Life in the Mountains

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

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

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!

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

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!