In a world full of so much bullshit, so much bravado and vanity, you can't help but feel sentimental about the last threads of authenticity. The older we get, and the more abundance we're afforded, the more we lose connection with where it all started. Cycling isn't immune. Before it became what grade you race, or what watts you push, it was so much more raw. Just a bike, roads, and freedom.

When we started building this 360 collection, we kept coming back to that desire of ‘going back to your roots’. There's something about riding close to home; the colours, the landscape, the quiet roads through country towns most people have never heard of. For Australians, we’ve produced superstars who figured it out in places like that, far from anywhere, long before the world was watching. We ended up shooting in Dayboro, a beautiful little country town about 45 minutes outside Brisbane, at the foot of Mount Mee. True cyclists ride through it hundreds of times. Most people from the city barely know it's there. That felt right.

Josh Beikoff grew up riding around Ipswich, Queensland. It wasn't glamorous. It's not particularly scenic. But it was everything. Racing around Synergy Park. The same weekday loops you can ride with your eyes closed. Weekends with his mates. None of it feels particularly significant, but for any kid on a local bike, anywhere in the world, it's everything.

Earlier this year, Josh found himself in Victoria at Melbourne to Warrnambool - Australia's longest one-day classic. In a breakaway almost from the gun, he stayed clear for nearly seven hours. He won it by centimetres. It's a career-defining result. But if you ask Josh, he'll tell you it changes a lot less than you'd think. He's still a young guy who laughs uncontrollably, who rides with an infectious love for it that fills any room he's in. Still the kid from Ipswich. Still riding for the same reasons he always has.

Lauren Perry started on a velodrome in Launceston, Tasmania. Round and round, day after day. It wasn't about pathways or medals. It was about chasing anyone in front of her. Racing whoever turned up. Those laps eventually became junior world titles, Australian selection, and everything that comes with elite sport;  injuries, setbacks, missed selections, having to prove yourself all over again. But she's never lost sight of why she started. The reason she still turns up to ride, to race, to try one more time, is no different now than it was when she was a kid going in circles in Tasmania.

Two different paths. One on the road, one on the track. Ipswich and Launceston. But you end up in the same places eventually, on the same quiet roads, in the same small towns, for the same reasons. Before anyone was watching. Before it counted. Before it mattered.