THE LOCALS ARE PAINTING MY NAME ON THE ROADS

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Day 3.

I’m not feeling very wordsmithy. It’s hard to express things creatively when my nerves are frayed. The racing here isn’t physically exhausting, but it requires a degree of mental resolve I haven’t experienced before.

It started nicely enough. Another night crit was on deck for the third stage, so Cesar and I took the day to go on a downtown Port of Spain adventure. After cruising around for an hour looking for a bakery, we ended up at the downtown square and Cesar’s gluten sense picked up the trail. A few cheesy pastries later and after telling multiple sketchy-looking inquiring locals our bikes cost $600TT (a little less than $100 US), we cruised down the square where I got distracted by the street food - par for the course. While a local college student chatted us up, I had my first experience with the local dish known as “Doubles”. 

Doubles are pretty basic. Two pieces of cumin-flavored dough are pan fried, and some soft-curried chickpeas are slapped between them. Going rate on the street is between $.25-75 per, and it’s about as much food as three street tacos in the US. Filling and delicious, a wonderful curry-cumin assault on the senses. Apparently there’s lots of different varieties…I intend to try a few more while I’m here. 

The square was soaked up for another few minutes, and we ripped through traffic back home. The race in the evening was held around the Queen’s Park Savannah, essentially a massive grass field surrounded by what the Triniboganians claim is the “World’s Largest Roundabout” near downtown Port of Spain. Start time was set for 8 PM, but…this is Trinidad. 

We sat around for two hours waiting for the start. I regretted leaving my camera in the room. The police plodded to close the inner two lanes of the road for the race while our legs cooled, and our guts rumbled with hunger. Meanwhile, the TTCF took its time to get things rolling with the eccentric announcer making bizarre jokes as the amateur racers completed single-lap contests around the 5km course. I was skeptical, to say the least - our protection from the outer lane of thick traffic was a line of intermittent cones about the size of a large Big Gulp cup. In the dark.

Racing started, and my fears were confirmed. This was going to be much like the Speedweek shenanigans I’d encountered in the spring. Guys with no place contesting the GC for the race were riding like men possessed, chopping every corner with little regard for themselves or others. A good chop by a Jamaican sent me into one of the aforementioned cones, but after locking up both wheels and sliding for a meter or two, I managed to keep things upright. We were screaming along at almost 40mph on the straightaways with a few guys ripping outside the cones to advance, and the corners were jam-packed with so much divebombing you’d think it was Pearl Harbor. 

The danger intensified as random cars wandered onto the course. There was the occasional fender intrusion, but the true crescendo of insanity was encountering a 40-foot boat on a trailer exiting one of the last turns. Had it been a mere twenty meters back, a massive pile-up would have ensued. We were lucky. Emile Abraham, sitting in first, had his crew at the nose of the race. As the sprint went off on the last lap, I sat back and let the fireworks go - no sense in going for a hospital trip on the second day of racing. All of our guys stayed upright, a success in my book.

We rolled back to the hotel moderately shellshocked, but figured the day after (our first road race) would be a much safer affair, as they typically are - and in the daylight. How very, very wrong we were.

Posted at 8:36am and tagged with: tour of trinidad and tobago, trinidad, port of spain, cycling, nate king, cesar grajales,.

Welcome to the lovely island nation of Trinidad & Tobago!

I’m here for a ten-stage race that’s part of their celebration of their 50th anniversary of independence from Britain - it’s called “The Unity Race”. Pretty rad stuff! CCRT teammate Cesar Grajales and I got an invite from a contact, figured we didn’t have anything else going on…and went for it. Being able to see places I never would’ve been able to before is a huge reason I race bikes at the level I do, I’m incredibly grateful for the opportunity! Thanks to PetroTrini (our composite team’s sponsor) and Roger Farrell (our manager) for the chance to race is in order, as well as to Reynolds for hooking up some race hoops last minute.  

Anyway, T&T (as colloquially known) is an interesting place. Fairly wealthy by Carib standards thanks to a fossil-fuel boom, it’s a melting pot of culture, language, food, and customs thanks to being passed around by a few colonial powers, emancipation of African slaves, and the indentured servitude of East Indians in the 1800s. The people here are incredibly friendly, and the way of life is decidedly laid back. We’re learning that the islands run on “Trinitime” - you can pretty much count on everything starting at least thirty minutes after the stated time, and that’s perfectly okay. The dialect of English spoken here is sweetly melodic with some Creole spice thrown in.

Our first day here involved a mellow ride around the capital, Port of Spain, with some of my temporary teammates and a few other teams here from all over the world. Recently relaxed regulation and newfound wealth has led to mass-importation of cheap, relatively new (used) Japanese cars that can no longer pass stringent Japanese registration inspection for purchase by most of the populace of T&T. This, coupled with ridiculously cheap fuel prices, has lead to nightmare traffic problems. However, drivers are, in reflection of the concept of Trinitime, friendly as hell to cyclists. Traffic is a flowing amoeba with few discernable rules, but nobody is in a rush to get anywhere, making everyone rather agreeable. Nobody seems to ride for transportation, and I’ve only seen a single cyclist here not for the race - making us something of a novelty to motorists. Traffic follows British patterns, leading to this ugly American getting a little confused in the roundabouts, along with occasionally riding my bike on the wrong side of the road. Emile Abraham, T&T’s native cycling son, successfully negotiated the purchase of Cokes for everyone at a local market after we figured out that not everywhere in the world bows to the great American Dollar (see above). 

After the quick ride, we went to meet some of the government officials responsible for the race in downtown Port of Spain. Modern office buildings, most belonging to the government, are a reflection of the petroboom. Positivity is definitely the vibe from everyone here! T&T is very proud of its ability to maintain a peaceful, democratic state with so many ethnic and cultural groups. The nationalism on display is one proud of its internal accomplishments, unlike the variety often encountered in the US.

Enough babbling for now. Expect a prologue/first stage report tomorrow after a few Guinness Foreign Extras. It’s like Guinness…BUT GOOD.

Posted at 2:35pm and tagged with: the unity race, trinidad and tobago, cycling, competitive cyclist racing team, nate king, emile abraham, cesar grajales,.

We Three Kings, Strava Style.


I am incredibly amused.

Posted at 9:02pm and tagged with: full width, strava, nate king, ben king, ted king, cycling,.

We Three Kings, Strava Style.
I am incredibly amused.

I’ve never received a skidlid compliment. Ever. Bike, kit, sunglasses, cyclocomputer, frame pump (really), and even my waterbottles have all been subject to adulation by others this season. But never the helmet, at least until today. Let’s start with the events leading up to this momentous occasion, shall we?

Don’t get me wrong, I love my mother. She’s one of the most rad people I know. However, like most rad people I know, my mom has one rather glaring character flaw. It’s related to the delicious nectar secreted by wooden deciduous flora somewhere in the vicinity of Vermont. And Quebec (where, coincidentally, Paco continues to earn my enduring respect with lines like ‘“It’s not over for me for the GC – I’ll attack tomorrow or after tomorrow to go for the yellow or podium,” he said. “For me, seventh on GC is nothing.”’ when he lost yellow in the Tour de Beauce TT). Anyway, now they you’re good and lost, back to my original point: The Flaw. My mom doesn’t buy real maple syrup. Ever. I can’t really fault her, US Grade A Dark Amber is probably more expensive gram-for-gram than a liquid gold/Johnny Walker Blue cocktail. Hell, I didn’t know I was eating fake maple syrup growing up until I moved out at the tender age of seventeen.

All that said, I’m a food whore with twisted cyclist logic. If I’m blowing calories on liquid sugar, it’s gonna be some DAMN GOOD liquid sugar. So, when I had the brilliant idea to cobble together Chicken and Waffles tonight for Father’s Day dinner, I neglected to factor in the complete lack of heavenly amber liquid in my mom’s house until I was halfway through today’s ride. Route detour was enacted, and I found myself wandering the aisles of the local supermarket to liberate a $12 thimble-sized bottle of syrup, clicking through the aisles and attempting to keep my Pinarello from making contact with any lesser surfaces (namely, wayward children).

At this point, you might ask “Where the hell is Nate going with this story?”

Answer: Checkout line. Carton of buttermilk and Burlington-born fructose. Stinky bike racer in kit. Attractive (female) checker.

Checker: “Badass helmet!”

Me: Gazes wistfully at syrup with visions of waffles and crispy poultry dancing in head. “…guhhh, thanks?”

Checker: Sums up purchase. “No, really! Making waffles?”

Me: Smitten, realizes what’s going on. “…hunnnyyeah?”

Checker: Gives odd look. Confused. Takes money.

Exit Me. 

Moral of story: Wear a sick-looking helmet while buying an expensive glorified breakfast condiment, and picking up the opposite sex will become elementary…if you’re cognizant of it. So what are you waiting for? Get the helmet. NOW.

Posted at 5:10pm and tagged with: catlike, competitive cyclist racing team, helmet, nate king, training,.

I’ve never received a skidlid compliment. Ever. Bike, kit, sunglasses, cyclocomputer, frame pump (really), and even my waterbottles have all been subject to adulation by others this season. But never the helmet, at least until today. Let’s start with the events leading up to this momentous occasion, shall we?
Don’t get me wrong, I love my mother. She’s one of the most rad people I know. However, like most rad people I know, my mom has one rather glaring character flaw. It’s related to the delicious nectar secreted by wooden deciduous flora somewhere in the vicinity of Vermont. And Quebec (where, coincidentally, Paco continues to earn my enduring respect with lines like ‘“It’s not over for me for the GC – I’ll attack tomorrow or after tomorrow to go for the yellow or podium,” he said. “For me, seventh on GC is nothing.”’ when he lost yellow in the Tour de Beauce TT). Anyway, now they you’re good and lost, back to my original point: The Flaw. My mom doesn’t buy real maple syrup. Ever. I can’t really fault her, US Grade A Dark Amber is probably more expensive gram-for-gram than a liquid gold/Johnny Walker Blue cocktail. Hell, I didn’t know I was eating fake maple syrup growing up until I moved out at the tender age of seventeen.
All that said, I’m a food whore with twisted cyclist logic. If I’m blowing calories on liquid sugar, it’s gonna be some DAMN GOOD liquid sugar. So, when I had the brilliant idea to cobble together Chicken and Waffles tonight for Father’s Day dinner, I neglected to factor in the complete lack of heavenly amber liquid in my mom’s house until I was halfway through today’s ride. Route detour was enacted, and I found myself wandering the aisles of the local supermarket to liberate a $12 thimble-sized bottle of syrup, clicking through the aisles and attempting to keep my Pinarello from making contact with any lesser surfaces (namely, wayward children).
At this point, you might ask “Where the hell is Nate going with this story?”
Answer: Checkout line. Carton of buttermilk and Burlington-born fructose. Stinky bike racer in kit. Attractive (female) checker.
Checker: “Badass helmet!”
Me: Gazes wistfully at syrup with visions of waffles and crispy poultry dancing in head. “…guhhh, thanks?”
Checker: Sums up purchase. “No, really! Making waffles?”
Me: Smitten, realizes what’s going on. “…hunnnyyeah?”
Checker: Gives odd look. Confused. Takes money.
Exit Me. 
Moral of story: Wear a sick-looking helmet while buying an expensive glorified breakfast condiment, and picking up the opposite sex will become elementary…if you’re cognizant of it. So what are you waiting for? Get the helmet. NOW.

Upsides to recovery weeks: Riding with people I normally wouldn’t be able to! In this case, my 14 year-old little brother, Alex.

As you can see, Alex is a bit of a Schleckian waif, and goes uphill like it to boot. I attribute this to his carefully-researched diet that mostly consists of cereal, cheese, Wonderbread, and sauceless pasta (and possibly his freakish adolescent metabolism). None of those crazy-exotic things like fruit, vegetables, or protein-heavy foods to upset this budding racer’s delicate GI tract. Dysfunctional dietary ribbing aside, Alex competed in his first race Saturday, taking second in his category on his miniature BMC. Stoked!

We went out the day before the race for a mellow spin, where I taught him some racer essentials. The magic of drafting, spinning fast on the flats (especially useful for the juniors on 14-tooth cassettes), doing as little work as possible until it counts, and finally (and in my humble opinion, the primary reason for a bike ride), the coffee shop stop. But seriously - teaching others about racing/riding, and sharing my experiences as a racer is one of my favorite things as the cyclist-next-door. Or, in Alex’s case, in the basement. It not only gives me the general warm-fuzzies, but it makes me feel like I might be paying forward (in the slightest bit) all of the help and support over the years that I’ve received from everyone around me.

Needless to say, I can’t wait to see if Alex keeps it up, though I’m not quite sure about how my mom feels. I’m sure she’s thrilled at the prospect of more gut-wrenching crit racing with another wayward member of her offspring!

Posted at 1:30pm and tagged with: alex king, nate king, training, racing, competitive cyclist racing team, competitive cyclist, caffe ibis, logan, utah, bmc,.

Afflicted by permanent wanderlust, I’ve opted to spend the three weeks between the end of Speedweek and the US Professional Cycling Championships in Greenville, SC at the welcoming abode of one of our team’s gracious supporters just outside of Athens, GA (home of the University of Georgia, the infamous Athens Twilight Criterium, and launchpad for numerous American cyclists). 

Having never been to this part of the country before (read: The Deep & Dirty South), I’m still taking it all in and gulping it all down, like a UGA freshman frat pledge doing a manhood-validating kegstand.

First on my list of dispensable observations to expound to the outside world: The riding itself. I’ve never trained anywhere with population so spread out, and so my road choice has always been pretty limited. Here, though, there are roads FOREVER. I could easily create a 300 mile loop on twisty backroads that all look the same from the front door of my temporary domicile. Of course, this necessitates a cue sheet a mile long (yeah, that one was front AND back for a 4.5 hour jaunt) to keep from ending up bassackwards 200 miles away on the coast. While there’s no sustained climbing near Athens, the rollers of the Piedmont offer up spots for good, punchy accelerations on endless repetition of 500 meter-long Murs. Roads are fairly narrow and without the wide shoulders I’m used to, but they’re in really good condition (thanks to the lack of freezing temps in the winter, I’d guess) and typically devoid of traffic. The dirt roads are a blast! Well-packed, and not moondusty or gravel-strewn like the ones near my home in Utah.

The “store stops” here are nearly always entertaining - it seems the locals aren’t as used to seeing cyclists on long rides as they are in the West. I can always count on getting into an amiable conversation with store proprietors about expensive bikes, bike racing, the insanity of spending five hours perched on two wheels, and suspicious questions when informed of my Utah residence. 

Speaking of, the church marquees in front of Baptist houses of worship on the backroads are nothing short of comedic gold. I think I might start photographing all of them and making a nice leather-bound photo essay when I get back to the Wasatch. 

Posted at 9:36am and tagged with: athens, nate king, competitive cyclist, cycling, racing, training, the south, pinarello, georgia,.

Why yes, I have The Flava.

Rather unknowingly, I entered into a compact of sorts with my teammates during our “Great Southern Revival” tour (aka, the week of Fast-and-Hard-as-Balls Crits). The original details? If anyone wrecked during the week, they’d get a head shavin’. While Tommy was our lucky first contestant with a quick spill at Twilight, he preempted the clippers by turning himself into the sporting version of dear Nikita the week before he got to Georgia.

And thus, the burden fell to me, going for a brief skitter on the second day of racing at Roswell. Given my rather creative and indifferent past hairstyle choices (ranging the spectrum of colors and various methods to make it stand on end), I was pretty open to whatever the uh… extremely dextrous clippers of Mr. Cole House could sculpt. Sadly, as you might be able to tell from the “before” image, things went a little south (think preschooler fingerpainting meets cosmetology school). I let the bizarre amalgamation of the skullet, mohawk, and “creative” designs last a whopping three days before deciding to lop it off in our temporary home of Greenville, SC. 

I initially proposed piloting myself to the nearest Supercuts for a quarter-inch shave, but our super-soigneur (and portion of our management staff, and not actually a soigneur) Eric took serious issue, demanding that I visit a “real Southern barbershop, specializing in black hairstyles” (note: He probably wasn’t that eloquent). If you’ve ever met me, I’m northern-European pasty-white Utah boy, with the hair to match…and I’m always up for a challenge! So, I popped “barber” into Google Maps and found the closest barbershop with the most badass name: The Flava. A quick phone call ensured availability, and we were on our way to what appeared to be the sketchiest barbershop on Earth. Upon entrance, Eric and I had a bit of an Animal House club scene moment. Hilarity ensued, and a guy with the moniker “The Mangler” welcomed yours truly into his chair. The Mangler, real name Keith, was rather aghast at Cole’s coiffure creation, and promptly went to work with no less than eight sets of clippers. As soon as he learned I was visiting from Utah, he told me not to mind the nutjobs and that I was already family at The Flava. Eric proceeded to make himself at home, arguing amongst the regulars about the lack of an upcoming Pacquiao/Mayweather fight. 

We left the Flava, me $20 poorer, and yet, my mane had been tamed in the fashion of one of America’s greatest role models. Rad.

Posted at 10:10pm and tagged with: haircut, nate king, hairstyle, cycling, mr. t, mohawk, bike racer, competitive cyclist racing team,.

Crit Carnage, pt 2: The badonkadonk bootie.

Posted at 10:50pm and tagged with: speedweek, crit, criterium, cycling, nate king, wreck, blood,.

Crit Carnage, pt 2: The badonkadonk bootie.

Crit Carnage, pt 1: The Concussion.

Posted at 10:49pm and tagged with: speedweek, criterium, crit, cycling, nate king,.

Crit Carnage, pt 1: The Concussion.

Fantastic weekend! Little bit of local stage racing, little bit of cruising with my progenitor masquerading as Alejandro Valverde 20 years removed from racing (bonus: I think he likes my Dogma), little bit of ice cream, corned beef, and burgers, little bit of mashing for four hours on Sunday. 

From the Friday mailbag:

How did you get hooked up with the CC team? 

Long story. Kind of. I started working at RealCyclist (CC’s future owners) in November of 2010 putting ordered bikes together in the shop, as well as doing a lot of warehouse logistical fun. Shortly thereafter RealCyclist sponsored the team, and I met Gord when he took a tour of our warehouse sometime in the winter (though I doubt he remembers - he commented on my UHC team shirt and I got some warm fuzzies). Fast-forward a few months, and I’d embarked upon my overly ambitious season-long Cat 5-to-1 campaign. I’d also transferred over to doing bike photography for BC, giving me a lot more latitude when it came to bailing out of work to race. 

Anyway, I first met RealCyclist’s athelete sponsorship/cat herding guy, Jonny Atencio, in April at Gila where I was riding in the 3’s (and would eventually take second in the GC). He was a little confused when I begged him for some team kit to give to my New Mexico housing host, but chucked some lycra/beer coozies my way and patted me on the head. I tried to remain in contact with him on an intermittent basis (read: I’d email and beg him for stuff) throughout the season, as we worked in different offices.

Enter early August, right before the 2011 Tour of Utah. Fresh off winning the Cat 2 GC at Cascade and a local stage race, I headed up to DealerCamp in Park City for work and free margaritas. Serendipitously, the then-RealCyclist.com Pro Team was there, meeting sponsors and mingling with the kind-of public. It was there that I met one of the team owners, Jason Kriel, and I asked the rather baldfaced question: “Is there a chance I could ride with you guys next year?”. He asked me to send him a resume, and I wormed my way into going out for a four-hour ride with the team the day after (for the locals: The PC/Guardsman/Emigration/Parley’s loop), a nice 2000 meter, 115km day.

During the ride, we got to talking about the weekend’s upcoming Utah State Championship road race, and myself/Evan Hyde (then Park City resident and team member) managed to con Rabou and Paco into doing it. Coincidentally, my parents live in the town near where the race is held, about 150km from Salt Lake - built in host housing for the crew of four (sidenote: also where I’d find myself the following spring)! The race ended up going 1/2/3 RC, with my ass dragging up 4th.  By nature of elite amateur competition, I was awarded the state championship.

The Tour of Utah came and went, Backcountry/RealCyclist fulfilled my dreams of shooting bikes like Competitive by buying them, and the days went on. Enter October (I think), and I got a message from Jason: “You want a spot?”. I had to contain the news for a few weeks, and was a little on the verge of exploding into a bludgeoned pinata of joy for awhile.  

So, there’s the novella. Connor Bondlow over at ROAD Magazine did a far more eloquent job of detailing things in the May issue (free digital subscription). 

Posted at 11:58am and tagged with: competitive cyclist racing team, usu classic, nate king, paco mancebo, evan hyde, thomas rabou, gord fraser, jason kriel, pinarello, competitive cyclist, backcountry,.

photo: http://cottonsoxphotography.com/ alt title: “How not to win a circuit race.”

Testing waters on a new Friday gig: Ask me anything, and I’ll write a blog post about it?

Posted at 12:10pm and tagged with: nate king, competitive cyclist racing team, training, racing,.

photo: http://cottonsoxphotography.com/ alt title: “How not to win a circuit race.”
Testing waters on a new Friday gig: Ask me anything, and I’ll write a blog post about it?

Nomming with Nate, edition 214159:

Tonight I had an unexpected host family in Salt Lake. By “family”, I mean my former roommate/best photographer on the planet, the one and only Mr. Kuhns. In light of the situation, I offered up my only half-hearted gift to the general public - cooking. Sadly, the kitchen in my temporary abode is slightly…ill-equipped (Hey dude, do you own a colander?), so it was a little seat-of-my-pants.

As is typical of my culinary creations, I took a recipe I located online and bastardized it until it was my own. In this case, the offering of Deb at Smitten Kitchen

Ingredients: 

  • 1 lb twisty pasta
  • 1 lb asparagus, trimmed and chopped
  • 3.5ozish of herbed goat cheese (soft)
  • 2T butter
  • 2T olive oil
  • 1 lb veal stew meat, cubed into cm-sized chunks (optional, and any meat with a lighter flavor/fat content would do, chicken breast, lean pork, etc)
  • 1 lemon worth of juice and zest
  • 1/2c gin
  • 2T fresh minced dill
  • Salt & pepper to taste

Boil really salted water in a saucepan suitable for pasta and asparagus. As it comes to a boil, add olive oil to a large hot skillet on high, get it to smoke point. Toss chunked veal in and brown it. Reduce heat to medium, add gin and braise veal for a couple minutes, or until it looks damned good. Let it simmer as you boil the pasta. When the pasta has a couple minutes to go to al dente, add the asparagus. Drain off when the pasta has cooked and the asparagus is still snappy. Throw asparagus/pasta into the veal braise, add goat cheese/butter/lemon zest/juice/dill/s&p. Melt butter and goat cheese, mix, and kill the heat.  Serve immediately. 

Had it with a bacon “IPA vinaigrette” spinach salad I made - not terrible. I was a little heavy on the lemon, but with a little less the gin/dill would come out and juniper would make itself known. Give it a shot - it’s easy.

Posted at 10:56pm and tagged with: food, pasta, nutrition, training, cycling, nate king, competitive cyclist racing team,.

Tommy Chandler, Competitive Cyclist

Undefined enigma of sorts, PRO is an aspirational essence - one of those things that “if you have to ask…”. In fact, if you’re wondering why it’s capitalized, you’re probably on the right track. 

Opining in my never-humble manner while cooking dinner last Friday night (and after taking yet another rib about running a frame pump on a Dogma 2), I came to the conclusion that the concept of pro has little to do with sock cuff length, shaved legs, neon-yellow helmets, what you eat on rides, your FTP wattage, carbon tubulars, or even your past race results.

I began dwelling on my somewhat-harrowing San Dimas/Redlands adventure last month (possibly fueled by the fumes of reducing pear balsamic vinegar), and giving a fair bit of scrutiny to the mentality of our veteran riders; looking for ways that I could improve my own performance. Something hit me, especially while revisiting the last day of Redlands.

We were up against the wall, with Paco (our team captain, GC honcho, and Iberian vino connoisseur) down a good chunk of time from the GC lead. Our director sportif laid out the plan of attack to put Mancebo in yellow, being honest in his assessment of our capabilities/roles for the infamous Sunset Road Circuit Race. It became apparent that the brunt of the load for winning the race would fall to the shoulders of our strongest riders.  

It was then that I knew what made these guys, by definition, pro. We were all tired. We weren’t in what I’d call optimal spirits, and the rain forecast for the day wasn’t lightening anyone’s mood (especially after the torrential San Dimas road race the weekend prior). It was obvious Paco was a bit knackered, and probably would’ve much rather have been sipping Castilian wine at home instead of destroying himself in the final minutes of that race - in a frigid downpour. So, when he went off the front with about 20k to go in the bike race (and from our understanding at that time, had taken the lead), I was struck with a certain sense of awe and respect. He went out and did his job. Period. The circumstances didn’t matter - he and the strong guys around him left it all on the course, just what their team had asked of them. THAT, in my nubile rookie eyes, is PRO - win or lose. 

(top photo credit: Tommy Chandler, Competitive Cyclist; bottom photo badass bib-fixing credit: my awesome lycra-adept mom)

Posted at 10:21pm and tagged with: competitive cyclist racing team, cycling, nate king, San Dimas Stage Race, paco mancebo, francisco mancebo, redlands classic, gord fraser, htfu, one column,.