Road toward next palmarés

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[ristocycling]

Introduction

This book is dedicated to my children and family — to the generations who will come after me. These pages are for you. They are a record of life in motion: the rides, the races, the challenges, the triumphs, and the small moments that often go unnoticed. I want you to know who I am, what I love, and how I chase both adventure and personal growth. This is my story, and I hope it gives you a sense of the spirit, the humor, and the determination that guided me on every journey.

Here, you will find stories of freezing mornings when my hands were so cold that a thumbs-up was a heroic effort, yet my torso stayed warm and dry thanks to my trusty jacket. You will read about flooded trails that turned races into a waterpark adventure, and about moments when nerves and fear almost made me quit — but didn’t. As I wrote in one of my posts: “Sometimes you freeze your actions and hope for the best. Well, lesson learned! Act! Forget REACT!”

This is a chronicle of persistence and growth. You will meet the racers I chased, the friends I rode with, and the rivals who pushed me to my limits. You will read about moments of self-doubt, black thoughts, and the temptation to quit — but also about the joy of pushing through, catching up with competitors, and discovering strength I didn’t know I had. “It’s not about how hard you hit. It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward,” I wrote, quoting Rocky Balboa, and this is the mindset that shaped my races and my life.

Expect humor, too. Some races were chaotic, absurd, or simply unbelievable. I’ve crashed over bars, wrestled with malfunctioning dropper posts on mountain stages, and watched my saddle disappear in a surreal chain of events that felt almost like a prank by the universe. Yet even in those moments, I found joy and a story worth telling. I’ve been brutally honest, because life isn’t always smooth, and neither are the trails.

You will also find reflections on strategy, preparation, and mental toughness. How to deal with nerves, how to pace yourself, how to ride in terrible conditions, or how to ride a perfect line while surrounded by chaos. I have shared my mistakes openly: starting too far back, misjudging gaps, or burning out too early. But I have also celebrated victories — personal bests, clever tactics, and moments of pure exhilaration. “I’ll act as if it’s only for fun, but I’ll give it everything I have,” is a recurring theme you’ll see, showing how to balance seriousness with joy.

This book is also about learning and growth. I reflect on limits — mental and physical — and the process of accepting stagnation, embracing amateur joy, and finding satisfaction in effort. As I wrote quoting Gandhi: “Satisfaction lies in effort, not in results. Full effort is full victory.” You will see that effort is the thread that connects every story, every race, every struggle, and every small triumph.

You will read these pages in chronological order: from the earliest races that tested my mind and body, to adventures in flooded trails, frozen mornings, and sunny climbs, all the way to moments of victory and personal breakthroughs. You will see me push myself beyond what seemed possible, and sometimes fail — but never stop learning or laughing at the absurdity of it all.

This book is more than cycling. It is about curiosity, courage, perseverance, and the joy of sharing life with others — friends, family, and fellow riders alike. It’s about the way I strive to be the best version of myself, not just for my own satisfaction, but for the example I hope to set for you. I want you to see that life is challenging, messy, sometimes unfair, but always full of opportunity for growth and joy.

Finally, a word about why this blog ends here, rather abruptly: the story doesn’t stop. It continues every single day. Life itself is the adventure, and the journey never truly ends. Stay curious. Ask questions. Dig deeper. That is what makes life exciting — and that is what makes you exciting for the world around you.

So, dear children, as you turn these pages, remember my words: “It’s not about how hard you hit. It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done.” And always, as Gandhi said: “Satisfaction lies in effort, not in results. Full effort is full victory.”

This is my journey. It is messy, exciting, and full of life. And it is yours now, in part, to explore and enjoy.

— Risto

[ristocycling]

Sykkelenern 2018

Or… rather Duathlon? The water that had fallen from the skies the night before made the race more interesting than expected. There wasn’t much mud — the rain had simply flooded the trails, so it felt like riding through a waterpark on a bike.

I made the usual mistake — starting way behind. But it has its bright side: I could observe who was there and who wasn’t.

That wasn’t the only mistake. I’m polite, sometimes too polite. At a bottleneck, I waited in line to climb a little hill while others pressed past me. I lost sight of the leaders but fought forward, joining a group that was fast enough to make me doubt I could keep up until the finish. Some were stronger on climbs, others faster on trails, but the group dynamics worked.

Then we approached a familiar face — Christian, from CK Victoria. I couldn’t believe it at first, but confirmed it as we passed him. He clearly wasn’t having his best day. On good days, he’s one of the best in Norway. Despite that, I felt strong, realizing we weren’t far behind the leaders. A glimpse of a Norwegian flag ahead showed us who we were chasing.

Christian gave a huge effort, and we caught him — I was grinding my teeth to stay on his wheel. When he ran out of fuel, he dropped back, leaving me between him and the flag. Vegard S. caught up with me later, and we partnered for the final stretch, having lots of fun.

Result: 12th out of 35 in Elite. A good result! I gave everything, no muscle cramps, no major mistakes other than those mentioned, and no nerves before the race.

Next up: Markathriller and then Ultrabirken.

And yes, about my nemesis this year — the nerves. What did I do differently this time? I made the preparations I needed to feel comfortable, focused on normal routines the day before and the morning of the race.

Editor’s note: Tackling a flooded course, catching top riders mid-race, and finishing without cramps or nerves shows exceptional mental and physical control — a rare combination in elite competition.

[ristocycling]

July/2 Short Stories

Furusjøen Rundt

Since I already had a free stay at Rondablikk Hotel, deciding to race wasn’t hard. It was also my one chance to get my first UCI ranking points, based on last year’s results and a quick analysis. Norway’s unusual summer weather made it easier to commit — ride with the BIG boys, once again.

Mentally, I was calm. I’ve ridden this track many times before, it was dry, and I had no hurry to the finish — at least initially. Nerves were present, as usual, but manageable. Thanks to Kerttu for coming along — shared experiences double the joy.

I started with the bunch this time. No holding back — why should I? We climbed the first hill at a good pace, and I timed the gap to the top of the gravel climb perfectly, rejoining the group in the trail/walking section. The rocky, slippery terrain went surprisingly well — no punctures this time! Even the downhills were manageable, albeit tiring. Passing people from the first start gave a boost to my confidence.

The last part, with relentless climbing, was hot. Showers at feeding zones kept me cool, while Kerttu handed me energy bottles.

Result: 18th out of 65, or 14th out of 19 in Elite/World Series. Happy? YES! Time: 4h 6min. Next year, European Championships under 4h? Well… maybe!

(Editors’ note: Holding composure through tricky trails and downhills, passing riders from the first start, shows both tactical intelligence and physical resilience.)

Valdresrittet

I forgot the start time for the amateur class. When I arrived, hundreds were already there — doomed from the start? Not quite. Stubbornness pays off! I worked hard for 6 km, averaging 266w and HR 166, to reach the very front. We broke away into a group of about 30. Cooperation was minimal, so I pushed hard on the climbs, thinning the group.

Three kilometers from the finish, a rider hooked his pedal and fell, disrupting the pace of the others in front of me. I was lucky, sprinted with all I had, and soon it was just two of us. Passing my cheering family gave a final boost — I overtook the guy in front. On the last small hill, he had more torque left, and I finished 2nd place out of 502 starters (excluding elite).

When you’re in the grey area — middle/weak elite or one of the best amateurs — you can choose which class to ride. I needed this boost of self-esteem!

Next up: Sykkelener’n, Markathriller, and then Birken. One day at a time — enjoy the little things!

Editors’ note: Turning a chaotic start into a podium finish among hundreds of riders highlights sheer determination and tactical savvy.

[ristocycling]

#fordijegkan #becauseican #langtur #landevei #blandevei #2tdf #hanksport #sommertid #dobbeløkt #ristoway tester aerosykkel... #granfondo #liveterbestute #shutuplegs #defeet (ved Trondheim, Norway)

[ristocycling]

Trans-Østerdalen 2018

ONE Average temperature on Garmin: 1°C. For once, I had enough layers to stay warm. Held with the tête group until the terrain turned bumpy. I rode with a teammate, who turned out to be someone else than I initially thought — we lost the group. After regrouping with others, we held a good pace, but I lost them again on a fast, uneven downhill. Managed to crawl back to one rider and even leave him behind. Last kilometers flew by, and in the end, I lost about 3 minutes to the winner — not too bad for me. All in all, it was fun!

(Editors’ note: Crawling back after losing the group on a technical downhill shows remarkable resilience.)

TWO Second day started with zero motivation, so I let others fight for front positions. But good weather and decent legs pulled me into a position I didn’t want to stay in. I demolished the gaps and reached the front. Then another gap appeared — my legs had no nitrogen left, so I stayed in the “grupetto” and contributed a lot. Most riders slow down on hilltops; I punished them by holding speed and letting them chase — fun!

A new hill came, and I fell to the rear of the group. Eventually, it was just me and my arch-nemesis, Håkon I, side by side. I knew he’d get stronger toward the end, especially on bumpy terrain, so I ground my teeth to keep up. Never had so much fun chasing before! Halfway down the final descent, I glimpsed a chance to catch Håkon — and I did. The very best feeling! He was cooked and offered a sprint — but I declined. Finished side by side, about 17 minutes behind. Where did we lose time? Probably the weaker group and tactical mistakes. Total time lost: about 20 minutes over two stages.

THREE Mentally, I was a bit healed and relieved. The third day had been shortened from 100+ km to 35 km with 60% trails — easier to tackle at full throttle. First time doing a pursuit race in Norway — yes, fun! Started 30s behind the front guys, 13s ahead of the back. Hung on to a locomotive instead of chasing alone. Trails and hills split the group, but I caught up repeatedly. On the most fun downhill, I lost the group and finished 2 minutes behind.

Completing all three stages gave me a restored belief in myself. Mentally, I’ve let go of chasing the top. My capabilities are framed by reality — coach, team, and more recovery time would help, but that’s not my situation. I’ve accepted stagnation and now ride for fun. Being an amateur feels good.

What’s next? Furusjøen Rundt! Can’t wait :D

(Editors’ note: Completing three brutal stages and reclaiming confidence after tough times is an extraordinary mental victory.)

[ristocycling]

Pogo stick

A day when everything goes wrong cannot be characterized as a boring day. When everything is wrong, you can only smile and say, “to hell with it,” and simply move on. Otherwise, your life is going to be difficult, I think.

Stood up at 5 o’clock, ate pasta, did the last preparations so that everything would be ready for the big day. Went outside… 6 degrees. Rode to the city, to the start, tried not to think of the cold. Tried to move as little as possible to stay warm. It kinda worked. So suddenly it was 7:20 and we were off.

I was determined to follow my plan — ride between 270–290 watts up the hills. Yes, I did set my new personal best on the first hill, but no, it didn’t change much overall. 1.5 minutes ain’t that much — still 10 minutes behind the strongest guy. Downhill was fun, for sure! But then, something didn’t feel right with the dropper post — didn’t shoot up by itself, had to drag it. Rarely a good sign.

Then it hit me. Right into my handlebar, lost control, hit a big rock, flew over the bars, landed partly on my ass and elbow. Nice work, asswipe! 

Next, the Ornella climb. Twice I had to put my foot down because others were on their egotrip — frustrating, but manageable. Reached my secret stash of food — then the dropper post refused to lock. Now I was either quitting or fixing it. Muscle cramps, lack of motivation, every meter felt like agony — now read it again, redneck style.

I chose to fix it. Took off the saddle, dropped a bracket, couldn’t fix it, emptied air, no screwdriver. Hiked 2 km uphill to find kind people who helped me. Went back for the lost bracket, didn’t recognize the place or helpers. Surreal. Found saddle, dropper post, and the cheering roadies. Adapter lodged in the frame — found a fork, explained to Italians, and finally, ready for rock and ROLL. 

Editors’ note: The perseverance here is nothing short of cinematic.

So, to sum up:

Same time as 2015, but now with technical problems, 2.5 extra km, and 60 hm. 6h:30min, 2 hours behind the winner. Not happy. Strava shows no significant improvement. Questions swirl: Am I mentally sore? Was winter training wrong? Do I really want to race elite if I can’t fight for the podium? Or would it be more fun to race amateur and have a chance to win?

While reflecting, I found a new source of motivation… I’ll probably come back next year to ride the 60 km track. Cannot wait! But funny enough, I wouldn’t have won that either — Klaus Fontana and other elites rode it this year. Why? LOL. 86 km is SUICIDE!

Sellaronda HERO always has surprises. That’s what makes it special.

See you guys and gals at the next race :D

[ristocycling]

HERO 18´

Now, the helicopter is swirling above Sëlva Gardena. The village is full of HEROs — from newborns riding around in papa’s chariot to 75-year-olds on two wheels.

t boggles my mind how tough so many people are. I’ve been cycling since 2011, but it wasn’t until 2013 that I started riding more seriously and daring to dream big. In 2015, I raced the World Championships here in the Dolomites — the same race that takes place tomorrow. Back then, I had no real respect — not for other cyclists, not for Sellaronda HERO itself. And I’m not talking about general respect, just the respect you hold for your peers.

In 2015, I thought that with strong will, a solid base, a good day, and mental toughness, you could achieve almost anything. What’s different now? I’ve learned that anthropometric features matter — some give advantages, some create disadvantages. I’ve learned that lifestyle, mindset, and the way you approach life and its mysteries profoundly affect your results. Life in a nutshell: to break through and taste the sweet glory, you have to step out of your shell, shed your skin, and endure the hellfire to reach your potential.

Tomorrow will tell if I’ve reached my potential as a cyclist. I believe there’s always room for improvement, but… there’s a “but.” How much am I willing to sacrifice in the name of learning to dig deep, survive nerve-attacks, and pave the way for my offspring far away in an unknown future? The goal has always been to find my potential in this ruthless project. The secondary goal has been, since the dawn of time, to collect as much knowledge and know-how as possible to pass on.

And now, I feel that enough is enough. I know my limitations — both physical and mental — and yet, I can be proud of what I’ve achieved. I’m already a HERO. Twice.

So tomorrow, and in the days to come, I’m simply going to pick the fruits I’ve sown. The work is done. What I haven’t decided yet is whether I’ll race in the elite category in future races or step down to the amateur class. For those who underestimate the word “amateur,” think again. It comes from the French amateur, “lover of” — someone who pursues an activity independently of income.

Anyway. I hope to have a lot of fun tomorrow — it will always be a challenge. To all the other HEROs out there, including the awesome riders from Trondheim and Nidaros Sykkelklubb: see you on the trails! 

Editors’ note: And may the caffeine and adrenaline be with you.

[ristocycling]

Is that it?

For the first time, I’m sitting at home in Estonia writing this blog. I came here to ride the Estonian Championships in X-Country Marathon. Before even arriving, I got the disturbing news that my cycling licence was registered incorrectly in the system — meaning no Championships for me. Since the tickets were already booked and everything was set, I decided to race anyway. That instantly dropped my shoulders, nerves under control, everything fine… until the very morning.

Can’t really describe what happens in my head before a race — nothing makes sense. I want to quit. It doesn’t feel worth it. That inner fight is brutal. And then, just an hour before the start, a random chat with the chief referee somehow fixed the licence issue, and suddenly I was racing the Championships after all. (Editor’s note: only in cycling can a casual small talk change your race category.)

But maybe the lack of preparation made it worse this time? I’d watched some videos of the course — it looked terrifying. I’ve always been scared of heights, and this race had plenty of cliffside trails. (Yes, Estonia does have hills — flat like a pancake, but with crunchy edges.) I didn’t have a hydration plan, counting on neutral zones, while others had support teams. Maybe if I’d had a plan, I’d have had peace of mind that morning? I don’t know.

I’ve always struggled with nerves before races. One season I somehow managed to stay calm no matter the race — so I know it’s possible. It’s all in our heads, right? But how do you calm the storm? How do you stop overthinking? Maybe it’s about expectations. So what are expectations, really? Some pile of bullSHIT, maybe.

Expectations = how things should be = pretending to be a prophet = religion of futurism = fantasy = ambition. And while I keep telling others to let go of expectations and just go with the flow, I do the opposite myself. Maybe I should start living rather than theorizing. Maybe even drop the ambitions and just try to be the best version of me.

The truth is, my life feels like it’s at a crossroads again. Maybe my mental capacity isn’t big enough right now to handle all the pressure. There are personal things going on, and nothing about the future feels certain. Maybe, for my health, I should take a break from racing. Because the pressure is… unbearable.

During the race, I made mistakes. I rode two hours without eating, just drinking. 29th place was decent, and I hoped it would hold. But then the Hammer fell — hard. I started spiraling into the black hole of bad thoughts and doubt. My body went into “emergency mode” (Editor’s note: not to be confused with “aero mode”).

Then Greete S. — the best of the best — came flying by and absolutely parked me. I tried to hang on, but she was simply superior. I stopped for a couple of minutes, cheered on others, ate three bars, some bananas, even Estonian black bread and sausage at a feed zone (because why not). Slowly, energy came back. I started catching riders again, handing out metaphorical parking tickets to a few.

All in all, 56th out of 125 riders. 50 minutes behind first place, 12 minutes behind the national champion. And you know what? I’m fine with that.

Two days later, after analyzing Strava data, I had to face it — no data magic can excuse my pacing. Started too hard, too soon. Climbed from 32nd to 29th, then the lights went out. My skills on flat, sandy singletrack aren’t good enough yet. But climbs and hills? That’s my territory. I’m not a complete biker, but I’ve fought a fair fight.

In my head, I’m a bit like Rocky Balboa:

“It ain't about how hard ya hit. It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward.”

So, to sum up — I’m not quitting. I’m just choosing to race for fun. I’m done letting nerves crush the joy of riding. That doesn’t mean I won’t give 100%. It just means I’ll do it with a smile.

If you think this sounds like bullCrap, well… it’s my personal blog, not an open forum. If any of it resonates with you — good. Maybe it helps. One day I’ll print all this into a small book and hand it to my kids. Hopefully with a smile.

And finally, credit where it’s due: congratulations to Petter Pruus, Greete Steinburg, and everyone who finished. I’ve raced around 50 events in my life, but this was by far the craziest singletrack marathon I’ve ever done — 85 km of technical terrain! Jõelähtme Rattamaraton truly is a mecca for riders who love the flow.

Next up: the Sellaronda HERO in the Dolomites. Oh wait — not to race. To have fun.

(Editor’s note: but we all know what “fun” really means.)

[ristocycling]

Orklarittet 2018

Another day, another chance, another time!

There’s always something you can blame. This race wasn’t an exception. (Editor’s note: cyclists have a PhD in finding excuses, it’s part of the culture.) I guess it’s the same for everyone — we all feel a bit off before the start: slightly ill, weak in body and mind, maybe some stomach issues, and definitely “average.” All those insecurities just mean your system is on high alert. Your body and mind are getting ready for battle.

So in reality, no excuses are good enough — unless you’re actually bedridden. (Even then, some would still show up for warmup laps on Zwift.)

I pulled myself together and started well. Took my turns, helped the lead group open a gap to the rest. Everything worked perfectly until the first singletrack, when our group of ten split up. And of course, I ended up on the wrong side of the gap — watching it open right in front of me, frozen for a second too long. Not because I couldn’t close it, but because I made a tactical mistake. No apparent reason. Just hesitation.

Lesson learned: Act — don’t wait to react. (Editor’s note: tattoo material right there.)

The result? About the same as last year — 2:17. The difference is that last year the lead group stayed together much longer, so I got a lot of free drafting. Today, I was alone for 10–15 km and still managed the same time. That’s progress.

All in all, I’m pretty happy. 7th place is solid, even though I aimed for top 5. The important thing is that my analysis once again shows improvement.

Next up: Trondheimsfjordenrundt with Hank Sport, then Estonian Championships, Sellaronda HERO, Trans-Østerdalen, and to finish June — Vassfjellmasta Bakketråkk. (Editor’s note: also known as the season’s version of “hold my beer.”)

[ristocycling]

I´m on route...

After the first races this season, I’ve had very ambivalent feelings about how things would go down this year. I kept telling myself — over and over — that I couldn’t be at my best yet because of all the hard training. Still, my head struggled to accept that fact.

Then came Thursday’s monster workout with Magnus. We climbed 2,600 vertical meters — three times up Vassfjellet. The last climb I nearly set a personal record, without even going all in. That gave me a real spark of confidence. Things started to look promising.

Today was Hemnerunden, one of my best road races last year, so my hopes were high. I even allowed my body to recover from Thursday’s monster day — took Friday off and only rode two hours Zone 1 on Saturday. It worked.

The struggle began even before the race though. My power meter started acting up. After a quick “reboot” (battery flipped upside down and then back in correctly — don’t ask why that works, it just does), it sprang back to life. I needed that data today. Or… maybe I didn’t. But it gave me the confidence I wanted.

And then — classic me — I forgot to put on the timing brick. Two hectic minutes before the start. Luckily, the Hank vehicle was parked 50 meters from the start line. Crisis averted (and heart rate already Zone 3 before the race even started).

We were lucky today. Weather was awesome: sunny, +10 to +20°C. About 140 people raced and the level was pretty fierce. I didn’t really expect anything, just aimed for a better performance than last year. And it kind of worked. My legs were good, motivation high, and the people I rode with made it fun.

Still, even though I’m strong enough for the peloton, there’s a long way to the guys up front. They’re just on another level (probably aliens, let’s be honest).

But I’d say I’m on the right path toward Sellaronda HERO, one step closer to my potential. I don’t know when the day will come when I can say, “This is it. I can’t get better without turning pro.” But I do know this: I have no regrets.

Even though before every race I think of giving it all up, I keep showing up. Because this is my DAEMON. This is ME.

I need to keep fighting. And hopefully, one crazy, beautiful day, I’ll be victorious — not over others, but over myself. And maybe then I’ll live the rest of my life with my head held high and only positive thoughts swirling around. 😄

[ristocycling]

3x700hm. 294-295-300w. Time: 33;32:30;32min. Getting ready for #sellarondahero #estonianrider #ristoway #trekbikes #topfuel9 #shimano #xc9 #Oakley #radarev #hanksport (ved Kvål, Sor-Trondelag, Norway)

[ristocycling]

You know your hands are cold when the best you can do to show a thumbs up looks more like a claw 🧊 (pic by: Hilde). At least my torso was dry, warm, and comfy — thanks to the Gore ONE ShakeDry jacket. Best investment in cycling clothing, hands down.

Well. Another lesson learned — or is it? Seems like I never actually learn. I know that when the forecast says it won’t rain in Trondheim, it always will. I know that when it says +10°C, it’ll actually be sub-5°C. And still, I somehow manage to choose the wrong gloves — even though the right ones were literally sitting in my rucksack. I also know that no matter how well I dress for a rainy race, my muscles will lock up, my body will switch from “attack mode” to “energy preservation mode,” and my brain will enter the dark corner labeled “why the hell am I doing this.”

To top it off, racing at the end of a hard training week — after a 5.5-hour ride the night before, finishing at 22:00, and then racing again at 10:00 the next morning — demands a kind of mental power that apparently wasn’t included in my starter pack.

But sure, I like to think of myself as mentally strong, built on a solid base. (Editor’s note: delusion is also a kind of base, technically.)

So maybe it’s time to actually test that strength. Let’s peek into the mind of a man unraveling mid-race:

“200 watts — that’s the top of Zone 1. Wait… that’s all I’ve got?! I’ve trained all winter for this?!”

“Everyone’s gone. I’m alone. I’m the weakest one here.”

“Okay, 330 watts, full gas up this climb. Let’s go!” Result: 240. Zone 2.6. Hell no.”

“Vibeke’s pulling. I’ll take a turn at the front to show some dignity.” After 5 seconds: “Abort mission! 200 watts and my legs are on fire! I’ll just… pretend to crash into that tree. End scene.”

And then the spiral starts:

“Why is that old guy parking me on every climb? Do I even need to race again? There’s a shortcut to the finish over there… should I just?”

Still, here I am — head bowed, respect given. Every racer who showed up today and finished: you’re legends. Truly. If I ever race again on a day like this, it’ll be out of pure respect for you.

I’ve never had a good race in the rain. But I keep trying. Why? Because even when I fail, I find reasons — or lies — to keep the fire alive. Until now, this season hasn’t proven anything yet. But I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again:

The day my results stagnate, I’ll stop dreaming bigger.

For now, I’m still looking forward — to Orklarittet, Estonian Championships, Sellaronda HERO, and FurusjøenRundt. After that, I’ll decide if there’s going to be another year of all-in dreams.

No, I’m not quitting cycling. Not even racing. But maybe — just maybe — I’ll stop spending all my money chasing the next big dream.

(Editor’s note: yeah right.)

[ristocycling]

Takk for flott ritt @furusjoenrundt.no Beklager @amdahlchristian for å ha kuttet deg fra startfoto. Takk for duellen @gard_gabrielsen! Jeg vil få min revansje før året er omme! #trekbikes #Weare #syklistene #landevei #ntnui #bontrager #shimano #rc7 #hanksport

[ristocycling]

Er sykkelen din klar for sommer? Av med #piggdekk og på med nye sommerdekk. #tubeless #tiresealant #bontrager #flashpump gjør halve jobben, helt alene :) (ved Sverresborg)

[ristocycling]

#ntnui på tur #selburunden #vår2018 #liveterbestute #livethelifeyoulovelovethelifeyoulive #smil2018 #2sykkel

[ristocycling]

#kjempenpåtur #trekbikes #hanksport #troll #selburunden #ntnui #ristoway #liveterbestute #garminvector #garmin1030 (ved Garberg, Sor-Trondelag, Norway)

[ristocycling]

Ready for action... New wheels and new frame. Haven't got outside yet with this beauty and I already am in love with this bike. First ride on sommer tires this year. #trekbikes #emondaslr6disc #garminvector #garminedge alt dette kan fås kjøpt hos @hank_sport #hanksport #estonianrider #ristoway read more in my blog: www.ristocycling.tumblr.com (ved Sverresborg)