Two together / Camp And Go Slow

I’m sitting on a call with Casey Clark and Sarah Lillegard from their home in Lassen County, California. After some initial technical difficulties, somewhat fittingly these partners in both life and work are sharing a single pair of wired ear buds. With individual small businesses balanced by their brand Camp And Go Slow—playfully self-described as a menagerie of bar tapes, bags, apparel and accessories—our conversation explores how they first found each other as a couple, both the risk and reward of being their own bosses, and how they wouldn’t have it any other way.


cyclespeak
As it’s your morning and my early evening, I was wondering whether there’s a routine your day usually follows?

Casey
We start out about the same but then things can get a little random.

cyclespeak
So you sit down together over breakfast?

Casey
We do. Because we both work from home, we’re pretty much here together each and every day.

Sarah
We have animals so there are morning chores. Letting the sheep out of the barn, feeding the dog and the cat.

cyclespeak
So what time does your day start?

Casey
We try not to set an alarm unless we really need to. But between the sun and our little dog, it’s usually somewhere between six and seven.

cyclespeak
Before we dig deeper into your work lives, can we start with your story as a couple?

Sarah
Casey and I had been in similar friend groups for quite a while. We were both involved with non-profits and art groups in Reno and we shared a makers’ space called Cuddleworks. Casey was making pottery, I had an artist studio, and at some point during this time we’d both separated from our then partners. Gradually we began to realise that our friendship had the potential to be a little bit more than simply friends and that we both shared similar ideas of where we wanted our lives to go. Which, as I remember it, led to a very adult realisation that yes, this is working out very well.

Casey
We’d been friends for quite a while before we started dating. Which is kind of weird because usually you start dating and then see if there’s a friendship.


Click an image to open gallery

cyclespeak
And it all went from there?

Casey
Sharing those big spaces meant we were constantly collaborating on this or that—very aware of what each was doing—and then when we moved out here together, we pretty much continued working in much the same way.

cyclespeak
Was there ever a fear that you might spoil a friendship?

Sarah
For me, there was an odd certainty about where we were going relationship wise. It was check, check, check, all the boxes ticked. And to be honest, I was more worried that it wasn’t going to happen.

Casey
Knowing the way I can process things, maybe there was a part of me that recognised I should be afraid of spoiling our friendship. But in reality it never felt like a concern. It all felt very intuitive and an easy decision to make.

cyclespeak
Leaving aside Camp And Go Slow for a moment and focusing first on individual work roles, I read on your website, Casey, that you’re a bike mechanic (retired), potter (current), and cyclist (passable). So is being a potter a passion, a profession, or a little of both?

Casey
Obsession seems a little more apt of a term. But now it’s my profession, the reason we live where we live, and why I split my time between making pots and running Camp And Go Slow.

cyclespeak
So how did that play out?

Casey
I was working full-time as a bike mechanic, clocking out from the bike shop, and then starting work on my pottery—oftentimes until one or two in the morning—in my studio that was next door.

cyclespeak
And now?

Casey
It’s become an important and necessary part of our small business model. I still love it but I do have to manage my time pretty carefully, produce enough items, and make sure they’re priced accordingly. So you start off learning the craft part of it with all the intrinsic motivations that come with doing something you care deeply about. And then, if you decide to commodify it and turn what you’re making into a business, then that imposes certain restraints. There are a lot of pots I picture in my head that I know I can’t sell. But that’s the trade-off.


Click an image to open gallery

cyclespeak
Same question for you Sarah. With the intriguing reference to you being a small flock sheep shearer with the emphasis on small.

Sarah
In the shearing industry there’s a distinction between large and small flock shearing. And most images that you see on television or online tend to feature a large flock. There’s a pen of sheep in a contained area and the pace is pretty frenetic.

cyclespeak
And small flock shearing?

Sarah
I mainly work with small-scale ranchers or people that have hobby flocks. There’s a lot more focus on customer service which means I spend a lot of my time interacting with the flock owner. It’s not unusual for these sheep to have names, specific personality traits, and origin stories that the owner is keen to share with me. Whereas in large flock shearing they have to make numbers so they’re moving through thousands of sheep.

cyclespeak
How did this job find you? Or did you find it?

Casey
How long have we got? [laughs]

Sarah
I took a wool spinning class and instead of learning to knit with the yarn I was making, I went the other way. Partly because sheep are so fascinating—I’ve read up on the cultural history of sheep and love talking breeds with the flock owners—and because it’s a job with a rural setting.

cyclespeak
Which brings us nicely to your shared business Camp And Go Slow. Which I believe started almost as a joke with a die-cut sticker?

Casey
It was a bike shop gag. And there were only twelve in the first batch of stickers. Literally cut out of some scrap vinyl from a trash can. But I gave them out to my friends and they all thought it was funny and then people started asking for more. Which was when I actually paid $4 to buy some vinyl.

cyclespeak
From little acorns, as they say. And now that it’s grown to be a business in its own right, how do you individually divide up the tasks that help keep Camp And Go Slow on the road?

Casey
One aspect of our romantic breakfast-together lifestyle is basically eating eggs whilst having a daily employee meeting. The initial product development—which is a fancy way to say it—is mostly derived from my bike-nerd brain and then we bounce these ideas back and forth across the table. And because I’ve worked in bike shops pretty much since I was out of high school, I have a lot of friends with small businesses producing various bike-related products and that encourages me to consider what they’re good at, how we can collaborate, and how that might be mutually beneficial.


Click an image to open gallery

cyclespeak
And your role in the business, Sarah?

Sarah
Bike culture isn’t ingrained in my life. So Casey is the one with product ideas and the witty social media posts. But my background in exhibit curation and graphic design helps when we take a concept through to ideation. I look after all the day-to-day digital file components of each individual design and spend a lot of time considering colour palettes.

cyclespeak
You mention colour and I’ve noticed that much of your product range appears to take stylistic cues from your local fauna and flora and an earthy colour palette. And I was wondering if Camp And Go Slow is intrinsically rooted in your present locality or whether it’s actually the two of you and could therefore adapt to wherever you decide to lay your hat?

Sarah
I have strong feelings about this. And particularly the colour influence of our work which I would agree is rooted in the Great Basin where we live. The palette is pretty subtle, it rewards a long look, it’s very seasonal. And I feel at a certain point that kind of infiltrates into who we are and what we make.

cyclespeak
And you, Casey?

Casey
It’s a good question but not one that I’ve ever thought about because I’ve never considered the possibility of living anywhere else.

cyclespeak
As simple as that.

Casey
If you look at how we dress and the way our house looks, it’s pretty obvious that the language of this colour palette is native to us. And that’s not to say we don’t like other languages but we’re not fluent in them.

cyclespeak
I don’t think anyone lives a life devoid of pressure and the occasional calamity. So how do you each respond to challenging times and, as a couple, support each other?

Casey
That’s a big one.

Sarah
I feel like a good chunk of our relationship has been navigating traumatic and stressful situations. When we moved out here, it felt like one natural disaster after another.

Casey
We’ve had some doozies with wild fires and a mud slide that took out our water supply.

Sarah
I feel like we’re constantly learning better ways of managing. Because by nature I tend to bottle things up and get stressed. But Casey can read that right away; obviously I’m far from subtle…

Casey
It’s a bottle but it’s a clear bottle.


Click an image to open gallery

Sarah
So if I’m stressed, Casey will encourage me to spend time in the garden, go for a run, take the dog for a walk. In much the same way as I’ll suggest Casey gets out on his bike or spends some time with friends.

Casey
There are the day-to-day pressures of being small business owners and juggling the gazillion responsibilities that come with that. And we understand that when we do take some time away, whatever project we’re working on will be right here on the kitchen table waiting for when we get back. Which means we work a lot but we understand that trade-off and with it you get a lot of agency.

cyclespeak
And when it’s not an everyday problem but something more potentially catastrophic?

Casey
It’s usually a natural disaster or a weather related problem that just throws everything into chaos. And when these things happen, you don’t go for a bike ride and feel better. But you gradually evolve a response mechanism after going through the wringer a few times. We both know what we’re good at, so we see what needs to be done without having to hash out who’s doing what.

Sarah
During the wildfire—when it was coming straight at our property—my priority was to make sure the animals were safe. And when that moment arrived, I didn’t say, “Casey, I love you, be safe” because I knew he understood how to handle the stress of that situation. But then later, when things were more under control, I did wonder whether it was odd that I didn’t vocalise my concern and affection. But I trusted Casey implicitly in the knowledge that he knew what to do.

cyclespeak
You mention communication and your breakfast-time talks. And I was wondering whether there’s a debrief at the end of each day? Or is everything a little blurred because you live where you work and work where you live?

Casey
The second one [laughs]. We don’t really have boundaries between working and living. It all happens simultaneously.

cyclespeak
Would you like to have boundaries?

Casey
Not boundaries as such. But it might be nice to feel less pressure to be productive and work so often.


Click an image to open gallery

cyclespeak
How does this look in real life?

Casey
It’s rare that I go for a bike ride and don’t stop to take photos for the Instagram feed. It’s rare that I go on a bike ride not thinking about the never-ending list of projects that I’ve got on the go.

cyclespeak
So you’re always on?

Casey
Pretty much but it sounds a lot worse than it actually is. I like being tuned into it. I’ve worked really hard so I can be tuned into it. And it’s a lot more rewarding than spending eight hours a day working towards someone else’s goals.

cyclespeak
But that’s the reality for the vast majority of people. They do a job that’s okay but not something they love. To get a monthly pay check that they spend on their hobbies and interests. Whereas you and Sarah have flipped that and though you might put in more hours, your passions guide what you do for a living.

Casey
It’s definitely less financially secure and the boundaries are blurred. But we’ve both tried to do it the other way and that’s just not how we’re wired.

cyclespeak
I understand the challenges of running a small business—or businesses in your case—and I imagine you put in way more hours than the standard nine to five but can I say that you both look very well on the life decisions you’ve made?

Casey
Thank you [smiles]. And I guess that’s just how we roll. There’s this need to be neck deep in whatever project or business idea we’ve got going on. Which all comes with more risk but a lot more reward when you nail it.

cyclespeak
Does that all resonate, Sarah?

Sarah
I feel like we’re constantly trying to sort out how to communicate what needs to happen and when. And then you add in all the tasks relating to the upkeep of this property. Which means that certain times of the year can be a little intense with to-do lists and calendar notes.

cyclespeak
Those pinch points of life and living?

Sarah
Sometimes in the spring it can feel especially overwhelming when the shearing season adds to everything else we’ve got going on—a lot of moving parts—which is usually when we discuss how it would look if we scaled back one of the businesses. We’ve got this three-legged stool with Casey’s pottery, my sheep shearing, and Camp And Go Slow. Which in reality means that no one business gets one hundred percent of our attention and time. So we do have these what if conversations but we’ve never quite found an answer.


Click an image to open gallery

cyclespeak
Is that because you prefer things to happen organically?

Casey
I don’t know whether making plans or favouring organic growth are mutually exclusive. We’re both very methodical but there are always those moments when things don’t quite go according to plan. Which, if you think about it, is most of the time. And it’s not like we’re typing out little manifestos but we have a framework and then shuffle things around as needs must.

cyclespeak
And long term planning?

Sarah
I think that’s where the organic comes in. There isn’t a ten-year master plan pinned up on the wall because every year there’s some big hick-up. But for me, not having a rigid sense of what the future holds makes the bumps in the road a little less stressful.

Casey
It’s like being on a bike tour. You have a general sense of the direction and the route you’ll be following but there’s always something that throws a spanner in the works. So the flexibility to improvise is a real skill and a lot of what I learned through bike touring applies really well to our businesses.

cyclespeak
Pulling all these strands together and in whatever terms you choose Sarah, what do you see and feel when you look at Casey?

Sarah
There are so many things that constantly amaze and impress. His mind works in a way that is so different from my own. I swear he wakes up, opens his eyes, and tells a joke. Whereas I have to save it up for a year, working it over in my head. And there’s this duality with Casey that, being his partner, I get to see. On the one hand a toughness and sense of accountability that can come across as a little gruff or grumpy. But wrapped up and around that is so much kindness and consideration. Smart, savvy and handsome. Rugged yet sensitive.

cyclespeak
The same question for you, Casey.

Casey
Sarah has qualities that I might have little bits of, but I wish were bigger. In Sarah they’re inflated a thousand times. She’s such a thoughtful and caring individual—it’s just innate—the bedrock of her whole being. Which makes it so easy for me to trust her and that’s coming from someone with an autonomy complex. And Sarah is the only person in my life that I know will do this or that way better than I ever could. Which is a charming thing to have in a business partner but especially in a life partner. It just feels so nice to be seen and taken care of. And I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed that so much as I do now. A little halo of light around my gruff exterior and this might sound a little clichéd but I like myself more when I’m around her.


Click an image to open gallery

cyclespeak
And the best aspects of your life together?

Casey
My favourite thing is just being in it with Sarah. Even the challenging parts—perhaps especially the challenging parts—when instinctively we draw closer to each other. There’s this profound sense of reward that, together, we’ve got through whatever has been thrown at us. It’s like when they say something’s greater than the sum of its parts. We both place a value on the agency of working for ourselves and how we get to decide when and where to focus our time and energy.

Sarah
I really appreciate how we can create ethical boundaries on what we make and how we do it; something I always struggled with when I was working for other businesses. And what this looks like—when we’re developing products for Camp And Go Slow—is a lot of time considering how we’re treating the other makers we’re working with, what the customer experience will look like, and whether there’s a longevity to whatever we’re creating. It’s so exciting to finally touch and feel a product that started out as a discussion over the breakfast table.

Casey
Because our businesses are really small, we don’t have marketing executives and account managers pushing us in this or that direction. If I want to spend an extra couple of minutes on every coffee mug that I make, doing some fussy little detail that most people won’t even notice, I can just do it. We both place a lot of importance in that sense of freedom. And because we’re really into the details of what we do, that’s where we get to do our most rewarding work. And there’s nobody here to stop us [smiles].

Feature image and Great Basin Pottery photography with kind permission of John Watson and The Radavist

Grateful thanks to Casey and Sarah of Camp And Go Slow for their conversational candour

John Watson / The Radavist

They say if you do what you love, you’ll never work a day in your life. Which on the surface makes sense but is perhaps an oversimplification when applied to the world of media? Add in the filter of cycling media and oftentimes things become just that little bit more challenging. The grind as John Watson describes it.

Founder and co-owner of The Radavist—a platform relatively small in terms of staffing but one that punches way above its weight—this curated collection of photographs, features, stories and product reviews offers a well respected and much loved window on the world of alt-cycling.

Conversationally candid and never shy of courting controversy, John takes time out to explore life’s ups and downs: what keeps him awake at night, how his kitchen table doubles as editorial desk, and why, when all is said and done, it all comes back to a simple love of riding bikes.


cyclespeak
I see you’re starting the day with a coffee.

John
My second cup. It’s funny that when it gets really cold here, I just don’t want to get out of bed in the morning.

cyclespeak
So how cold is cold?

John
At the moment it gets down to negative 12 most nights. And that’s Celsius.

cyclespeak
Pretty cold.

John
We’re at 2300 metres. So kinda high up in the Rocky Mountains.

cyclespeak
When you’re home in Santa Fe, is there a regular rhythm—a routine—to your day?

John
If I’ve been away camping, then my circadian rhythm has me awake by five thirty or six. But aside from that, most mornings I’m up around seven. I’ll drink some water, do some push-ups, make a coffee before sitting down in front of my laptop to check whether there are any fires on the website that need dealing with. Then I’ll work on the Radar press release articles, check on my emails, and do some writing until around noon when I try to get out on the bike for an hour’s ride. Once I’m back home, I’ll finish up any features, hit publish, and then it’s time to start preparing dinner.

cyclespeak
That all sounds pretty dialled.

John
We’ve got a good system editorially at The Radavist. Everyone works freelance but amongst the assigned roles, we have what I like to call a foundational editor who combines the text and photos to build a particular feature. Then the copy editor takes a look to make sure there are no grammatical errors before I give it a final check, do all the SEO stuff, and schedule it. Where it can get a little hectic is when me and Spencer are both on the road—maybe in different time zones—but I feel that’s just the nature of being a scrappy, small publication. I think it’s fair to say we’re pretty influential but our physical footprint in terms of staffing is very small.

cyclespeak
Occasionally you share photos of you and Cari at home in Santa Fe. Out doing chores by bike, the recent garden project, your workshop tidy. So what forms your sense of home? Is it rooted in a particular location, the possessions you have around you, or maybe a certain way of living a life?

Home (and away)


Click an image to open gallery

John
Back in 1976, Edward Relph wrote an essay on Place and Placelessness—this goes to my architecture background—which touched on the concept that a house isn’t necessarily a home. And for me, this space I share with Cari in Santa Fe is both a home but also our office. Maybe someday we’ll invest in a separate space to work out of but that’s an extra expense that at present we don’t want to take on. And then you add to this physical space our tendency as a couple to nest. We spend the day working 20ft away from each other which makes me smile because I have friends that complain if their wives decide to work from home and they just can’t stand being in the same space together: they get in arguments all the time. Which perhaps might account for all the divorces that happened during the Covid lockdowns?

cyclespeak
And you two together?

John
I’m just really lucky to have a partner willing to put up with all my bullshit.

cyclespeak
That’s a nicely nuanced way of putting it.

John
Cari is super supportive and over the years has really gotten involved with the website on a day-to-day basis. Perhaps prompted by this being our only form of income.

cyclespeak
I get the occasional reference to it being a financial challenge.

John
It’s working but maybe not on a sustainable level. We can cover our bills but there’s not much left over to add to any savings. And that’s a little scary when you consider making plans for retirement. But house, home, place? I definitely feel comfortable here because it has a wide open floor plan that suits our needs. We don’t have kids and most of the space is filled up with bikes and plants; a bike in every room kind of thing. We bought the ugliest house on the block but then my architecture and construction background helps. Our plan some day is to take out a HELOC loan—which stands for home equity line of credit—that would allow us to extend the house, maybe add a home office, so that there’s some sense of separation.

cyclespeak
Like those individuals that work from home but have a dedicated room for that purpose where they go to work.

John
Cari has a little room. But saying that, it also contains our bikes and ski stuff, her artist materials, my tools. Whereas I work sitting at the kitchen table or on the couch. Which might explain why I tend to head out to get a coffee or go for a ride around midday. I was reading about this physiological study that was suggesting how 15 minutes of riding a bike unravels seven hours of sedentary behaviour. Similar ideas that this book I’m reading at the moment addresses—the Comfort Crisis—which talks about our detachment from nature and the gains to our physical and emotional health this prevents. So even if I can’t spare the time to get up in the hills and off the beaten track, my ride to the coffee shop passes through a bunch of trees which kind of scratches that itch.

Landscape


Click an image to open gallery

cyclespeak
As both you and Cari are so invested in The Radavist—both personally and professionally—would you say that’s a strength because you each intrinsically understand the challenges that come your way? Or do the lines between work, home, the two of you as a couple, ever become blurred?

John
Quite a harsh blurring. And I think this maybe has something to do with a certain mindset which allows you to clock in and clock out. But that’s definitely not me.

cyclespeak
It’s not?

John
I don’t think anyone would want to hire me for a corporate position. I’m not really cut out for the survival tactics that come with all that. Looking back to when The Radavist was part of a larger corporation for two years*, I couldn’t believe how completely detached from reality their internal structure was. It was all about ensuring you still had a job and not so much about actually doing the job. Whereas I see myself—I was born in 1981—as more of a hustler. My parents didn’t come from money, there’s no trust fund waiting for me. Which means I’ve literally got to grind and my entire life becomes my work. And maybe that’s why our readership is so engaged with the site and people feel like they know me even though we’ve never actually met before. And what I find funny is the same thing is now happening to Cari. When we were walking around the Bespoked show in Dresden, I saw how they recognised her but maybe felt too shy to say hi. Which can be a little unsettling because there’s always the thought in the back of your head that you’ve just got something on your face.

*The Radavist merged with The Pro’s Closet (TPC) from October 2021 to October 2023

cyclespeak
I like that people think they know you.

John
We get a lot of messages about the road trips Cari and I take. Maybe because it’s nice to see two people so much in love and who care passionately about what they do for a job. A good, positive story in a world that’s rapidly caving in on itself.

People


Click an image to open gallery

cyclespeak
My wife really likes to talk about her day at work when she gets home; in quite extraordinary detail. So I was wondering where you and Cari sit on that spectrum?

John
I’m an April 23rd Taurus—Shakespeare’s birth and death day—so I’m very analytical and detail oriented. And I can kind of hold grudges a little bit—to say the least—so Cari and I can be sitting in bed and she’ll quite innocently just bring something up and, that’s it, I can’t sleep all night. I’ll toss and turn and it’s not like either of us are in this for the money. So there’s definitely an element of sink or swim which just envelops your entire life. Something we both talked about last year: about setting some boundaries and taking some time to work on ourselves as a couple, to do things that aren’t so work related. I mean Cari’s an artist and she wants to paint. She doesn’t just want to design socks.

cyclespeak
Because Cari went to sign painting school?

John
She’s so talented and it was cool to see her come on board in 2017. To see our merch go from being all drab and desert to actually having colour and typography. And what we have right now is a system where if we’re going over to Bespoked in the UK, we’ll fly out a few days early and take in some architecture and the museums. Kind of like taking an art walk with my camera.

cyclespeak
And Bespoked in Dresden?

John
We spent four days in Berlin before the show, which was fun. But saying that, it’s a hard city to shop in because I don’t dress like the people of Berlin.

cyclespeak
Does this same system also work in the States?

John
Say we’re going out to a race in California, we’ll take Troopy* and make it into a road trip: camping along the way and visiting some of our favourite places. Which is good but we haven’t taken a solid holiday—where neither of us open a laptop—in like, never. Even on our honeymoon—which we spent in France—we just stayed on Cari’s brother’s couch. And I was still working every day because we’re not financially secure enough to have full time people that can just take over the reins.

*John’s 40-year-old Toyota Land Cruiser

cyclespeak
You know, John, I didn’t realise you and Cari were married. I did hear you mention on a podcast that Cari gave you a rock, a flower, and a feather, before asking you to marry her. Obviously I missed the bit about you actually being married.

John
It’s not really something I flag up. And neither of us are very traditional in the concept of marriage; all that ownership bullshit that comes with Christian values. So I guess you could say she’s not my wife and I’m not her husband. We’re just partners—in both life and work—and that’s how we like it. If you strapped me into a chair and distilled every one of my moral and ethical boundaries, it would be more pagan than anything. So those gifts of Cari’s were more her version of giving someone an engagement ring. Objects from this place where we’d been camping for a few days that remind me of the bounty of that area: a beautiful turkey feather, a river stone, and a flower that blooms during spring.

cyclespeak
Are these on display at your home in Santa Fe?

John
Our house is just full of these little things that we find. And we’re both really into rockhounding, always on the lookout for minerals and fossils. Artefacts from previous civilisations— which we obviously leave on the ground—but it’s cool to find a spear tip that was once used to hunt with.

Camera Corner

Click an image to open gallery

cyclespeak
Speaking of the physicality of objects, Cari was principally involved in the publishing of the book Camera Corner. How did it feel for you to see this physical representation of Wende Cragg’s awesome photography put out into the world and know that Cari played such a paramount role?

John
Wende Cragg’s photographs document the birth of mountain biking. So for me, the fundamental core of this project was doing a story about a woman who was so influential. It’s about Wende—her imagery and the stories she’s written—and it’s about Christina Speed who did the book layout, and it’s about Cari who led on the art direction and design. And just being able to release this beautiful dove into the universe—that’s so full of positive energy and was basically created by these three women—was quite incredible. And knowing that dynamic, I really didn’t want to be a part of it. I even had a hard time writing the intro because it’s not about me. I just wanted to be there to help out if I was needed. Which was the case when there was a reference to a bullmoose bar and neither Christina or Cari knew what that was. So, yeah, it was super exciting.

cyclespeak
Creatively speaking, you’re a truly talented photographer, you write balanced and erudite pieces for The Radavist, and curate the most incredible bike builds. So I was wondering whether you’ve ever been tempted to pick up a brazing torch and fabricate a frame yourself?

John
First of all, thank you. But I don’t consider myself a great photographer or writer. I can look back on stuff I shot six months ago and I’m like, this is garbage. And I don’t know if that’s just my upbringing—always being told I’m not good enough—or if it’s seeing other people, elevated on a pedestal, that are years ahead of me. Yes, I can document landscapes and bikes really well but…

cyclespeak
John, I really don’t want to interrupt but when you did your Leica M10 review, those photographs of yours that you used to illustrate the piece were stunning. Beautiful landscapes but there’s a shot of Cari standing in front of some sign writing that’s so witty and artfully composed.

John
The Mojave one? Okay, I agree that shots like that take an eye. How there’s more to good photography than just picking up a camera and shooting something. But I still find I get to the end of every year and there’s maybe three images that I’m really proud of.

Cari


Click an image to open gallery

cyclespeak
I find this to be a common theme with the vast majority of creatives. They can be so analytical and are always questioning how they could do their work better.

John
It’s true that I’m very self-conscious about my photography and I’m very self-conscious about my writing. And I think that’s because I went through five years of architecture school, having my shit torn apart. Like, just relentlessly.

cyclespeak
That sounds pretty intense.

John
I think if half of these, quote unquote, Instagram photographers had to sit down and go through an actual critique in a university, after you’ve spent six hours in a dark room making a print, and then a professor just comes up with a fucking wax pencil and draws all over it, they would perhaps settle for an alternative career. And I hate the word trauma because sometimes I feel people conflate that with being uncomfortable. But that was some traumatic shit that happened, which is perhaps why in the back of my head I’ve always had this—don’t go in thinking you’re good—because your shit’s just gonna get ripped apart.

cyclespeak
And you have similar feelings regarding your writing?

John
I think people respond to the emotion in whatever I’ve written but it’s not like reading The New Yorker. There’s no prose. It’s just very matter of fact. 

cyclespeak
I guess we write for different purposes. And I believe Ernest Hemingway once said that good writing is saying complicated things very simply. But I’m conscious we’ve come a long way from me asking you about frame building.

John
We sure have. And to answer your question, I would love to and I’ve put some serious thought into doing a frame builder course up in Portland. But, at the same time, I also don’t really feel the need.

cyclespeak
No?

John
I think this is—not a problem—but just one aspect of frame building. In the sense that not everyone who’s into beautiful handmade frames has to build one. Like, I love tattoos but I’m not gonna tattoo myself. And I think that respecting the artistry of what frame building is, in a lot of ways allows you to honour the craft.

Beautiful bikes


Click an image to open gallery

cyclespeak
So taking this one step further, when you’re looking at a really special bike build, what are your emotional triggers? Are we talking form, function, or a synthesis of the two?

John
If I was to be completely and brutally honest, right now it’s what makes a bike different from the sea of other things that look very similar. And in America, I think this is part of a bigger conversation. Builders like Rick Hunter—the fucking OG— and Todd from Black Cat are both doing amazing things. But generally speaking, there’s not a lot of innovation happening with U.S. frame builders. And I understand that’s gonna be controversial but off the top of my head, I can think of four or five bikes at last year’s MADE show in Portland that were stand-out different in the taxonomy of a gravel bike. A lot of people in the States are displaying tubes that are basically welded to Paragon parts with an Enve fork and a fancy paint job. And I get it. That’s what people want. That’s what keeps fabricators surviving in the States where there are very few subsidies for people who make things. 

cyclespeak
Was it the same story when you visited Bespoked in Manchester and then Dresden?

John
I see the current state of frame building in the U.S. from a profit-based perspective. Europe is way more innovative. No one in the States is doing what Konstantin Drust is doing. Period.

cyclespeak
I saw your stunning images from the Dresden recap. Really wild designs.

John
Honouring it through photos—when I see something that is truly unique—is why I spend a good 30 minutes or so with a bike that interests me. And the reason I’m going to step away from shooting 50 or so bikes at MADE and really just hone in and shoot the bikes that I feel are innovative and truly representative of the builder. Which is easier said than done because there’s this expectation at U.S. shows that I shoot everything. Some of them thank me, some of them don’t, but at the European shows no one gets upset or writes an email bitching me out for not shooting their bike. No one gets angry that I’m somehow controlling the narrative of handmade bikes because I didn’t shoot this or that bike. In Europe people are just excited that I’m there. In the U.S., there’s this expectation that looms overhead. 

cyclespeak
What puzzles me is that over here in England, it’s not uncommon to see price tags of nine, ten thousand pounds—sometimes even more—on a standard-sized carbon frameset, manufactured in Asia, with a mid-tier group set. Not that I have deep enough pockets to spend that kind of money on a bike. But if I did, the way my mind works would be to ask what that could buy me in a custom frame, built to my specifications, with a one-off paint design?

John
Ashley from Significant Other was offering titanium and steel full-suspension frames from $3,500 which is cheaper than any high-end carbon mountain bike on the market. And I guarantee you that bike is gonna ride way better.

cyclespeak
Not that we’re hating on carbon fibre—people can ride whatever they please—but surely there’s an allure to having something handmade?

John
I guess it’s the way consumerism works in the States and one of the biggest challenges we face with the website. You want to support these people making stuff in their garage. You want to support the innovators, and innovation is expensive. Bikes like the Apogee One—which is around $4,500 for a full-suspension frame—uses CNC and milling to create this bricolage bicycle inspired by a Suzuki motorcycle linkage. Which is why we gave it mountain bike of the year, because it’s the most fucking innovative thing I’ve seen someone in America do. And I think a lot of people look at an $8,000 handmade, full-suspension mountain bike and then they look at an $800 basket bike and they don’t understand the connection between the two. But fundamentally, they’re the same thing.

Architecture


Click an image to open gallery

cyclespeak
They are?

John
A human being took whatever technology was available and assembled something that made sense to them at that moment in time. Which feeds into this sense of identity politics that happens in cycling where your brand allegiance or style of riding becomes your identity.

cyclespeak
But I get that. Because even though we’re all just riding bikes, there’s this tendency to be tribal. Which explains why—from certain viewpoints—anyone wearing Pas Normal can get teased mercilessly. But it’s the same if you’re attending Ronnie Romance’s Nutmeg Nor’Easter. Everyone’s got a bar bag, metal bidons and there’s something dangling from their Brooks saddle. They’re wearing a uniform in much the same way as the Pas Normal crowd.

John
It’s like Freud’s narcissism of small differences. Where similar minded communities will rip each other apart over the slightest differences rather than embrace the things they have in common. And I wholly—one hundred fucking percent—blame social media for this. Back in the early noughties when I was riding fixed gear around New York City, we’d hang out with people on classic road bikes, vintage mountain bikes, guys into BMX. Joe from Brooklyn Machine Works would come out on his downhill bike and we’d ride through Central Park at night, jibbing lines and stuff because we didn’t have access to any trails. And when I lived in Austin, roadie guys riding bikes with an integrated carbon seat post would come out with me on my rigid Indy Fab—wearing shorts and a t-shirt—but no one really cared back then.

cyclespeak
And now everyone cares?

John
Which is so weird to me. Because I just like to ride bikes. All kinds of bikes.

cyclespeak
And why—along with The Radavist—you’re this touchstone for so many people also invested in riding their bicycles. Because I’ve personally witnessed how people greet and interact with you and I wanted to ask how this makes you feel?

John
For sure it’s a privilege. But one that I never really anticipated. Because this all started out of curiosity; back in New York where I saw all this stuff that wasn’t getting documented by mainstream bike media. Or if it was, it was a single image with a couple of paragraphs of text. A scene that I wanted to offer a platform because it was something I was truly passionate about and not something I ever did with the intention of it growing so big. I don’t even necessarily like having myself on the website but I enjoy making content and giving all these different communities a spotlight. So I guess with The Radavist now in its twentieth year, people do recognise me and want to say hi. Something that I take as a great honour.

cyclespeak
So looking back on the young man who’d recently qualified as an architect and was overseeing construction projects in New York City, riding his fixed gear bike, camera to hand; what do you imagine he would think if he could see you as you are now?

John
Hopefully that it’s a pretty good way to live a life. I have a house, I have a wonderful wife, I have a community of people who appreciate me. And I’ve got some fun bikes to ride and some cool cameras to shoot with. So everything on paper is pretty good.

All photography by John Watson (unless otherwise stated) / The Radavist

Feature image by Cari Carmean