Pete's Poppy and Pacific Northwest-Inspired Ciavete Elio

12th February, 2026 / Words and Photos by Peter Harrington

I'm not sure I can be blamed. Pegoretti launched Elio, its hyper-modern road frame, and I fell in love. And who can be blamed for falling in love? So I ordered one, and, even though I'm an honorary member of the Pegoretti family, having helped the brand since 2018 (our link is in the footer!), I still paid for it. I'm telling you this in the service of truth. If I'm about to talk about my Elio, you should probably know if I got it for free (which I did not, as we have established), or if I made rash promises to say nice things about it before putting even a mile into it. I didn't do that either. And I’m as surprised by that as anyone! I love a rash promise almost as much as I love a strong black coffee in the morning - Costa Rican or Ethiopian beans, thanks very much.

A few weeks after commissioning it, I left my home in Oxford to fly to Verona to pick it up. I always like visiting Verona. It's such a nice size for a city. And as I walk to Pegoretti's Officina each morning from my hotel, I pass over the Adige river, sometimes cool blue, seafoam green or teal, a surging torrent in winter and a shadow in summer that never fails to lead the eye towards the shimmering hills in the distance, a monument to past glories and faded opulence.

This time, I was nervous. Not for Elio, but for what it would look like. I'd asked for Ciavete artwork and offered only three notes: add a reference to my two daughters, Astoria (named after the town of Astoria, Oregon) and Poppy, and take a look at Henri Matisse's Tahitian pieces.

It’s fair to say that Elio has loud and proud chainstays

Myriad patterns and colours cross the top tube

How to describe seeing something for the first time, with expectant eyes? Can you say anything if you don't like it? With Pegoretti, I know you could. They are nothing if not real. As for me, when Pietro pulled the frame out of its box, I didn't know where to look. There was so much colour. And for a few minutes, and not until Cristina pointed them out, did I see the reference to Astoria - not a name, but the place, the river and the sea and then, how beautiful, a perfect Poppy. Yes, I cried. Of course I did. I hugged Leonardo, who had painted it, and Andrea, who had built it, Pietro and Cristina in turn. They'd also painted the fork, and the continuation of the art seemed magical to me. After a few moments, I began to appreciate Leonardo's use of colour, how he'd blended beautiful hues with bolder tones. And all of it by hand. I think that bears repeating. Built by hand, painted by hand, by master craftspeople making one product at a time. An antidote to our times.

Just a few weeks after returning from Verona, I boarded a plane, bike box stowed below (I hoped), headed for Phoenix, Arizona, and Regroup, another client with whom I was due to spend a week. The plan was for Regroup to build my Elio up in time for a bike event we'd been organising at their shop. And build it they did. I even had a bike fit, what they call a Regroup FIT, to ensure everything was mm-perfect. Fittingly, I chose a SRAM Force electronic group and Zipp 353 wheels, a Columbus cockpit I'd carried from Pegoretti, my existing pedals, and an Ergon saddle. How would it look? I could only guess, but when the renowned Robert Gee built it up for me, who flew out for a week to support Regroup during a busy time, I was blown away by how well everything worked - the off-blacks, occasional matts, dark tans, sheens, shapes and proportions. In fact, all of the things that add up to create an impression. What a bike!

As an American music producer once said to me before launching into a monologue on digital mixing, "Can I geek out for a bit?" Outside, in the early morning Arizona sun, I photographed my Elio using a Leica lens I'd found online for a song (a very well-used Tele-Elmar 135/4), and it popped in a way that seemed to complement the frame's creams and softer colours. For the closer shots, I tried out a Thypoch 50mm lens and found it to produce a pleasant rendering (but when I used it in harsher midday light, it was a little too papery when pushed).

Elio has a huge headtube, but tapered lines keep the aesthetic the right side of elegant

The Columbia river, Astoria and the Pacific Ocean

A perfect Poppy and a squeeze of lemon

Later in the week, I had the opportunity to ride my Elio. I had expectations, and mostly I think I was right. It drives. It's so stiff, stiffer than my 7-year-old Pegoretti Marcelo, which I thought was stiff, but not like this. The Elio goes. As a telling point, after a few metres, I had to get something out of my jersey pocket and, without realising it, took both hands off the cockpit, fiddled with my zip, and generally took my time. The bike just rode on like it was on autopilot. I've never had that with a bike so soon. That stability came to the fore later in the ride, on corners, where it just whipped through them. It tells you what the road is doing, but somehow softened without any fade or fluff. I could sense the spirit of my Marcelo, but this was something else. I think it's a beast.

Before too long, I found myself back home again in Oxford, not a cactus in sight, but there was road grime, and my Elio was filthy. As I was riding home from a local loop, I started to figure it all out. Elio is expectant. If you sprint, it will wonder why you can’t keep accelerating. Knife-fight on corners, and it cuts. Sit back and set a tempo, and there's comfort, there's real contentment. Like a camera lens, it has a character. Push it, and it responds. It is a beast. But it's also a refined all-day machine, smooth and confident.

I've tried to explain how it feels without getting tied up. I hope that comes across. If not, come to Oxford and ride mine. I'll make us a coffee!

Thanks for reading and thanks to Pegoretti.

An Elio in Arizona outside Pegoretti dealer, Regroup in Tempe.

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