking about the race, which means it took me a long time to drift off. I must have been keyed up, too, because I woke myself up with nightmares, which NEVER happens to me.

Raceday: Boom! We rolled out to the sign-in/start really stinkin' early, but it turns out it's a good thing we did. Remember when I said Belgian cycling fans are pure? I meant it. I don't mean they're blind fanatics like the tifosi or the Basques, they don't dress up in sumo suits and banana hammocks like the Americans and they won't spit on you like the French (ahhh, stereotyping!). They just really, really love and respect cycling. That was especially apparent when, three full hours before the race, fans were already gathering to look on, snap photos and get autographs. And not just from the big names. Guys were there with binders filled with pages and pages listing every racer, sometimes with a photo, and they wanted to get an autograph for each one. One person had big, high-quality prints of everyone on photo paper that he wanted signed. Wherever I went people would ask me to stop and pose for photos, and there were tons of guys snapping away as we signed on.Sign on, and some French, which I think says we're strange...

There were also kleedklamers, aka: locker rooms. How sweet is that!!! America really needs to jump on the bandwagon here. Instead of changing in a soggy field behind a car door and spending too much time in an overworked porta potty, we got to pin numbers and get kitted up in the comfort of a locker room just for our team. Like real athletes!!! (There were also kleedkamers at the finish so a guy doesn't have to ride 6 hours home in their own stink.)Kleedkamers. I opted for this shot over the one of Jonsey massaging his brain.

But how was the race itself, you ask? Amazing. First off, I got to bust out some Russian on the Katusha guys on the start line. See, dad, that four years at Stanford is really paying off! Right from the gun I felt pretty good, and I can best describe things in terms of how different they were from Holland. In Holland I was on the back foot immediately. I was timid, moving through the pack seemed impossible, and all I wanted was to finish. In Belgium I felt like I owned the road, gaps seemed to open for me as I flowed through the peloton, and I was wondering how I was going to win. I have to thank my coach, Jesse, for a well-timed and well-written email that really got me focused and pumped. I got to the front in about 5 minutes instead of 50, like in Holland, and when I did I already saw teammates throwing down attacks.

The roads were wider in Belgium, and there weren't devastating winds to shatter the field, which made things a lot easier. There were, however, cobbles. For those of you who have never ridden real cobbles, imagine cranking away in hard out race when all of a sudden your bars and front fork are replaced with a jackhammer. You get shaken so badly that your eyes are bouncing around in your skull. You can't accelerate; the best you can do is try to hang on to the speed you've already got.

The course had 3 laps of about 24k and then nine 12k finishing circuits. During the first lap no breaks were getting more than a few seconds. So, during a lull I positioned myself at the front and then attacked with everything I had into a stretch of cobbles. I'm not exaggerating when I say that attacking the shit out of a pro race over Belgian cobbles has to be one of the best sensations I've ever had on a bicycle. It felt amazing. And not only did it feel great, it worked! I got a pretty good gap and when three riders managed to drag themselves across we were clear of the field and started rolling.

Van Dijk was second on the day, and second again on Wednesday to Geert Steegmans at Nokere Koerse. #TPR,².

It was no joke break either. Topsport-Vlaanderen and Willem's Accent are two of the three Belgian Pro Conti teams and An Post (riding for Niki Ekhout) are no slouches. The gap went out to 1'30" and I thought that this would be the move of the day, but we didn't fully commit, and after a short lull back in the field things apparently went ballistic again and the gap started to fall. 45". 24" And then, looking back, we could see the field. The other (more experienced) riders knew the jig was up, but I threw in a little desperation attack, hoping that I might get swept up in the counter, but I ended up just wasting energy.

The rest of the race is a sad story. I had magic legs and was really feeling great in the bunch. No move was going to stick and I was getting really amped to try my luck in the field sprint. But alas, it was not to be. With 7 laps to go I smashed into a massive crater and pinch-flatted at possibly the worst time. We were heading into the feedzone, so my raised hand/cry for help was misinterpreted as a request for a feed and the commissar didn't call my team car up. I rolled all the way to our van, but they weren't prepared for a wheel change, and by the time I got pushed back in the only car behind me was the official end of the caravan. And that was the end of my day. Here's some footage of my demise:

Kipo was feeling supreme and the guys were working for him in the sprint, but he went down with 2 to go. Cronshaw didn't get slotted in at the right position but stuck it out for 24th. Matt Gee "6" had the toughest day of all. For his Belgian debut he flatted at 3k and 50k, and when he finally made it back the the group he got sent back for bottles. He was making his way back up with his jersey stuffed to bursting with bottles when he got his third flat. Ouch. He probably thinks I'm a pansy.

I'll make an effort to write shorter posts more often instead of these epics. But I can't not write about this race. It's been a secret dream to do races just like this since I was a Cat5, and it was so friggin cool to not only be riding the race, but to be a factor in it and feel like I belonged. I really believe that I'm meant for this kind of racing an I hope I get more opportunities to prove it.

Also, we went through the Eurotunnel. And compared to the ferry it did feel like we were traveling at light speed.

Soens and So Forth

2011-03-06T12:09:00.000-08:00

Saturday was the official kickoff of the British cycling season, the Eddie Soens Memorial Race. British Cycling did a pretty damn good job of covering the race and they have a solid report complete with video on their website. If you want the official version head there. But since you're reading this I have a sneaking suspicion you might want my opinion on the days happenings. So here you go. (Also, there are some really good photos here.)

Here's Pete getting the rigs race ready. Hmmm... alliteration!The race was crazy. That seems to be a common theme with racing in Europe so far. But while the Zwolle was crazy because people were fast and the roads were narrow and challenging, the Soens was crazy because we raced with women and juniors on a wide open course with no real turns or selective features. To hijack a quote from Forest Gump, European bike racing is like a box of chocolates: you never know what you're gonna get, but it's probably going to be nutty.

The race takes place on the closed circuit pictured above. This could be a pretty interesting course if it was about 800 meters long, but each lap is 1.66 miles of wide open roads. This, combined with a lack of elevation change, wind or inclement weather made this about the least selective course I've ever ridden. We were rolling around at almost 30mph and you could pretty much coast in the pack.

To spice things up and give everyone an equal shot at glory they run this race as a handicap. They break all starters into 3 groups with women, juniors and lower categories in the first group, then middle category riders, then 1,2 and Elite riders. They started group one, then group 2 after 30 seconds, then us at a 1:30. Last year the juniors caught the third group by slaying it for the first few laps and as a result the fastest riders were sprinting for 30th. Not this year.

The Raleigh boys jumped on the front from the gun and didn't stop rolling until we'd swept up all the groups on the road. This made for a very exciting 150 man, nay, person group swerving around an open track like so many drunk drivers who've tried to compensate for their inebriation by drinking a whole pot of coffee. Twitchy and reckless is a hell of a combination. I mean, picture taking your local crit and running all the categories together and that's the Soens.
Despite the supremely negative conditions our guys did everything they could to snap off a break. I saw absolutely every one of our guys rip off at least one attack and most people were out there hitting it time after time after lung-busting time. We rolled that shit for 25 laps until a move finally went. It's a testament to the strength of the team that we could make a move stick on a course with those conditions.

And stick a move we did. Cronshaw and Liam managed to finally get a gap with 8 other guys. We dropped the ball by letting a lone chaser get away, and then Kippo showed his killer instinct and hopped right on the Tennant train for a free ride across. 3 out of 11. Not bad. As it got down to the closing laps Cronshaw knew the time was ripe for a glory gamble and lit out solo in search of the line.

Alas, tragedy befell him. He got swallowed up by the break less than 50 meters from the line. Kippo had the balls to throw down a nasty sprint and snagged a very respectable podium spot.
And what of your humble narrator? I mixed it up with a tad bit of attacking and then tried to rally a little sprint, but there's not much glory in sprinting for 12th place, and even less in getting crashed out while doing it. I pulled up early and called it a day.

But there is a silver lining. Even though I only rolled in for 18th place, it was actually quite an impressive result. You see, Magnus Backstedt has come out of retirement and he was racing the Eddie Soens. And I beat him. Now, if you know anything about math or logic then you've probably heard of transitivity. It usually runs something like this: if a > b and b > c then a > c. Now let me introduce to you the Transitive Property of Race Results (TPR²): If Magnus > Paris-Roubaix and Ryan Parnes > Magnus then Ryan Parnes > Paris-Roubaix. AMAZING!! It turns out the Eddie Soens was one of the most pivotal races of my young career. However a true fan would quickly point out the fact that I showed promise of being one of Transitive Cycling's true greats as far back as the TT of the 2009 Nature Valley Grand Prix. It was in that opening time trial that I virtually won cycling's most prestigious race, the Tour de France. Floyd Landis > Le Tour and Ryan Parnes > Floyd Landis. Therefore Ryan Parnes > Le Tour. It's even more impressive because I'm clean!

Team Raleigh did two more races on Sunday with great success and I urge you to keep up with the team on facebook and to check out the pretty slick, if not always grammatically correct, website. Okay, I just can't keep it in. Rickety Cricket won the race at Pimbo and Jonesy nabbed another podium at the Severn Bridge RR. These guys are on fire!

Zwaffled by the Zwolle

2011-03-03T12:46:00.000-08:00

My first European UCI race is in the books. I managed to nab the title of highest American finisher, but unfortunately that was only good enough for 89th overall. I've been meaning to do a write-up about this race for a while, but the experience was so taxing that even thinking about it makes me tired and puts an ache in my legs. Instead of going through the race blow by blow (which most of you would hate anyway) I've decided to present you with the inside scoop from our embedded reporter, Mr. Jeroen Janssen, aka JJ, the Flying Dutchman. I've added my own comments in bold. Enjoy!

‘Omloop het Nieuwsblad’, or ‘Het Volk’ is the classic Belgium season opener for the big pro’s, whereas the equivalent Dutch opener is the ‘Ster van Zwolle’ a brutal race for any rider. I’ve ridden for several Dutch teams and this is the race where you work towards all winter and you want to be selected for. Your team manager keeps telling you in the early season training rides that this is the first goal of the season. Endless echelon training rides should pay off here. 172 kilometers and every manager tells his riders that it is crucial to ride in the first twenty of the bunch. A change of direction and the wind can come from the side, which means you’re either in the first echelon or hanging on for grim death in the gutter. Positioning is everything. Not surprising the first 20k of the race can be a bit stressful, with almost 200 riders wanting to be on the first row.

With all of this in the back of my head, I felt pretty nervous before the start. Comments from friends who have done the race many times didn’t really help either: ‘just be in the first twenty of the bunch all race and you’ll be fine, just watch out for crashes as everyone is trying to get to the front’. Right…. Fortunately I was the only one who had done the race before and with riders and staff not knowing what to expect, there was less pressure coming from the team. Just the pressure from everyone who looked at the Dutchman with the famous Raleigh name on his jersey…

The weather at the start was typically spring classic weather: lovely wind, cold and a bit of rain. (I was absolutely freezing! I had on twice as many layers as everyone else and I was still shaking uncontrollably.)The pressure disappeared straight from the word go, the focus on getting to the front took up all the energy (most of which went to the use of the elbows). (Contrary to JJ's claims the pressure did not disappear. It increased about 100 fold. The "neutral" section was about as neutral as Germany in 1939. It was a 200 rider battle royal; elbow anyone near you, shoot a too-small gap, lock up both wheels, sprint, repeat.) Seven of our eight riders managed to stay out of trouble, unfortunately Phil got stuck behind a crash early on and never got back in contact with the peloton. The rest of us kept fighting and after several splits and regroups, we were all in the main bunch. At this point there was a group of seven up the road. Not wanting to ride this race anonymously, we got organised and brought the gap back from 2 minutes to 10 seconds. (Prior to this Jamie had seen the break rolling off and full tilt past 150 riders IN THE DIRT to get to the front and then threw down a massive solo chase. It was like watching the love-child of Eddy Merckx and Sven Nys get freaky.) This cost a lot of energy though and after another switch into a side wind, the teams with riders in the break took over and organised themselves too so that we wouldn’t catch the break.

The nervousness started again; it was not long until we would come into another crucial point where the race would definitely split for good. (Prior to this is was so exhausted I was so exhausted from the chase that I almost dropped out. It was so chaotic and flat out for the first hour and a half that I hadn't eaten or drunk anything, which probably didn't help.) I was placed well enough, but lacking some interval and race hardness, I couldn’t hold on and had to let the front group go. Matt Cronshaw however managed to place himself really well and got in the front split with mainly riders from the Rabobank Continental and Jo Piels teams. Dan Fleeman was one of the few who got across a bit later on, a remarkable effort. The rest of us were behind in different groups on the road, which all came back together towards the closing stages of the race. (Dan and Matt tried to get organised to get Matt up there in the sprint for 6th but ran out of energy and luck and rolled across the line in the first major group, a very good result.

The rest of us crossed the line about 5 minutes later in the second big group, worn out from the wind, the fighting and the hard racing. (Worn out is an understatement. The last ten miles seemed to take as long as the rest of the race combined.) Only just over half of the starters finished, so with 7 out of 8 of Team Raleigh crossing the finishing line we can be satisfied. Racing in echelons on dykes all day is not something we do often, the Dutch riders are specialists at this, but for the team to finish a good hard day of racing in the cold and wind meant the morale is still sky high, we all learned a lot and are very confident for the next races! Bring on Eddie Soens!

That was, hands down, the craziest damn race I've ever done. You needed laser focus the entire time, because you never knew when the next curveball was coming. CRASH-slam on the brakes and swerve around it! ROAD FURNITURE-find a gap in 200 riders on a bikepath sized road and squeeze into it in half a second! TURN-cut the corner through the dirt and grass to make up a few spots! You can't lose focus for even a second or your day could be over. That meant that while the race was indeed one of the most physically challenging of my life, it was far and away the most mentally taxing. It was like riding a technical crit, except that instead of seeing every turn 60 times you never knew what was around the bend. Loco!

Here's a link to a bit of video form the race. Most of the footage comes from pretty late, so you don't get a true sense of the chaos.
1:22 Group of us at about 100mi into the race. I'm the only guy in blue leg warmers, and you can see JJ, Jamie, Cricket and Jonesy as well.
3:52 A good look at echelons.
4:00 Fleeman slamming back to the front group, followed shortly by the rest of us. We never did close that 12 second gap, but Flee-digity rode all the way to the front group!

Here's another sick vid which actually shows JSparls playing one-man wrecking crew on the front of the race at 1:22. The rest of us are tucked back in the top 30 and I'm overheating in my blue leg warmers.

If any of you guys are really hardcore cycling fans you can head over to cyclingtorrents.nl and download some legit race coverage from the 2011 Ster van Zwolle.

The only thing harder than the race was the drive home. After cold (and I mean freezing, f%$&ing cold!) shower in the locker rooms and enough Dutch dick sightings to last me a lifetime (turns out the baby bald look is quite fashionable) we got into the cars and drove back to England. That's right, we raced the hardest race in most of our lives and then got straight into a car for a 3.5 hour drive + 2 hour ferry + 4 hour drive. I just don't even have words to describe the agony... so I'll just paint a picture:

That ferry(sp?) shot pretty much sums it up.

Never fear! After a bit of a two day driving hangover we were all chipper as chipmunks and back on the bike slamming around getting fired up for our first British race of the year, the Eddie Soens. Finally, a race where people will understand when I'm swearing at them!

Before I sign off I have to give props to my boy Matt Kippling. He had the honor last weekend of taking the first race win of 2011 for Team Raleigh, and he did it in style.

I'm pretty sure he managed such dominant sprint because his legs were unencumbered by silly, sissy leg warmers. But, believe it or not, that's only the second best photo recently taken of Kippo. Here's number one:

That's right, folks. On top of being a sleek, race winning machine Kippo is also an accomplished ballroom dancer. I'm not entirely sure he's isn't British Secret Service. All I know is that if I were you I'd hide my daughters.

I actually know one other bike racer-cum-ballroom dancer, and I'd hide my daughters from him too, but for entirely different reasons. Oh! You don't believe me? Scoot on over to the Viennese Ball website from 2005 and search for Rand Miller. Also, scope this video evidence. Good money says that it is the one and only Rickets posted up in the foreground just 30 seconds into that video. Rand, if you're reading this, we want pictures.

That's if for now. See you all after the Soens.

Singing a Different Tune!

2011-02-25T07:30:00.000-08:00

What a difference a day makes!!! I've moved on to a different Jimmy Cliff tune!

The norteamericanos have been dealing with a very sticky visa situation for, well, three months now. It's been a pitched battle against a kafkaesque bureaucracy and right up until yesterday it looked like we'd all have to fly back to our respective home countries to complete our applications. That would mean throwing a huge wrench into our training and missing the a good chunk of amazing racing. Well, after a few trips to Germany, an amazing 11th hour effort on the part of Raleigh UK, and a little bit of luck we finally got our hands on those sweet, sweet visas yesterday. It feels like I'd been wearing a compression jersey for the last few weeks and I finally took it off. Total paradigm shift.

A few days ago I was trying to work out how I'd swing a trip back to the states and organize a visa application while still managing to train, race and see my fam. Now, instead of tacking on hours and hours of transatlantic travel and logistical headaches I'm cleaning my bike and raedy the race kit for my first ever UCI race tomorrow: the Ster van Zwolle, a 1.2 in Holland. It's been a bit of trick to go from visa grind to full on race mode in just 2 days, but like it or not it's gametime. Lucky for me I like it. In fact, I'm pumped out of my gourd. I don't even know if Jimmy Cliff has songs upbeat enough to convey how stoked I am to have a home in the UK and a UCI sufferfest tomorrow! I'll have to see if DJ Sparls has anything appropriate.

On a totally different tangent, have you guys heard of Team Exergy? Well now you have. This is an Idaho based Continental team that is definitely going to be my second favorite team in pro cycling. Tad and Remi, the guys running the team, are two of the best guys in the biz. And that's not just because they actually know how to run a show. They're a cut above because on top of their professionalism they also have a great respect for riders and an amazing and supportive attitude. And not only is this team run by great management, it has a solid roster featuring some good friends of mine, like Erik Slack, one of the most pure-blooded Idahoans you'll ever meet in cycling, and Sam Johnson, whose prowess on the bike is outdone only by his skills with the blog. The icing on the cake? Their wheels sponsor is none other than Keith "K-money" Williams, or Big Willy as I like to call him. Yup, that's the same man who helped me chase the dream and is in large part responsible for me being where I am today... which is freezing my balls off in Holland. Thanks (?), Keith! Anyway, these guys clearly kick ass and they drove that point home by winning the first race they entered this season, taking down Stage 1 of the Calville Bay Classic. I'm totally pulling for these guys (until we're in the same race) and I think that win is the first of many, many more to come this season.

Sitting in Limbo

2011-02-23T09:16:00.000-08:00

Do yourself a favor and put "Sitting in Limbo" by Jimmy Cliff on in the background. Beside the fact that it is a stellar song in it's own right, it's really hitting home with me these days. Oh man, did I just write "hitting home"? That's my mind playing tricks on me. I've been living abroad for 7 weeks now and I've spent 4 of those 7 weeks on the road. Don't get me wrong here, I signed up for a life of adventure and I'm still all systems go on that front. I just wish we had a little inkling of what the plan might be. I don't mind rocking out; hell I enjoy living my life in a state of controlled chaos, but it's nice to have some end goal in sight to keep me focused. Like I said, Jimmy is really singing to me these days.

But the fact that I don't know what continent I'll be on in a week hasn't kept me from enjoying the here and now. JJ and his family have gone above and beyond by taking us into their home and making us feel like part of the family.(I guess when you live in somebody's house with them for long periods of time without paying rent you're typically some kind of family or some kind of pest. I hope I'm the former.) If it weren't for them I literally do not know where I'd be. They're amazing, and I feel incredibly lucky to be staying with them.

Their house is absolutely gorgeous and aside from a few flights of stairs reminiscent of an M.C. Escher deathtrap it's exceedingly comfortable. It's close to town and close to some great riding. All in all, it's hard for a cyclist to ask for more. Um, well, I might ask for some slightly warmer temps, or some slightly thicker clothes, but I don't think even the most generous hosts are obliged to provide those. (If by chance someone reading this post does have control of the weather where they live they may have just won the honor of hosting a training camp for (a) professional cyclist(s)!!!! Write me to claim your prize.)

And now, for your viewing pleasure, a Dutch photomix:

Jesus-birds? No, it's just really, really cold.

Nijmegen constantly regales us with classic, cobbled Euro-streets.

...and winding, wooded paths.

This is a photo from Germany. Turns out even the horses in Germany have saucy Euro-mullets. I'm just surprised they weren't shod with leather hi-tops.

This next one is for my brother. He was telling me about how awesome he is because he got a personal tour of the White House. Oh yeah, Dan, guess who else has been to the White House. This guy! Boom! (In case your Dutch is a little rusty Het Witte Huis = The White House.)

The family Janssen has been preparing some amazing meals (I need to get pics from Phil) so we decided to return the favor. We wracked our brains trying to think of a tasty, traditional American meal... and came up with tacos.

Speaking of food, we had heard strange Dutch whisperings of a mythological burger/sandwich that was said to exist in this wondrous, faraway land. Imagine that a Subway footlong made sweet, patty-slapping love to a Triple Whopper and you would get this delicious love-child:

So we decided to set out in search of this fabled burgerwich (and possibly a few pints and lasses) and took traditional Dutch transport:

Double-Dutch (Jeroen and his brother Michiel)

That's about it for now. I'll leave you with this little gem. Below is (I shit you not) a Dutch school bus:

Hou Je Van Nederland?

2011-02-16T13:58:00.000-08:00

Emphatically, YES! We've slipped from one cycling paradise in Mallorca to another in Holland aka the Netherlands, home of the freaky-deaky Dutchman, Jeroen "JJ" Janssen. And not just his home country, but his literal home, complete with amazing parents, delectable home-cooked meals and sibling guest appearances. Most Excellent!

Holland is amazing. I know that it's totally cliche and completely played out, but I can't stop myself from noting how incredibly bike friendly this country is. I've seen more people riding bikes around town in two days than I would back home in a month. Or maybe a year! It's straight loco! I saw a 60 year old woman do a cyclocross dismount yesterday that would have put the whole NorCal B's field to shame. It's beautiful to see cycling embraced as a viable form of transportation, but with infrastructure like they have in Holland you'd be an idiot not to ride a bike. In Holland you can just cruise your fiets down to your town center:
You can speed along a fietstraat, or bike street, reserved for bicycles:
Or slam along an open country road. Davis, California, eat your heart out!
We rocked over into Germany for a little bit on our first ride. I thought that was pretty sweet. This is me SUPER-STOKED on my first time in Deutschland! JJ picked up both the country line sprints. Recon pays off.
JJ and I were both feeling a bit out of place in a high end coffee shop in Nijmegen, but Jamie has an addiction and we're here to support him. (Note: his addiction is to coffee and not the other stuff you can get in Dutch coffee shops.)
As I discovered on my ride today there are numerous canals and waterways crisscrossing Holland. I ended up having to take a ferry to get home, which I though was an absolute kick in the pants. I guess I'm racking up quite a few firsts here in Holland.
Perplexed and a bit tired on my ferry ride. This was my first real ride post Mallorca and I may have forgotten there wouldn't be a team car with drinks and treats...
Also, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention how incredibly beautiful the women in Nijmegen are. Nothing like having a seemingly endless line of tall, fit women parade past you on bicycles while you sip coffee in a cafe. They are gorgeous and fashionable, and as I write this I'm working up my courage to actually say something to them. Don't worry, I've been studying Dutch. De gele zon is groot. That's gonna just knock 'em dead!

More dispatches from wonderland soon. I swear I took photos of German ponies with euro-mullets and when I find them I'll post 'em up. Until then, as the Dutch say: Hakuna Matata.

PS Mooney has been shooting from the hip with what was once and iphone and is now a glorified ipod touch. He's got some good stuff up on his twitter.

Better Know a Teammate

2011-02-10T08:07:00.000-08:00

I can't say there's much news to report. I continue to have my mind blown on a daily basis by the sheer awesomeosity of the training camp here in Mallorca. I've never had better riding or more quality training than in the past ten days. Cherie, Eddie, Helen and Pete have done an amazing job of taking care of all the logistics and organization leaving me and the other riders with no worries beyond smashing ourselves on the bike and making it back up the stairs to our rooms. Every other detail has been worked out, every necessity provided, and it's the huge efforts on the part of those four that have allowed us to have such an amazing camp. Huge thanks to them!

Eddie and Chez playin' it cool:

Pete: this guy knows his schiz.

Helen, always willing to go the extra mile.

It's also allowed us a bit of extra time and I've managed to steal a brief interview with none other than DJ Sparls. I wanted to ask him about his goals for the season and his riding style and what kind of food he likes before a race, but he wasn't going for it. I tweaked the questions a little bit and what follows is the result. I'm really hoping that I get a chance to interview all of my teammates, so hopefully I'm presenting you with Part 1 of the 11 part series: "Better Know a Teammate." Enjoy.

Ready for a more wacky antics from JSparls? Head here, or here.

TRMTCD3&4

2011-02-05T00:14:00.000-08:00

Jaime (that's not a spelling error) has done a pretty awesome job of documenting this Mallorca excursion so far, and if you haven't already done so you need to go check out his witty ramblings.

Here's a few more shots to fill in the blanks. In no particular order:

Hotel Shot

This is what you get when you translate Russian to Spanish to English. Nice steps, though...

Hot chocolate comes with TWO sugars!

Matt Jones makes sure to tag even when he's on the road.

Turns out the real Spanish Steps are in Spain.

P$ Mooney. Yes, it really is this nice.

Recovery ride with the OG

This is what addiction looks like.

Busted. That's a whole plate of mussell shells and THREE bowls of dessert.

"Why are there two toilets?" -JJ

Brian from Raleigh America taking in the view from Randa.

Earning that view.

Put 12 guys in tight quarters and they revert to children. Yes, I got punked.

Shot from a bit of TT practice. Rickety Cricket doesn't even need a draft.

Today we're making a summit attempt. Hells yeah.

Somebody Pinch Me

2011-02-01T07:58:00.001-08:00

I'm pretty sure I'm asleep and having the best dream of my life. Well, okay, it may not be the best dream I've ever had, but it's pretty damn sweet. In this dream I'm a pro cyclist at training camp in Mallorca. I don't believe it either.

We busted a 7am flight out of Liverpool on Monday, which meant a little hotel stay Sunday night, which in turn meant fire dancers out front of the Crowne Plaza Hotel.
A 7am flight meant a 3:45am wakeup call. Here are the lads at the airport, and they're about as stoked as they look. Trust me, guys, just hang in there and it'll be well worth it.
The flight to Mallorca was shorter than the drive I have to do in Idaho if I want to buy new pants. Sweet. Customs were a breeze and we walked out onto Palm Drive, which got me all nostalgic and whatnot thinking about the beginings of my cycling life. But that's another story. (Flying Dutchman earning his name in the foreground.)
The hotel we're staying at is pretty primo. We've been tearing through a surprisingly nice all you can eat buffet, and I've made it a point to hit double dessert every night. Eat big to win big. The hotel also has a sweet antique TV that seems to magically pick up shows from the past. My roomie Matt Cronshaw was amazed, and we even had some WWF going on the other day.
Here's a snap from above the hotel on my first short, spin-out-my-legs-because-I've-been-traveling-since-3:45am ride. Mallorca is amazing. People drive on the proper side of the road, and it seems they've passed a law that all roads must be scenic and awesome. The views are spectacular, the weather has been spot on and the quality of the roads rivals anything I've ever ridden. It reminds me a lot of California, with small roads twisting up long climbs as well as big open stretches where the wind is king. It's nice to watch the little jockey sized climbers who've been ripping your legs off on every incline for the last 3 hours fight a strong headwind.
We finally got in our first long team ride today and we snaked through hills, across rolling countryside and then came back along the beach.
I don't want to rub it in, but it turned into one hell of a February day and we snapped a few more pics from the hotel veranda post-ride.
All that talk of verandas reminds me of the "Three Amigos," and a quote therefrom.

Rosita: I was thinking later, you could kiss me on the veranda.
Dusty Bottoms: Lips would be fine.

God, I love that movie.

My resident Gretzky-loving DJ, and housemate Jamie has some more killer photos from today, and a generally hilarious blog. He updates it regularly and, not to tell you how to run your life, but it's worth a few minutes of your time.

I'm gonna jet, but let me leave you with a few highlights:

-Finishing my ride and leaving the bike with our mechanic Pete, knowing it will be tuned and shining before the ride tomorrow.
-Being handed a mussette bag full of delicious recovery grub immediately after handing off my bike.
-Massage from Helen, our soigneur. Supreme-o.
-Did I mention the all you can eat buffet of deliciousness.

Old jaded pros may be scoffing as I write that stuff, but I'm not used to being pampered like that and having those few things taken care of makes my life soooooo much better. Stoked. So, so stoked. I'm loving this dream and I don't want to wake up.

Life in the Mountains

2011-01-28T11:20:00.000-08:00

You know, I didn't just magically hop through time and space to get from Petaluma in early December to sunny England in January. I spent an extended holiday back home with my friends and family in Idaho, and it was sweet. I've been living on the road, mostly in California, for the last 6 years, but Idaho has been, and will always be, my home. Again I find myself a bit short on words, so I'll just say that I love my family so, so damn much and I had one of the most wonderful holidays of my life this December. Here's a couple o' pics to help paint a wee picture for ya:

My home in Idaho:

These guys were literally eating out of my brother's hand by Christmas. Cool to see, but that might come back to haunt them when hunting season opens:

What with the snow and freezing temperatures riding outside meant putting the rollers on the porch, which I was not into. So I ended up doing a lot of this:

Got to do a little XC with the old man:

And here is my dad in true Idaho finery. I don't know if this look has made it to the runways yet:

This is Bald Mountain, the pride of Sun Valley and the scene of many of my youthful shenanigans:

These bad boys are the Boulder Mountains. They're only about 25 minutes from my front door, and I got to ski around 'em for my "job". Awesome.

It did, however, get really, really cold. Like below zero cold (that's -18 Eurostyle) That's frost on the inside of my car.

And that's frost on the outside of my face:

That was one of the coldest moments of my life. I was trying to do the double boulder and I ran out of daylight. I ended up having to ski with my hands in my pants. When I finally bagged it after the sun had set about 8 cars drove past me before somebody picked me up. I didn't take it personally; I mean, I probably wouldn't have picked up someone looking like that.

This is the fam (-broski) after a lunch at Galena.

And this is said broski. There's something funny about the angle of this shot, because in real life I am both taller and better looking than he is.

And this last shot pretty much sums me up. Instead of focusing on packing for my move to a foreign country in less than 24 hours I've decided to give myself an epic mullet. You can see the chaotic tailings of my closet-mining in the background. I only wish you could see the sinkful of hair.

Three Cups of Tea

2011-01-25T14:55:00.000-08:00

No, no, no. You were probably thinking I was going to drop some wisdom about Greg Mortenson's (allegedly) incredible and moving tale of service work in Afghanistan. It turns out three cups of tea is also the magic amount of pre-ride PG Tips that will cause me to stop and water the hedges every 40 minutes or so. That doesn't sound so bad, but on a 3.5 hr ride it can get pretty annoying. My problem might have something to do with the "cups" of tea that I'm having. Your typical English cup of tea might look like this:
But I've been pounding three of these bad boys before I ride:
Boom! UUUUUHHHmerica!

Stopping was only a real pain today because we finally got a taste of true English weather. 40 degrees and drizzling. Niiiiiice. Normally I'm enchanted by the scenes of rustic, country life, with sheep, cows and geese happily meandering through verdant fields bounded by stone walls. But when you see those furry buggers, and worse, smell them, then every bit of muddy road (read: all of it) becomes suspect, and you can almost feel yourself getting sick. Nothing like like the thought of sucking manure off the tops of your bottles or grinding goose grit in your teeth. Whatever. What doesn't kill you only makes you horribly, horrible ill... or something like that. I managed to slog through my whole workout depsite the weather and my taxed bladder, and I'm sure it will make me stronger in the end.

Jamie, on the other hand, chose to forgoe the manure luge today and put himself in timeout. I had to ask him if he'd done something wrong, because riding a trainer at night, alone, in a garage just staring at a brick wall sure seems like punishment to me.

I managed to snake a live feed of the NFC Championship game the other day and got to see Green Bay stick it to the backstabbing bears. Wilbur, this one's for you:
We had to get an internet feed through Sweden and during the commercial breaks where I'd normally be getting blasted by Bud ads I got to watch Ivan Drago's Swedish cousin discuss football with Colonel Dietrich. It turns out I speak quite a bit of Swedish! "Jaslovar nich de sharhur first down. Veeden ei Jay Cutler sink de verhun. Svis nu holding." I actually have video of that commentary, but I'll spare you. For now...

I Gotta Squawk

2011-01-22T12:29:00.000-08:00

I can't help myself. I'm pumped! I finally got on my new rig the other day and she absolutely flies! No, it's not even the race bike. It's the post-pre-training training bike. Ludicrous. Not only that, but Chez and Eddie sent us a proof of the team's entry in the Raleigh catalogue, and it is legit:Boom! Talk about motivating. They sent that over in the evening and I just hopped straight on the rollers. No, just kidding. I don't know how to ride rollers. But I would have if I could have! THAT PUMPED!!!

Not much by way of news to report at the moment. We're mostly just riding the bikes and settling in. So I figure instead of some long winded tripe about getting whooped on by carnies I'll just toss you a few pics of life in jolly old(e) England:

When we're not out riding we're mostly just kicking it in our cozy little living room and making up for lost time on the sweet, sweet internet.
This is a little Dutch specialty that JJ whipped up.
Between this sandwich and his sleeping bag I'm pretty convinced he's out of his mind. He pointed out that a butter and chocolate sprinkles sando is pretty much just a nutella sandwich broken down to its basic components. Can't argue with that.
This is a pic of the boys at Breedon Priory. It's up on a ridge overlooking Derby about 10 minutes from our door:

Self-shot: Our very own French Superman, Gael Le Bellec. He's so fly he doesn't even need a bike:
This is where he gets changed:
Don't worry, I'm sure the water's fine:
It's been amazingly sunny so far, but it's also been colder than a pimp's heart. That means a disturbing (clearly) coating of frost in the morning and, as Phil discovered, thick sheets of ice near stream (aka crik) fords at all times of the day. Phil managed to keep himself from sliding into that stream and thereby saved himself from possibly the most miserable ride home ever.

Big team ride in the Peak District tomorrow, so I'd better clean my bike so I don't get a bollocking. Don't worry, American readers, I'll have an in depth explanation on this versatile term sometime in the future.

3...2...1...LAUNCH!

2011-01-18T12:24:00.000-08:00

We’re finally getting internet tomorrow, right in time for my life to find a rhythm again. Man oh man it’s been an eventful couple of days. We celebrated Phil’s birthday with champagne and truly massive kebabs (Phil fell into a ditch in the dark, but managed to keep his kebab intact, and that was before we had the champagne.) We presented him with an expensive watch and a snuggie in team colors.
JJ showed us perhaps the creepiest sleeping bag of all time, and we had our first team get together and got showered with all sorts of cool gear.
I finally got over my cold and got out for a ride with JJ, G6, Jamie and Phil. The riding around here is just stellar, and we stayed mostly dry the whole time. Sick! We had a bit of a blowout on our ride and had to limp into a local shop. They were a Raleigh dealer and stoked to meet some of the new team. We also discovered that we are living with a celebrity: Boom! After a brief stop on a pump track to sort the men from the boys we were back to the house to prep for our team launch at the London Bike Show. Casual wear and smart trousers into the team luggage and a 6am wakeup call. Ouch.
The bike show was impressive. A huge hall of the Excel Expo center was completely taken up with all manner of display booths, two trials arenas and a big indoor mountain bike and pump track. The boys were quick to rip it up, and I just missed capturing Phil taking an award winning spill over the “rocks”. Matt Cronshaw (one of four Matts on our 12 man roster) set an absolutely blistering pace around the MTB track on a pixie bike coming within seconds of Danny McCaskill’s record, which he set on his regular bike. You’d think having four Matts would be a problem, but it’s actually pretty nice, especially as I get to know people. I’m generally awful with names, but now that I know Phil, Jamie and JJ I’ve got a 50-50 chance that anyone else on the team will answer to Matt.

We spent a lot of time on Friday hanging out at the Skoda display. Skoda is one of our biggest sponsors and has hooked the team up with the most pimped out team fleet since Rock Racing’s ludicrous Cadillacs. I know I spent more time than I should have just oggling the cars. They are fully loaded road machines with custom racks, TdF horns and, best of all, the riders names wrapped on. Stellar.
We did the team launch on Saturday and it was something else. This pro team gig is a new deal for me, but I truly felt the part as we were all interviewed one by one by the voice of UK cycling, Mr. Anthony McCrossan. We’ve been watching the Tour Series and Premier Series videos, and I recognized Anthony’s voice right away. Better still, he’s friends with the boys from Davis Wheelworks. Small world, right? Joe made sure to write Anthony a good long email full of the most outlandish BS you’ve ever heard. A highlight for me was a section describing how Phil had made a name for himself in the UC Davis theatre scene for his incredible portrayal of an Umpa Lumpa in a production of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Pure gold.

Like I was saying, this whole European Continental team thing has been like a dream come true, so much so that I keep worrying I’m about to wake up. But standing on that stage with a group of 11 other no-nonsense asskickers, all resplendent in pristine Raleigh kit, really drove it all home. I’m here, and it’s happening. I'll get more photos when I can, but until then here's some coverage from Cycling Weekly.
You’d think a bunch of fit cyclists could manage to schmooze for a few hours no problem, but I swear I’d take a 6 hour day in the saddle over 5 hours of standing around any day of the week. It was a long three days on our feet to be sure, but it was well worth it. The sponsors were chuffed at how everything came off, and the lads all got some time to eat some team meals, drink a few pints and talk trash, which, as any athlete will tell you, is how those important friendships are born that will set the tone for the year and see riders through those inevitable tough times.
There was one other, well, highlight, I guess. Mooney and I befriended some guys at a demo tent for the X-Bike stationary bike. The X-Bike is like a standard spin bike, except the handlebars are free floating, which allows you to steer a little videogame avatar on an attached screen. It’s basically an interactive cycling videogame. They were super nice guys and after we whined a bit about being off our bikes for three days they offered to let us come in early on Sunday to spin out our legs for an hour. But the plot thickens. Whosoever set the fastest time on a pre-selected course over the duration of the bike show would win an X-Bike.

Now, I come from good video game stock. That’s not to say my parents can game. They can’t at all. They’re hopeless. But my younger brother Dan has something of a gift, and many a time during my youth I had swallow my pride after a severe beating in Goldeneye lest it come to blows. My brother is no nerd, mind you, he just has a gift. Legend has it that when Halo II came out for the Xbox 360 there was an open tournament at his college. He walked into a room full of uber-nerds with their skills honed by hours of gaming and senses heightened by a cocktail of Mountain Dew and Jolt Cola, and as dozens of eyes looked on from pale faces untouched by the light of day my brother laid down an epic beating. I’m told that cheers of “do it for the normals,” erupted as he made those final few kills and was crowned king of the nerds. It was Dan’s talent that I tried to channel as I went for the X-Bike record.

After a an embarrassing number of tries I managed to get the hang of it and I set the fastest time of the day. The time stood all afternoon and evening and looked good as gold. Then, with about 9 minutes left before the show closed I got a frantic call form my director, Eddie, saying someone had just beaten my time. Now I’m not one for crazy conspiracy theories, but when a guy from a neighboring booth manages to set the fastest time with a few minutes to go before the show closes I’m gonna cry foul. This guy, James by name, was clearly a ringer. Undaunted, I ran over to the demo tent and hopped onto the closest bike in smart trousers and leather shoes. It was looking awfully grim, but as time was expiring and they were readying to break down the display around me I managed to have a stellar run and TIE his time exactly. It turns out they’re not willing to cut an X-bike in half, and that left only one option: race-off.I had the best pit crew a guy could ask for as Jamie and Phil yelled out turns and advice as I whipped myself through the head to head race, but James started in front and never lost the lead. Heartbreaking, yes, but there are a couple of ways to look at this. Sure, I got out-ridden by a ginger carnie (I mean, a trade show is really just one step up from a state fair) and had to ride four hours home in sweat-soaked wool slacks. However, as we all know there’s no shame in losing to a carnie. I mean, those games are always rigged so that the odds of winning are inversely proportionate to the coolness of the prize. Had we been x-biking for a gold-fish I’d have smoked him. Also, I’m a bike racer not a hardcore gamer, otherwise my life would be a lot more like The Wizard. So yeah, some people might say this is my first tough loss of the season. I choose to think that I scored the first podium for the new Team Raleigh.

Living the Dream

2011-01-12T09:00:00.000-08:00

In case you haven’t talked to me in the last couple of months, my life has turned into a wonderful fantasy world. I signed my first professional contract with Team Raleigh, had the best fall of my life in Petaluma at the Cahteau d’Lenzi and then spent a long holiday back home with the fam in Idaho. Life is good. Damn good.

But wait, Ryan, if you’re riding for a British team this year, doesn’t that mean you have to move to England? Yes, it does, and yes, I did. I’m writing to you from jolly old England. And it’s not the dreary, rainy England they advertise to keep yanks out; it is a sunny, glorious (if a bit chilly) wonderland of rolling roads, quaint old homes and friendly folk speaking some strange dialect of English.

Mooney and I (yeah, my best friend in the cycling world is on the same team/adventure with me. SICK!!!) blasted out of JFK just the other day. I thought JFK stood for John F. Kennedy Airport, but it might actually mean Just F%$*ing Kidding, as we sat on the tarmac for close to two hours before takeoff. We flew Air France, which was hilarious. The flight attendant offered me a menu as if I were in a four star restaurant and was happy to serve me champagne with my meal, but then almost kicked me off the plane because I asked for hot chocolate. In a thick French accent and all seriousness: “We do not serve chocolat to those over 12 years of age.”

I was still sane enough after nine hours on a plane to snap a good Parisian sunrise pick and feel bad for stinking up the whole bus with my unshowered man musk. It’s really their own fault for having an entire airport connected by a bus system. The ride to our IK flight was so long I thought they were just going to drive us there.

After a bit of grilling we made it through customs and right into the welcoming arms of our new Manager/Director team of Eddie White and Cherie Pridham. The picked us up in one of the 5, yes FIVE, team vehicles and even dialed up some sunshine for us. We spent the next 4 hours chatting it up in an airport coffee shop waiting for D. J Sparls only to discover that he’d missed his connection and wouldn’t be in until that night. So we had a delicious airport meal and then went to kick it at Cherie’s, castles and countryside the whole drive there, and upon arriving I encountered two of the biggest dogs and the most insane Oakley collection ever. Max and Caesar were true gentlemen.
I can’t even begin to convey how amazingly stoked I am to be here, and how blown away I am by the huge effort made my Eddie, Cherie and Raleigh to make our transition easy and worry free. They’ve had a house rented for us for weeks now, and we showed up to a tricked out gangster pad worthy of MTV Cribs. Everything was in place to get us settled in and crushing post haste, including a well-stocked stables of beautiful Raleigh training bikes. They run a tight ship, I’ll tell you what. We finally managed to nab Jamie, stuff our faces with pizza and stay awake just long enough to find our beds.
The very next day we hopped on our rigs for a little scouting expedition and managed to find our way to the British CX Championships. We spent the most of the day there scoping the sights and meeting some of the local talent, including our new teammate Matt “Fly, Aike A” Gee “Six.” G6 was a hell of a nice guy, plus he had a watch to match his name (I’ll grab a pic when I can.) I feel a bit bad for the rest of my new teammates, as G6 set the bar pretty high as far as friendliness and welcoming attitude are concerned. He lives nearby and I’m looking forward to getting plenty of miles in with him this season.
It turns out they already have a team named in my honor over here, and to commemorate the occasion I figured I’d eat like a true mammoth. That’s about 18 inches of roast meat covered in onions on a toasty yet supple baguette and it’s the only thing that kept me form freezing solid while watching the races. Don’t you ever tell me England doesn’t have fine cuisine!

That’s about the extent of my adventuring so far. I managed to come down with a bit of travel bug at some point while zipping continent to continent in a big aluminum Petri dish, and it’s kept me off the bike aside from that first ride. I’ve contented myself with watching DVDs of UK racing, and walking to the local Asda (read Walmart), which has pretty interesting hours. What’s wrong with this picture?
I’ll leave you with a picture looking out our kitchen window to the back yard. Tonight the fourth pillar of wisdom arrives: Jeroen “JJ” Jansen, the Flying Dutchman. He’s going to round out the small gang of foreign mercenaries, and I’m stoked to meet him. Then tomorrow it’s 2nd Christmas! Cherie’s house is packed floor to ceiling with all the 2011 kit and I don’t know who’s more excited: the team, about get all our new stuff, or Cherie, about getting her house back.
Cheerio until next time from one truly stoked bloke!

New Tools to Make Me a Crusher

2010-12-13T19:49:00.000-08:00

Christmas came early this year and I've managed to get my hands on two pretty sweet little gizmos that are going to help turn me into a true European hard man. First up is the newest supercomputer to hit the roads from GPS manufacturer Garmin: the Edge 800. Yup, this is the same Garmin that sponsors that one team with all those quick guys, including the fastest firecrotch in cycling, and one of the sprinters I admire most, Mr. Tyler Farrar. I don't know if those dudes helped Garmin design the 800, but it's pretty much the most powerful tool you could have on your handlebars, and it's smaller and lighter than older models, but with a bigger screen. Did I mention it's a touch-screen? Take that, iphone! I didn't want you anyway! Seriously though, this rig can tell me everything I ever wanted to know about my ride and then some, not to mention it has the power to keep even me from getting lost. There are only two drawbacks. First, Garmin has some pretty glaring errors in the manual that border on criminal false advertising. Hey, nobody's perfect, and I'm in contact with them to resolve the issue. The second drawback is that the 800 is clearly smarter than I am, and I feel slightly threatened by it. Sometimes I feel compelled to shout out trivia to show it I'm not just a big pile of meat. If you want to read in painful detail about all the features, some tri dork did a write-up that borders on obsessive. Don't say I didn't warn you.

(The next little doodad is really freakin' cool! To set the mood get this very fitting, classic track from Peter Gabriel bumping in the background. Note: MARC PRO not for use on monkeys.)

I also managed to get my hands on a new MARC PRO unit. Right about now you might be asking yourself, "what the hell is a Marc Pro?" Well, this is a MARC PRO: The sleek piece of technology you see pictured is an amazing device intended to speed recovery of muscles after strenuous workouts. The MARC PRO has been developed by the same people who designed and perfected the H-Wave medical device over the last 3 decades. You can cruise on over to H-Wave.com to get all the juicy, technical details behind the science of this product, as well as links to dozens of studies showing its benefits. Be sure to take a look at the list of over 40 professional sports teams that have used the MARC PRO, like the Lakers, 49ers and US Postal. The MARC PRO uses H-Wave technology, but is designed to be powerful and portable for elite athletes. MARC stands for muscle actuated recovery cascade, and PRO is short for professional, because nothing is more professional than having a tricked out, futuristic machine zap your legs fresh while you watch Kenny F*&$in' Powers scream around on his leopard-print jetski. Hell yeah.

How does it work? Well, the MARC PRO uses ultra low frequency stimulation to create comfortable yet strong muscle contractions that increase circulation and enhance fluid movement which aids in healing. The increased circulation and fluid movement are benefits that one would experience during exercise, but because the stimulation is passive there is no resultant muscle tear or degradation. SWEET! I just got this puppy the other day, so after I electrocute myself for a few days I'll be sure to let you know how it's going. There are only two rules: don't place the electrodes on the front and back of your chest, and don't pass current through your brain. So super intelligence is out, but I bet I develop legs like Steve Austin. Check out the MARC PRO in action and be sure to head over to the MARC PRO website when it gets up and running.

Awesome! ProTour here I come!

Portland, Fare Thee Well

2010-12-10T10:44:00.000-08:00

Whew! Portland is rad. The city is vibrant, the surroundings are beautiful, and the racing is fierce. I could totally live there. Well... I could live there except for the soul-crushing rain and gloom that seem to hang eternally over the city. Talk about a wet blanket. But not for me, no sir! The weather, although painfully cold (see Phil in Everest expedition wear), was mostly dry and we even saw the sun for a few minutes. That bit of sunshine really sealed the deal for me and I'm happy to pronounce Portland one of my new favorite cities.
Now, I don't know why, but every trip I take, be it for business, pleasure or some mixture of the two, ends up being a culinary tour. Portland was no different. That first Friday we headed into Chinatown and went hog wild at a dim sum restaurant. Keith overcame a very rational fear of Asian cuisine after a rough run in with some undercooked lamb during a business trip to Taiwan. Well, it could have also have been the lobster blood soup, but that's beside the point. We got the authentic dim sum experience in a little corner of Portland with steaming carts of unidentifiable dishes being swooshed our way. The waitstaff would ply us with all manner of dishes, but were unable to communicate in English exactly what was in them. Like I said, Keith was brave and we got our fill of strange and sometimes wonderful Chinese food.Dinner that night was slightly less exciting. We went to the HUB, a cycling themed brewery and grill, for number pickup (which wasn't there in the end) and I fought off the urge to temp fate with the "DNF Calzone" and instead went for an equally gut busting salad.

A true cyclocross race has a magical carnival atmosphere, and what carnival would be complete without food vendors? The heartland of CX is Belgium, and thus the quintessential 'cross treat is Belgian frites, aka freedom fries. I had mine with spicy fry sauce and garlic mayo, which could have been part of the reason I didn't get better acquainted with the female population of Portland.

Other culinary highlights included an amazing meal of fidelio with scallops in squid ink and pig served three ways (bratwurst, sausage and pig belly) pictured below. You can tell it's a classy restaurant because it's so dim, errr, romantically lit. After stuffing ourselves with a most exquisite dinner we thought it best to get back to basics and headed to to find the world famous Voodoo Doughnuts. There was a half hour wait just to get in the door, but it was worth every second. I ended up opting for something called the "Old Dirty Bastard" and in keeping with the dim sum theme I could not identify exactly what was on it, but I can assure you it was delicious and fattening. Keith opted for the "Cock and Balls" and Mooney was the true winner with his "Bacon Maple Bar." That one is exactly what it sounds like. The rest of that Saturday night was pretty uneventful except for the part where Phil crashed a black tie wedding in a fancy hotel, but that's another story.

And wait, I swear there was more to this trip than eating! We were also up there to schralp the rad in some gnar gnar 'cross races. So how did it go? Before I give away the punchline let me remind you of two things. First: I suck at 'cross. Second: I was equipped with a super secret set of prototype carbon 'cross tubulars courtesy of Williams Cycling. There was some question as to how these wheels might affect my performance. I'm happy to report that far from DNFing as I had in all previous west coast races I managed to roll into a very respectable 5ht place. Considering I started at the ass end of 75 riders I can only assume that these wheels are worth ~70 spots in a race. Now I should state (and here I'm bracing myself for the digital boos) that I was racing in the B's race and not the UCI Elite category, and I don't know what the conversion is between Bs and Elite. Those same wheels could only be worth 10 spots in an Elite race. Before you rain down your ridicule understand that they don't let you register day of for Elite races, so my choice was between racing B's or having driven 10hrs through a snow storm to eat frites and shiver. I chose to race. It was a total blast, I only crashed once and I got really muddy. Also, those wheels are insane. Not only are they light, strong and stylish (hello, horsehair weave!) they are one of the few cross wheels in the world set up for disc brakes. I'm already scouting out a frame that's disc brake compatible so I can take full advantage of those babies! Some of you might be wondering what a guy does to salvage a bike that filthy. If you're rich you pay these guys $3 to power wash it for you. If you're me, you take it back to the hotel and spend 20 minutes with a hose better suited for watering pansies, racing the clock to see if you can clean your bike before your hands go completely numb.

This was truly an epic trip, and although the drive back was one of the gnarliest of my life (4 hours of pounding rain through foggy mountains with standing water on the freeway until 3am) I'm going to fondly remember this little jaunt to Portland for the rest of my life. I think the best part of the whole shebang was getting to spend some real time with Keith Williams. Keith has got to be one of the kindest, most honest and good-natured people on the planet. He's been something of a cycling godfather to me since I began racing seriously, and it was a gift to be able to spend some solid time with him and get to know him on a deeper level. The man is pure gold. I count myself lucky to have him as a friend.

Lest I get too sappy, in the spirit of friendship I present to you a video of me heckling the hell out of Keith during the muddy motocross portion of Saturday's race:

The 'Cross Diaries: Portland, baby!

2010-12-03T21:38:00.000-08:00

I'm a road racer. If I'm riding in mud it usually means I've blown off the course and I'm about to crash. That's why it's still incredibly strange to me that people choose to take almost perfectly good road bikes and thrash themselves around on muddy singletrack for an hour. But that's what cyclocross is.

For those of you out there who haven't heard of this crazy cyclocross thing I'll try to quickly break it down for you. The event its raced on slightly modified road bikes. Almost everything is the same, except the bike has cantilever brakes to allow for slightly wider, knobier tires. A typical race is multiple laps on a 1-4 mile course and lasts 1 hour. Unlike a sane person's road course, a CX (short for cyclocross) course is a wacky mix of paved road, dirt road, singletrack, mud pits, sand pits, grass tracks, and small ponds. Then you toss in a few barriers that must be jumped over on foot or pitches too steep to ride. It's absolute lunacy. The best part is that you start with up to 150 guys at the same time on a course that quickly narrows to the width of one rider. You start by sprinting out of the gate and then you go as hard as you can until you completely explode or crash out of the race. They say you can tell a CX racer because they'll have mud on the down tube and puke on the top tube. It could also be blood on the top tube.

So, why would anyone participate in a sport so dangerous and crazy? Because it's about the most fun you can have on two wheels. It's an excuse for grownups to go play in the mud, and hundreds of people come out to drink, spectate and heckle the riders. It creates a sort of raucous, beer-soaked tailgating atmosphere with cowbells ringing and colorful epithets flying through the air. Frankly, the 'cross scene makes a road race look like an accountant's convention in a Holiday Inn Express. Well, maybe that's a bit harsh, but you get the point.

I've decided to toss a little 'cross racing into my winter training this year to add some intensity to my schedule and to practice crashing gracefully. So far I've gotten more intensity than I bargained for, but my crashes have been anything but graceful. My finest moment thus far was when I failed to unclip from my pedal in time and ran full steam into a staircase. Awesome.

This weekend I've traveled up to sunny Portland, Oregon with P Money Mooney and Keith Williams to see if I can't outdo myself at the USGP of Cyclocross. So far it looks like the odds are in my favor, as the course presents seemingly endless opportunities for me to crash in the most spectacular fashion. There are the off camber downhill turns, puddles with steep banks and submerged rocks, slick-as-snot hidden tree roots and, best of all, the huge mud-covered whoop-de-doos. These whoop-de-doos are literally unrideable sections on a rain-soaked motorcross track that have degenerated into mud pits a foot deep. And this part of the course really is unrideable, unlike the muddy run-up earlier on the course. No sooner had I finished declaring that run-up certifiably unrideable than a female racer from the Luna team came riding past me looking as though she were on a Sunday spin. That, my friends, is humiliating. But I think that's part of why I find myself coming back to this ugly stepchild of a sport that has shown me little but scorn. After all the countless hours I've spent training to be a cyclist it's fun to get back on a bike and feel like a total beginner again. I get to flail and crash and generally suck, and it's liberating to be out there blasting around with no pressure, no expectations and no skill. For a roadie like me 'cross also serves up a healthy helping of humility, and it's important to get a little taste of that every now and then lest I forget my place in this big world.

Here are a few shots of the drive up (we hit a blizzard), lunch in Chinatown, and the carnage after our course preview.

Like I said, I'm up here rocking around with Keith, who has done the lion's share of driving so far in his tricked out Williamsmobile. He's also pimped my 'cross ride with some high tech prototype carbon 'cross tubies. Without those bad boys I'm pretty sure I'd be last, so after tomorrow we'll be able to count backwards and tell you just how many spots a pair of tricked out Williams wheels will net you in a race. Wish me luck! If I'm still alive tomorrow evening I'll hit you with some good pictures and better stories.

Off Season Roundup

2010-11-12T11:47:00.000-08:00

I'll be back with the third installment of the ever thrilling T&T 2010 series soon, but before I do here's a little photo retrospective of my off season:

Denver. I got to kick it with my sis Devyn in the Mile High City for a bit before heading back to Idaho. We managed to pack a lot into a week including a trip to the Corn Maze/Pumpkin Patch/Trashy Fair complete with the Bird Lady (how did Atze get to Denver?) and miniature cheerleaders.

We headead up to the mountains for a couple of days where we stayed at a "condo" in Copper Mountain. Turns out said condo was perhaps the nicest residence I've ever been in and was outfitted with a $12,000 coffee maker and dueling pinball machines. That combination made leaving the condo seem like an utter waste, but the onset of carpal tunnel syndrome brought about by hours of hyper-caffeinated pinballing and the allure of some Rocky Mountain fishing finally got me outdoors.
I was lucky enough to be in town for my pseudo-sister Steph Noodle Kaboodle Doodle's birthday and we made a night of it. We rode bikes from their house downtown and I got to laugh my tucchus off watching three young ladies dressed to the nines rip around Denver on their bicis. People had absolutely no idea what to think, but hey, that's life in the mountains. The highlight of the night was watching the show Cavalia, which is a strange combination of Cirque du Soleil, Rodeo and Opera. Maybe this video will help clarify things. My two favorite parts of the show would be the acrobatic agility of the riders (read backflip on a galloping horse) and the fact that there is a mullet requirement for all male performers. Maybe that's some attempt at horse empathy? I've also never been in such a dense concentration of horse people before, and that was almost as startling as the show itself. The whole shebang was shocking and new and I had a blasty. We had a quick snack of leftover pizza in the Cavalia parking lot (keepin' it classy) and then it was off to the clubs for a dance marathon. I'd offer pictures, but my moves are too fast to catch on camera and too provocative for this blog.
Idahome. I grew up in a small mountain town in Idaho called Ketchum. My parents still live there and no matter how far I roam I'll always consider Ketchum my home. This trip back I was lucky enough to have some visitors from Holland join me and I got to show off some of Ketchum and Idaho's finer points. So after an 11hr drive from Denver with my sis it was straight into tour guide mode to try to show Tim and Laura the best side of Idaho. Tim was scouting my hometown as a possible location for one of his international mountain bike clinics so he got in a ton of good riding. I tried to go with him the first day, but since it was the off season it was more like hiking while pushing a bike. We manged to do a little pure hiking, see some wildlife (moose in my backyard and deer in the front) before heading down to Boise for a little American Living 101.

It was Laura's first time in the US so I figured she should probably experience a real football game; one where you can use your hands and the goal is to physically harm players of the opposing team. We don't have any professional sports teams in Idaho, so people pretty much worship the BSU college team. We figured we'd better jump on the bandwagon and luckily my Dutchies felt right at home donning some bright orange threads. We did a little pre-gaming in a spot so full of spirit that even the port-a-potty was in team colors. After surviving a blowout BSU victory in temperatures that would have shocked even Shackleton we headed over to lay hands on some quintessential American cuisine: fast food hamburgers.

Tim and Laura are absolute gold, funny and easy-going, the best kind of guests and I hope they come visit again. The rest of my all too short break I spent hanging out with my oldest friends, enjoying some QT with my folks and mixing in a little CX racing and my first night of bartending. Yup, I'm now an experienced, professional booze jockey.

I'm back in sunny California now, soaking up rays and getting some saddle time. Life is good, very good. But more on that later, and more wacky action T&T style...

T&T 2010 II: Setting The Tone in Trinidad.

2010-10-16T17:01:00.000-07:00

Faith, aunt Sue, thanks for being so patient. I hope it was worth the wait :)

It's a long way from Denver to Trinidad.
When you factor in the 5 hour layover in Miami, the hour we sat on the tarmac there, and the ridiculously slow speed of Trinidadian customs Phil and I were pretty much traveling all day. In fact, we didn't get to our hotel until 1:30am and then we had to go out and grab some doubles on the street so we didn't starve. But let me back up.

As soon as you step out of the airport there are two things that hit you. The first is the heat. Well, its really the heat combined with a crippling humidity. If you want to know what it feels like just find the nearest sauna and walk in with all your clothes on. You sweat immediately and continually. The second thing is the noise. Trinidad is LOUD. It seems like every car on the road, and every house or restaurant you pass is blaring island beats at full volume. Its kind of like the whole island has a soundtrack. If you want a tiny taste just open up this link in a new window and let it play at full volume while you read the rest of this post. It's not just the music, either. Drivers on the island speak a foreign language composed exclusively of horn honks. I couldn't perfectly translate it, but I'm pretty sure its acceptable to honk for any of the following reasons: being cut off, cutting someone off, offering greetings, yielding to another driver, alerting a pedestrian, alerting any living organism in the road, warning others while ripping through stop signs or around blind corners, having hands. Trinidadians drive like absolute lunatics at breakneck speeds, which is ironic because nothing ever happens on time.

Punctuality does not rank very high on the list of island concerns, and anyone overly concerned with it would quickly become pretty frustrated. In fact, the whole trip, from start to finish, was pretty much a big junk show. If you don't now how to go with the flow, you have no business in Trinidad. Luckily, my teammates and I are pretty easygoing fellows and so we were able to deal with small annoyances like, say, never having any clue as to whats going on. But, like I said, we rolled with it, and after a while you just learn to expect it.
But we were still a little green that first day when we were rounded up sans breakfast to go do a media appearance. I say rounded up because while the riders stayed downtown in one hotel everyone who might have had some idea of what was happening was at a different hotel. We didn't know which one, we didn't know their phone number, and we didn't really know where we were supposed to go, or when. No matter, we made it and gave some interviews for tv and the newspapers at Mikes Bikes, the local bike shop and big sponsor of the Newsday Cycling Classic. Mike is the proud owner of that shop and a big supporter of cycling on the island. It was fun to play celebrity for a bit and chat it up with the guys at the shop. We got a crash course in understanding Trini women, complete with illustrations courtesy of a shady publication that was something in between a travel guide and a Playboy. "Look 'ere! Dis gurl like a lobsta! All de meat is in de tail!" Good times, indeed. And we even got an appearance fee.
We spent the rest of the day eating roti, getting a tour of Port of Spain and hanging out. Here's what Port of Spain looks like from Fort George: Trinidad is very diverse racially. People have ancestors from Africa, India and East Asia and there is oodles of intermarriage. Perhaps because of this diversity there is a really inspiring racial harmony. In my experience, people in Trinidad just don't seem to care what color your skin is or what you look like, and its really refreshing. It also means the cuisine is incredibly varied and very delicious, but I've talked about that already.

The next day was raceday. We got all packed up and headed to the staff hotel in the hills to hang out and eat before the late afternoon crit. We ate a big breakfast and then did what cyclists do in their free time: lounge around and play on computers. We were just kicking it, minding our own business, when all of a sudden the skies just opened up. We had previewed the course and although there were two sketchy corners on it we figured everything would be alright as long as the course was dry. So much for that.

The race for the day was the Newsday Republic Day Cycling Classic. Republic Day = Independence Day. The course was a short little crit around King George V Park with two tight turns over rough pavement and one long sweeper into the final straight. The pavement was better than TT standard, which translates to rideable, but full of wheel-eating potholes and nasty, exposed 10 inch deep gutters for runoff along 3/4 of the course. We managed to navigate our way from the hotel to the race with enough time to ride a few laps of the slick, sketchy course and get some feardrenlin pumping. We all got called up to the line for being international superstars and then, boom, we were off. Our goal was to make the race hard and fast with an eye to snapping off a favorable break and we manage to do that. Before too long it was (S)Perv solo OTF laying it down maple leaf style. That gave the rest of us an easy ride with nothing to do but mark a few moves and try to stay safe through the corners. The other guys were awesome, but I went one and one. Some dipstick tried to attack through the tightest turn of the course which happened to also have bad pavement and be off camber. He clipped his pedal and I was going to fast to avoid him. I managed to scrub a lot of speed, so while I still hit the deck it was a relatively minor crash with a pop to the hip and a little scrape on the elbow my only injuries. Luckily the bike was fine and after a free lap I was back in it.Some guy warming up crash corner for me

As the laps started to wind down Jamie began to feel the airplane legs (he had only gotten in the night before the race.) We did everything we could to slow the field, but it was looking grim for D. J Sparls. The group finally nailed him back with a lap and a half to go and it was PANDEMONIUM. A quick note about Caribbean cyclists: they are just as aggressive as other racers I know (maybe more so even), but their bike handling is a step or two down the ladder, and this makes for a very physical and unsettling race experience. With a lap to go it was no different. Short Man had done a massive pull to get me to the front and I was right up next to the Trek leadout, but stuck in the wind. Charging down the back straight I was overcome by that unique rush that comes in the last seconds of a race that quiets the mind's cries for self-preservation and sets the body on fire. I used my size to take the spot I wanted at the back of the Trek team and waited until they burned their final man before opening the floodgates and pouring out everything I had in a mad charge to the line.It turns out it was enough for the win, making it two in a row at Newsday. Doin' the double! Boom! The guys on the team were awesome, which is especially cool considering we were an ad hoc collection of riders who had mostly never raced together. We raced for each other and it got us the win. And that made for one happy group of guys. We all slogged back up the hill, haggard but happy, where we cleaned up, packed and prepared to head down to San Fernando for the second set of Trini races. In case you were thinking that everything started rolling smoothly after a leadoff win, think again. After breakfast we didn't have another bite of food until we finally got to San Fernando around 9pm. I think I was gnawing on my own arm during the drive down. Roti never tasted so good.

T&T 2010 I: Cast of Characters

2010-10-11T18:35:00.000-07:00

After a few wonderful nights of 10+hrs of sleep I'm finally over my jet lag and ready to attempt to document the pure lunacy that was T&T 2010. There's just way too much to put down in one sitting, so I'll have to break this epic tale down into a few installments. Without further ado, I bring you Episode One.

Down in Trinidad and Tobago everybody gets a nickname. In fact, there are a lot of people whose real names I never learned. I mean, I'm fairly sure that one guy's mom didn't name him Pretty. We all got nicknames too; some of them flattering and some... eh, not so much.

Atze Dijkhuis aka The Bald Eagle

Atze is a Dutch wonder who has been racking bikes since before I was born. He could disassemble and reassemble his bike blindfolded with one hand tied behind his back in under 6 minutes. He can read a race like a Spot book and he is perhaps the funniest man I've ever met. Pure gold.

Tim Ottens aka Lurch

Tim is another prodigy from the Netherlands. An accomplished mountain biker, Tim is making the transition to road and cyclocross, apparently because he's bored with crushing souls on the dirt; he's represented his country twice at the World Championships. He's disturbingly good at imitating accents and climbs like he has wings. So, looking at that picture, how tall do you think Tim is? Here's a hint: Atze is over 6 feet. I'm told that back home they call him Otzi, which is the name of a neanderthal found frozen in ice.

Jamie Sparling aka (S)Perv aka The Champion aka That Canadian

This guy is something else. A true Canuck, he's always willing to remind us how stupid our all green money and private healthcare system are. The guy has an amazingly quick wit, so quick in fact that it seems to outpace his internal censor sometimes, leading to pretty much the funniest commentary I've ever heard and earning him his nickname. The only thing quicker than his wit is his cycling. Hilarious, easy-going, and strong as an ox. This is a man you want on your team.

Nathan Parks aka Nate the Great aka Late Nate aka High Natenance

Nate is a straight up scientist, a true brain, and mad climber. A native of Iowa, Nate added his sing song midwestern twang to the chorus of crazy accents that collided on the islands. Nate's analytical mind always liked to know the plan. Unfortunately for him, creating a plan that we'd stick to was about as likely as getting snowed on. Nate did bring enough tools to start his own bike shop down there, and that sure did come in handy!

Philp R. Mooney aka Shorty aka Short Stack aka Small Man

Poor Phil. He's not really all that short. I mean, he's 5 foot 6 if he's an inch, but when everyone else on the team is well over 6 feet then you're kinda stuck. I think Phil was hoping for something along the lines of "The Beast" or "Bulletproof Tiger" but it just wasn't meant to be. Phil never complained, he just rode like he was ten feet tall and let his legs do the talking for him.

Roger Farrell aka Frenchie aka D Bossman

Roger is the mastermind behind this whole crazy adventure. A native of Trinidad, Rog rode professionally in the US and Europe for a number of years. He occasionally gets back to the islands to further his horse training business and bring a few international riders to lay the down the law in the local races. Why Frenchie? Because he has green eyes, just like a Frenchman. Hey, I didn't make it up.

Peter Sue aka Bruce Lee aka Gunshow aka The Limbo King

In case you were wondering, Peter is the guy in the middle using his ninja skills to get some killer pictures of us at an awards ceremony. Pete is a true champ. Originally from Guyana, Pete is a bay area guy and I have him to thank for getting me hooked up with Rog initially. Peter is Roger's right hand man and a jack of all trades. I suppose if you used the term loosely you could call him the team Soigneur, but he also filled the position of photographer, cook, resident limbo expert and a dozen others. Rog and the other Trinbagonians call him Bruce Lee because he has Chinese ancestry.

Zap... or possibly Zep, I'm not really sure

Hands down the craziest, sketchiest man I've ever met. He was, in theory, our driver, and he also provided us with meals at his guest house. He once left me standing on the side of the road with a flat while he went to get cigarettes and a cd, and that was during a race. Its hard to convey just how nutty this guy is.

Yup, that's me, your humble narrator. They call me Big Ben. I'm not English, I'm not known for my punctuality and I don't appear on the hundred dollar bill. I guess I got the name because I'm larger than any cyclist has a right to be. They should have called me Tanlines.

And now that you know who's who I can start weaving my tale...

Catch-up Part II

2010-10-04T19:35:00.000-07:00

Lets just pick up where I left off:

Friday: We sleep in for the first time in ages. It is pouring rain when we awake, but that lets up as we finish breakfast and it is hot and clear when we get to the beach for the "rest day." We are treated to the most incredible caribbean fantasy day ever. We take glass bottomed boats to the reek for snorkeling, stop in shallow water hundreds of yards off shore for an impromptu mid-sea dance party complete with free beers and Shakira, and then head to a little spit of sand straight off of a postcard and spend the day eating, drinking, swimming, jetskiing and generally having the time of our lives, all gratis, courtesy of the race promoters. Peter is crowned limbo king of the island (a joint win for the US and Guyana) and we all suffer severe whiplash from reckless jetskiing and bananafloat related accidents. A good time and horrible sunburn were enjoyed by all. Best rest day ever. EVER.

Saturday: Back to reality and a 5am wakeup call. The circuit is mostly flat, but with one steep kicker and a good deal of wind. I flat in the first K and my follow car driver is busy buying cigarettes and lewd soca cds. I miss a whole lap, and while I can continue the race and help Jamie I am not eligible for a stage win. Luckily the car was so far behind me that I could go through all 12 stages of grief before they returned and I was able continue the race with a clear head. Again, we ride like men possessed and again we defend Jamie's 38 second lead.

Sunday: Queen Stage. Last year I got dropped 10k in and I was determined to finish, determined to help Jamie any way I could, determined, in short, not to suck. This course cannot be described in words, but that will not stop me from trying. We rode only 70 miles. It took over 4 hours. There were close to 8,000 ft of climbing. Through the jungle. On roads so steep cars burn out in the hairpins and people have literally come to a stop and collapsed. In heat so strong it feels like you are being cooked alive. Down wet, moss-covered roads around blind hairpin turns at breakneck speed, with mudslides and parked cars lurking unseen around the corners and nothing but skill and luck between the riders and sheer drops of 30 ft or more. It is, in a word, insane. I made it farther than I could have hoped, and I like to think that I helped Jamie in some way by setting pace over some early stretches of road. Eventually I got dropped. On a particularly nasty descent my wheel became so hot from braking that the carbon melted and the wheel itself collapsed. With no spare wheels I was forced to abandon, and worse still I was forced to ride the rest of the terrifying course with Zap, our oft inebriated and unintelligible caravan driver. Hands down the worst car ride of my life. I did have the pleasure of watching Jamie ride with an otherworldly sense of calm over the most challenging roads I've ever seen and fend off attack after attack from some of Europe's most talented riders to hold on to the Yellow Jersey. Yes. Jamie F-ing won. I can still hardly believe it. We attempt to celebrate that evening, but we are dazed and exhausted and can only sip a few beers while floating in the surf and try to understand the magnitude of the last 10 days.

Monday: We sleep in. We pack up all our cycling gear. We revel in the knowledge that we won't touch our bikes for the next three weeks at least. We lie on the beach. We eat jerked chicken. We try to do as little as possible. I'm so tired, from these races and the 8 months of racing that preceded them, that it requires and effort of will simply to stand up.

Whew. Now that the season is finally over I have a lot to reflect on and a great deal to be excited about for the coming season. I promise that when I can get the strength I'll post photos from this trip and flesh out the bare descriptions above. For now, I'm going to lie on the beach, drink fresh fruit juices and ponder the future. Big things are afoot... but more on that later.

Catch-up

2010-09-30T17:15:00.000-07:00

Oh man! I know I promised I'd fill ya'll in on what's been going on down here in the Caribbean, but the truth of the matter is I can't write fast enough to keep up with all the crazy S&#@. So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to make a solemn promise to all ten of you people reading this blog that as soon as I get back to the states and wash all the sand out of my hair and maybe get an IV or two I'll write up a detailed report of this wacky adventure and slap ya'll upside the head with a whole pantload of photos. Until then I'll just rap at ya a wee bit so we're all generally on the same page.

Saturday night: We ride in a banana crit (two 180 degree turns) in almost total darkness during a tropical storm. I couldn't draft because the rear wheel in front of me threw up so much rain it felt like I was getting waterboarded. Jamie and Phil rode away from the field and I won the sprint for 3rd. Domination.

Sunday, 5:30 am we wake up and went to do the most ridiculous road race ever. Never a straight piece of road, never flat, never good pavement, never closed to traffic. Absolutely insane. Weather.com said 95, feels like 109. Phil won solo by 12 minutes over the field. I rolled third. Phil won the overall by a ton. Madness! (sidenote: best host family ever. Wayne, Karen and Gabrielle are simply fantastic.)

Monday. 3:50 am we get up to get back to Port of Spain to catch the ferry to Tobago. Sooooo tired. I got our bikes through security because the guy recognized me from the cover of the paper. Security girl got a photo with me. Best moment of my life. Mildly seasick as boats and diesel remind me of the (fishing) boat times. That was our first date.

Tuesday. we spend the majority of the day in a windowless room. Air conditioner has been raised to the status of minor deity. We do an easy ride to the beach and give the locals a bit of a show as we change into swim attire. Water is as warm as a bathtub and feels amazing.

Wednesday. Stage one of Tobago. 10 laps of a flatish 10k circuit. I busted out the first sprint and then missed the break like a sally prissypants. Jamie Sparling rocked the break like a champ. Phil gets deathly ill and makes it to within 8 seconds of the break before dying on the road. We get no bottles for half the race. Feels like I'm racing in a sauna. Jamie barely misses the win, takes third and puts 6 minutes into the field. Schwing!

Today (Thursday) 5:00 am. Up for the time trial on the same circuit. I feel pretty awesome (sarcasm). Seems as though my limbs are balloons, I am dizzy and every pore on my body is like a faucet. And its only 6:30 am. Phil is deep in the hurt box and does not even get out of bed. Jamie smashes the TT and takes the lead by 38 seconds. He wins because of my awesome skinsuit and booties. I want to punch him in the nuts because this means we will have to defend on this afternoon's terrifying circuit, but instead I give him the side pound and cheer.

Today (Thursday) 2:00 pm. We ride in defense of the jersey. If I'd known how painful this would be I probably would have slashed the tires on Jamie's TT bike. The team is full of warriors. Though the course features a few long pitches of 20% we smash our heads into the wall (figuratively) and hang tough. These guys are absolute animals. Again, as always, it is hotter than two rats "making love" in a wool sock. I think I used up about 5 of my 9 lives out there today. Whatever we did, it worked. Sparling still has a solid lead in the GC and we get to take that into a rest day tomorrow, which means snorkeling, glass bottom boats, jetskis, steel drums, and a whole lot of lying around. I may just get a floaty and a five gallon jug of water and see where the current takes me.

Tobago 2010 is pretty much a complete shitshow and when I fill in the details it will blow your minds.

Double Whammy

2010-09-25T06:56:00.000-07:00

I don't usually go the boastful route, but I'm damn proud of my win yesterday. That's right! Ryan J. Parnes is the two time winner of the Newsday Cycling Classic. I say "my" win, but we all know it takes a team to win these races, and my team absolutely slayed it yesterday. Jamie Sparling was OTF for most of the race on a kamikaze solo mission, and he singlehandedly softened up the legs of the field while Mooney, Atze and Nathan covered anything that so much as twitched in the field. I got a free ride all the way to the finish thanks to their hard work. It was like riding a big puffy cloud... well, it was until I got caught behind a pileup in the treacherous second corner; the very same corner that I had assured Mr. Mooney was nothing to worry about.

Oh well. I snagged a free lap and got right back into the mix with just a few cuts and bruises to show for my trouble. The field continued their bonzai chase and managed, with great effort, to pull Jamie back with just a lap and a half to go. I managed to muscle my way into the Trek Team leadout and came around Gene "Geronimo" Samuel for the dub, with my friend Adam Alexander of Team Foundation in 3rd. Its a hell of a way to sart the trip. The team is even stronger than last year and this should be two awesome weeks of racing.

Time to hit the road and try to spin some of the post-crash soreness out. I'm hardly banged up at all: P$ put some bandaids on my elbow yesterday and it just looks like I cut myself shaving.

We're back with Wayne and his wonderful family for the rest of the San Fernando races. They take such good care of us that I feel more like sitting around drinking coffee and eatng all day, so I should probably get up and go now or I might never make it. Rage on, ragers.