Meet Joe Parkin

Former pro cyclist, magazine editor and bartender opens up.

Joe Parkin sitting outside the train depot in Mountain View, CA on October 29, 2009. Image: Kenneth Conley/Procycling Magazine via Getty Images

Joe Parkin came into my purview more than 30 years ago. We first crossed paths when he won the 1992 Chequamegon 40 mountain bike race (I was waaaaay off the back in the sea of 2,400 participants), then at the Chicago Area Bicycle Dealers Association (CABDA) Show a few years later. We became friends over the years, when he moved to Santa Cruz, CA in 2008 and we saw each other regularly. I interviewed Joe for some magazines a few times, and in turn he hired me to contribute to Paved and BIKE Magazines when he became editor a year or so later.

He married Elayna Caldwell, whose subsequent job took them to Chicago, then Germany, before landing in Colorado. Joe and I haven’t seen each other in a few years, but as kindred spirits over many things, we text and talk on the phone as frequently as the days allow. We’ve led somewhat parallel lives, and I’d be remiss not to do a proper interview with Pal Joe to share his story. 

Your son Nico is turning 12 this month. What advice would the 56-year-old Joe Parkin give his 12-year-old self, with the benefit of hindsight and experience?

I would tell Nico to enjoy every minute of it — every minute of 12 and every minute of the rest of his life. I mean, enjoy it to the best of his ability. Stay true to himself. Stay curious. Be kind to people. And never ever get bogged down with what people say he should do. 

There are times when I wish I would have done things differently, but perhaps if I had I would be poor in experience. I’ve told him that already. 

Give me a detailed rundown of the jobs you’ve had.

Jobs? I have had quite a few and they’ve pretty much run the gamut. I got a paper route when I was 11. I worked two-three hours a day, six days a week, and pocketed roughly 30 bucks a month for the effort. But I loved it. 

When I turned 16, I worked at The Athlete’s Foot in the Burnsville Center in Burnsville, Minnesota. I kept that job through high school. I graduated early — one trimester — and moved with my family from Minnesota to Danville, California, in the East Bay. There I worked three jobs — Burger King, a frozen yogurt place called Yogurt Time, and I assembled cheap Peugeot 10-speeds at the California Pedaler bike shop. 

I wanted to be a pro bike racer, so I moved to Belgium just after my 19th birthday. I signed my first pro contract on July 4th of 1987, just a few months after my 20th birthday. And that’s what I did for a living until I was 31. I can’t remember exactly when I decided to hang up the cleats, but it was midseason, more or less, and it was uneventful. 

I guess you could say that my first real job was at Castelli USA, the North American arm of the iconic Italian cycling clothing brand. Castelli was the first cycling clothing company to use Lycra, and it continues to be, in my opinion, the most innovative clothing brand in the world. I answered phones there, and packed boxes, and developed many of the systems they still use, and designed a fair amount of the stuff we sold. 

I left the company suddenly, and did a short stint as a barista for my friend Gene Oberpriller’s coffee shop/bike shop until going to work for Shock Doctor, where I helped launch their motorsports product line. 

I loved that job. Though I don’t think I accomplished what the company wanted. But I loved being at the track every week. Race car drivers are the most switched-on human beings I have ever met. And it put me back into a competitive atmosphere. 

The housing-market crash of 2008 killed the job, though. 

Parkin sizing me up during an interview on the second floor of Red Rock Coffee in October 2009. Image: Kenneth Conley/Procycling Magazine via Getty Images

I wrote my first book, A Dog in a Hat, during my motorsports job, and it brought me to the Editor-in-Chief chair at Bike and Paved magazines. I learned a lot during that short four-year stretch, and went on to write seemingly endless amounts of product copy for cycling industry companies like Fox Factory, SRAM, RockShox and Troy Lee Designs. Parts of that work were rewarding, but much of it was utterly soul sucking. 

In 2018, my friend Simon Stewart and I decided it would be a great idea to strike out on our own, and buy a bike shop in the Central Colorado mountain town of Buena Vista. The plan was to establish a cool shop with sort of an all-inclusive mountain bike culture, and to add a coffee shop and bar to the mix.

Joe wears beanies 24/7. Be like Joe and buy this one to show your true colors.

The Reader’s Digest version is that we overestimated the town’s potential for such things, and then COVID-19 drove a nail in the coffin. We hung on, though, got the bar up and running, and kept pushing beer, booze and bikes uphill until working for free still didn’t cover the bills. Our lease ran out this past September, so we closed the doors. 

Currently, I’m driving a brown truck for UPS and loving every second of it. Every day is a race of sorts. And every week feels a little like a stage race. December is UPS’s Tour de France, and it feels just like that: Every morning I feel just a little apprehensive; by noon I am feeling the rhythm; and the last 20-30 stops feel like the finishing sprint. I love it. 

Who was your best boss and why?

Every boss I have had has taught me something special. I’m still really close to Michael Herbert, who was my boss both at Castelli and Shock Doctor. But José DeCauwer, my sport director at ADR and Tulip was — and is — nothing short of genius in my opinion. He has an otherworldly understanding of the sport of cycling, for sure, but he also has this savant-level ability to read people, and to motivate them — even if they don’t know it. 

These days José is a cycling commentator for Belgian television. To put it in terms Americans can understand: The man is a lot like John Madden. 

You currently live in Buena Vista, Colorado. Give me a rundown list of the places you’ve lived, and where you picture you and the family living next.

Like Johnny Cash sang, I’ve been everywhere. I was born in Pontiac, Michigan and moved to Johnson City, Tennessee when I was 12 days old. From there it was Charlotte, NC, Jacksonville, FL, Memphis, TN, Thousand Oaks, CA, Rochester, MI, Burnsville, MN, Danville, CA, Ursel, Belgium, Minneapolis, MN, Santa Cruz, CA, San Clemente, CA, Chicago, IL, Schweinfurt, Germany, Colorado Springs, CO and Buena Vista, CO. 

I have no idea what’s next. Right at this minute, we think we might move down the road to Salida, CO, at some point. But give me a few days and I’ll probably have a different answer. 

California and Belgium still feel most like home to me. 

Pensive Parkin in the alley behind Red Rock Coffee in October 2009. Kenneth Conley/Procycling magazine via Getty Images

You and I have lived through probably one of the most varied five decades in music. Who’s getting extra play in your ears these days? Your top five songs?

My top five right now are (in no particular order):

1. Black Sabbath. I never get tired of Black Sabbath. 

2. Motorhead. Because, Lemmy. 

3. Brian Jonestown Massacre.

4. Queens of the Stone Age. I am a sucker for slack-tuned guitars. 

5. Red Fang. Their video for “Wires” is quite possibly the best music video of all time. And they are absolutely stellar live. 

I’ve also been giving Buscemi a fair amount of listening time these days. Which is strange because it is not my go-to genre. 

Let’s break down a few of your career and hobby compartments. First, as a former pro bicycle racer, which race stands out as the most memorable? Which bike do you regret parting with and why?

It’s an easy question: Paris-Roubaix. I’ll take the Classics every day of the week over the Tour de France and twice or three times on Sunday. And Paris-Roubaix is the most epic of all of them, the Classics. The only way I can explain it is that it is magical, mythical. It is so brutal. And talent, while obviously important in pro cycling, has less to do with winning than gut-level desire to win Paris-Roubaix.

Strangely, the bike I wish I still had was the Della Santa I bought second hand before going to Belgium when I was 19. I guess I’m just not all that nostalgic about my race bikes and stuff, and I don’t sit around thinking about how great it would be to ride any of them. 

I always thought that someday I’d have Roland build me a bike. I envisioned it white with red, like the old Eddy Merckx paint scheme — like my DS was. And, well, since Roland isn’t with us anymore, it’s not going to happen. 

I’ve owned aluminum, carbon, and titanium bikes, but always come back to lightweight steel. What are the pros and cons of this current electric bicycle phase? Do you vote acoustic or electric?

I think I differ from many of my friends when I say I like electric bikes. I think most of the arguments against them are mostly bullshit. Foremost among them is the whole earn-your-turns thing. What a load of fucking horseshit. I’ve never met an earn-your-turns disciple with any talent for anything athletic. And I hope that statement pisses people off. 

Do I think it’s sad that some young people will never get to experience the complete joy of pedaling a bike to the top of a mountain under their own power? Yes. Do I wish the bike industry would just fuck right off with its rabid zeal to sell more units at any cost? Yes. Do I get tired of the constant tribalism of acoustic vs electric? Absolutely. 

But I’m pretty certain that most people reading this have never driven a horse and buggy to get groceries while holding the argument that people who drive cars or ride motorcycles are somehow lesser-than. 

Don’t like e-bikes? Don’t get one. 

Were I still racing World Cup XC mountain bikes, I would be training on an e-bike three or four days per week. And I’d be earning more money and making more watts — acoustic and assisted — than most of the wankers droning on about earning turns. 

Second, as a writer and former magazine editor, how hard is it to compose your thoughts these days? Blogs are different beasts compared to book and magazine deadlines, eh?

Ya know, I’m pretty happy just writing for myself these days. And I’m happy I don’t have to make you want to buy things with the words I write. 

I do miss the care that we used to put into print media. But shit changes. 

Speaking of social media, does the broadening of our craft into the fingers of the Great Unwashed hinder or hurt your view of humanity and its effect on you specifically?

Social media is such a mixed bag of amazing art and complete shite. And I guess I can take the good with the bad. The only thing I wish is that the complete falsehoods could be silenced. But how do you even start to do that? I have fun with most of it. 

Third, as a business owner, what were your biggest challenges and highlights? What gratification did you get from being a bartender? Not everyone understands the nuances of running a bicycle shop…

Bob Roll once told me that you can’t sell what you truly love. I fucking hated working in the bike shop. I absolutely love what bicycles and motorcycles can do. Love, love, love. But not a day went by without some jackass spoiling that feeling in some way. The hardest thing for me to deal with is that most bicyclists don’t love actually riding bikes; they just like buying the shit and talking about it. 

And that is okay to a point. Like, I would love to own all of the guitars. And I suck at guitars. But I think they are beautiful. If I had a whole roomful of guitars I would play them every once in a while. And perhaps I would know their history. But that is where I would draw the line at my expertise — I wouldn’t dare go into the guitar store and tell the person working there that the reason I don’t sound like some guitar god is because of the guitar itself. Nor would I argue with a professional musician about their craft. 

And maybe this goes back to the speed and amateur nature of media these days. I don’t know. 

“Brand X brakes suck.” How about rephrasing that? “I like the feel of Brand Z better than Brand X.” Because neither of those brands suck. Full stop. 

Perhaps it’s obvious that I was better suited for bartending. I never had to argue with anyone about beer or booze not doing beer or booze things. Don’t like it? Okay, I will get you another flavor. No one ever tried to tell me that this 40-proof whiskey worked while that 40-proof whiskey didn’t. 

What’s your favorite cocktail to make? Fave cocktail to drink?

I love making martinis. There’s something about them. They’re classy and sexy as hell. And there’s just something about making one with all the love and care you can muster, and serving it up right in front of the person you’re making it for. The martini is truly about the simplest drink you can make, but, if you do it with real care, the person will taste the difference. You’ll give them an experience they’ll remember even if they have too many of them. 

I gave up the sauce when Nico was five years old. But I always thought a proper Sazerac was pretty amazing. These days I like some 0.0 Corona. 

I overdid it on the bourbon while watching Mannix with Jean the other night; maybe I should stick to root beer like Ola. You and I talk about motorcycles from time to time. Tell me about the bikes you’ve owned, the ones that got away, and the one you plan to get before your body gives out as Nico waits in the wings.

BMW airheads, man. I guess I have a soft spot for them. I hope to keep my R 90 till I’m too old to throw a leg over it. It is rich in the patina department. 

I’ve had too many dirt bikes to count, and don’t hate me, but they’re just tools for me. Ride them hard. Take care of them. Move on. I have no attachment to them at all. 

Grom shenanigans with Nico at Greg Herbold’s place. Image: Joe Parkin

I’d like to get a new trials bike sometime soon. I plan to own a brand-new two-stroke woods bike within the next year or so. It’ll most likely be the last brand-new dirt bike I own. There will be nothing much left of me or the bike when I get done with it. 

Last question: Elayna comes home and sez ‘Joe, I bought you that dream car you’ve been blathering about since we met.’ Which car would be parked in the driveway, and would you let me drive it?

Easy. My dream car is and always has been a Volkswagen Beetle. The old kind, of course. Far from showroom quality. Worn-out paint. Interior that is not completely gross. I really don’t care what year. The kind of car that you don’t hesitate to drive on the weekends but you wouldn’t exactly count on to get you to an important meeting. The kind of car that needs just the right kind of coaxing to start sometimes. This car would have the best stories.  

And yes, I’ll let you drive it when you come visit.