An Epic Labor Day Weekend (Part 2): The Giro di Tedd

It all started so innocently...

I got an email last week from my friend and fellow P3C3 rider, Tedd. In it he said that he would be leading an 80 miler with some good climbing from Furman starting at 6AM this Labor Day to supplement our training schedule for the Ride to Austin. Sounded like a good idea. Not only did I need some climbing and a nice long ride, but the early start would have us doing some riding in the dark (with headlights and taillights, for the safety minded of you out there), and I needed to get some miles in that way as well, as my team will likely be pulling a night shift on the way to Austin. All appeared on the up and up. Little did I know that I would be putting myself into the hands of an evil, maniacal genius.

A note on Tedd

Many of Tedd's friends know him to be a good, upstanding, church-going member of society. He is a loving husband and a doting father to these two lovely ladies:

Tedd is also an Ironman. Which should have been the first red flag.

Friends, I can unequivocally inform you that all those good things about Tedd mentioned above are merely a front, or, perhaps, the machinations of somebody trying to make a last ditch effort to get in the good graces of the man upstairs. Tedd is, without doubt, an evil madman, and possibly a genius.

Seriously, look at this guy.  Is that the smile of a benevolent family man?. No, dear reader. We are dealing with somebody who likes pain, digs suffering, seeks out new and horrible means of bodily punishment, and brings others along for the ride.

Fortunately, I have the same kind of tastes, so let the suffering begin!

(Note: I have it from good sources that Tedd wears a helmet not to protect his fragile dome while riding, but in fact to hide the horns that are peeking out of his hairline.)

Early wakeup call

I'm a self-professed morning person, but even I have my limits. If you're riding 80 miles, you gotta fuel up at least two hours beforehand. The ride started at 6AM. I'll let you do the math as to when I had to drag my carcass out of bed. Suffice it to say, we made it in time to Furman, but we were less than happy.

These things, however, soon passed, and we were on our way in the cool pre-dawn, our headlights showing us the way, and foxes taking the chance to dart out in front of our wheels in case the pot of rocket fuel coffee we drank beforehand didn't quite get us going.

Soon, the sun was rising, and we were in the beautiful part of northern Greenville County, watching as the sun painted the eastern horizon pink and gave us some lovely vistas. I was still trying to wake up, though:

All in all, however, things were going pretty well. Everybody was communicating bumps in the road, working together to keep the pace solid,  chitchatting, and generally having a lovely time.

We even got a bonus potty stop at La Bastide, which the perceptive of you will remember is where our good friend and YNHPF co-founder Josh is the breakfast chef. Things were looking pretty good, if we do say so ourselves.

As a super-duper added bonus, we got some tasty mid-ride NOMs straight out of the kitchen. Bacon and cheese breakfast scone anybody? Yes, please!!!

(Pause for NOMification of breakfast scone)

Things, friends, were just plain hunky-dory.

It was at this point, in hindsight, that I now realized that I had been lulled (by the aforementioned evil genius) into a false sense of security. From here on out, the road began to turn up, and there was much work to be done.

At this juncture, we at Yummy NOMs would like to take the opportunity to thank Nathan, a newer addition to our ride group, for pulling me up the climbs. Nathan is a very cordial gent, a musician and a good climber. I know, because I spent the rest of the day pretty much holding on to his wheel for dear life. As such, this was mostly my view from here on out.

I am told that Nathan is both attractive and smiles a lot. I wouldn't know, as this is all I have ever seen of him. I can attest to his lovely backside, however, especially when complemented with his old school Slipstream kit. Thanks Nathan. I couldn't have done it without you.

Back to the ride

So, up, up, up we went. And up some more over the watershed into North Carolina. I'm sure it was all lovely, but I was too busy sucking on Nathan's wheel (see above). We then settled into some rollers and smaller climbs, punctuated by some fun twisty descents, and were generally having a good time.

Then we turned left on Green River Road (or something like that)...

...and saw this sign:

For those of you wondering at home, that facial expression is the universal sign for: WTF?!!!!

I assured myself that, clearly, this MUST be a mistake. Not only would the brilliant people at the NC Department of Transportation not be so obtuse as to plop a gravel stretch of road in the middle of a perfectly good country lane, but also, surely, my good, benevolent friend Tedd would NOT lead us into such sketchy conditions... Right? Bueller?

As it turns out, it was I who was mistaken. This is what we rode. For the next 4 miles. Uphill. On carbon ROAD BIKES.

(for the non-cycling readers out there, road frames are designed to be as stiff as possible, thereby maximizing their efficiency on paved road. The down side is that you feel every minor bump and crack in your, well, everywhere.)

The immortal Ricky Bobby described our next 4 miles best when he said "Hang on, Baby Jesus, this is gonna get BUMPY!!!!"

Yet, here is where Tedd's evil genius really manifested itself. Taking a road bike on terrain like this is nothing less than pure lunacy. That being said, I loved it. It was my favorite part of the ride! What's wrong with me, you ask? Well, I guess I've gone over to the dark side. Kinda like pulling for the Yankees or Clemson. I didn't want to do it, but once I did, it was sooooo much fun. I jumped out ahead of the group and finished the gravel stretch solo.

On the other side, I replaced my fillings back in my teeth and snapped my ridemates as they exited their own gravel birth canal of pain. Needless to say, not all were thrilled, but I was. I was reminded of all the stories of the old Grand Tours that I had heard about, with Fausto Coppi and the like racing unsupported on gravel roads over alpine passes. This PALES in comparison to that, but it was quite a feeling. The Giro d'Italia still goes over gravel sometimes (even Lance made a point to train on gravel roads in Colorado this spring during his Giro prep)., which is why I decided to name this ride the Giro di Tedd, in honor of its creator. All this was going through my mind as I watched my ride mates come cursing out of the trail, covered in grime. I saw it as a badge of honor... They didn't agree.

(no zealot like a convert, right?) 

That pic of Tedd above was taken right at the exit of the gravel section. I submit to you that anybody that can laugh like that after that type of a challenge is truly a maniac. Since I was laughing too, I guess that means it takes one to know one. 

Oh, and did I mention that we were barely halfway through our ride? 

Hats off to Firemen Everywhere

Shortly thereafter, thank goodness, Tedd's wife and kids met us at a local fire station, where we refilled water bottles, shook out the kinks, and, thanks to these guys, managed to wash our bikes off. Quite possibly, the best sag stop ever. Thanks to the anonymous volunteer fire fighters for helping us out!

After, that, it was a leisurely jaunt up the back side of Caesar's Head  (surprisingly easy. No, really) with the big pay off of the long descent to the bottom.  With Tedd's wife and kids providing SAG, we leisurely knocked off the rolling route back to Furman with minimal fuss. When I clicked out, the trip distance on the bike computer said around 74 miles, which makes Tedd not only an evil genius, but a liar (he said it'd be 80). However, we all agreed that the gravel stretch should count as double, so that got us to 78, which was close enough for government work. PHEW!!!

On "Epic"

"Epic" is a term that is bandied about entirely too often in cycling circles, to the point that it has seemed to lose some of its meaning. An Epic ride is one that should leave you gutted, panting, thankful to be done, thrilled you did it, and excited for the next one all at the same time. Now, that term gets used so liberally that it's been diluted to the point where when a buddy says they went on an Epic ride, they may have been talking about Tuesday nights at Donaldson, for all you know.


That being said, I'll leave it to Tedd to justify the Epic-ness of this ride. On his Facebook page, he posted the following:

"EPIC - very imposing or impressive; surpassing the ordinary (especially in size or scale) - AS IN TODAY'S RIDE - 78 miles/ 6228 ft of climbing/4 miles of gravel/ 6ix brave souls....All in all - EPIC" 

I couldn't agree more, Tedd. Any road ride in the summer sun  that leaves my legs so filthy that I look like I just went slogging through the mud on my mountain bike has to be an Epic.

Hats off to Tedd (and Happy Birthday!), the newly anointed Master of All Things Epic here at Yummy NOMs. 


Fausto Coppi would be proud. I had a blast, and I can't wait for the next installment of the Giro di Tedd!!!

NOM!!!!!!

An Epic Labor Day Weekend (Part 1)

Wow. Just. Wow. I'm exhausted. I'm sitting here pecking out this as I miss my beloved Tuesday night Donaldson Ride. I just don't have the strength. I'm gassed. 

Why, you ask? Well, I just topped off about the busiest long weekend that I can remember. Ever hear the phrase, "I need a vacation from my vacation"? Well, there's a picture of me right now in the dictionary next to that one. We're gonna cover Saturday and Sunday here right now. Monday, however deserves some special attention, which I hope you will understand tomorrow when it comes out. Anyway on to our Epic Labor Day Weekend:

Saturday: Erin and Kevin's Wedding

We here at Yummy NOMs consider ourselves incredibly blessed to have met some truly interesting people in our lifetime. Even more so, we are proud to call many of those people friends. The down side? Life moves so fast that we lose touch, and people that we once saw every day as a matter of course become "once a year" friends. Such is my friend Erin, whom I have known since I was 5. I'm pretty lucky that my old high school crew still manages to get together and keep in touch on a fairly regular basis, and I was even luckier to be able to attend her wedding to her boyfriend (now husband) Kevin this past Saturday in Charleston. Saying it was good time would be putting it lightly,

A note on Kevin: he's a cook, and he promised me that the food would be good at the reception (a major priority here at Yummy NOMs) He didn't disappoint. Repeat: HE. DID. NOT. DISAPPOINT.

The service was held in the Circular Congregational Church in Charleston (bit of history:  not only is it actually circular, it's the oldest church in Chucktown, and also one of the original meeting places for the original city citizens, hence the name of the street it's on: Meeting Street). Beautiful church, and a lovely ceremony, followed by a marathon walk (across the street )to the Gibbs museum for the party. Good times. Really good times. And GREAT NOMs. Here they come: 

We've got good beef tenderloin cooked just right (extremely rare), pork tenderloin cooked just right (see previous) and stuffed w/ spinach and bleu cheese, and four cheese mac & cheese topped off with fresh sea scallops:

Let me tell you all something. I never before thought about having scallops with my incredibly good mac & cheese (when done right, mac & cheese, southern style, is art), but I will consider it on every future mac & cheese outing. This stuff was freaking good!!!!

But, were were at a wedding, and I'm sure you're thinking "Bo aren't you forgetting the most important part about the wedding? Like, say, the reason the whole thing is happening in the first place?" By that, I'm assuming you of course mean the cake.

And what a cake it was... There it is.

Oh, you mean the couple? Well, yes they were quite lovely., as you can also see here. Let me take a moment and say that I'm really happy for these kids. I love weddings. And not just for the food (though it was most definitely a plus in the case.) It's always uplifting to see two people who love each other starting their lives off.

Anyway, back to more important things...

Like the fact that the cake was RED VELVET CAKE!

Did I mention that I love red velvet cake?

Case in point: 

Yeah, that cake didn't stand a snowball's chance.

All in all, it was a great night. I'm sure Erin and Kevin are someplace warm and sandy right now reading this with baited breath, so we here at Yummy NOMs want to wish them good luck, and they can feel free to have another party with tasty NOMs and invite us any time!

Congratulations, Erin and Kevin!  NOM!

(editor's note to the reader: if you ever have friends that cook for a living invite you to any kind of gathering, go. Just go. Don't ask questions. Just go. You won't regret it)

 

Sunday: The Mad Dash from Charleston to Greenville and the first Yummy NOMs Homemade Pizza Fest (YNHPF)

We literally dragged our backsides out of bed to drive back home the next day in time to clean the house and get ready to rustle up some tasty goodness with our friends Josh, Jessica, and Vinnie.

Backstory: all the pics that Nikki and I have been posting over the summer have brought some people out of the ether to see what going on. Josh is the breakfast chef at La Bastide. He has cooked for Tiger Woods. He is obsessed with pizza and cycling. Needless to say, we get along swimmingly.  Jessica is his wife, and Vinnie is a buddy who rolls into town periodically that we like to have over to chow down (he's training for an Iron Man, so he's never met a calorie he didn't like.)

Josh and Jess showed up late afternoon with what can only be described as an incredible amount of homemade pizza dough (Jess had another description, but we like to keep in PG here, so use your imagination. It was A LOT OF DOUGH). The labors began (I gladly took a foreman's role in the process, by which I mean that I sat there, drank a beer and generally tried to keep the conversation lively. Hey, you do what you're good at!)

 

The results, were, ummm, NOM-tastic.

Pie #1:Hawaiian style w/ real (i.e. really expensive and tasty) prosciutto, pineapple, and cilantro

Pie #2: Buffalo chicken (Cholula was the base sauce)

Neither stood a chance, but here they are, presented artfully and with primo product placement from the hopefully-soon-to-be-sponsor of Yummy NOMs, Sierra Nevada.

Man, that was good.

For dessert, what else, but strawberry, blueberry, and rhubarb dessert calzone!

After that, we were completely wiped out, and made every body leave, as we had an early wakeup call the next day. How early, you ask?   

EARLY.

Thanks to Josh, Jess, and Vinnie for participating in the first ever YNHPF! It will surely happen again many more times in the future!

Coming tomorrow, we take it to another level with An Epic Labor Day Weekend (Part 2):

THE GIRO DI TEDD

Stay hungry, friends. NOM!

Summer of NOMs: Requiem for a Season

So, it's time we focused on the really tasty stuff. Nikki and I have been posting what we call "food porn" for a few months now. So in honor of the end of summer and in the spirit of getting this up to date, back to neutral, and the engines recharged, we at Yummy NOMs present to you a photo essay of this summer most NOM-tastic moments. We hope you enjoy, and that you leave hungry:

NOMs at Home

Paella:  lovely recovery dish after a long ride, and surprisingly easy to pull off. This one is standard Paella Valenciano (w/ chicken instead of rabbit, alas, but it was still good).

 

It's an actual law that you must consume Paella with hearty red wine, preferably of Spanish persuasion:

Grilled Garlic Shrimp w/ peppers and onions and Spinach Salad w/ fresh berries. Lovely light meal.










Savory Broccoli Saute Beef Tenderloin, Ginger, White Onion Stir-fry w/ Soba Noodles (take THAT P.F. Chang's!)

Fancy Dinner Date at Home (Nikki went nuts here)

The Menu










Prosciutto con Melone with 2006 Elyse Morisoli Zinfandel

 

Garlic Marinated Carolina Shrimp w/ grilled veggies and 2007 Cakebread Cellars Chardonnay 

Ciao Bella Chocolate & Espresso Ice Cream with Raspberry Rugulach
 









The Pizza Gambit: an ongoing Sunday tradition that is fumbling towards perfection

First attempt: homegrown 'maters (technical term) and basil pesto w/ fresh mozarella and sausage.

Pre-bake: 

Post-bake:







Second attempt: this time with pepperoni goodness:

 

 
The Buffalo Chicken Explosion: no explanation needed:

Anniversary NOMs: Courtesy of Northampton Wine Cafe

Alaskan Halibut Filet

 
Maine Scallops w/ Couscous Pilaf Pomegranate Sauce

White Chocolate Croissant Bread Pudding (note: it fought valiantly but didn't stand a chance of holding out before the pic was taken. Alas this was all that was left before it was finally finished off)

 
Chicago NOMs

Tasty Spanish goodness from Nacional 27 in Chi-town

 

The Chicago Dog at Wrigley: Perfection in tube form 

 

... and that's all I have the strength for now. If you're not hungry, you're not human. Happy Labor Day weekend to everybody who's in the States. Be careful. Have fun, and chow down on some Yummy NOMs this weekend!

The Yummiest NOM: Victory (or an Ode to George Hincapie)

Disclaimer: I am a relative neophyte to cycling. I wouldn’t even call myself a cyclist, but rather a bike rider. Cyclists are serious, shave their legs, race their bikes regularly, and have long conversations about wattage, embrocations, interval workouts, and many other things that I don’t understand. I’d been a casual fan (i.e. I watched the Tour de France, and that’s it) of cycling for a while and an occasional mountain biker for a couple of years before I took the plunge and made cycling a part of my life a little less than a year ago. Since then, I’ve been sucked in by a fascination with the sport and an addiction to the experience. So, what follows here is not authoritative, or even that informed. It’s merely the opinion of a guy…
Disclaimer 2: I’m incredibly competitive by nature. So much so that I avoid competition so I don’t feel the pain of losing. My hatred for losing knows no bounds. I want it to die, slowly… Painfully. I’ve experienced true sporting victory once in my life: a tennis doubles tournament from when I was in high school.That’s it. I’ll probably never experience it again except through my kids, and that’s a maybe.I can’t even play tennis anymore because I get too frustrated when I can’t play like I used to. Yes, it’s stupid, but it’s self preservation. Now, think about the elite cyclist. They're the best in the world at what they do, and they ALMOST NEVER win. It’s a sport dominated by a select few, supported by what to the casual fan are anonymous masses of domestiques and specialists. This gushing piece is about one of those seemingly anonymous guys who is so dang good that he has risen above.

Call me a fanboy. Call me a homer. Call me a wannabe. I don’t care. I saw something spectacular this past Sunday. I saw a town get behind a beloved son, will him to the finish line, and then have a collective group hug when he got there first. I saw a man overcome a frustrating year to cap it off with an all-too-rare win and then wrap himself in his family as he soaked it all in. I saw Victory, the tastiest of all NOMs, be consumed by a most deserving recipient…


In what, in my eyes, hasn’t happened enough, George Hincapie won this past Sunday. Don’t get me wrong: George has won PLENTY of races, this one being his record-tying third Stars and Stripes jersey. He’s in the 99.9999th percentile in terms of his athletic abilities and cycling skills. He is without doubt one of the greatest American cyclists of his generation, but that’s not what he is known for. George is one of “those guys” that we all love. He brings the lunchbox every day, works hard, gets the job done, happily does the glamor-free work, and makes his team better in every way. Then he comes back, day after day, to do it again. He is nice. He is stoic. He always delivers.

In my brief time in cycling, I’ve found that many cyclists can be a fickle bunch, which makes it even more astounding that George is not only universally liked in the sport, but revered. Seriously. Try to find somebody badmouthing him. They don't exist.

Now, stack that up against Lance Armstrong. He’s a polarizing figure in that as much as people respect his prowess on the bicycle, many can’t stand how he did it. Armstrong brings out strong emotions in people. He is a force of nature, no doubt, but any Lance love comes with at least a little guilt that your pulling for the class bully. (Note: I say all of this as an unapologetic, unabashed Lance Armstrong fan. I wear his wristband, read his books, follow him on Twitter, and do my best to raise as much money as I can for the Livestrong cause. Lance is Lance, and I love him for it.)

Compare what has made these two men what they are and drives their success:

• Lance Armstrong: laser-like focus, unparalleled willpower, killer instinct, an indomitable spirit, and an ego the size of Texas
• George Hincapie: dedication, commitment, hard work, altruism, and an understanding of what it takes for a team to bring a winning rider to the finish line

Both are admirable in their own way, but which can you relate to more? I thought so.

And then there’s this: would one exist as he currently does without the other? For every Michael Jordan or Lance Armstrong, there are countless Steve Kerrs, and George Hincapies. MJ needed Kerr to hit that 3 against the Jazz in ‘96, and Lance needed George to protect him in the flats and pull him in the mountains throughout those 7 Tour victories. I love those lunch pail guys. I’m a huge fan of both groups, mind you. It’s just nice to see someone from the latter group get the brass ring.

Let it be known: the Stars and Stripes jersey is far from the most prestigious prize in the world of cycling. Other than soccer, it’s the most euro-centric sport I know of in that everything that matters comes from, and occurs on, the Continent. I’d be willing to bet that even Hincapie himself, with a gun to his head, would easily take his mountain Tour stage win on the Pla d’Adet over all three USPro road race jerseys he has now amassed, which makes the emotional nature of this win so interesting. To understand it, let’s rewind through a couple parts of his year to date:

Paris-Roubaix: an ill-timed flat keeps George out of contention, robbing him of the one race that has haunted him and the only thing missing from his impressive list of palmares. He was pissed after that race, but at least that time it was fate that intervened. On the other hand…

The Tour de France: in what will forever now be deemed in this space as the TdF Screwjob, George jumped into a breakaway in the 14th stage and had a chance at a day in the Yellow Jersey. Only, depending on who you ask, one rival team or the other got petty and decided to work just hard enough to keep him out of Yellow. Pissed doesn't even begin to describe George's state of mind after that slap in the face. More like abject despair and disbelief. Oh, and he broke his collarbone with several stages to go… Then he finished the dang race anyway. A hard man, indeed.

That was it for a while. No more racing. Only rehab. Fast forward to Sunday… One of the teams that may or may not have hosed George in the TdF Screwjob brought a juggernaut team to Greenville with the goal of, once and for all, declaring dominance on USA Cycling.

George, he had Craig Lewis, who had the swine flu. George won anyway. (Note:Craig rode a courageous race, breaking up the peloton on Paris Mountain, before dropping off. Expect great things from him in the future.)

George is well known to be a low-key, unassuming guy. He “knows his role,” and he sticks to it, mostly, but there's more than meets the eye. For an interesting perspective, watch “A Ride with George Hincapie,” and you’ll see something else under the surface: white hot passion. He wants it just as bad as anybody else. He just typically goes about it in a different way (i.e., playing the domestiqe, leadout, etc.) Sunday was different. He was the man, and you could tell he was enjoying it. When he crossed the line, he was declaring territory. This was HIS race.


Two images come to my mind, one of which I witnessed:

1. On the podium George focused on all the family that were there which would better be describe as a clan, or a phalanx. There must have been 50 of them, and each one was as happy, if not happier than George was. It was beautiful. He was beeming, and was quite literally having the time of his life as he showered himself, his competitors, and the crowd in champagne.
2. As told to me by my buddy Fu, who was lucky enough to be a volunteer in the right place: when George finally came to a stop, he sat down on a curb. Fu did his best to make sure George had room with the mob crowding in around him, but George couldn’t get enough of it. “He just soaked it up and reveled in what was happening around him.” Fu told me that he just sat their, shredded, and soaked it all up like a sponge. Ricardo, George’s dad, was with him on the curb. After catching his breath, finishing the last water bottle and tossing it into the crowd, George draped himself on his dad as if to say “this is what it’s all about.”

The rest of us just went nuts and cheered on as our hometown boy got his due. One word kept popping up to me: vindication.

All in all, it was a great culmination to George’s racing year. That night he tweeted that he opened a bottle of Dom when he got home. He then went up to Queens to watch the US Open with his wife Melanie and Craig and his wife Courtney, before coming home and “Having dinner with 25 of my family members from Columbia. Fun stuff.” (twitter). I’m sure that there were quite a bit of victory NOMs consumed by the Hincapie clan in the past 72 hours. Knowing the Colombian culture it may go on for a while, and that, friends, is a very good thing.

The interesting twist this was last race he’ll ever ride for High Road**: the winningest team this year and one that he helped pull out of the mire that was the T-Mobile team while acting the elder statesman by bringing young riders like Mark Cavendish and Edvald Boasson Hagen to the center of the cycling stage. Columbia and HTC will not get the domestic bump from having the Stars and Stripes jersey associated with their brands. Now, he’s going to BMC, who has risen from the ashes of Phonak and Floyd Landis*, to ostensibly try and take them to the next level as well. However, all business is not settled. With the signings of Ballan and others, I smell a classics campaign and a chance for George to finally capture his unicorn: Paris-Roubaix.

So, we here at Yummy NOMs would like to recognize Mr. George Hincapie as our first recipient of the soon-to-be prestigious Yummy NOMs seal of approval. I’m sure this will go into the trophy case right next to the USPros, the yellow jersey, and the Pla d’Adet win. Good on ya, George!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to load up on Team BMC gear (have you SEEN those kits?). Speaking of which, BMC makes some killer bikes. Anybody got an in for a team frame for a fanboy? 58 cm would do nicely…

NOM!


*Note/update/correction: according to Scott Nydam, who would know, since he races for BMC: "Team BMC was originally thought up as feeder team but didn't get go ahead until after Phonak demise. Nothing in common but Rihs' good heart" (twitter). So, there you go. My second blog post and I've already told a falsehood.
** Note/update/correction: well, George threw me a curveball and is racing the Tour of Missouri with Columbia/HTC. Falsehood #2, but I'm leaving it on their because I like that section