The Ritte Van Vlaanderen Cycling Team

RITTE WAS CONCEIVED IN THE BACK OF A BIKE SHOP ON A PILE OF OLD TUBULARS. HE WAS BORN AT THE TOP OF THE KOPPENBERG, IN A FEED TROUGH, IN THE RAIN. HE GREW UP TO BE THE TOUGHEST, SMACK-TALKINGEST BIKE RACER TO DRINK HIS WAY THROUGH THE CLASSICS. THIS IS THE ONGOING STORY OF RITTE’S TEAM.

We in Southern California lack a certain personality that should be the defining characteristic of the bicycle racer. The sun’s warm rays have worked their fingers through the vent holes of our helmets and massaged our well-groomed scalps, lulling us into a tranquil contentment with an endless procession of business park crits and no-drop group rides. Meanwhile racers in other parts of the world are coating their entire bodies in lanolin, rubbing pesticide soaked mud into their eyeballs and climbing cobbled 20% grades until their chains snap through sheer force of will.

None of us may ever be so badass, but it is time we turn the pussy dial down to at least 6 and start acting like god damn bike racers. Welcome to Ritte.