About Evan

Been riding fixed gears for the better part of ten years now. Started out on the backroads of Virginia — quiet asphalt, church bells, and the smell of pine and diesel in the air. Cut my teeth out there before the city swallowed me whole. New York — where the streets never sleep and the traffic’s got teeth. That’s where I learned how to dance with cabs, dodge doors, and move like a ghost through steel and steam. Before all that, I was chasing dirt — mountain bikes and trials, balancing on roots and rocks, learning how to stay upright when the ground wanted to throw you down. Those days taught me about control, about grace in the chaos. Been a commuter now for six years straight. Rain, snow, sunlight — doesn’t matter. Twenty-eight miles a day, give or take, all on one gear and a pair of stubborn legs. You start to figure out what lasts — the good chain oil, the jacket that doesn’t quit, the parts that don’t sing until they break. Fixed gear’s got this purity to it — no gears, no noise, no middleman. Just you, the road, and a rhythm you can’t fake. It’s not a commute anymore. It’s a ritual. A little freedom before the world wakes up, and a little more before it goes back to sleep.