Pedaling furi- ously down Hans Chris- tian Andersens Boulevard in Copenhagen, my mind could not pry itself away from one thought: tacos. There are roughly a half dozen Mexican restaurants in the greater Copenhagen area, but I had been sent on the most particular of Hispanic ulinary pilgrimages. Inside my back- pack and carefully wrapped in bubble wrap rested two bottles of authentic Mexican hot sauce. I had been ordered by a friend back in San Diego to deliver these to Taco Shop #1 on Nyelandsvej (not to be confused with taco shops #2 and #3). Apparently authentic taco sauce is hard to come by in Denmark, and I had been promised a taco for my trouble. Since I had a fantastic loaner bike at my disposal and I was in a country where commuting by bike was, as Danish Ironman legend Torbjørn Sindballe put it, “as natural as breathing,” I saddled up and hit the streets of Copenhagen. An hour into what was supposed to have been no more than a five-mile delivery, I found myself staring blankly at a road sign. A kind passerby had advised me earlier that I needed to make a left over a bridge when I saw the tall circle spire of a church. Well, castle-like circle spires, churches and bridges are about as common in Scandinavia as pizza joints in New York City, and I found myself sinking further and further into that weepy, juvenile state I fall into when I’m hungry or lost. I really, really needed a taco. I pulled out my map and looked for Rådhuspladsen, which is the city center and town square of Copenhagen. If I could make it there, I reasoned, I could probably at the very least get some more exact directions. I climbed up and over a bridge, but as I ap- proached the town square I quickly noticed a familiar sign hanging off one of a dozen large white tents: “SPECIALIZED BICYCLES.” I pedaled closer and saw more and more of them: “SCOTT,” “BLUESEVENTY,” “SRAM.” I had stumbled upon KMD Challenge Copenha- gen’s triathlon expo right there in the busiest part of the city.