Those who have been following me for a while know that my passion for bicycles was born from track bikes, and the work of the person I’ll be talking with today has been a true source of inspiration for me over the years through her builds and photography.
Hi Amy! I’m really happy to have you here on my small blog. How are you doing? I hope everything’s going well over there. Before we start, could you tell us a bit about yourself? Who is A. Danger beyond the bikes, and what do you do in your life?
Hi Emanuele! I live a quiet and simple life here in Portland, Oregon USA. It’s a vibrant city with plenty of activities that keep me engaged and investing my time in building community.
I’d like to start by asking if you remember when bikes stopped being just bikes and became something more for you.
It happened a bit accidentally. When I discovered fixed gear, I bought a bare knuckle and really loved it. In exploring fixed gear culture and components online, I kept seeing the ‘93 Cannondale Track being talked about. I became really curious but had no idea how to find one for sale. It caused me to go deep into the vintage fixed gear collectors world and try and crack the code for finding harder to source bikes. That’s when I caught the bug!
“I ride my bikes specifically to be undisciplined. It’s the one moment where I can step away from everything and just be free.”
What attracted you specifically to track bikes for urban riding? Was it the simplicity, the aesthetics, or the way they change the relationship between you and the bicycle, but also between you and the city?
You said it perfectly. I like the interactivity you have as a rider on a track bike. You can’t just tune out – you have to be aware of the terrain, you have to plan your path, you have to be vigilant about traffic patterns. I love the rhythm and the puzzle that riding without gears and brakes challenges you to find.
Do you see riding as a form of freedom, discipline, or maybe both?
I ride my bikes specifically to be UNdisciiplined. My whole life is so structured: caring for family, doing a good job at work, being a good steward of community, being a good friend and neighbor. Biking is the one time I can step away from expectations, rules, obligations and just check out completely. It’s specifically why I never took up racing – so that it remains a hobby and a joy rather than a pressure. It’s absolute freedom.
As I mentioned, my passion also started with track bikes. What began as pure fun gradually became an aesthetic research, and through this subculture I learned a lot by stepping into that world, observing it, trying to understand its codes and, in some way, interpret them. Coming from an academic background in art and design, I found it fascinating to realize how this culture shares many of the same principles I studied: it’s not only about functionality. When building a bike, you start to think about color balance, harmony between forms, the way different elements relate to each other, and even geometry. In many ways, it feels like engaging directly with art and design. Would you agree?
I am a solidly blue-collar worker and don’t have any formal design education but do have a strong sense of aesthetic. Track bikes are exquisitely beautiful in their minimalist functionality but can be so elegant when you’re thoughtful about how you build your own bike up. I love the personality that it’s possible to develop in a unique build. I find joy in breaking the “rules” – at least I did. I think I started some trends in breaking the build rules that are now commonplace! I also like subtle themes. Nods to historic relevance or mixing components or eras that weren’t commonplace before I started putting them out there.
Do you think track bike culture is also a kind of shared visual language?
Sure! Shared both by an unwitting conformity (there is an enormous amount of conformity in the fixed gear world) but also an exciting personalization that makes us crave looking at other people’s builds. I’ve been in the game long enough to have witnessed it moving from us all sitting around drinking beers gawking at each other’s bikes to the invent of online platforms where our reach broadened. Interesting transition to mastering a different discipline altogether: how to photograph and share out images of our bikes.
“If it’s not special, I don’t bother. I’m always chasing that perfect light, that perfect moment.”
Your builds always feel intentional and never random. What matters most to you: geometry, the feeling the bike gives you, visual balance, or the story behind it?
All of those things, depending on the bike. For some historically significant bikes, it’s historic accuracy. For some, it’s breaking the mould, in terms of building it differently. For some, it’s not even functional, but just a purely gorgeous showpiece. They are all such a joy to build.
Track bikes are often perceived as extreme or niche. What is your vision, and how would you describe them?
I don’t find them to be extreme, but I’m a fairly sensible rider. Maybe if I was younger and less concerned about breaking my ass, I’d be a more “extreme” in my riding. Some of the kids are definitely pushing the limits, but it’s exciting as hell to see the incredible talent of young riders. As long as they don’t hurt anyone but themselves, I applaud their expansion of this discipline.
Your photographs are fantastic, let me say that. How did photography enter your life? Did it come after cycling, or did they grow together?
I had to get into photography entirely because of bike-trading. I had absolutely no experience with photography before needing to capture really detailed images of bikes as a way to demonstrate their condition. I was frustrated by the low-quality images that people were using to sell their bikes so it started there: high quality, descriptive images of bikes I was selling so people could make an informed decision. And it grew from there. I created the images I wanted to see: clean, clear, beautiful and intentional images that set the bike off against the city I love.
When you photograph your bikes, it almost feels like watching a portrait rather than simple documentation. Light, framing, and details play a central role in your shots. What are you really looking for when you compose a photograph?
I want something gorgeous and clean. I want it to be something special. If it’s not, I don’t bother. If it’s been done before, I don’t want to waste anyone’s time. I wait for the right background, the right light, the right season. It’s the fun part: the hunt for the creamiest light!
Can you share what equipment you use to achieve those beautiful blurred backgrounds?
Most of the images I took were using just a stock Canon Rebel with the kit lenses. I moved to a full frame Canon in the last year or so but don’t get out as much as I used to, so haven’t had time to master it yet.
Over time, I’ve had the feeling that this scene has unwritten visual and cultural codes. Do you think photography contributes not only to documenting this subculture, but also to defining and preserving it?
Your question gets at the conformity that is a thread through most all of the visual representation we see with track bikes. It’s not bad – there are just some constraints that the culture puts on itself. If someone doesn’t follow the template, they get mercilessly shamed or mocked. Same with choice of components. I applaud those that think outside of the box and do their own thing. Outside of the ‘approved recipe’, I do think that there is also a more beautiful love affair with the track bike that can be found in most of the images we see of each other’s bikes. We love our machines and we love to show them off. I find that exciting. Even if it’s not my style, I appreciate the passion that everyone invests in customizing their machine.
Do you usually shoot alone, or is photography also a shared moment for you?
It’s a lone pursuit unless I need to bring someone to hold the bike and let go of it just long enough for me to snap the photo, so it floats!
Portland has a very strong identity when it comes to framebuilding and cycling culture. How has living there influenced your vision and creativity?
The fact that Portland is so cycle-centric hasn’t impacted my vision much, in terms of how I capture or build my bikes. But it has strongly influenced what projects I feel empowered to take on. The immense talent in Portland has offered such great support in restoring or building special bikes. I don’t know where else in the world there is a concentration of cycle skill that spans all disciplines and eras.
