LO-Fi cycling content
Independent storytelling platform documenting grassroots race culture and the communities behind it
LO-Fi cycling content
Independent storytelling platform documenting grassroots race culture and the communities behind it
latest stories
I’ve worked with a lot of race directors over the years.
Different regions. Different disciplines. Different goals. But one thing always stands out to me the moment I show up on race day: Every race has a personality.
You can feel it before the start. Some races feel more grassroots and raw. Others feel polished, sleek, and fast. Some are quiet and community-driven. Others feel like a full-on festival or party.
However, there is a problem.
Too often, races don’t translate that personality to social media.
I was shooting a mountain bike race. Normally, I rely on my Canon R6 Mk II. It’s fast, accurate, and built for exactly this kind of work.
But I brought along one of my Canon 30D bodies.
A $40 camera.
My challenge was simple:
Could I capture the race using it?
I’ve been a part of more gravel races than I can count. Most of the time, my role is that of a photographer, capturing the moment. On some levels, that sounds exhilarating. While it is a blast, most of my time is spent waiting, watching … and thinking.
Recently, I shot photos at Cascadia Super Gravel outside of Olympia, Washington. It was my first time there. While I’ll circle back around to more details of the event itself, I want to pick up where I left off in that first paragraph … thinking.
Every year, the gravel cycling world turns its attention toward Emporia, Kansas.
Thousands of riders from around the world travel to Unbound Gravel. The event attracts roughly 5,000 participants and generates millions of dollars in economic activity for the community. For a few days each year, Emporia becomes the center of the gravel universe.
It’s an impressive success story.
But I think many rural communities are asking the wrong question.
The question isn’t, “How do we become the next Emporia?”
The better question might be, “What is our version of Dufur?”
It’s easy for small towns to look at places like Bentonville, Arkansas, or Moab, Utah, and think: “Well, sure ... but we could never do that here.”
Truth be told, most communities are looking at the finished product instead of the starting point.
What many of today’s well-known cycling destinations figured out early was something surprisingly simple: People will travel for experiences. Especially experiences that feel authentic, scenic, adventurous, and different from everyday life.
That’s where cycling events come into the picture.
LOAM has taken a few different forms over the years.
It started with coffee.
Then, as my own work and interests continued to evolve, LOAM Coffee eventually became LOAM Cycling Journal. The idea was to create a place for stories about cycling, adventure, people, places, and the culture surrounding riding bikes.
And now it is time for another change.
I am folding LOAM into my personal brand and bringing everything together under my own name.