You describe your style of frame building as punk. What does that look like?

For me, punk is epitomised by DIY, by empowering yourself. We’ve largely lost the traditional apprentice routes into craft, whether that be woodworking or ceramics or frame building, so many have to get into things by themselves. My frame building is largely self-taught. But I’ve been incredibly honoured that Robin Mather has passed his old frame jig to me, in a kind of generational passing of the torch. I don’t file my fillets, trying to be true to the process and the materials. My logo is digitised from a lino print that I made of my handwriting. My frames are punk because I am.

To you what should a bike be able to do?

Bikes are no more for just getting from A to B than a cup of tea is just a drink. Growing up in rural Herefordshire, for me, bikes were for escape. I could pedal off into the hills and be alone. For me, a bike can point to a way to live, it can be a prescription for the life lived with it. If you build bikes with skinny tyres, no racks, no lights, the rider is steered onto daylit roads, close to cafes or shops. If you can’t carry anything, you can’t pick up roadside veg or carry a stove for a brew. I want bikes that liberate, that can roll anywhere, that aren’t precious.

was built by my close friend Ridz, his first.

I coaxed him through the fork build and then I built the racks and stem. He’s a woodworker and built an incredible series of tool chests and casks for it. He even turned a wooden seat post, top cap and laced up wooden rims. It was built as a mobile workshop so he could do work around his village. It’s humbling to win an award at Bespoked, among the incredible builders that fill the show. I won another award last year for a touring bike and it still gives me butterflies thinking about it.

Racks are a real specialty of yours and could be said to symbolise your approach to bike travel and the ethos of Clandestine. Tell us about them.

My bikes are, in many ways, all about the racks. I’m a firm believer that even normal bikes, non-cargo bikes, can carry a wondrous amount of stuff, and being able to just strap stuff on and go at a moment’s notice is amazing.

My racks are all fillet brazed like my frames, and made to fit perfectly, with no adjustment. That makes them really strong. Building racks seems like it might be simple, but they’re unbelievably complicated and fiddly. I really enjoy building them, because you can go a bit wild with the design. They are less restrictive than frame design. I get a real thrill from the incredible, truss structures of racks: beautiful, strong, and utilitarian.

I built myself awful tall bikes and rode along with the incredible ride that was the Bristol Cycle Festival. I was, for a colourful period of time, a member of the world’s best androgynous mini-bike burlesque dance troupe, Les Velobici. I performed in saggy lycra at Bike Smut. As every issue of Boneshaker showed, there’s a whole world of cycling out there if you can get past the peloton and their reductive followers.

What sort of riding do you do yourself?

I ride everywhere. I go touring and camping around the city and take my mountain bike into the woods. I slowly eat cake on audax rides. Sometimes I pull out the MIG-welded tall bike and make myself smile.

Why do you think Bristol attracts such a rich mix of cyclists and two wheeled adventurers?

Bristol attracts a rich mix of people full stop. If everyone breathes with creative, independent, collaborative lungs, then your scene, whatever your scene, will be alive and roaring.