The Radavist

In the heart of New York City, where towering skyscrapers cast their imposing shadows, a hidden haven of summer grass, plastic cones, makeshift barriers, and camaraderie emerges every Wednesday evening from late August to early November. Randall’s Island, a patch of green in the midst of New York City’s concrete jungle, becomes an unlikely sanctuary for cyclists of all kinds seeking the ever-so-special and thankfully still alive-and-well discipline called cyclocross.

Continue reading Angelo Calilap‘s account of NYC’s longstanding ‘cross practice hosted by King Kog accompanied by a wonderful image gallery from Andres Cevallos…

Here I am again, writing about a World Championships experience. This one is just a touch more debaucherous than the last one I attended in early October. I swapped the UCI regulations for one rule to rule them all: if you win you must get a tattoo. Single Speed Cyclocross World Champs is the not-so-underground, fringe, party event that calls itself a World Champs and, in many ways, it is. But instead of (doing drugs) (marginal gains) that make you faster, you do things that make you slower like keg stands, whiskey shots, and hot dog hand-ups.

Amidst the fray of cyclocross athletes regularly pushing themselves to the limit, the unsung heroes of this discipline are churning away behind the scenes. From mechanics and photographers to directors and coaches, the lesser-known faces that keep this crazy sport going are all unique people with their own stories, but not ones you’ll likely hear about in race coverage. So enjoy a glimpse into the world of the people on the outside of the tape – we hope it inspires you to take a walk through the paddock at the next race you attend and look a little closer.

Years ago, when I expressed my aspirations to become a cycling photographer, a very talented friend helped me put things into perspective. “Remember,” he said, “What you are trying to achieve is the equivalent of wanting to be an NFL photographer while living in Japan.”

I knew what he was saying was not to discourage me; he had also worked for various cycling outlets over the years, writing and occasionally shooting with well-known names in professional cycling. His frequent flyer miles were piling up, and it was merely a side hustle. “You can do it,” he told me, “but as someone once told me, you must accept living like a dog.”

The following is a love letter to Cyclocross and in particular photographing cyclocross. During the 2018-2019 season, I was blessed to attend a few races and got a chance to shoot freely and candidly with no one expecting anything from me but everyone letting me in and close. I had no idea what was about to happen to me, under the lashing rain of Overijse, a small cold flemish town, I fell in love with cycling once again, a way I never expected, cold, easy, mind-blowing and everlasting.

“We get to play like kids in the mud but as adults, what else could be better?” – Rebecca Gross

A strange sensation grips the mind when a long drive begins in the darkness of predawn. The city remains still, holding onto its final few hours of sleep, and the highway remains virtually empty. There is a promise in the loneliness of the opening hours of long highway travel. Exits flutter by in the darkness; distant lights of tractor-trailers and roadside oasis’ are the only possible signs of life beyond the confines of my car. The falling snow has narrowed my concentration to the reflecting lines on the asphalt as I navigate south and west on my way to Fayetteville, Arkansas, for this year’s Cyclocross World Championships.