First impressions

It’s already been two months. On January 7, I met my teammate and new roommate Alex Howes at the Barcelona Airport. We had a barely movable mountain of bags and an expensive taxi ride to Girona, Spain. In the next eight days before team camp in Calpe, Spain, our main goal was to find a permanent residence.

Girona, Spain

Alex and I refer to our first week in Girona as the “dark era” or the “bipedal days.” We had to walk, a lot. We spent every day running errands and didn’t have a chance to ride until 3:00 p.m. — not because we had finished our tasks, but because everything was closed. Don’t forget about siestas…

We rented a temporary apartment during the first week. It was a pleasant but cramped space in the old town. The entrance was just a door between two shops, and a narrow twisty staircase with enormous steps led to our room. The room was a great size — for one person. After spending every minute with one another in close quarters for five days, we didn’t even hate each other that much. This might actually work out okay, I thought.

I don’t remember the sequence of events that led to us finding and moving into our new apartment. There were a few appointments, wire transfers and phone calls. After five days we got the llaves. I wasn’t expecting to have to pay a two months rent deposit and a one month finder’s fee in addition to the first month of rent, in cash. But paying large sums of money made me feel like an adult all of the sudden.

Though the apartment was already furnished, there was still a lot of stuff we were missing. We live right next to a Super Euro, a place to buy a large variety of cheap crap. We don’t regret all of the purchases we made there.

My casa in Girona

It’s now been two months since the “dark era,” and I’m fully moved in and have a few races under my belt. I did the Tour of Qatar, Tour du Haut Var, Le Samyn, and 3 Days of West Flanders. Girona is a great town; the riding is incredible. My life has been a contrast between a relaxing life of leisure and complete chaos. This morning I’m lounging around the apartment. Yesterday I did a five hour rainy race in Belgium, and I’m still picking mud out of my eyes and ears as I sip coffee on the couch.

It’s been a bit of an eye-opener so far. One year ago I wouldn’t have guessed that I’d be racing against world champions and Tour de France stage winners. They have to pedal and suffer just like everybody else, but it’s not hard to tell that they are really good. Obviously they are strong, but they can move swiftly around the peloton in a way that leaves no doubt that they’ve been cyclists most of their lives and have raced 1000 days or more.

As a neo-pro, I’ve had to do some of the less glamorous tasks during the races. Somebody always has to sit on the front while everybody else gets a free ride. Then there are water bottles to fetch. When the big moment in the race comes, your work is done. That’s part of the deal when racing alongside riders who’ve done numerous grand tours and have been racing pro since I was a fifth-grader, riding my mountain bike through mud puddles in Forest Park.