Joshua Farr is team director of TVC Racing. Photo: Jim Merithew/Element.ly
Joshua Farr owns a bicycle team called the Volcano Cycling Club. It took quite a few starts, stops and track stands, but “Fish,” as his friends call him, has finally found his sweet spot.
Farr was born in Vallejo and moved to the East Bay in 2006. That’s where his twisty story begins. He says the first major step happened when he bought a fixie and started exploring the roads in Berkeley, Oakland and Alameda. Eventually he met some other people who also road bikes. Then he got a job at a bike shop. He attended Interbike. He built bikes in his studio apartment. He worked for a startup. He fell in love with bike industry. He shot video. He “threw” some races. He started a social media company. He worked for a bike messenger company. He held some shindigs. He made photographs. He attended Interbike a couple more times. Then he lost his job at the start up and the bike thing kinda fell apart.
In an attempt to find his spot within the bicycle industry again, Farrar hooked up with Tobie, from Wheel Talk Road, at the end of 2013 and they decided to go all in and start a bicycling team that became the Volcano Cycling Club. By the end of this past season, the team had grown to 30 road racing members.
“2014 was just incredible,” Farr says. “Every race was an amazing experience. We went everywhere.”
As team owner, Farrar, fills water bottles, shmoozes the sponsors, and works on building family amongst the team.
Jim Merithew/Element.ly
“I’ve never seen so much happiness,” says Joey Curtaz, owner of Pursuit Bicycle, a sponsor of TVC and longtime friend. “It’s the start of such an awesome cycling group. He spends effortless hours. He is as kind-of-heart and genuine as they come.”
Farrar attended every single race of the season and it’ll be the same down the road.
“We’re making it happen with what we have,” Farr says. “I invest as much time in them as people, as I do as cyclists.”
I asked what his biggest hope is for the next season.
“In 2015, success looks like we continue to have the success we had in 2014. And I want to draw a salary. I want to be able to say this is my job,” Farr says.
He realizes, however, that earning any kind of real money is a big step for year two. So even if it takes a little longer, he’s fine with that.
“My parents taught me that if you have a dream, than that’s what you’re supposed to do,” he says.
Fall and early winter are hands down my favorite time of the year. But making the transition to the cold after a long and sultry summer can be an undertaking. The challenge where I live is figuring out how to dress for changing and unexpected conditions. As the leaves start to fall, and pumpkin flavored products invade supermarkets and brewpubs, I am usually wearing my Ibex Breakaway II Hoodie.
The wool blend jacket pulls more than its own minimalist weight, and has an unbelievable balance of warmth, wind resistance, weight and breathability. The jacket is sewn in Canada from a magical material that Ibex calls ClimaWool. You can toss it over a light baselayer and head out on the bike when it’s 45 degrees. It breathes well enough to keep on during uphill efforts, and stays warm on the downhill.
For hiking and other activities it serves well on its own, sheading light rain and insulating like only wool can. While others in my group are layering up or down, the Ibex stays on, regulating remarkably well. On colder, wetter days, it’s a great middle layer.
At just over a pound, I never hesitate to throw it in the pack. The light hood fits under a helmet and has saved my poor ears on more than one occasion. The cut is just a little short for my long torso, so it would be nice to have a little more tail when on the bike, but that’s my only caveat.
The exterior layer is Cordura and holds up well with no signs of wear in its second hard season. Like most wool products, it stays stank free after multiple wearings, so all through the fall it gets to go to social gatherings too, standing around in backyards around warm fire pits with friends, sampling a myriad of pumpkin products.
I received my Garmin Edge 1000 literally hours before hopping on a jet plane to Italy and had just enough time to downloaded the Garmin bundle that included that country’s maps. It was a struggle to figure out whether the maps were actually loading, so I was escatic when I fired the computer up and there they were.
During the first three days of my solo bike adventure I punched in a ride distance and the Garmin spit three possible routes back at me. Then based on a little Strava research, I would make a decision.
It all worked flawlessly. I’m not familiar enough with the roads around Florence to know whether I missed any great routes, but I can say I loved the shit out of riding in the Tuscan countryside all by myself without worrying about getting lost.
On my final day I wanted to do something epic and chose a 70-mile route with 10k in climbing rolling right by the Vallombrosa Abbey. I just put Vallombrosa into the Garmin’s Route Planner and it gave me a breathtaking route through the stunning hills south of Florence. I was sold.
Photo: Jim Merithew/Element.ly
At first I thought the bigger screen on the 1000 was obnoxious, but then I realized that like my new iPhone 6 plus, bigger is better. On older generations the touch screen didn’t work well with gloves on. Now it’s a breeze.
The device has all the data power of other Garmin models: power, speed, cadence, heart rate, etc. Plus it’s a riding partner who knows most of the smart ways home. I could have hooked my “smartphone” up to the Garmin and gotten my text messages and phone call notifications while riding. But I figured there was already enough going on.
The only drawback is battery life. All those helpful tips suck juice. And let me tell you, there is nothing more annoying than being 30-miles from your Italian flat and having your riding partner suddenly announce that its battery is running low and that you might not make it home. Luckily, on my longest day, the 1000 sucked it up and road me home safe and sound.
Here in New Mexico we’ve gotten blanked for the past couple ski seasons. The snow has been underwhelming to say the least. Maybe not as bad as Tahoe, but still pretty pitiful. That’s why, at least a couple times each year, a group of us make the trek up to Wolf Creek Ski Area in southern Colorado.
Located just outside Pagosa Springs, and a manageable drive from New Mexico, Wolf Creek has the highest average of annual snowfall of any ski area in Colorado (430 inches), which is saying something. They pull it in because the area is located high up in a section of the San Juan mountains that’s the first barrier for certain subtropical storms moving across the country. When things are bad everywhere else, they’re usually good, if not fantastic, at Wolf Creek.
Such was the case last week. The area is already mostly open, and when we showed up it had just snowed four inches. We weren’t getting face shots, but four fresh inches in November, on your first ski day of the season, is nothing to complain about. Plus, there was almost no one there, which meant we had as much fresh snow as we wanted. There are no major developments at the base of Wolf Creek, so the crowds are manageable, even during peak season.
Although, that might soon change. The day before we went up to ski, we heard that The Village at Wolf Creek development plan was one step closer. The Village, which has been in the works for years, would be located somewhere near the ski area and include 1,200 hotel rooms, 130 lots for houses, and 1,660 condos, plus 220,000 square feet of retail space. Needless to say, if the Village is eventually built, Wolf Creek’s character—and fresh snow—will never be the same.
For now, however, Wolf Creek continues to be my, and many people’s favorite, consistent stash. It’s been a couple days since it’s snowed, but I hear that later this week a storm is rolling in. I’ll be at work, but if you’re lucky enough to be in the area, there’s no doubt it will be good.
I’ll admit it. I love packs. I have more than a dozen stashed in various spots. Packs for climbing, skiing, backpacking and four different hydration packs for mountain biking. There’s even a handful in the garage that have been retired, typically with blown-out zippers, that I can’t bring myself to throw away. I know, it’s ridiculous. But I like packs. Both the carefully thought-out, yet simple design of a quality pack, and the wonderful way it hugs your back and makes the pounds seem somehow lighter—even at the end of a long day.
Oddly, this pack obsession has not extended into my work life. I’m a photographer but don’t have many camera bags that I use to haul into the mountains. Typically, I just toss a camera into whatever pack I’m using anyway, nestling it on top of climbing gear or tucked behind a shovel. This has worked great—except for mountain biking. Professional camera gear is heavy and carrying a loaded pack while mountain biking sucks. Waistbelts are ineffective for load-bearing while hunched over the bars, so the shoulder straps dig into your shoulders on the climbs. And the pack tosses you around while descending, which means you’re just trying to survive instead of enjoying the ride.
F-stop doesn’t bill the Kenti as something designed for mountain biking photographers, but it seems almost tailor-made for that job. The 25 liters of capacity are easily accessed through two pockets on either side of the pack. Both sides are customizable, and I set mine up to carry a body and one lens on the left side and two extra lenses on the other. This allowed me to blast ahead on the trail, unclip the waist belt, drop the right shoulder strap and quickly pull my camera out without having to remove the whole pack. It snugly held my Canon 5D Mark II, and my 16-35/2.8, 24-70/2.8 and 70-200/2.8 lenses, and the body fit into one of the pockets with any of those three lenses mounted (side note: don’t try to bring hoods for the two longer zooms because that makes them too long).
The top of the pack is a roll-top closure to hold your non-photo gear and it easily holds lunch and an extra layer or two. I’m not a fan of roll-tops generally. Aside from dry bags, they seem more like a hipster affect than anything really useful. I find them slower to get into than a zipper, and not as functional or customizable as a top loader. But in the case of the Kenti, it didn’t bother me much and did make it easier to shrink or expand the top as needed.
Crucial for mountain biking, the back panel has a dedicated hydration bladder pocket. The pocket is functional, but has its drawbacks. First, a 70 oz bladder is the largest I could fit, and even that was a tight squeeze when the pack is fully loaded. There’s no way a 100 oz will fit, and when the 70 was full, the back panel was rounded and uncomfortable. After a few drinks, it shrank to a more comfortable shape. Second, for some odd reason the bladder hose exits the pocket halfway down the side of the back panel and you need to thread the hose through two elastic loops on the side before it reaches the shoulder strap. This makes no sense to me because most hydration packs have the hose exit at the top straight onto the shoulder strap.
However, the Kenti won me over completely in the one category that really matters—comfort. I spent many days wearing this pack loaded with camera gear plus the food, water, and tools you need on every ride, and it was by far the most comfortable pack I’ve ever used for this purpose. Hours of climbing did not leave me with sore shoulders and the pack stayed tight to my back on everything from twisty long descents to doubles at the bike park. A day on the trails no longer turned into a slog and I was able to confidently carry a full complement of camera gear.
The typical Thanksgiving and Christmas spreads include a number of calorie bombs—stuffing, mashed potatoes gravy, macaroni and cheese, casseroles, etc. Fat, oil, carbs, repeat. I don’t have any scientific proof to back this up, but I’m guessing no one has ever set a PR on the day after either of these holidays.
That’s what I was thinking several years back when I found myself in late November with a half marathon just around the corner. Fearing a major setback in my training, I went on a mission to find lighter fare that I could bring to family gatherings. After an obsessive amount of research and kitchen hours, I picked a couscous salad with dried cranberries and pecans to debut on turkey day.
It has since become my most requested holiday staple, although the lighter flavors pair great with poultry year round.
Couscous Salad with dried Cranberries and Pecans
1 cup couscous
Salt
2 large carrots grated
1/2 cup chopped pecans
1/2 cup chopped dried cranberries
1/4 cup chopped scallions
1/4 cup olive oil (or more as needed)
Grated zest and juice of 1 lemon (or more juice as needed)
1 teaspoon coriander
Black pepper to taste
1/2 cup chopped fresh parsley
1 tablespoon chopped fresh sage (or 1 teaspoon dried)
1. Put the couscous in a small pot and add 1 1/2 cups water and a pinch of salt. Bring the water to a boil, then cover and remove from the heat. Let steep for at least 10 minutes, or up to 20.
2. Put the slightly cooled couscous in a large salad bowl along with the carrots, pecans, cranberries, scallions, oil and lemon zest and juice, and sprinkle with the spices and salt and pepper. Use two big forks to combine, fluffing the couscous and tossing gently to separate the grains (the salad can be made up to this point and refrigerated for up to a day; bring to room temperature before proceeding).
3. Stir in the parsley and sage. Taste and adjust the seasoning, moisten with a little more oil and lemon juice as you like, and serve.
Yield: 4 servings. Note: the above amounts can be doubled without a problem.
I ride my bike to work everyday. For years, until I moved to Albuquerque, I commuted on the train from Santa Fe and then rode a bike up the hill from downtown to the campus of the University of New Mexico where I work. It’s not a particularly steep hill, but it’s long; and Albuquerque’s hot most of the year. Sometimes it’s scorching. I’d often arrive at work in a lather of sweat. I had to keep extra shirts in my office for those really hot days.
I blamed my mountain bike. It was old and heavy and constantly in need of minor adjustments or replacement parts. I saw a fancy new road bike as the only solution. I wanted some super lightweight carbon bike that I could pick up with my pinky and tell my friends, “Hey, look how light this is.” Or maybe a fancy collapsible bike like the Hampsten Travelissimo that could make my daily train trip super convenient.
But, of course, one reason I was commuting with my stone-age bike was because I couldn’t afford a fancy one. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining all that much. Commuting by lousy bike is better than driving by fancy car. Everyday I cruised past people driving in circles looking for parking spots or standing in the sun waiting for the bus. Riding a bike, even a clunker, was way better. But a really nice bike would have been best.
Unfortunately, a carbon whip or the Hampsten were out of the question. I needed an affordable way to get me up that hill and out of the sun. And so I posted my mountain bike on Craigslist looking for a trade. A scientist from Los Alamos responded. He wanted to ride the trails in the mountains around his house and he offered to trade me his old Sekai road bike. Sekai was a small, family business in the 1970s that made solid road bikes and high-end racers in Japan. They imported most of them to the U.S., where they sold them out of their Seattle bike shop, Velocipede, now called Velo Bike Shop.
That’s where the scientist bought his in 1979. Bike makers still make frames out of the same chromoly steel that Sekai used. It’s strong and surprisingly light. I stripped off the old components and converted it to a fixie, making it even lighter. For the cost of a set of Mavic Aksium wheels that I found on sale at my local bike shop, I got a durable, light-weight commuter bike. And it’s a blast to ride, whether I’m charging up the hill on my way to work or cruising over to the taproom to meet a friend. That fancy carbon bike might be better, but for now, I don’t need a new bike.
Here at Element.ly we love singletrack, steep couloirs and the latest in high tech apparel. But we also love great brooks, music, film noire and food.
So, a couple times each month, we’re going to write about what we’re bumping in our headphones on the trainer, what we’re cooking to make us lean and happy, and what books or blogs we’re reading to before we go to bed at night. There won’t be any kind of formula. Just a list of what we think is cool.
Please feel free to make suggestions as well. Tell us what you’re digging and we’ll add it to our list.
The Cindercone / Out of Reception / Van Life
Foster Huntington’s overlapping series of tumblrs document a nomadic life spent traveling the west coast from Oregon to Baja, surfing or skating depending on the waves, and then following the snow when the seasons turn. Adding to the romanticism is the idiosyncratic nature of his updates; this is no series of exhaustive photo-essays full of stylized, self-consciously composed scenes designed to make us jealous. Rather, the minimally-captioned images all feel like inexpert afterthoughts: under-exposed glimpses of tacos on a tailgate or an evening spent fishing the Columbia River. Somehow this all lends it a sincerity that makes the frequent standout shots that much more lovely and has us asking ourselves why it is, exactly, that we don’t have a big garage sale and move into our own rugged adventure-mobile?—Scott Hill
Alone in the Wilderness
In 1968, at the age of 52, Dick Proenneke headed into one of the empty parts of Alaska and built by hand the cabin he would live in for the next thirty years. Fortunately for us, he filmed the experience so that he could edit and narrate this precious testament to the solemn pleasures of industry and solitude. You could almost build a house from the affable, brawny prose of his narration alone, and the long takes of unspoiled lake country call to mind John McPhee’s writing about similar landscapes in Coming into the Country. Especially fulfilling are the scenes of his new house cozying into its first season of snow. This is a great little film to sit down to when winter is close, but not close enough.—Scott Hill
Artisanal Gluten-Free Cooking, Kelli and Peter Bronski
I attribute most of my new Strava PRs to the ten pounds of bread and cheese weight I shed after going gluten and dairy-free earlier this year. This change in diet was not easy, and might have been impossible without the Omission brewery, but it was made much easier by this single cook book. It is the best collection I know of with gluten-free recipes that taste good enough that my family will sit down to them with me, something important to me because any time I don’t have to spend making an alternative dinner is time I can spend being bad at the guitar or getting the dog a run in the park.—Scott Hill
Radiolab—Limits
This time of year, most of my miles are earned riding indoors on a seventeen year-old Computrainer that lives in our guest room during the winter months. We love our old racing partner and all of the oddball courses we’ve cobbled together over the years, and one thing that makes these sweaty indoor sessions even more enjoyable is the chance to indulge in podcasts we have fallen behind on after a long summer with nothing but the wind in our ears. Radiolab is one of the best podcasts going right now in a sea of them, and one episode in particular, Limits has changed the way I suffer for my sport. Explaining research centered in part on the experiences of RAAM riders, this episode suggests that there is, in fact, a way to “will yourself” around the pain in your legs and lungs. It’s worth a listen, and has provided me a kind of Jedi mind-trick I have played on myself many times to great effect.—Scott Hill
Poetry Foundation
Sure, This American Life and podcasts from the Poetry Foundation don’t always have the energizing effect that you might receive from your favorite ultimate workout mix, but they make the experience of sweating indoors and staring at snow for an hour or so a little more enlightening.—Scott Hill
Frankie Cosmos—Art School
Podcasts can’t do it all for us, though. This time of year, it is important to dust off whatever playlists helped us make riding on a trainer possible last winter. Maybe that deadmau5 song no longer has the same effect on you it once did—at least I hope it doesn’t—and surely there are new contenders that can add life to your workout. At less than two minutes, this song by 19 year old Frankie Cosmos is not going to carry you far, and it is not high in the bpms, but it’s so dang catchy and simple and fuzzy that you will be glad when it shuffles into place. Just don’t mind the Bieber imagery in the video. I don’t know what that’s about.—Scott Hill
Nate Adams rides the Grafton Mesa Trail in Utah. Photo: Ian Hylands
Nate Adams near Fort Collins, CO. Photo: Ian Hylands
Brad Cole rides the Niner AIR9 on the Wasatch Crest Trail. Photo: Ian Hylands.
Tracy Moseley waits for Floriane Pugin to start. Photo: Ian Hylands
Chris Donahue and Darren Berrecloth at the Grouse Mountain World Cup. 2001 and 2002. Photo: Ian Hylands
Ron Penney and Tedman Parkinson shuttle to the top of the Full Monte Dirt Farm near Kamloops, BC. Photo: Ian Hylands
Liam Dunn and Cormac Dunn ride the new Niner Bikes AIR 9 RDO at Hall Ranch near Lyons, Colorado. Photo: Ian Hylands
Athlete: All Ride RV
Location: New Mexico. Photo: Ian Hylands
Brad Cole and Garrett Gerchar ride up Stout Trail in Horsetooth Mountain Park near Fort Collins, CO. Photo: Ian Hylands
A little celebration. Photo: Ian Hylands
Location: Mont Saint Anne, Quebec
Athlete: Matti Lehikoinen
Event: World Cup Downhill Final. Photo: Ian Hylands
Eric Porter rides a big metal pipe somewhere in Utah. Photo: Ian Hylands
Carlo Dieckman at Hidden Valley trails in California. Photo: Ian Hylands
Richie Schley. Photo: Ian Hylands
Richie Schley. Photo: Ian Hylands
Brian Lopes gets low in the dirt at sunset near San Juan Capistrano. Photo: Ian Hylands
Brett Tippie rides down an original Kamloops line in the predawn light. Photo: Ian Hylands
Katrina Strand and Brook Baker riding on Grafton Mesa in Utah. Photo: Ian Hylands
A bicycle messenger rides his fixed gear bike through rush hour traffic delivering packages in Vancouver, BC. Photo: Ian Hylands
Richie Schley rides his bicycle near the Solosports Camp at Punta San Carlos, Baja, Mexico. Photo: Ian Hylands
Kirt Voreis rides while shooting for Foxhead. Photo: Ian Hylands
Bicycle trials rider Jeff Lenosky rides his bike up and over old concrete and steel. Photo: Ian Hylands
Athlete: Kirt Voreis
Location: Bend Oregon. Photo: Ian Hylands
Kirt Voreis rides his bike at sunset near Redlands, California. Photo: Ian Hylands
Location: Redlands, CA
Athlete: Kirt Voreis. Photo: Ian Hylands
Cam Zink rides during practice at Red Bull Rampage, in Virgin, UT, USA on October 6, 2012. Photo: Ian Hylands
Ryan Leech. The waterfront in North Vancouver. Photo: Ian Hylands
Park City, Utah—Ian Hylands stands in the high grass above the Deer Valley Resort just off a beautiful Utah switchback with a backpack full of camera gear and a long zoom pointed at a group of willing photo subjects ripping single track. The late afternoon sun is just about to reach the witching hour when the sky turns a rich blue and the sun warms to a golden glow.
If you look closely, you can tell Ian is getting excited. But he’s not the type to let this excitement pour out of him. So he contains it. Like all the great photographers I know, he doesn’t want his excitement to be a distraction. He wants to focus and make sure he capitalizes on the moment, and the light.
Ian is here in Utah because he’s the full-time photographer for Niner Bikes. It’s a good day, and you have to admit, a pretty good job.
“Hundreds of people wanted the job. I went through a lot of really compelling portfolios,” says Carla Hukee, the former Global Marketing Manager at Niner who gave Ian the job.
Here’s how he got here.
Ian was born in San Mateo, but raised in Vancouver.
“I grew up with a camera in my hand, always had one,” he says. “A Kodak Instamatic when I was a kid, one of those weird disc negative cameras when I was a little older and then my dad’s old Nikon SLR in high school. My dad let me use his old Nikon whenever I wanted.”
His professional career started when he sold a photo to Mistral Snowboards in the early 90s. He shot that sport for several years until he got tired of making long, sequential shots of snowboarders flying through the air. So he switched to mountain biking and hasn’t looked back.
He freelanced in the bike world until 2010 when he landed at Pinkbike.
“I’d had other regular jobs and retainers before that, but I think Pinkbike was probably the first contract that I considered a real job,” he says.
In 2013, he got the job at Niner.
“My favorite thing about Ian is watching him work on location,” Hukee says. “Professional dancers have this quality about them where as soon as the music starts, they look like they were formed there on stage, just for that particular piece. The same thing happens as soon as Ian has a camera in his hand. Every gesture becomes so purposeful and his economy of motion produces such beautiful images. It’s a perfect mirror to the athletes he’s shooting.”
Although his job is better than 99 percent of the other jobs out there, Ian will admit that there are some parts of the work he’s not thrilled with. For example, he’s spent a lot of time photographing bikes in the studio, which can be monotonous.
“I think I’ve probably shot close to 150 different bikes on white backgrounds in the past year,” Ian says. “I’ve got that down to a science.”
There is also a lot of event coverage, which is fun, but Ian says he sometimes finds himself wishing he could chase larger, more creative projects.
“Creating is my favorite part of it, but it’s also the part that I do the least of,” Ian says. “That’s what really got to me after shooting an uncountable number of events. When you shoot an event you need to be really creative, but you’re usually just recording what’s already happening, you’re not creating anything new. I’d much rather come up with a concept, and then go out and make it happen, and I like working with other people, making images that hopefully people will remember.”
And so it is with dream jobs. They always end up being part dream, part job.
A perfect day in Ian’s life: “Waking up really early and shooting something amazing against a backdrop of the rising sun, getting a half day of work in and then going for a great breakfast somewhere. Followed by a bit of office time downloading images or video, maybe a nap, and then getting ready for an evening shoot somewhere against a backdrop of sunset and evening light.”
Joe Breeze and Otis Guy can't wait for the Mountain Bike Hall of Fame Museum to be finished.
Fairfield locals Bob Stout, left, and Stan Rosenfeld, center, chat with Otis Guy. Stout and Rosenfeld had stopped by to get a sneak peak.
Julie Furtado's GT sled.
Jimmy Deaton's Yeti ARC.
1981 Specialized Stumpjumper #56.
An early Joe Breeze Breezer.
1941 Schwinn DX "Excelsior" that Joe Breeze saved from an Antioch junkyard.
The Mona Lisa of the mountain bike universe hangs over the sparsely filled book shelves.
Construction continues on the new office.
Joe Breeze inside the new home of the Mountain Bike Hall of Fame.
Their faces light up and the years seem to disappear because the conversation has touched on a subject near and dear to their hearts—descending. This pair has been ripping descents around Marin for almost their entire lives, and considering they’re both more than 60, that’s saying something.
I have driven north out of San Francisco to Fairfax to visit the future home of the Mountain Bike Hall of Fame, and I’m sitting with Joe Breeze and Otis Guy, two of the guys who put the pack in the repack. For those of you who’ve been under a rock, the museum is moving from Crested Butte to Marin. It was originally established in Colorado 25 years ago, but needed a new home. Marin, which sits in the shadow of Mt. Tamalpais, was an easy choice. It is, after all, the birthplace of mountain biking.
While chit chatting I try to get Breeze or Guy to admit the museum should have been here all along. They aren’t biting. They sing the praises of the original husband and wife team, Don Cook and Kay Peaterson-Cook. But they are obviously happy the museum has come home to roost.
Since this pair has been interviewed by every bicycle publication on the planet about their history and the history of mountain biking, I try to ask them about anything but.
Otis Guy.
We talk about the state of the group ride.
“People don’t know how to ride bikes anymore,” Otis says. “I don’t know if there are more Type A personalities?”
How getting older changes your riding patterns.
“I just try to have fun with it,” Breeze says. “I have my places where I like to go fast. I have my fast spots. I might go a little slower between my fast spots, but at my fast spots I’m going all out.”
About their experiences coaching the Drake High School Mountain Bike Team.
“If it was up to me no high school kids would be racing carbon fiber,” says Guy, the coach. “We try not to push the need for fancy parts,” says Breeze, the mechanic. “Just ride the bike.”
Joe Breeze.
I want to know what goes through their minds while they are pedaling.
“I am always thinking about the design of bike parts,” Breeze says. “And frame design ideas. I probably forgot more ideas and stuff then I put paper to pencil with.”
The stories just seem to pour out as they reminisce about working together at Mom’s Apple Bike Shop as young men and their shared love of all things Campagnolo. Guy tells the story about being young and wanting a pair of Campy cranks so bad that he signed up for a science experiment at UCSF involving a bike trainer, exertion and his blood. He recalls seeing the clear tube filling with his blood and then blacking out. He eventually got back on the bike, finished the hour long test, earned his $75 and bought those cranks.
The pair go on to discuss who was a high flange hub guy and who was a low flange guy. They rattle off the names of famous riders and framebuilders. They discuss tandems and steel vs. carbon fiber. They talk about how Joe is still designing bikes and Otis is still building them. They reminisce about records set, rides taken and bikes loved.
They are old friends and I could sit and listen to them all day. But there is work to be done. Things to be built. Plans to implement. A museum to open. So when exactly is this new museum going to open?
