Somebody Pinch Me

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

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.