JC Franchevich moves through the world in two speeds: fast, on a bike; slow, with a brush. He cycles long distances, stopping often to sketch whatever arrests his attention along the way. “I carry around in my backpack all of my painting stuff in case I need to do any emergency paintings,” he says.
He gravitates toward capturing Downtown Fort Myers. “The light lamps, the alleys, the famous banyan tree, the boats, the piers—I’ve painted it all,” he says. The 61-year-old architect, artist and competitive cyclist sees biking and painting as two sides of the same coin. On the bike, he is immersed in motion and repetition. With a brush, he slows down, studying light, form and small moments of life that might otherwise blur past.
For years, that rhythm carried him far. One month, he’d be riding through Fort Myers; the next, traversing the mountains of South America. Week to week, he logged between 100 and 150 miles. “That is my cycling life. I am a 65-year-old guy, I never give up,” he says.
Photography by Anastasia Walborn
juan carlos fort myers artist biker journey biking
The architect cycles through Fort Myers—and around the world—with watercolors in his backpack. Whether riding solo or training with the Caloosa Riders Bicycle Club, his days are organized around movement and observation.
JC had turned to cycling about 30 years ago after a soccer injury took him out of the sport he’d played since childhood. Surgery followed—torn ligaments repaired and tacked in place along with the inevitability of a knee replacement in his future. “I kept putting it off, putting it off, putting it off, until I couldn’t,” JC says. He knew he’d have a hard time slowing down. Cycling became the workaround. It let him stay active without risking reinjury, and over time, riding became central to his life.
October 2024 brought years of avoidance to a sudden head. When JC and his girlfriend set out for a sunset ride through Babcock Ranch, he looked back for a moment to check on his riding partner. A series of road dividers—obscured by the low light—launched JC through the air. The back of his head and left shoulder smacked the pavement. His knee twisted. Doctors told him he could no longer postpone surgery if he wanted to remain active long-term.
After the knee replacement in December 2024, his life screeched to a halt. He could barely walk, much less race. Weekly outings with the Caloosa Riders Bicycle Club were suddenly out of reach. His knee was swollen and bruised, a six-inch S-shaped incision pulling and aching with every stretch. But most of all, he was frustrated. “It took a lot of patience and a lot of exercises. Stretching was really important,” he says. Time dragged, testing patience day in and day out—he longed to be back on the open road.
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Photography by Anastasia Walborn
juan carlos fort myers artist biker journey watercolor art
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Photography by Anastasia Walborn
juan carlos fort myers artist biker journey
A crash in October 2024 made a long-postponed knee replacement unavoidable. During recovery, JC followed an aggressive rehabilitation routine while continuing to paint, using discipline and his creative practice to get back on his bike.
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Photography by Anastasia Walborn
juan carlos fort myers artist biker journey watercolors
But for every down moment, he pushed a bit harder. Beyond the daily stretches and exercises assigned by his physical therapist, JC brought in a home care specialist. And whenever the trainer ran out of things for him to do, he’d grab his crutches and walk around the neighborhood or head to the pool for a swim. Meanwhile, he kept painting, feeding his mind and spirit while strengthening his body—and found encouragement in the support of friends. Daily messages and calls came in from his family and the Caloosa Riders Bicycle Club. His girlfriend took care of food, cleaning, encouragement and companionship, so all JC had to focus on was recovery. “All I kept thinking about was [the next] competition. I couldn’t miss it,” he says. “I knew it was probably too soon, but I had to do it. I planned it many months back, before I knew I was going to have surgery. And I didn’t want to miss it.”
Typically, recovery for a knee replacement takes six months to a year. Two months after surgery, JC was joining the last few miles of CRBC’s morning rides. Despite lingering pain, he was fueled by a combination of decades of stored memory, support, constant exercise and a refusal to sacrifice the goals he’d dedicated his life to. Weeks later, he strapped on his helmet to face down the route he’d been tracing in his mind every day of the recovery: Bolivia’s North Yungas Road, otherwise known as ‘Death Road.’ Marked by unpredictable weather and rough mountainous terrain, the route is considered one of the most dangerous to conquer. While he didn’t reinjure himself, JC acknowledges the race as a rough way to get back into the game, one his doctor likely would have recommended against. Each pedal was a push through pain, and he dealt with swelling and soreness in the weeks that followed.
Recovery isn’t a straight line. The confidence of one day bleeds into the apprehension of the next. Four months after surgery, when the lingering effects of ‘Death Road’ had faded, JC believed himself fully recovered. A year in, long rides lead to pain and stiffness, but never so much that he considers stopping. “I had to adjust to what I could do, but I’m happy I’m able to do it,” he says. These days, he cycles three days per week, covering about 80 miles. He used to go to South America three times a year for cycling events, now he goes annually. “You have to remain active—keep moving—if you want things to work,” he says. “So, I keep moving.”
Photography by Anastasia Walborn
juan carlos fort myers artist biker journey in progress
Two months after surgery, he returned to riding, soon taking on Bolivia’s notorious North Yungas Road. A year later, he’s learned to take a more measured approach, balancing endurance with recovery to remain active in the long term.