WELCOME

HOKEM IS A (SMALL) QUARTERLY PUBLICATION THAT EXPLORES THE IDEA THAT PEOPLE WHO ARE INTERESTED IN BIKES ARE INTERESTED IN (A LOT) MORE THAN BIKES. DESIGN, MUSIC, ART, GARDENING, CARS, AND WHATEVER ELSE WE ARE INTO ARE ALL FAIR GAME. WE ARE INDUSTRY SURVIVORS WHO KNOW YOU DON’T NEED ANY ADDITIONAL PRODUCT REVIEWS, BRAGADOCIOUS TRAVEL STORIES, OR RACE COVERAGE.

THINK OF US AS THE SMOKING SECTION OF THE BIKE INDUSTRY.

WE LOOK TO CONNECT WITH MULTIFACETED HUMANS WHO HAVE INTERESTS OUTSIDE OF, BUT ALL CONNECTED BY, THE BIKE.

The
Chris
McNally
Interview

Word of the issue (Issue 09)

Chipple

n. a term invented by comedy writers at SNL for the perfunctory praise one adds prior to criticizing someone, typically as means to indicate affection for the target of criticism.

Jim is of course a wonderful person, incredibly smart, and we all love him; but that bike he just built up is wack. 

(Equivalent to:)

Chipple; Jim’s new bike is wack.

By Emlyn Lewis

The term “Uncanny Valley” describes a quality of simulations that come too close to mirroring reality without completely convincing the observer they’re real. That sense of false, near reality arouses feelings of suspicion and even revulsion.

For reference, sample a clip from the film The Polar Express, whose animation was cutting edge, but whose characters had a certain dead-eyed look that made most viewers uneasy. The term was formally coined by a Japanese robotics professor in the early ‘70s, though the idea of the “uncanny” comes from the realm of psychoanalysis in the early 20th century. 

In other words, we’ve been wrestling with this discomfort for a long time, but the conflict is gaining momentum as the current state of artificial intelligence produces the feeling much more regularly than previous simulation technologies were capable of. We’re getting too good at fooling ourselves. And it’s both confusing and mildly nauseating.

Because time’s arrow points only one direction, on the other side of this valley lays a slew of new simulations we don’t find unsettling because they’re so realistic they arouse none of our natural defenses. 

If you just threw up in your mouth a little, congratulations, you’re beginning to grok the larger issue, your imminent inability to discern the outlines of reality as people of questionable motivation (does anyone trust wealthy people?) fabricate new “facts” for you to consider.

It’s all very fraught, and we find ourselves on the precipice of ruin, much as we have since we lit the fire, laughed at the first fart, and got the crazy ass idea that the wolves that harried us at night could be made into Lhasa Apsos and/or Chihuahuas on a whim.

The pioneering souls who invented the computer keyboard, modeled after the clickety-clackety type writer, added an escape button because they understood we’d only get ourselves into trouble without it. That we’re not all pounding the aforementioned key like lab rats clamoring for food pellets is beyond my ability to explain. For those of us in the “creative pursuits” the fire alarm never stops sounding anymore, and every AI-created meme we get of a dog riding a horse playing electric guitar amplifies the sense that most humans don’t understand what we do and maybe never did.

Fortunately, our homes also have an escape key, the front door, which can carry us away from the realm of artificial intelligence into the world of natural intelligence, out of this uncanny valley to a place where a campfire, a well-timed fart, and a good dog are all you really need to make it through the darkest night.


A Movie We Love, "The Limey"

Coming just a year after another HOKEM staff favorite, Out of Site, the Limey picks up the early Soderbergh cadence without missing a beat, but instead of George Clooney's charm, this time we get the death stare and intimidation of the most excellent Terence Stamp.

The plot line revolves around a recently released convict looking for clues to  his estranged daughter's death in the underbelly of Los Angeles. There is a notable contribution from Peter Fonda playing a caricature of himself. He is an ex-hippy LA sleazeball and a perfect villain of the movie; “Did you ever dream about a place you never really recall being to before? A place that maybe only exists in your imagination? Some place far away, half remembered when you wake up. When you were there, though, you knew the language. You knew your way around. *That* was the sixties. [pause] No. It wasn't that either. It was just '66 and early '67. That's all there was.”

Terence Stamp’s character is a slow confident burn to the inevitable revenge fantasy that the entire thing sets up to be. The style level throughout is at eleven. We also get Luis Guzmán in this one (a scene stealer in Out of Site as well). I love everything he does. Great range as an actor and super funny in the driest of ways.

It’s not Criterion, but def an important step in the Soderbergh arc.
Hokem Magazine

The smoking section of the bike industry.

Sim Works Tomo Tote Bag

We can certainly stand behind and personally attest to the Tomo's capabilities as an "on-the-bike" front bag option, where we really see this bag shine is off the bike. It's a fantastic catch all. It's an all star bag at weekend farmers's markets, thrown in the back of your mountain bike shuttle vehicle, as an airline carry-on, beach bag, surf bag, sno-park bag. It's got just enough padding to offer some peace of mind in protecting your camera or other electronics, the lined construction will help keep contents dry, while the 1000D Nylon exterior will take years of adventure and abuse that you dish out. The rectangular bottom will fit snugly in a Wald 137 basket, but also makes for an easy bag to stand up while you pack it.

 Shop now
Nice to meet you, my name's Bob.

Product of Bob Scales has been slowly evolving over the last 20-odd years; a persistent idea that has simply refused to go away – create a product range that shows a maturity in its design restraint, but spares no expense on textiles and build quality. The designs are inspired by the thrift store finds I trolled for as a kid, but heightened by the best, imported fabrics I can find along with a strong attention to detail in manufacturing.

 Shop now

The
Russ
Pope
Interview

By Chris Distefano

Riffing on one of the most renowned quotes of 21st Century philosopher Steven M. Smith, it takes a lot of water to race bikes. And this isn’t about filling bidons with hydration mix or the occasional Coca-Cola recovery spritzer. It’s about washing team bikes and all those cars every damn day. Yes, even when it rains.

Races are won on course but team mechanics have their own battles which underpin the efforts towards the podium; securing a good working location is, no doubt, an important part of team tactics. Like every civilization origin story in history, access to water is essential.

The @toolboxwars account on Instagram has 51,000 followers at the time of this writing, its 4106 posts are an orgy of race mechanic toolbox build outs. Hundred-dollar hex key sets, titanium cassette lockring tools and custom jigs are de rigueur in every kit. So how is it that one of the most valuable, dare I say priceless, tools goes without mention? Is it a trade secret I shouldn’t be sharing here? Or perhaps because there isn’t a well-known name for them? At least not for me, that is.

I always called them church keys but, turns out, that’s a colloquial name for a bottle opener. To building and maintenance professionals they are sillcock keys or what others may call shut-off keys, chuck keys, tap handles or chaos keys for those of the prepper inclination. Whatever the name and whatever the purpose - be it bike racing or doomsday survival - these simple, economical tools grant you access to secured water supply spigots.

You’ve probably seen them on the sides of buildings and in garages, handleless water spigots keyed with square, triangular or notched hardware to actuate the flow of water. The keys are a ubiquitous feature on the keyrings of building maintenance workers the world over but there’s no universal interface. And so it was that during my time as a neutral race service mechanic I had amassed a collection of keys in various formats. Many were handed down to me while others I added as I found them in hardware stores and truck stops across the country. Just as racers bring their shoes as carry-on, this collection of sillcock keys was always in my possession when I traveled. You can buy hex wrenches and screwdrivers anywhere but likely not the specific water shut-off key you need in that one weird race location.

In some cases it’s best to be subtle about needing one of these, and so busting into a local hardware shop looking for a key to tap into the town church’s water supply isn’t an option. And it’s not ideal to ask the maintenance crew at the hotel for theirs. If you live by the “No Tools Loaned” credo then you should expect to die by it as well. That said, if you have the right key and look like you know what you’re doing, no one ever seems to question what you’re up to with it. 

When I left the pit zone and team tents for a boring desk job I passed my  collection on to a new mechanic on the circuit. I called him not long ago as I was just starting to write this story and asked if he could send me a photo of the keys but he, too, had shared them down my blue-and-green bloodline. They’re still out there on the road doing the literal dirty work and adding to a venerable palmares. Not bad for a tool that costs about ten bucks.

To this day,  when I travel or simply pull into a parking garage my eyes are on the lookout for those little brass rectangles low on exterior walls. I like to pass by and see what shape the valve key is and most often I tell myself, “Yeah, I’ve got that one”. Remember, a clean bike is a fast bike.


For 70 years, Colnago has been building the bikes of legends. From the Monumental Classics to the Grand Tours, Colnago bikes continue to win.

SEE MORE AT COLNAGO.COM

A Car We Love

The Alexander Calder 1975 BMW 3.0 CSL 

You may have noticed that BMW has launched a limited European tour of its art car collection. While in general we are a bit blown away at how poorly the execution is on said cars by artists we hold in the highest of regards, there is one that stands out to us. It doesn’t hurt that the base material is a 1975 3.0 CSL (maybe our favorite Bimmer ever?). And that the artist happens to be Alexander no fuch’n around Calder. It is excellent in all regards. 

 The first time a BMW was transformed into a work of art was 1975. Alexander Calder was inspired by the French auctioneer and racing driver, Hervé Poulain, to produce the first ever BMW Art Car. The US artist only used primary colours and distributed them in broad swathes across the paintwork of the BMW 3.0 CSL. The use of differing colours within the individual elements of the car’s structure adds to the illusion of movement within the picture as a whole.

Back then the fact that a car was being presented as a work of art was a sensation in itself. The greater sensation was that the selfsame 480 PS BMW was then entered for the 24-hour race in Le Mans. The world’s first BMW Art Car was also one of Calder’s last works of art as he died the same year it was unveiled.

Original Joys

By Emlyn Lewis
Photograph by Matt Sharkey

Among all of life’s joys there are what we might think of as original joys. The first time we taste chocolate. The first time we kiss someone and they kiss us back. The moment our feet leave the ground and balance on a set of pedals, gravity conquered, rolling away at a thrilling speed, into a new and pure freedom.

And so much of what we do after experiencing these original joys is aimed at recapturing that feeling. Heroin addicts call it “chasing that first high.”

The chase can take us in some odd directions. We might even pull on a sausage casing of man-made fibers; ride ourselves into a dehydrated and hypoglycemic coma state; skitter across the cool linoleum floor of a 7-11 in a pair of shoes not made for walking; choke down a Yoohoo and three Snickers bars; collapse on the curb out front among the parking blocks and chewed gum stains; and never ever begin to touch the look on this kid’s face.

 He knows what’s up.

Ride an old three speed up the concrete bank by the overpass. Forget the Lycra and the tap shoes, the stupid helmet with its wind tunnel tested venting. A beanie. A pair of baggy pants. And a gut level instinct for what’s fun.

Original joys don’t submit to cleverness. When you lean across for that first kiss, you can’t overthink it. Feel the fear. It’s ok. When you meet the lips on the other side, soft, warm and full of an acceptance you (didn’t know existed), it’s like swooping down off a high bank on a bike that doesn’t handle very well, slightly out of control. 

You didn’t even know you were smiling the whole time. You just knew you were alive and pretty goddamned happy about it.








The Color Palette from issue 07

The color palette for issue 07 comes to us via this Pierre Soulages print. An artist that is new to us, but was an immediate connection when we stumbled upon him. There is a Munich Olympics poster that he did that is really great too.

Some background information from le internets:

Pierre Soulages - French, 1919–2022 - is considered a major figure of post-war European abstraction, alongside Hans Hartung, Georges Mathieu, Serge Poliakoff, and Jean-Paul Riopelle. He’s particularly renowned for his “outrenoir” (“beyond black”) series of paintings, which feature matte and glossy black fields interrupted by ridges, scores, and gashes; the artist is interested in how black paint absorbs and reflects light. Since making his gallery debut in 1947, Soulages has exhibited at the Museum of Modern Art, the Louvre, and the State Hermitage Museum (he was the first living artist to show at the institution), and his work has been acquired for the collections of the Centre Pompidou, the Guggenheim, Tate Modern, and the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. At auction, Soulages’s work regularly sells for seven-figure prices.

We don’t plan on picking anything up from ole PS anytime soon given the closed auction prices we came across, but we sure dig them thic lines and his minimal use of color.

The POBS x Russ Pope x Retrotec Delivery Klunker

Photo by Steven Smith

I first met Curtis at a Chris King Gourmet Century back in 2015. I had just started with the company as their Marketing Monkey and it was my first event. It was well attended and was packed with the SyCip mafia of frame builders and industry heavies, but I found myself chatting with Curtis quite a bit even with how busy it was.

I feel like we talked about music as much as we talked about bikes or the industry. If you’ve never met him, Curtis is a great human, absolute sweetheart of a dude. I had been aware of Retrotec prior to our meeting and had always been a huge fan. In particular the Twin Tube frames that occupied a split memory in my brain of a beloved Torker frame I had raced on as a kid and BMX cruisers that I had always lusted after.

So when it came time to move on from CKPC I thought I might do a little something for myself and order up a frame and fork from Curtis. The rationale I built into it was that the bike would serve as a rotating art installation and brand mascot for POBS. The first paint scheme would feature artwork from our pal Russ Pope, but would then rotate in years to come to showcase whoever the current POBS Artist in Residency might be. But if I’m being honest, I haven’t been very motivated to update it.

I convinced myself it would service the same need as the famed BMW art cars that showed the brand's commitment and opinions on culture and the arts. Clearly I felt the need to continue down this path, the doubling down of which produced the genius idea of starting this very periodical you now hold in your hands.

The bike is amazing. I love it. The geometry, the Klunker build, the oversized DOOM bars, and the grocery basket immediately put you in the right fram me of mind. It’s hard not to smile when you get on it and start to pedal. Not to mention all the scribbles and scribes froRuss that pepper the entire thing.

I hope you like it too and Curtis, I hope we get to hang out soon. Thanks for making me such a great bike. I suspect I will have it for the rest of my time here on earth and hope to pedal it around with you and our mutual friends again soon.

Get On The Bus

By Stevil Smith
Illustrations By Chris McNally

I don’t recall what year it was. maybe 1979? 1983? The mid-1800s? 

Shit, man. I don’t know. As I lay here at 3:43 in the morning listening to the creature who resides in the ceiling above my bed scurry from one place to another, and in spite of the fact that my reality has most definitely taken a hard left turn these last few years, all I know for sure is that it was a long time ago.

I was just a little guy back then, well-immersed in a torrid love affair with BMX. I knew nothing of it beyond a few kids in my town who had nice bikes and had built a small BMX track across the street from the elementary school. Jim Dooly, Angelo Rolla, and the Manas brothers were the patron saints of BMX back then, but they were cut from a cloth that was unobtainable for the likes of a kid like me. I was but a squeeb trying to find my way within the pages of an odd copy of BMX Plus and BMX Action.

Month after month I’d devour the contents as if it were crafted for my young mind alone. The stories, photos, and captions burned themselves into my memory, but chief among them all was an image of the SE Racing tour bus. Perhaps it was a re-purposed flat nosed Greyhound, or a ‘60s era school bus? I wasn’t sure, but what I recall for certain is that it was rattle canned camo, with a huge SE logo on the side and a platform featuring a full-sized gun turret on the roof. In it, Perry Kramer and Scot Breithaupt transported their young team of hopefuls to races across the land. Naturally, my fledgling mind traveled with bullet-speed to fantasies of being present on those tours, guided by my heroes of the era. I vaguely recall a secondary image of the bus in motion - kids of every age hanging out of the open door and windows, and a smiling, ever-bearded Breithaupt behind the wheel. Naturally, now that I’m a wise and worldly super serious adult type of person, I’m inclined to wonder just what in all manner of hell the parents were thinking sending their precious babies off on what were presumably whirlwind tours of chaos and calamity, yet to this day I live with the unshaking envy of those who were present for it all.

As I recall the images and tales that so indelibly imprinted themselves on my mind, I naturally circle around to the often overlooked importance of what we put into the world. Could Kramer and Breithaupt ever have imagined that decades on down the road a person they never met would be waxing nostalgic about a fantasy that they themselves put into motion? Dare I say, likely not. Though today, that’s the road anyone who helps create anything as bitchin as the SE Racing legacy will inevitably travel.

We could count ourselves blessed to be able to do it on the SE bus.