Ally Mabry, Author at Adventure Cycling Association

Road Test: Tumbleweed Stargazer

Ally Mabry — Tue, 16 Apr 2024 21:41:47 +0000

Immediately after unboxing and building up the Tumbleweed Stargazer, I took it out for a neighborhood shakedown to make sure everything was tight and straight. I had first-date jitters and … I crashed. It didn’t even make sense: I was going ever so slightly uphill very slowly on pavement. No, there were no stars out to divert my attention. It was 5:00 pm in the middle of summer in Montana, when the sun doesn’t set until five hours later. But if there had been stars to gaze at … well, I would have loved to make that corny joke. My distraction, unfortunately, can’t be blamed on an errant driver or a gaggle of baby ducks crossing the road — my eyes were too busy looking all around me, everywhere but straight ahead, trying to take in the views. In time, I found that pretty much sums up the ethos of the Stargazer. Not the being-dangerously-distracted-from-the-road part, but rather the soaking-in-your-surroundings part. In my extended time with the bike, I kept noting how the geometry is so upright that it almost feels like running instead of pedaling. The Stargazer essentially feels like a snug, overstuffed armchair that you can sink into to watch the world unfold ahead. Fun fact: during a long stint of bikepacking in 2017 during which I had no permanent address, a close friend christened me with the trail name Tumbleweed. It’s only natural that I’ve been crushing hard on Tumbleweed as a brand for those six years since the release of their flagship bike, the Prospector, Tumbleweed’s all-rounder expedition bike for world travels — built to last a lifetime. I hung out with Daniel Molloy, founder of Tumbleweed, when he visited Missoula in 2018 to screen his film El Silencio: Cycling the Peruvian Andes at our local community cinema. Even though the Prospector was a distant dream and financially out of reach for me at the time, Daniel was warm and approachable, certainly an accessible frontman for the coolest new brand in the bikepacking scene. Daniel, a longtime bicycle mechanic with an impressive touring résumé, founded Boise, Idaho–based Tumbleweed Bicycle Co. in 2014. Frustrated with the bicycle market’s propensity to compromise function in the never-ending pursuit of following industry trends or add to the bottom line, Tumbleweed became the antidote for those seeking bombproof touring mountain bikes that compromise nothing. I remember being really impressed in 2018 when Daniel told me that he didn’t design his frames to be suspension-corrected, which meant nothing was sacrificed by riding a rigid fork. That was something I’d never even considered a possibility at the time. Since around 2017, Tumbleweed riders have piloted their Prospectors to rugged, remote parts of the world in harsh conditions with confidence. Daniel designs his bikes to be field serviceable with oversized steel tubing, threaded bottom brackets, internal dynamo wire routing, and mechanical disc brakes. In 2022, the Stargazer hit the market, which is billed as the companion bike to the Prospector, enabling riders to fill their whole quiver with two perfect adventure bikes instead of seven (guilty). Between these two, they do it all. The Stargazer shares a lot of the same tubing and mountain bike geometry as the Prospector, but it’s optimized for dropbars and an overall lighter-weight bicycle. A blend of dropbar and mountain bike feel makes for a super comfortable riding position, like a gravel bike but with all the tire clearance and gear range of a mountain bike. Paired with Tumbleweed’s new Big Dipper drop handlebar, whew — it’s a thing of beauty. The Stargazer shares a lot of the same tubing and mountain bike geometry as the Prospector, but it’s optimized for dropbars and an overall lighter-weight bicycle. A blend of dropbar and mountain bike feel makes for a super comfortable riding position, like a gravel bike but with all the tire clearance and gear range of a mountain bike. Paired with Tumbleweed’s new Big Dipper drop handlebar, whew — it’s a thing of beauty. In true Molloy fashion, he couldn’t find the perfect match for the Stargazer on the market to complete his vision, so he set out to make one. Developed specifically for the Stargazer, the Big Dipper boasts width options of 510mm, 540mm, and a colossal 570mm (if you’re wild). Remember earlier how I said this bike felt like an armchair? The Big Dipper can mostly be held responsible for that. With minimal reach (50mm) and flare (20°), these bars are solidly on the comfort end of the comfort-to-aero spectrum, which is why I converted to a wide-bar lover while traipsing through the North Cascades. So far, my wide-bar love is reserved for the Big Dipper alone. In addition to a handlebar that sings, the Stargazer I tested was adorned with 29 x 2.35in. Maxxis Ikon tires that ate up bumps on lightly chunky descents. I never felt sketched out or lacking in confidence speeding down unfamiliar roads. It’s obvious this bike was meant to be versatile and fancy with DT Swiss 350 hubs, a 32T RaceFace chainring, and a 10–52T SRAM GX Eagle cassette. The Boost hub spacing, thru-axles, dropper post, and 1x drivetrain are welcome specs borrowed from mountain bike standards. Speaking of dropper posts, I’ve been running the PNW Rainier dropper that comes spec’d with the Stargazer on my personal adventure gravel rig for a few years, and I think it’s a great choice for this bike. The Stargazer comes built with SRAM Rival road shifters modified with a Ratio Technology 1×12 Wide Upgrade Kit to shift the GX Eagle derailer — even more special, the left lever that would be used to shift between front chainrings has been modified to actuate the dropper, which is brilliant. I had to get used to how seamless that was, but once I did, I appreciated it far more than the typical thumb-actuated dropper lever that tends to be a bit awkward on dropbars. I’d be negligent if I didn’t shine a light on the biggest opportunity for this bike to polarize: the price. At just shy of four grand, the Stargazer isn’t a viable impulse purchase for most, and there are plenty of other comparable bikes out there for a fraction of the cost. So what makes those dollars add up? For one, Tumbleweed’s bikes are made in limited runs, so they don’t realize the benefits of making thousands and thousands at once like the big brands. Each size of each frame is made with slightly different sized triple- and quadruple-butted tubing with internal gussets, which adds a lot of complication to production but also adds strength to the frame. The Ratio Technology kit adds time to the build because each bike has a modified drivetrain, and Tumbleweed hand-builds the wheels in-house. The only components that appear to be cost-saving measures are the Aeffect crank and Tektro brake calipers, which are still great choices. (Tumbleweed also offers a Shimano GRX build with a dropper post and hydraulic disc brakes for $4,225.) This bike — this brand — is special. I value the time any individual takes to solve problems in the bicycle industry with grace and wit. It’s no small task to design a bicycle to match a dream, down to the small details of millimeters and degrees. Every decision of the Stargazer feels not just intentional but well-researched; there’s a reason this bike came five years after its predecessor. Endeavors like Tumbleweed Bicycle Co. take time, heart, and dedication to the product. There’s no detail that I don’t like about the company, from the ethos to the names of the products to the clever design. The Stargazer loves to be ridden on dirt roads and swoopy singletrack sporting a couple bikepacking bags. On both climbs and descents it feels supple, stable, and, above all, comfortable. Fully loaded, it feels relatively the same. I’d even venture to say it would be comfortable as a long-haul touring bike for routes that bounce between pavement and dirt roads. You’ve got plenty of ways to attach racks and bags that add up to an impressive carry capacity: a huge inner triangle for a framebag, upper and lower rack mounts, fender mounts, triple mounts on each side of the fork, and three sets of triple mounts on the frame, including one set on the underside of the downtube (my personal favorite). Plus, the massively wide bars would accommodate an extra-large handlebar bag. If you want to dress the bike up in slick tires, it plays nicely as a commuter, too. Even though it’s designed with durability and resiliency at the forefront of priorities, the Stargazer never comes off as being overkill for a shorter adventure. A lot of folks I met through Cascade Bicycle Club that weekend remarked that I had brought the absolute perfect bike for the adventure at hand, which I didn’t need to carry a ton of gear for. In addition to my three-day Winthrop adventure, I rode the Stargazer around Missoula’s old logging roads plenty. The group ride reviews are in: “The prettiest gray bike I’ve ever seen!” said someone (I don’t disagree). “Looks big, feels small!” puzzled a very tall person after dismounting. “Those bars are massive, they’re crazy!” It’s true, they are massive! I also chose this bike for a fully loaded, two-day, rugged-as-all-heck weekend loop with a couple of Adventure Cycling colleagues, David Barth and Daniel Mrgan. During one final chunky descent down Brewster Creek Road, we went from 7,200 to 3,800 feet in about nine miles. My tires were about as low pressure as they could have possibly been (a risk I’m probably too comfortable taking) and the bike was easy to maneuver down the complicated terrain. It felt appropriate that one day I set off for an afternoon ride and budgeted only an hour and a half — I ended up returning home three hours later. Maybe if I’d been riding the two-pound-lighter titanium version ($2,850 for a frameset), I would have made it home earlier, but deep down I know I would have spent the extra time getting distracted by a gorgeous vista or a unique ponderosa pine tree. The Stargazer inspires wonder and curiosity, and you’d be hard pressed to find a bike more likely to make you late for dinner.

Tumbleweed Stargazer

Best uses: Trails, singletrack, and gravel roads, loaded or unloaded Price: $3,875 (complete), $1,350 (frame) Weight: 28.3 lbs. (without pedals) Available sizes: Small, Medium, Extra Medium, Large, Extra Large Size tested: Medium Contact: tumbleweed.cc

Components

Frame: Heat-treated, size-specific chromoly tubing, oversized triple- and quad-butted front triangle with integrated gussets Fork: Unicrown chromoly steel with rack/fender/bottle cage mounts aplenty, internal dynamo wire routing Drivetrain: SRAM GX Eagle 12spd Brifters: SRAM Rival 22 Cassette: SRAM GX Eagle 12spd, 10–52T Brakes: Tektro MD-c550 Handlebar: Tumbleweed Big Dipper, 510mm Bar tape: Camp and Go Slow Rattler, extra long Seatpost: PNW Rainier, 27.2mm diameter, 125mm travel Hubs: DT Swiss 350, thru-axles, 110 x 15mm front, 148 x 12mm rear Tires: Maxxis Ikon EXO 3C TR, 29 x 2.35in.

Notable Geometry

Head tube angle: 69° Reach: 372mm Stack: 597mm Seat tube length: 430mm BB drop: 63.5mm Head tube length: 140mm Standover: 784mm

The post Road Test: Tumbleweed Stargazer appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

Little Wheels, Big Hearts

Ally Mabry — Wed, 01 Nov 2023 23:53:13 +0000

Amid the flashy sizzle reels touting the newest gravel eBike and the big corporations gobbling up and/or shutting down beloved small brands, heart and soul are still alive and well in the bicycle industry. Underneath chasing the hot trends of consumers, real human beings truly want the warm fuzzies of feeling like part of a niche, a caring community of fanatics who get excited about small details and intentional products. I may have come to the party about 30 years late, but I’ve found such company in Bike Friday based in Eugene, Oregon.

Last year, I was honored to test the 2023 All-Packa (Adventure Cyclist, March/April 2023), Bike Friday’s first bikepacking/mountain bike. I had such a blast finding creative ways to utilize its packability that I ended up buying my test bike for my household. I just couldn’t part with it. When Willie Hatfield, the incomparably thoughtful designer of the All-Packa, reached out to see if I’d be interested in testing his updated 2024 version before it hit the market, my response was an immediate “duh.” Who could turn down such an injection of whimsy? Typically we at Adventure Cyclist receive test bikes in big cardboard boxes, shipped from wherever they’re assembled straight to our HQ in Missoula. We unbox them and build them up and save the boxes to be shipped back when we’re finished testing. Willie had a different delivery method in mind for my new and improved glittery-purple All-Packa.

Willie rode his packed All-Packa from his home in Eugene to the Amtrak station with my All-Packa tucked into a suitcase on his back. He easily loaded the suitcase and his quick-folded bike onto the train from Eugene to Portland to Whitefish. How’s that for multimodal?

Willie Hatfield

Early in the morning on October 6, my partner Joel and I loaded up the 2023 All-Packa in the backseat of our truck and headed due north for three hours to Whitefish, Montana. At the same time we were driving, Joe Cruz of Bikepacking.com pedaled a pair of 20in. wheels northwest from Kalispell (14 miles from Whitefish), where he’d flown in the night before and stayed at the airport hotel. Joel and I pulled up to the Depot Park in the sleepy downtown of Whitefish and immediately spotted a yard sale of bike gear scattered around the sidewalk in front of the Amtrak station: Willie. Among his gear was an open suitcase bestowing my folded-up 20in. wheeled dream bicycle.

All four humans and four Bike Friday All-Packas converged to embark on the first-ever all-All-Packa bikepacking adventure on record (please write in if you have conflicting evidence!). We chose Montana (area code 406) because the BSD (bead seat diameter) of the All-Packa’s 20in. wheels measures 406mm — so nerdy and so perfect, thanks to the beautiful brain of Joe Cruz.

Ally Mabry

Our route was a variation of one Joel and I had done a few years before, the Red Meadow Pass Loop, scouted by Whitefish local Zach Miller for bikepacking.com. The champion of all 100-ish-mile loops, this route sticks mostly to forested dirt roads and winds past lakes, a couple quaint tourist villages, and follows the North Fork of the Flathead River through Glacier National Park — all through grizzly bear territory.

To really put the new All-Packa through the ringer, I modified the third day of the loop to climb a seemingly endless Forest Service road up the backside of the local ski resort. Closed for the summer season, the glorious ribbons of flowy singletrack were left unoccupied by the usual hoard of mountain bikers who utilize the lift to minimize uphill traffic when the resort isn’t covered in snow.

Joe Cruz marvels at the North Fork of the Flathead River on the Inside North Fork Road through Glacier National Park, 20-ish miles of which are closed to car traffic year-round.

Ally Mabry

I had never met Willie or Joe in person (although I’m a superfan of both), and aside from phone calls about little-bike design and features, Joe and Willie hadn’t met face to face, either. Joel, admittedly, is not entrenched in Bike World and was tagging along for a good time. As we loaded up our All-Packas that morning and started up the paved bike path out of town, we acknowledged our shared bout of nerves that bubbled up in anticipation of riding with each other. We very quickly fell into a comfortable pace and conversation as the pavement turned to dirt and our cell service dwindled to none.

After 30 miles of churning uphill to Red Meadow Lake, we were rewarded with sweet, sweet solitude and a handful of empty campsites. We spent all night laughing around the campfire, sharing stories of adventure, nerding out about bike technology, and recapping our first day atop All-Packas together.

Joel Castle soaks up the last couple hours of sun as we set up tents and cook dinner by Red Meadow Lake.

Ally Mabry

The 2024 version of the bike accommodates tires of an astonishing and downright comical width: 2.8in. Even with such beefy tires, the bicycle still packs up easily in a suitcase (as Joe demonstrated by flying with his for this trip). Willie really did think of everything.

Other notable improvements of the updated All-Packa include a higher bottom bracket so you can run squishy tire pressure without bottoming out over rocks, compatibility with an externally routed dropper post (!), and some really spectacular drivetrain options. While I opted for a 2×9 drivetrain for maximum range, you can now order your All-Packa spec’d with 1×9, 1×11 SRAM, 12-speed Apex AXS XPLR, or even a Rohloff internally geared hub. The super nifty Bike Friday Packalope bars also got a little upgrade with improved ergonomics, increased grip length, and more backsweep and upsweep.

While the improvements to the All-Packa are really exciting, the bike didn’t handle much differently than the 2023 model. It is, after all, essentially the same bike. During this bikepacking trip, I tested both 2.4in. and 2.8in. tires, compared to the 2.35in. of the previous model. Unsurprisingly, the 2.4in. tires didn’t really feel different from the 2.35in.. The 2.8in., however, had me cheering “2.8! 2.8!” any time I smashed over chunky rock surfaces. You may sacrifice a small amount of speed for that tire width, but in my very educated opinion, it’s so worth it. I took the 2.8in. tires home with me.

On the morning of our final day, Joe and I traded tires so we could both experience 2.4in. and 2.8in. on this trip. It was a whirlwind of pumps and tires flying around after breakfast.

Ally Mabry

Packing gear onto the All-Packa is surprisingly easy considering what you might think would be frame cargo limitations. I already had an Oveja Negra ½ Pack on hand, which fits super well in the tiny internal frame triangle — Bike Friday also partners with Take a Trip Bags to offer custom All-Packa framebags starting at $85. A traditional bikepacking bag setup totally works on the All-Packa, but we all agreed the bike is much less noodly when weighted lower to the ground. Joe’s micro panniers made me a bit envious compared to my bulky seatpost bag and handlebar roll. Braze-ons aplenty allow you to attach cargo cages essentially anywhere along the frame (fork, back of seat mast, downtube, top tube, etc.) so that smaller/longer drybags can be strapped out of the way. The Best Packing Idea Award by far goes to Willie, who ski-strapped a plastic bear canister straight on top of a mini front rack and stuffed it with all of his food. I am definitely taking note of that stroke of genius.

Joe Cruz grins at the summit of Whitefish Mountain with the Lewis Range in Glacier National Park off in the distance.

Ally Mabry

I loved learning all about how Willie sources the odds and ends that go into building his bikes. “Off-road performance is so dependent on having the right tire,” he shared. “Five years ago, the All-Packa couldn’t exist because decently wide knobbies for 20in. wheels didn’t exist. Luckily, a bunch of mountain bikers became parents and wanted their kids to have awesome mountain bikes. Larger brands got the tire manufacturers to release supple tubeless knobbies, and Bike Friday gets to ride their coattails and release a travel bikepacking bike.”

Willie bought up all the tubeless-compatible pairs of 20 x 2.8in. tires he could get his hands on for the All-Packa once the pandemic bike boom waned and manufacturers started canceling their more niche bikes. He negotiates regularly with different companies to see if they’d be interested in producing parts that work for his designs. “[Bike Friday] is still too small to shape the market, so we are seeing manufacturers doing limited runs and frequently discontinuing great tires,” he said. Despite these challenges, Willie is confident that other folding bike brands will eventually follow suit with bikepacking models, which will improve the supply/demand situation for everyone.

Willie Hatfield spins out of a big berm on Kashmir, a black diamond mountain bike trail at Whitefish Mountain. Not a single piece of gear was lost on the descent!

Ally Mabry

All in all, I had to keep reminding myself that I wasn’t riding a standard bicycle the whole weekend — it was very easy to forget. Aside from being able to step through the frame to dismount instead of swinging a leg over the saddle, the All-Packa rides more or less like a standard mountain bike and it’s quite comfortable, in my opinion, especially with 2.8in. knobby tires. And when you’re surrounded by clever minds spouting incredible stories, teaching each other constellations, and bonding over camp recipes, it’s a challenge to think too hard about the bike you’re riding, regardless of how unique it is.

The undeniable highlight of all the riding we did through western Montana was ripping down Whitefish Mountain’s singletrack on our loaded All-Packas as the sun set over town, where we’d soon toast beers over a taco dinner in the glow of our fabulous weekend. We were transformed into giggly little kids flying around berms on our fully loaded little bikes. The first trail we took was accidentally a black diamond and boy, was that wild. Though I was relieved when we caught up to the blue “cross-country” trail, I was amazed by how capable I felt on the All-Packa — truly only limited by my own lack of shreddy mountain bike confidence. I’ll never forget how otherworldly it was to be surrounded by such thoughtful, compassionate weirdos zooming down a desolate mountain bike park, connected by the curiosity and creativity sparked by Bike Friday’s All-Packa.

bikefriday.com

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Pocket Guide to Photography

Ally Mabry — Wed, 21 Jun 2023 20:45:46 +0000

Light

Our best advice is to use natural light to your advantage: shoot early around sunrise and shoot late around sunset. Full noon sun might feel great on your cheeks, but it creates harsh overhead shadows that make getting nice shots tricky, especially when faces are involved. Clouds diffuse sunlight and cast softer shadows, which can make for objectively nicer photos. Of course, you won’t always have control over when the shots you want to capture occur.

Ally Mabry

Golden hour refers to the first and last hours of sun. At golden hour, the sun shines through a thicker layer of atmosphere, which diffuses the light and scatters blue and violet wavelengths, creating a warmer golden hue. More importantly, the direction of the light source (a.k.a. the sun) is very low during golden hour. It’s easy to make things look great in photos during these times because they actually look great in person. Blue hour, also called twilight, refers to the hour before sunrise and after sunset. During blue hour, the light’s blue wavelengths dominate, and the light is indirect. Blue hour can make for some nice shots, but the quantity of light will be low, so you’ll need to adjust ISO, shutter speed, and aperture to compensate. Use the chart on the back page as a reference.

Exposure

Exposure is the amount of light that reaches your camera’s sensor, creating visual data over a period of time. That period is most often a fraction of a second determined by shutter speed. Aperture determines how much light is let in during that time. Most digital cameras feature a live histogram view that can be helpful in determining exposure. A histogram is a graph that displays the tonal values of an image: blacks, shadows, midtones, highlights, and whites.

Image detail from blown-out highlights (too far right) and clipped shadows (too far left) is often unrecoverable, even when shooting RAW, so it’s best to avoid this if possible. When faced with an over- or underexposed image, try adjusting your camera’s exposure compensation settings (usually a dial ranging from -3 to +3) to pull the histogram to the center. When in doubt, most cameras have an automatic bracketing function that will take three or more photos at different exposures and allows you to choose the one that works best for the scene you’re shooting.

Shutter Speed

Shutter speed matters most when shooting handheld in low light, when capturing moving subjects, or when the camera is moving (as in, while you’re riding a bike!).

To freeze fast-moving subjects, use a shutter speed of at least 1/500th of a second (often represented by 500 on a manual dial). To add the feeling of movement to an image, try setting a slower shutter speed (less than 1/30th of a second), and pan the camera to follow the subject as you release the shutter. This keeps the subject in focus while adding motion blur to the background. “B” on your dial stands for “bulb” and will keep the shutter open (long exposure) as long as the shutter release button is held down. To maintain pin-sharp clarity in handheld photos in low light, keep your shutter speed above 1 over the focal length of the lens you’re using (e.g., 1/50 with a 50mm lens). This is a good place to start, but acceptable minimum shutter speed can vary considerably based on whether your camera or lens has built-in image stabilization, and how many cups of coffee you’ve had that day. Experiment and find what works best for you!

Lenses

In short, lens focal length determines how much of a scene is captured by the camera lens. Wide-angle lenses (shorter focal lengths) capture more of a scene and telephoto lenses (longer focal lengths) see distant objects up close. Prime lenses are fixed, without zoom — zoom lenses allow you to use a range of focal lengths. Prime lenses typically offer better image quality, are usually smaller and lighter than zooms, and are often cheaper. The biggest selling point for prime lenses is that they are typically faster than zooms, meaning they have a wider maximum aperture that allows for better low-light performance and more pleasing subject/background separation (a.k.a. bokeh). The downside to shooting with primes is that they’re less versatile than zooms because you’re stuck with one focal length and are reliant on “zooming with your feet.” Here’s how we think about it: <24mm: big, epic landscapes and astrophotography 24–28mm: all-purpose wide angle that allows you to capture more of a scene 35–50mm: general, documentary style (most representative of what the human eye sees) 70mm–85mm: portraits or cropping in on details in a landscape >85mm: wildlife, sports, and other far-off objects

Composition

The most ubiquitous photographic guideline is the Rule of Thirds: divide your image into thirds both horizontally and vertically and align your subject (or the subject’s face if human) in one of the four intersections to balance the elements in the frame and manage negative space. Align the horizon to one of the horizontal lines. Most digital cameras have the option to overlay this grid in the viewfinder. This is a great guideline, but don’t feel confined by it.

Ally Mabry

Aperture refers to the opening of a lens’s diaphragm through which light passes and is rated in f-stops. See the back page for a visual aid. The aperture affects depth of field, or the zone of sharpness in front of/behind the point of focus.

Ally Mabry

Balancing foreground, middleground, and background is important. If you’re shooting with shallow depth of field while focused on the middleground, things in the foreground and background will be a bit soft and out of focus, while your subject will shine in the middleground. This can add depth to your photos that enhances the overall composition. Additionally, use of leading and diagonal lines (painted lines on a road, or edges of the landscape, for example) will draw the viewer’s attention toward the focal point of your composition.

Storytelling

Your adventure is so much more than the pretty landscape you travel through. There are thousands of the exact same photo of the road leading to the Grand Tetons or a loaded bike leaning against a state sign — how will you make yours unique?

Ally Mabry

Think about your photos as a series telling a story: variety is everything. Take photos of the “downtime moments” of camping/hotel rooms/rest stops. Give viewers a sense of scale by including yourself or your riding partners in a wide landscape shot, especially if big vistas are involved. Conversely, try moving your camera really close to things to get some interesting detail shots. A big part of visual storytelling is implication and creativity. If you take photos of your bike leaning against something inanimate, try a shallow depth of field to create visual interest — experiment shooting between or right behind stalks of wild grass or flowers to increase that depth. You don’t necessarily need to show the whole bicycle to communicate that a bicycle is present. Instead, you could imply its presence by taking the shot through the frame with a shallow depth of field, literally framing your photo with the bike frame. Play around and maybe even get a little weird with it!

File Format

A RAW file is the equivalent of a film negative (literally raw — it’s not an acronym.) A JPEG file is like having a print. In your camera settings under Image Quality, you can choose RAW or JPEG. Under the JPEG setting, your camera optimizes images visually, meaning it automatically adjusts contrast, exposure, and vibrancy. JPEGs are smaller than RAW files because they’re compressed, and superfluous information is erased. Shooting in JPEG mode is the most straightforward and can produce great results without the need to do much editing in post production. RAW photos are exactly what the camera sees, completely uncompressed — unedited, these photos appear muddy, so time spent editing in post-production is required. RAW file sizes are large because they contain the maximum amount of information possible. If you’re an experienced photo editor and have lots of storage space on your hard drive/memory cards, it’s ideal to shoot RAW. Over- and underexposed images are easier to fix, and you can make the image look just how you want. Hold onto your RAW files to come back to if you ever need to tweak edits but export them as high-resolution JPEGs when you submit your final edits to publications.

Resources

Bicycle Touring Photography: A Quick Guide to Taking Better Photos by Paul Jeurrison From Selfie to Self Portrait edited by Alex Strickland (Adventure Cyclist, May 2017) How to Photograph Your Tour edited by Aaron Teasdale Bonus “Pro” Tips: Start collecting silica packets. When you head into the backcountry, throw them into your camera bag. The silica gel will absorb any accidental moisture that interacts with your camera. Consider buying a few inexpensive UV filters to protect your lenses from dirt, dust, and scratches. It’s much less of a headache to replace a UV filter than it is a $500 lens. Turn any bag into a dedicated photo bag with a camera insert. Camera inserts are available in a wide range of sizes, so it’s useful to know the dimensions of the bag you’re adapting before buying one. For cycling, light is right and small is … also good. Generally, full-frame cameras and lenses are bigger and heavier than their smaller-sensor counterparts. Modern APS-C and Micro Four Thirds cameras offer a good balance between image quality and portability, and work great for most people. If image quality is of utmost importance, consider a full-frame mirrorless camera paired with a smaller prime lens and leave the pro zoom lens at home. Print out the guide below, fold it up using our instructions, and carry it with you on your next adventure!

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How’d Ya Get That Shot?

Ally Mabry — Wed, 21 Jun 2023 20:45:32 +0000

The pages of our magazine are stuffed to the gills with stellar examples of photography shot from a multitude of trusty touring saddles. We at Adventure Cyclist cheer aloud every time an author submits an incredible gallery to accompany their written story. The right photos bring a story to life beyond the words.

Visuals are processed 60,000 times faster than text — an MIT study found that the human brain only needs 13 milliseconds to identify an image. Literally: the blink of an eye. Because of this, photography is an important tool in print media storytelling. We aim to inspire our readers to dream of the vast expanse of Iceland with Greg Maino and to sit atop Ana Zamorano’s bicycle in Kyrgyzstan. These photographers do their job so well, they make us consider spending our next vacation days whisked off to a foreign land smelling new air and taking in new sights. While smartphone cameras do the trick for Instagram, they don’t always cut it for print, which is obviously where we’re invested. Perhaps manufacturers aren’t too far away from smartphone cameras that will deliver the quality print demands, but we can always tell if a photo was taken with a smartphone. That’s not to say that the photos aren’t worth taking if you only have a smartphone, though — of course they are. But if you’re interested in gaining a bit of confidence carrying your prized DSLR into the backcountry to get the really good shots, we’re here to help. Over the past year, Dan Stone and Ally Mabry tested over 30 pieces of camera-specific bikepacking bags, straps, and gizmos to find the crème de la crème — so you don’t have to.

Our Testers

Dan’s first camera was a Kodak 110 point-and-shoot camera that he received as a Christmas gift sometime in the mid-1990s (thanks, Aunt Julie!). He spent countless hours in his high school’s darkroom developing and printing black-and-white photos of abandoned Iowa farms and local punk and hardcore bands. He reluctantly traded film for digital over 10 years ago and has since come to embrace the medium for the creative control it offers. After completing a section of the Great Divide and local bikepacking routes in Idaho and Montana without a camera, Dan swore off smartphone photos for good and started experimenting with the best ways to carry a camera while cycling. It has paid dividends, and his photos have been awarded 10s of likes on social media. Dan currently shoots with a Fujifilm X-T3 and spends too much time pondering lens focal lengths. Ally has been photographing her travels for the past decade, after first spending many nights leaning over chemical tubs in a haunted darkroom at the University of Alabama. Hailing from a family of artists in the Deep South, visual storytelling was baked into her metaphorical cake at birth. Ally’s first foray into bikepacking photography involved shooting 35mm film with a Minolta XG-1 on her first tour up the Oregon Outback in 2015, and soon after brought seven rolls of film down 1,400 miles of the Baja Divide. While she doesn’t consider herself to hold a candle to professionals (or to mega enthusiast Dan Stone), Ally has painstakingly sifted through and selected photos for the past 56 issues of Adventure Cyclist and has learned loads about photography vicariously. A year ago, she finally went digital with a Fujifilm X-T3 mirrorless camera because it is the perfect camera for bikepacking (in her completely unbiased opinion). Ally prefers dirt touring to road touring and, while by no means a gear snob, is heavily invested in protecting her new camera while she jostles it through the woods.

Straps

Dan Stone

Straps are important. Which strap you choose is largely dependent on how you plan to use it — are you in the camp of keeping your camera on your handlebars and need a simple quick-draw method? A minimalist, lightweight shoulder or wrist strap might be the way to go. Are you planning to wear your camera on your back as you descend bumpy singletrack? A shoulder strap with a cross-body stabilizer is key. Your preferred method of photography will determine which type of strap you choose.

Outer Shell Rope Strap, $39 (Dan’s pick) I’m a camera strap simpleton — if it takes more than .5 seconds to figure out how to use a strap, then it’s not for me. My brain is too busy obsessing over trivial details to be bothered with how to connect the whosit to the whatsit on some fancy newfangled strap. The Outer Shell Rope Strap gets the job done without overthinking it. I primarily ride with my camera in a handlebar bag or hip pack, so I appreciate the light weight and packability of this strap. For short periods of riding with a camera on my back, the Rope Strap’s one-handed length adjustment makes it easy to cinch up on the fly and keeps the camera from shifting around too much. I go back and forth between using a shoulder strap or a wrist strap, so I find quick-release connectors to be essential. While I tend to prefer the additional security of the Peak Design Anchor Links, the OP//TECH QD connectors pair well with this strap and have proven more than adequate in keeping my camera attached to my body. This strap’s diminutive size and 2.5-pound weight limit of the OP//TECH connectors means this strap pairs best with lighter, compact camera setups.

Outer Shell Camera Strap, $58 (Ally’s pick) Unlike Dan Stone, I prefer to wear my camera most of the time I’m riding — in hot summer temps, it’s less preferable because the camera resting on my lower back prevents my sweat from evaporating and can fog up the viewfinder, but I find that the fewer the steps to get the camera to my eye, the more photos I will take. Because of my preferred camera carry solution, there are a few non-negotiable features a strap needs: comfortable padding/reinforcement where the strap sits on my shoulder, a simple profile with nothing that will dig into my back or neck, and a third attachment point in a cross-body stabilizer strap. The über-classy Outer Shell Camera Strap meets all these requirements and, of the 12 straps we tested, has won First Place Camera Strap in my book. The built-in cross-body stabilizer strap attaches to the strap mid-chest with a magnetic buckle that’s easy to unhook with one hand and attaches by screwing into the tripod mount. It keeps my camera from swinging forward and crashing into my top tube when I inevitably cycle downhill or go over large bumps. It’s adjustable from 26 to 42 inches via four different cinch points, and the cross-body stabilizer can be relocated along a daisy chain on the main strap. With all the adjustment points, I’m surprised at how sleek the system still feels. If you already have a strap that you love but want to add a cross-body stabilizer strap to it, check out the Stabilizer Strap by PS Bagworks.

Ally Mabry

BLACKRAPID RS-4 Classic Retro Camera Strap, $82 By far the most heavy-duty strap we tested, the BLACKRAPID RS-4 Classic Retro Camera Strap has a lot of interesting bells and whistles that make it quite different from the other straps on our chopping block. The strap itself consists of one-inch nylon webbing with two adjustment points: a quick-release leash (called the Front Rapid Adjuster) on the front, and a more standard adjustable cinch buckle on the back (also quite easy to adjust on the fly) — and that’s about where the commonly found features of a camera strap stop. The RS-4 is technically more of a sling than a strap, as the three-inch shoulder pad stays in place no matter where you adjust the camera to sit. The pad is constructed of nylon honeycomb, foam, and mesh and has one small zipper pouch and one small pocket for extra memory cards, batteries, or other small gizmos. BLACKRAPID’s signature spring-loaded cam locks act as adjustable bumpers on either side of the camera attachment point — so you can effectively keep it from swinging the entire length of the strap when you’re not shooting. This is a really cool feature in theory, but I never quite got comfortable adjusting them quickly while riding. Maybe you’ll have better luck. The camera attaches to a small locking carabiner with additional security provided by the BLACKRAPID LockStar, a plastic guard that snaps onto the carabiner once it’s locked. All in all, the features of this sling really impress me, but this wouldn’t be my first choice for an on-bike camera carry system unless I was only riding on pavement or planning to dismount my bicycle before taking a photo. I see it more as a strap to use when you’re shooting an event — having your camera ready at any moment when you’re walking around. I still think it’s worth mentioning in this guide, though, as it’s especially interesting for people who prefer to use straps that lack a third attachment point.

Ally Mabry

PS Bagworks Rope Wrist Strap, $16.50–$26.50 Simplicity is key with the Rope Wrist Strap by PS Bagworks. Made from half-inch flat braided polypropylene rope, this is the stiffest wrist strap we tested. Stiffness can be an asset if you plan to keep your camera in a front bag on your bike and need to be able to wield it quickly — the Rope Wrist Strap holds its shape, making it really easy to slip on and off your wrist with minimal hassle. The basic strap comes equipped with a five-eighths-inch stainless steel split ring, which is compatible with virtually any camera. Optional attachment upgrades include OP//TECH mini quick-release buckles for $2 extra, or Peak Design Anchor Links for $10. Straps come in small, medium, and large, and nine different colors.

PS Bagworks Universal Camera Stabilizer, $35–$40 I absolutely love that PS Bagworks makes this product. For a lot of photographers who wear their camera while riding, a stabilizer strap is a make-or-break feature — in my case, I need one. Having the ability to add a stabilizer strap to virtually any camera strap in the world (maybe you already have one and don’t want to invest in a new setup yet, maybe you just really love the simple strap you already have) opens photographers up to so many mix-and-match combinations. The Universal Camera Stabilizer attaches to your strap of choice with Velcro that folds over on itself to keep the stabilizer in place. The baseline model has another Velcro attachment for the bottom anchor kit: a spring-loaded carabiner that attaches to a metal anchor that screws into your tripod mount. For $5 extra, you can upgrade the Velcro anchor attachment for a permanently sewn-in Peak Design Anchor. Like other stabilizer straps on the market, there’s a FidLock magnetic buckle that is super easy to operate with one hand while riding. The whole strap is adjustable up to 18 inches. Though I prefer a softer webbing, the flexibility and adaptability the Universal Camera Stabilizer offers puts it at the top of my list.

PS Bagworks Rider Strap, $55–$79 Designed with cycling in mind, the Rider Strap from PS Bagworks is made with one-inch, military-grade 17337 webbing, includes a removable stabilizer strap, upgradable attachment points, and can be adjusted to be between 36 and 48 inches in length. The stabilizer strap has a magnetic quick-release buckle and attaches to the camera with a mini carabiner that could easily be swapped out for any of the other quick attachment systems we’ve mentioned — it attaches to the main camera strap with a plastic adjuster buckle that has slits on both sides that allow removal from the strap. The option to convert this three-point attachment strap to a standard camera strap with two attachment points means this strap is one of the most versatile that we tested (PS Bagworks is good at versatile!). While I think this offers advantages over other straps in the way of adjustability, I found the doubled webbing to be too much strap around my chest. The webbing was a bit stiff and slightly abrasive, which wasn’t super comfortable when I wore a sleeveless shirt with this strap. Still, the construction of the Rider Strap is sturdy and is surely attractive to folks who like their gear to work in more than one mode.

Cedaero Light Meter Strap, $25 Made to be compatible with Cedaero’s Viewfinder Pack (more on that later), the Light Meter Strap is a slick option for a minimal shoulder strap. You choose between 1000D Cordura nylon or 15oz waxed canvas (my preference — it’s lovely) for the main body of the strap, which is lined with a soft 200D nylon. The rest of the strap is made with standard three-quarter-inch webbing and is adjustable from 32 to 51.5 inches via two cinch buckles. Though it comes with somewhat large, unwieldy plastic hooks to attach to the bag or your camera, it’s very easy to swap the hooks out for something else (like anchor links or other quick-attachment points). One-hundred percent made in the U.S., this strap is available in a lovely array of 15 colors of 1000D Cordura nylon and six colors of waxed canvas for $5 extra.

Outer Shell Wrist Strap, $25 Essentially a miniature version of Outer Shell’s Rope Strap, the Wrist Strap is made with a soft, hollow rope that lies flat, helping it stay put on your wrist. The strap self-tightens with the weight of the camera, so if you were to accidentally drop the camera while shooting, it wouldn’t fall off your wrist. It comes equipped with quick-connect attachment points made by OP//TECH, which are optimal for cameras under 2.5 pounds. For heavier cameras, or for those who prefer Peak Design Anchor links, the end of the strap isn’t sewn to itself, making it super simple to swap attachment points. Handmade in California, this simple strap packs a lot of functionality into a minimal package.

Ally Mabry

Road Runner Camera Strap, $35 As far as simple shoulder straps go, this one gets pretty high marks. The climbing-specific webbing is super soft — probably the softest webbing of 90 percent of the straps we tested (the Outer Shell Rope Strap comes close). It’s got an adjustable strap with a really generous, obvious loop that’s easy to find with one hand for quick tightening while riding. The strap attaches to your camera with webbing that doubles back through heavy-duty YKK plastic buckles. Although there isn’t a great way to attach quick connectors like Peak Design Anchor Links or OP//TECH mini quick release, it is quite simple to remove the strap from a camera and reattach it. Like the Jammer Bag and the Point ’N’ Shooter, the Road Runner Camera Strap is made by hand in the U.S. and comes in a variety of colors.

Dan Stone

Peak Design Slide Lite, $60 The Slide Lite from Peak Design is a sleek, stylish strap that pairs well with small and large camera systems alike. The Slide Lite comes with Peak Design’s Anchor Links, which are arguably the most secure strap-to-camera connector in the biz. I love that the connectors are sewn in so that there’s no chance of them slipping off the end of the strap, and the option for using the strap as a sling with the included tripod plate adapter is a nice touch too. The seatbelt-style nylon webbing is supple and comfortable for long periods of use but doesn’t pack down as well as some of the other straps we tested. At five feet, eight inches tall, I found the strap a touch long, but not excessively so.

Ally Mabry

Peak Design Leash, $45 The ultralight cousin of the Slide Light, Peak Design’s Leash utilizes slim aluminum/Hypalon sliders for one-finger adjustments. “Everything you need and nothing that you don’t” is Peak Design’s motto for this minimalist strap that can be quickly adjusted between 33 and 57 inches. The webbing is the same for the Leash as it is for the Slide Lite — supple and reminiscent of a seatbelt, so very comfortable and not abrasive when it rests on bare skin. Peak Design Anchor Links are included, making the Leash a very affordable two-point attachment shoulder strap.

Bags

Where you store your camera while you ride is purely personal preference, and there are generally three schools of thought: carry on your body, carry in a bag on your body, and carry in a bag on your bike. What terrain you travel most often will help direct which school of thought you’re in too. If you prefer to wear a backpack because it’s what you’re used to, any backpack that you’re comfortable riding with will work to hold a camera (just make sure it’s protected in there — see “Gizmos”).

Ally Mabry

Cedaero Viewfinder Pack, $125 The Viewfinder Pack, appropriately named for camera carrying, is a sweet little sturdy camera case built to live on your handlebars or slung around your shoulder by attaching Cedaero’s Light Meter Strap to the D-rings on either side. The bag comes equipped with a removable and repositionable padded divider that Velcros onto the front and back of the bag’s interior — it’s super handy when separating your camera and your gizmos and for snugging up your valuables in this relatively rigid bag. There’s also a thin zip pocket on the front that works well for SD cards, a couple rolls of film, our Pocket Guide to Photography, or a Clif bar. The flip top has a rather narrow lip that hugs the sides of the bag when closed, but I wouldn’t trust it to keep out a heavy downpour or dust on a really windy day in the desert. The lid fastens with a quick-release buckle which is easy enough to open with one hand while riding. Closing the buckle with one hand while riding is possible when going uphill (read: slow) on pavement, but it does take concentration. The whole bag attaches to your handlebars with two Velcro straps and is stabilized by a third Velcro strap around your stem or headtube. Though the reinforced Velcro straps are sturdy, they’re kind of short (so that when they’re folded down in over-the-shoulder camera bag mode, they line up flush with the bottom of the bag). After a low-speed crash, one of the straps attached to my handlebars came undone under the impact. While I love the look of this bag on and off the bike, I found that it was easy to jostle the heck out of my camera when I ventured off-road if I didn’t wedge it into the bag well enough with the padded divider. A good solution is to add some extra padding to fill the space between the lid and the camera, like a Domke wrap. This is a rather typical side effect of a more rigid handlebar bag when carrying a camera. If you’re sticking to pavement, this would be a lovely way to carry your camera and accessories. Every piece of the Viewfinder Pack is made in the U.S. Choose between light weight 1000D Cordura in 17 colors or upgrade to robust waxed canvas (shown here) with seven color options for $10 extra.

Dan Stone

Road Runner Jammer Handlebar Bag, $170 Handmade with love in Los Angeles, the Jammer is a rando-inspired rolltop bag with an 11-liter max capacity — that’s enough space to fit your camera, an extra lens or two, a few gizmos, and a long-sleeve layer for when golden hour turns to blue hour. The two cinch straps on either side help tighten things down to a svelte six (-ish) liters for when your cargo is minimal. Though I only tested it as a handlebar bag, it’s designed to also be mounted as a rear bag for when you’re sticking to pavement. It can also be mounted to a front or rear rack. Rolltops are great for water-resistant security and relatively quick access. Aside from the two expanding front pockets, there isn’t much to organization in this bag: it’s essentially a small, cavernous pouch. Don’t be the fool who puts their DSLR in the Jammer with a Leatherman and also a Gu packet — that’s just asking for it. We did find that with the provided straps, this bag shifts from right to left a lot along handlebars when navigating tough terrain. For that reason, we recommend using a rubber ski strap or similar strap that is guaranteed to stay put.

Dan Stone

Swift Industries Catalyst Pack, $160 The Catalyst is a mid-sized pack from Swift Industries that, like the Road Runner Jammer, can be mounted on a handlebar or saddle; I tested it as a handlebar bag and found it to be a very capable photo gear hauler. At 7.5 liters, the Catalyst fit my padded camera insert perfectly, and allowed me to bring an extra lens or two for photo-centric bike missions. The lid of the bag fastens via two adjustable buckles, and the interior features a drawstring closure and compression strap that are useful for cinching down bigger loads. A small zippered pocket on the top of the bag can be used to store keys, cash, and other miscellanea. I underbiked some bumpy singletrack with the Catalyst fully loaded, and it was surprisingly well behaved, thanks in large part to the Voile Nano Strap connectors and a removable plastic liner that helps to stabilize loads. The Catalyst is made from recycled 400D ECOPAK, which makes it lightweight, durable, and environmentally friendly. Plus, the teal version looks pretty sharp.

Ally Mabry

Rockgeist Nigel handlebar bag, $120 (Dan’s pick) This handlebar bag checks all the boxes for me. It’s lightweight, minimalist, waterproof, and made in the U.S. and Canada. The rolltop design and single elastic closure is brilliantly simple and allows for quick, one-handed access to camera equipment while riding. A foam bed liner helps protect photo equipment, and additional protection can be added via a small camera insert, a camera wrap, or a puffy jacket. I’m convinced that Voile Nano Straps are the pinnacle of bag-to-bar attachment systems and am psyched that Rockgeist went this route with the Nigel. At 4.25 liters, this is on the smaller end of the handlebar bag spectrum, but I find it works well for carrying a small mirrorless camera, a few snacks, and a lightweight windbreaker — all without limiting hand placement on the bar tops. Those looking for more space would be well served by something like the 6.5-liter Swift Industries Catalyst, which also earned high praises in our tests.

Dan Stone

Route Werks Handlebar Bag, $189 (Ally’s pick) Even though I’m “not a gear snob,” I’d like to steer you to consider investing in this kind of pricey, heavily engineered, insanely sturdy — like, bomb proof — handlebar system, with the caveat that it’s not a great solution for giant camera bodies paired with giant lenses (or suspension forks, as it’s designed for rigid). I don’t know the people at Route Werks, but I’d reckon they’re a bunch of Swiss engineers based on how precise, modular, and fancy the Handlebar Bag is. The bag itself attaches to the Bike Mount with a sturdy (adjustable) on/off clamp lever. Most notably, the lid of the bag is plastic, which I didn’t expect to love as much as I do. This bag made me realize how much internal agonizing I do when it?s time to undo the rolltop or the many buckles of a handlebar bag to get my camera out (except for the Rockgeist Nigel bag, which I adore.) With this bag, you simply push a small latch that pops the lid free from the body. The lid hinges on the far side of the bag, which means it opens toward you, allowing quick access to your camera. The Handlebar Bag has small interior and exterior pockets that fit keys, smartphone, and a multitool. I’d recommend a Domke Wrap on top to make sure your camera is nice and snug in the compartment because once it is, there’s no chance it will jostle in this bag. Because it?s modular, you’ll need to do a little homework before ordering. To make the bag one with your handlebars, Route Werks includes a proprietary Bike Mount (if your bars are 31.8mm, carry on. If they’re 26.0mm or 25.4mm, add the Bike Mount Adapters, which are sold separately.) To mount a cycling computer or your phone to the lid of the bag, add the BarFly Tech Adapter or Quad Lock (respectively). Add the Handlebar Stub to attach a front light or a bell to the side of the bag so your light beam is unobstructed and to save handlebar real estate for your hands.

Ally Mabry

Oveja Negra Royale hip pack, $110 (Dan’s pick) For lighter and smaller loads, I’ve come to really value the ease of access that hip packs offer over backpacks. To take a photo while riding with a backpack, I need to stop, take off the pack, rummage around through a black hole of candy wrappers and other nonsense while trying not to knock my bike over, pull out the camera, and take the shot. With a hip pack, I can easily access my camera without taking the pack off, so I take more photos and spend less time fiddling with gear. The Oveja Negra Royale’s simple rolltop design and four-plus liters of capacity make it my preferred option for hauling camera gear. The Royale accommodates my cheapo Amazon camera insert, a Fujifilm mirrorless camera and lens, and an additional small prime lens. The adjustable rolltop closure allows the pack to expand or compress as needed, and the side compression straps make a world of difference in stabilizing loads by pulling them close to your body. A single zippered internal pocket works well for stashing SD cards, lens wipes, and other accessories. The only feature I feel is missing is a key clip. The Royale’s hip wings aren’t as padded as some of the other hip packs we tested, but I found the pack to be plenty comfortable on long rides as long as I didn’t overload it.

Dan Stone

Camelbak Podium Flow 4 Hydration Belt, $60 (Ally’s Pick) When I bring my Fuji X-T3 into the backcountry, I don’t bother with multiple lenses: my 27mm prime lens is perfect for the job. Not only does it take less fiddling to get a shot while I’m riding because there’s no zoom, it also makes for a much smaller camera profile since the lens is so thin. When I’m bikepacking, simplicity enables me to take more photos on the fly. I’ve found that when I’m not carrying it around my shoulder, I like having it lovingly tucked into one of the pockets of my Podium Flow 4 hydration belt — it fits perfectly, along with a shoulder and cross-body stabilizer strap. Having two zip compartments means that my camera can live in one and everything else can live in the other, which keeps things like gel packets, snack crumbs, and abrasive whatnots from interfering with the camera. A nice bonus is the water bottle holster that separates the zip compartments (and it comes with a 21oz water bottle!) Fully stuffed with four liters of gear, this small hip pack feels secure and stable with weight and bulk evenly distributed around my lower back. There are also plenty of smaller zip and elastic compartments to help with organizing. I don’t recommend this hip pack if you have larger lens or camera body, but if you’re carrying a minimalist setup, this hip pack is for you.

Dan Stone

Patagonia Dirt Roamer Bike Waist Pack 3L, $69 If you’re in the market for a sturdy hip pack that can carry all of the things with the ability to compartmentalize, check out the Dirt Roamer Bike Waist Pack by Patagonia. With three liters of capacity distributed between three zip compartments on top of two water bottle holsters, you can carry everything you need for a day ride around your waist. I love the ability to compartmentalize (see above review); to make that work in a hip pack with this design, the waist strap needs to be supportive and comfortable. Patagonia did a great job with this one — though when packed fully, the big compartment can feel heavy on your lower back, the waist strap keeps things feeling snug in one place without too much sagging. It’s also rather breathable, which is nice on hot days, and the adjustment buckles hold well in bumpy conditions.

Dan Stone

Road Runner Large Point ’N’ Shooter Stem Bag, $80 The Point ’N’ Shooter Bag is Road Runner’s XL version of the classic stem/feed/snack bag that’s designed to fit digital point-and-shoot or compact 35mm film cameras. Due to the cylindrical nature of this bag, camera compatibility is limited to those of the stubby lens variety. I tested this bag with a relatively svelte Fujifilm X-T3 and 35mm f2 lens, and I found it to be too small (RIP rubber eyepiece), but I could see it working well with something like a Fujifilm X100V, Ricoh GR, or a small mirrorless camera with a pancake lens. The Point ’N’ Shooter’s single drawstring closure maximizes accessibility, and the water-resistant lid helps protect your camera from the elements. One downside to stem bags is their propensity to get in the way when riding out of the saddle, and I found that the voluminous Point ’N’ Shooter was especially susceptible to knee strikes when pedaling standing up.

Gizmos

Dan Stone

Technically, all you need to be able to take good photos on a bike adventure is a camera and a way to keep the camera safe. We’ve got a few tricks and gizmos up our sleeves to make things even a bit easier and take your photos to the next level. For example, any bag can be a camera bag with a padded insert. There are hundreds out there from which to choose.

Sensor Cleaning Kit, ~$30 Mirrorless digital camera sensors attract dust like cyclists to a box of free donuts. A sensor cleaning kit is invaluable for safely removing stubborn debris and smudges from your camera’s delicate sensor. Available in sensor-specific sizes.

LensCoat LensPouch, $18–$40 Keep lenses protected and accessible with these handy neoprene pouches. A sewn-in loop and plastic clip makes them easy to strap to the outside of a pack so you aren’t always digging through your gear when you need to switch lenses.

Peak Design Anchor Links, $25 Of all the different types of ways to attach a camera body to a camera strap, Peak Design Anchor Links are by far my favorite. They’re simple, sturdy, and reliable — if you regularly swap straps out, like from a shoulder strap to a wrist strap, for example, having Anchor Links on every strap eliminates the headache of unthreading and relooping each time. A lot of our favorite straps have the option of upgrading to Anchor Links. The system is simple: the Anchor is the little circle button attached to a loop — tie a cow hitch loop (Google it) on each of your camera’s strap attachment points. Once your Anchors are in place, you might never have to remove them again! The Anchor housing attaches to the ends of your camera straps and the Anchors pop in easily and pop out with a little front-to-back squeeze. Each Anchor Link is rated to hold 200 pounds, which might be overkill for a 1.5-pound camera, but at least you know you never have to worry about them failing!

Pedco Ultrapod, $30 At only 4.3oz, the Pedco Ultrapod allows you to get those long-exposure and self-portrait shots without the bulk and weight of a full-size tripod. The mini ball head is surprisingly sturdy, and the included Velcro strap makes it easy to attach the tripod to a tree branch, fence post, etc.

Giottos Rocket Air Blaster, $17 It’s a dusty, dirty world out there. Quickly blast away grit and grime from lenses and sensors with the Giottos Rocket Air Blaster. I always pack the small version when I’m out shooting and have a larger version at home for dealing with extra dusty situations.

Domke Wraps, $22–$30 These padded nylon wraps are a no-fuss way to protect cameras, lenses and other delicate items without adding a lot of bulk to your bag or pack. Available in a range of sizes to fit most lens/camera setups.

Dan Stone

LowePro GearUp Wrap, $28 This is a great little organizer for extra batteries, SD cards, lens wipes, and other small photo accessories. The elastic hook closure makes it quick to get in and out of, and I find it’s the right size for carrying all the odds and ends I need for a photo outing.

Dan Stone

Koolertron Shockproof camera bag insert, $20 Camera inserts can turn any bag into a dedicated photo bag. Inserts are available in a wide range of sizes, so it’s useful to know the dimensions of the bag you’re adapting before buying one. Inserts are available from established photography brands such as Shimoda and Peak Design; I happen to use a cheap “Koolertron” insert from Amazon that works well for my purposes.

The post How’d Ya Get That Shot? appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

Road Test: Ritchey Ascent

Ally Mabry — Mon, 15 Aug 2022 11:27:03 +0000

This article first appeared in the July 2022 issue of Adventure Cyclist magazine.

Tom Ritchey designed and introduced the first Ascent about 30 years ago with the intent to offer a mountain bike that would inspire riders to get lost in the woods. The Ascent was resurrected in 2015 as an adventure bike to accept either 27.5in. or 29in. wheels in a shift to be a bit more of a Swiss army knife. The historic Ascent ethos remains in the 2021 model you see here with only minor changes to the geo, but adds modern componentry, a new Ritchey fork with Boost hub spacing, thru-axles, and a whole mess of adventure-ready braze-ons for racks, cargo, and a dynamo. The frame and fork are both made of triple-butted Ritchey Logic steel tubing, of course.

It’s worth noting that the Ascent is only sold as a frame and fork, not as a complete bike. The media bike I received features some pretty luxe components from Paul Component Engineering and White Industries, but a much more affordable build is totally on the table.

It’s my assumption that if someone is interested in owning a Ritchey frame, they’re at a point in their cycling journey where they know what they like and they have at least some opinions about componentry. They also probably love to tinker and switch things up from time to time, though I don’t see that personality trait as a requirement for whoever owns this bike. The seemingly endless manifestations of the Ascent are exciting and impressive even if you don’t know exactly what you like. In fact, this bike is modular enough that you can (with access to the right components) have a lovely bike that makes complete sense in myriad builds.

As I began spending time with the Ascent, I found that it was much easier to define this bike by what it’s not than by what it is. When I first built the bike up, my brain labeled it “mountain bike” because of the 27.5 x 2.2in. knobby tires (Rene Herse tubeless Umtanum Ridge), the flat bars, and the general mountain bike-y geometry with the headtube angle at 70.5° and generously sloped top tube. Knowing it could accommodate up to 29 x 2.6in. tires with the right rims didn’t hurt that assumption either. On one group ride, I was chatting with a stranger who commented that the bike looked like “a really nice beer-getter” (which prompted an involuntary eye roll from me). Still, with my moral disagreement at putting Paul components on a bike whose primary purpose is “beer getting,” this stranger made me scratch my head. Is this a mountain bike?

A seasoned reader of our Road Tests might recall that we (in Missoula) frequently break in trail-appropriate test bikes on a twisty singletrack called MoZ, which spits the rider out right in the middle of town. With “mountain bike” in mind, MoZ seemed like a logical first step. I pointed the bike up and began climbing the smooth, steep terrain gleefully thanks to the SunRace MX80 cassette’s mega gears (11–50T with a 38T chainring). One could even up the ante by choosing a double chainring up front. The microSHIFT/Paul friction shifters made shifting through multiple gears quick, easy, and precise. As I climbed, I quickly learned that Ritchey’s WCS Skyline saddle is not the most comfortable without a chamois (and I later read that it’s ideal for riders who lack flexibility, which is definitely not a limitation of mine.)

The Ritchey Ascent all packed up for a week on the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route.

Ally Mabry

The trail was freshly dry with no signs of winter’s snowmelt, a nice surprise since I’d been a little nervous heading to the trailhead for my first time since spring. Climbing to the top of the trail on such a capable bike was so delightful, though, that I decided to go a little farther into a section where the trail mellows and becomes a flowy doubletrack to the tree line. The angle of the seat tube and relatively long chainstays put my weight almost directly over the rear wheel, which helped a lot with traction. I turned around at the apex, let a little air out of my tires, and took off down the wider, rocky doubletrack.

This bike positively dances back and forth down a good rocky road, and it feels nothing short of a well-coordinated salsa boogie, moving side to side quickly and gracefully. I attribute its dance-like nature to the fact that this steel bike weighs no more than 25 pounds when adorned with Ritchey WCS Trail 30 aluminum rims (which I honestly assumed were carbon this whole time) and Rene Herse tires. I don’t know what “lateral stiffness” or “vertical compliance” mean in a practical sense, but I can tell you that riding this bike is smooth as heck.

My salsa bliss ended in somewhat of a rude awakening when the doubletrack transformed back into singletrack. Although the frame is a medium, which is what I typically ride as a five-foot eight-inch human, the Ascent feels a bit big and unwieldy to me on technical downhills. The Kyote bars sweep back so far that shortening the stem would effectively result in a negative stem length, which would likely compromise the overall smooth handling of the bike. As I careened through switchback after switchback, reassuring myself that the bars were wide as heck and I just needed to get used to them, I wondered if maybe I’d misjudged the Ascent on first glance.

Luckily, the Paul Klamper brakes kept me safe and upright — hands down the only disc brakes I have ever ridden that are completely silent when engaged. The Paul Love Levers are easy to reach and don’t require a lot of squeeze power to lock the wheels up, which was jarring at first before I got used to them. Perhaps adding a dropper post would have helped me feel more in control on the descent.

The Paul Components Love Lever, resplendent in anodized purple, and thumb shifter.

Ally Mabry

Not really fitting squarely into the “gravel bike” category either, the Ascent is much more upright when outfitted with Ritchey’s Kyote bars. The 27.5° sweep and 35mm rise give it a much more casual feel than what I’d consider a proper gravel bike (maybe that’s what tipped the stranger off to call it a beer-getter.) These same qualities lead me to strike “race bike” from the list of possible labels. Though it does feel surprisingly snappy on pavement with the “noise-canceling” Umtanum Ridge tires, the geometry and flat bars don’t lend the rider the power output necessary for racing. Perhaps pairing the Ascent with a shorter stem and dropbars would give this bike a racier feel, but I still have my doubts that it would be my first pick.

To change up the terrain, I joined some friends on a ride up a slightly inclined dirt road that follows a creek way back into the Wilderness. After turning to the Rene Herse tire pressure calculator, I no longer felt like I was skittering around on loose surfaces. (The calculator uses the rider’s weight combined with the weight of the bike to calculate exact pressure amounts depending on the size of the tires.)

A few weeks later, I loaded the Ascent up for a bike overnight taking the same route, and it felt even more at home. What once felt a bit too lively for me was weighed down by camping gear, stabilizing the ride quality considerably. You know a setup is good when you stop thinking about it and turn your focus to your surroundings. It was at this point that I struck the correct chord with the Ascent. Once dialed, this campout taught me that the ideal setting for the Ascent is more than just a wide dirt road that doesn’t require an abundance of technical focus; it’s also being surrounded by chatty friends while churning at a casual pace through the woods. Adventure cruising, you might say. This, I noted, was where this bike was intended to be ridden.

Although I am always skeptical of any bike in the running to be a “quiver killer,” the Ascent is certainly an inspiring contender as far as mountain touring and camping is concerned. I am a firm believer in investing in a bike that you can’t take your eyes off, because I truly think it motivates you to pick it up and roll it out the door more frequently. Though I wouldn’t quite call it a bargain (at least with the build I tested), the newest iteration of the Ritchey Ascent is a fun, versatile choice for anyone looking to salsa dance their way down a chunky dirt road into a dusty, wooded sunset to set up camp for a night or four. And to answer the question “what is this bike?” It’s truly whatever you want it to be.

Camping on BLM land near Polaris, Montana.

Ally Mabry

Ritchey Ascent (as tested)

Price (frame, headset, fork): $1,299

Sizes available: S, M, L, XL

Size tested: M

Weight: 24.1 lbs. (without pedals)

Test Bike Measurements

Stack: 588.5mm

Reach: 380.5mm

Head tube length: 130mm

Head tube angle: 70.5°

Seat tube length: 465mm

Seat tube angle: 73.5°

Top tube: 556mm (effective)

Chainstays: 463mm

Bottom bracket drop: 68mm

Fork offset: 52mm

Wheelbase: 1078mm

Standover height: 795.8mm

Specifications (as tested)

Frame: Heat-treated, triple-butted Ritchey Logic steel, two bottle mounts, triple mounts, rack and fender mounts

Fork: Heat-treated, triple-butted Ritchey Logic steel, rack and fender mounts, triple mounts

Handlebar: Ritchey Classic Kyote, 800mm

Stem: Ritchey Classic C220, 90mm

Rear derailer: Shimano Deore, 11spd

Shifter: microSHIFT/Paul friction

Brake lever: Paul Love Lever

Brakes: Paul Klamper mechanical disc

Rotors: SRAM Centerline 160mm

Bottom bracket: White Industries, threaded

Crankset: White Industries M30, 38T, 170mm

Cassette: SunRace MX80, 11–50T, 11spd

Headset: Ritchey Classic Drop-In

Seatpost: Ritchey Classic Zero

Saddle: Ritchey Skyline

Hubs: Phil Wood, 110 x 15mm front, 148 x 12mm rear, thru-axles

Rims: Ritchey WCS Trail 30, 28h, tubeless ready

Tires: Rene Herse Umtanum Ridge, 27.5 x 2.2in., tubeless

Gearing Range

11 95.6

13 80.9

15 70.1

18 58.4

21 50.1

24 43.8

28 37.6

32 32.9

36 29.2

42 25.0

50 21.0

Contact: 551 Taylor Way Unit 8, San Carlos, CA 94070, 650.517.1841, ritcheylogic.com

The post Road Test: Ritchey Ascent appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

Road Test: Poseidon Redwood

Ally Mabry — Tue, 19 Oct 2021 10:42:40 +0000

This article first appeared in the Oct./Nov. 2021 issue of Adventure Cyclist magazine.

When I had finally committed to purchasing my first brand-new bicycle from my local bike shop, someone in some Big Cool City told me that any new bike worth buying should cost at least $2,000. Anything else wasn’t worth my time — the components would be garbage and I’d probably regret not spending a little extra for a nicer bike. Six years later, that story is changing.

As the pandemic-influenced industry boom left bike shop shelves unstocked indefinitely, seemingly everyone I know was asking me how they could buy a cheap gravel bike. Folks were hungry for outdoor exercise, and gravel riding seemed to be the thing that drew many out of their homes during 2020. My answer was usually a sigh, followed by a rundown of the sad state of the industry, with no real answer.

If you’ve never heard of Poseidon Bike, a direct-to-consumer company based in La Habra, California, you’re not alone. Their website boasts, “We want to change the tide of cycling by making high quality bicycles affordable for everyone.” That’s a mission I can wholeheartedly support.

Released in the summer of 2020, the Redwood is one of four bikes Poseidon currently offers — it was designed as a “beefed-up” version of their first gravel bike, the X. Judging by their entire lineup and the language on their website, Poseidon wants to make bikes for folks who are still figuring out what their nitty-gritty preferences are when it comes to components and riding style. Poseidon created the Redwood out of a desire to mimic the ’80s mountain bikes they were finding on Craigslist to convert to dropbar bikes.

The Poseidon Redwood is a $950 aluminum gravel bike with disc brakes, thru-axles, and not-too-shabby components. I ran into friends on the bike path all summer long who asked with intrigue what kind of bike it was. Had I known about the Redwood in 2020, I would have recommended it to all the folks who sought my advice because even though it’s not my preferred gravel bike, it’s a hell of a deal for a super-capable gravel workhorse.

On first impressions, this bike gave me a whole range of emotions and ideas — the Redwood is full of small negatives and small positives that ultimately cancel each other out in light of its affordability and versatility.

I didn’t find the microSHIFT Advent X brifters (integrated brake levers and shifters) very comfortable at first. Riding in the hoods felt unwieldy — and the angle of the reach is awkwardly far down to pull the lever— not inspiring my confidence. However, whenever I switched to riding in the drops, my lack of control and awkward handling melted away, likely because I had a better, closer angle at the brakes. The mechanics of the plastic shifting levers felt pretty clunky.

That said, given enough time with any bike, I know that I’ll eventually adapt and these small nuances won’t matter as much, which is what happened with the Redwood. Although I wasn’t initially in love with the feel of the brifters, the cable-actuated Tektro brakes and discs provide adequate stopping power, even on singletrack descents. While cable brakes are what help keep this bike at a lower price point, they’re also a good option for people using this bike for longer rides on gravel roads as they are easier to fix trailside than more expensive hydraulic brakes.

For aluminum, I wouldn’t call the Redwood lightweight by any means, but it’s about as heavy as a comparable steel Surly — and you can’t buy a new Surly for $950. This bike feels sturdy, which is more than I can say for its few price-point competitors. The internal cable routing is a really nice and unexpected touch that makes this bike appear way more expensive than it is.

The Redwood sports Poseidon’s very own Adventure Bars with 24° flare. I love riding in the drops on steep descents and these bars are so comfortable in those situations. The handling is much more stable than zippy with the Adventure Bars and a short stem, which is funny to me because the short stack and long reach suggest a racier riding position. It’s an odd mashup, but I think Poseidon built a bike that checks a lot of boxes for folks who are gravel-curious.

The Redwood comes stocked with 27.5 x 2.35in. tires, which felt pretty sluggish when cruising around town on pavement but gripped dirt and gravel just as I’d hoped. Considering our trails and fire roads can be steep in the Rocky Mountain West, I found the 11–48T cassette to be a bit limited paired with a 38T chainring. For a bike that looks like a mountain bike, I definitely had to push it up a climb that my riding partner, sporting an actual mountain bike, cruised up without looking back. I just wish it had one more gear! Or perhaps a double? Remember folks: this is a gravel plus bike, don’t be fooled by the biiig tires.

I imagine if you were looking for a bike to put to the test in the Flint Hills of Kansas, this would be an excellent option (though the Kenda Kadre tires it comes with would never hack it out there). The chainstays are a bit longer than one might expect, which makes for more stable handling at speed. And let me tell you, it is really nice on speedy descents. If I could zoom down rolling dirt hills on the Redwood forever, I would. Ultimately, this bike is comfortable and capable.

The Redwood is almost all set up for your dropbar dropper post dreams, too — there’s internal routing through the downtube. You can even get a left dropbar brake lever with an integrated dropper lever as part of microSHIFT’s Advent line (so cool). As far as I can tell, it can be run with the Advent X setup that the Redwood comes spec’d with, but I can’t attest to whether the Advent brifters look or feel slightly different from Advent X. If you have tested this out and know, write in and tell us your experience!

With some small upgrades, the Redwood could really be someone’s dream gravel bike. A new saddle and better tires would go a long way here. And if you couldn’t guess, I would personally prefer different brifters in terms of riding comfort, but the Advent X gets this bike close enough. It comes tubeless-ready, and I’d definitely recommend taking advantage of that.

I will note: a small but not insignificant factor that keeps this bike affordable is less-than-bombproof paint. After riding it consistently for a few months, I started noticing small chips missing from the matte green paint job, especially on the headtube where cables easily rub. I highly recommend investing in some protective tape for your frame.

What I really love about the Poseidon Redwood is what a good foundation gravel bike it is for touring. Though decidedly different bikes, the Redwood reminds me of the Salsa Fargo, another dropbar touring gravel bike with clearance for chunky tires. It’s a bit of a stretch to compare these two because their geometry is so different (the Fargo has a much higher stack, which makes it feel more upright, and a suspension-corrected fork), but they function similarly in that they’re both built to handle whatever dirt roads your heart desires. Mountain bike–influenced, we’ll call it.

With three mounts on each fork and eyelets for a rear rack, you’ve got plenty of options for panniers and Anything Cages. They definitely designed the Redwood for adventure — it feels like it could withstand the Great Divide if its rider was equipped with the guts for it. Despite the small things I would change about this bike, I’m thrilled that next time someone asks how they can get a “good, cheap gravel bike,” I have a company to emphatically recommend.

Poseidon Redwood

Price: $950

Sizes available: XXS, XS, S, M, L, XL

Size tested: M

Weight: 27.9 lbs. (without pedals)

Test Bike Measurements

Stack: 570.7mm

Reach: 384.4mm

Head tube angle: 69.2°

Head tube length: 138mm

Seat tube length: 520mm

Seat tube angle: 73.5°

Top tube: 537mm

Top tube (effective): 553.5mm

Chainstays: 440mm

Bottom bracket drop: 63.4mm

Fork offset: 45mm

Wheelbase: 1164mm

Standover: 807.7mm

Specifications (as tested)

Frame: 6061 double-butted hydroformed aluminum, rack and fender mounts, two bottle mounts on size XXS, three on XS, S, and M, four on L and XL

Fork: 6061 aluminum, triple mounts, rack and fender mounts

Handlebar: Poseidon Adventure Bar, 24° flare, 31.8mm clamp, 460mm width

Stem: Hudski 50mm

Rear derailer: microSHIFT Advent X 10spd, clutch

Shifter: microSHIFT Advent X

Brake levers: microSHIFT Advent X

Brakes: Tektro MD-C550 mechanical disc

Rotors: Tektro 160mm

Bottom bracket: 73mm threaded, square taper

Crankset: Prowheel, 170mm, 38T

Cassette: microSHIFT Advent X, 10spd, 11–48T

Chain: KMC 10spd Headset: Sealed bearing

Seatpost: Promax Alloy 31.6mm with 20mm setback

Saddle: Poseidon X Hubs: Quanta, 100 x 12mm front, 142 x 12mm rear, thru-axles

Rims: 32h, Poseidon tubeless compatible

Tires: Kenda Kadre 27.5 x 2.35in.

Pedals: Platform

Gearing Range

11 95.2

13 80.6

15 69.8

18 58.2

21 49.9

24 43.6

28 37.5

34 30.9

40 26.2

48 21.8

Contact: Poseidon Bike, 529 Mercury Lane, Brea, CA, 92821, luis@poseidonbike.com, poseidonbike.com

The post Road Test: Poseidon Redwood appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

Brews & Bikes

Ally Mabry — Tue, 18 May 2021 16:32:42 +0000

This article first appeared in the May 2021 issue of Adventure Cyclist magazine.

The big question on the morning of our departure was: how late was Max going to be?

He said he’d meet us in front of the hotel at 9:00 AM, but that seemed dubious. Max was the son of Dave “Hoop” Hooper, my cycling partner. The three of us had planned to ride a rugged bike tour in northern Vermont known as the Green Mountain Gravel Growler. Max had only recently turned 21 and was a “rising senior” (this being August) at the University of Vermont. He lived a mile and a half away from our hotel in south Burlington. I was basing his likely tardiness on several conversations Hoop had had with his son the previous evening. It seemed Max was returning by car from a bike tour in Maine. After a few texts and phone calls, it soon became clear that Max was still hundreds of miles away and would not arrive home until 1:00 AM the night before our departure. Once there, he would have to wash all his dirty riding clothes, fit his pannier rack onto a mountain bike, get a few hours of sleep, wake up at 6:00 AM for his part-time job delivering bagels, and then somehow meet us. I figured we’d be waiting for a while. But at 9:00 AM, while we were still packing, Max showed up. He had a mop of loose brown curls and an easy smile, and looked refreshed and ready to ride. Ah, to be young. The Green Mountain Gravel Growler (GMGG) is a 250-mile, self-guided loop. Growlers are those reusable glass or metal bottles that breweries fill to take home. This “gravel growler” (a play on “gravel grinder”) was created so cyclists could enjoy quiet roads while passing by just about every brewery in northern Vermont — about 15 total. We planned on five days. Burlington, the state’s largest city, is a logical start and end point. In contrast to his son’s laissez-faire philosophy, Hoop had spent months preparing for this adventure. He carried a GPS system, a cue sheet, photocopied maps of the route with the streets highlighted, and a phone with a bike app. Despite all this, we made three wrong turns in the first 15 minutes. Getting out of Burlington would prove to be the hardest part of route finding. Eventually we reached a dirt road (first of the trip!) that ducked under busy I-89. A minute later we were on singletrack skirting the edge of the popular Chamberlain Hill mountain bike network. And then we arrived at our first brewery: Stone Corral. It was just after 10:00 AM and none of us was ready to try a beer just yet. But the friendly staff welcomed us inside, and Hoop and Max each picked out a 16-ounce can for later. Max put his into a pannier (it would later break open); Hoop stuffed his in a jersey pocket. We headed west to downtown Waterbury, stopping for lunch at the Prohibition Pig pub and brewery. Here we got out first taste of Vermont’s strict COVID-19 rules. Arrows directed customers up one side of the entry stairs, with a rope between the up and down sides. I had contacted the owners in advance and they reserved a table for us in the small, outdoor seating area. Choosing from their 22 tap beers was difficult. I settled on half-pours of a vanilla bean porter and a brown ale, the latter made with maple syrup and aged on maple staves. You see a lot of maple-flavored beers in Vermont, home to the largest syrup farms outside of Québec. In this case, the beer paired well with the smoked brisket. We had kept our bikepacking rigs light on this expedition — basically clothes, light camping gear, and protein bars. We would buy all our meals from the many fabulous eateries en route. “I’m not expecting to lose any weight on this trip,” Hoop told me. The next few hours were spent climbing until the road degraded into a dirt track that traversed national forest land. At one point a FedEx truck, bumping down the road, stopped for directions. We had seen a few of these trucks chugging up improbably steep hills or burning their brake pads in the other direction. FedEx mechanics, I reasoned, must be busy in this state. We crossed several covered bridges — these quaint New England staples were invented to reduce rot by keeping rain and snow off the wooden structure — and started our next climb to von Trapp Brewing. Of course, it was located on top of a hill. Anyone’s who’s seen The Sound of Music knows the (somewhat fanciful) story of the von Trapp family, who fled Nazi Austria in the 1930s. They moved to Vermont and opened a Bavarian-themed cross-country ski resort. And, in 2010, a brewery. Today its modern facilities offer a grassy biergarten with a commanding view of the Stowe valley. Beers trend toward lagers, pilsners, and other crisp, German-style offerings. We each purchased a “flight” of samples, along with a Frisbee-sized pretzel to share, and found an empty picnic table in the sun. With our first day coming to an end, things were looking good. Especially considering how dubious the trip had seemed only a few weeks earlier.

Max Hooper rides through August flowers outside Stowe, Vermont.

Alan Wechsler

The GMGG was first conceived in 2013 by Logan Watts, who runs the website bikepacking.com, with his friend, Vermonter Joe Cruz. The route encapsulates the idea that “it’s about the journey, not the destination.” There are faster ways to get to Vermont’s best breweries, but they won’t be nearly as enjoyable as these backroads. Provided you don’t mind climbing. It also helps if you like cows, or at least can tolerate the odor of same. Myriad farms and their accompanying smells are a constant, especially in the first two days. Hoop had been planning the tour with his son for months when I asked if I could join. Then COVID-19 hit. For a time, Vermont wasn’t letting in out-of-staters. When New York’s infection rate dropped, Vermont opened its borders a bit. But we were still expected to self-quarantine for two weeks beforehand, so Hoop and I kept to ourselves before the trip. Then there were the breweries. Some closed their doors to visitors; others reduced hours and required reservations (hard to make when your arrival time is in flux). Hoop, an avid beer aficionado, started keeping a spreadsheet. The other question was whether Max would make it. In June he broke his foot while hiking. Inactivity doesn’t suit Max. He had to replace his cast twice during the healing process — once because he went sailing on a one-man catamaran and capsized, and another time thanks to a swimming hole. (Who swims with a cast? He does.) Fortunately, the doctor gave him the thumbs-up to ride provided he wore hiking boots to keep his foot stiff and didn’t push too hard on the hills. Max was a pleasure to have around, with a fast wit and legs that easily kept up with his middle-aged companions.

Trail signs mark the start of a popular mountain bike trail network. The GMGG contains mostly gravel and paved roads, but there is some easy singletrack as well.

Alan Wechsler

We slept outside Stowe the first night, and by 9:00 AM we were on our way to nearby Morrisville. This was home to two breweries. We arrived at Rock Art Brewery by 11:00 AM, and co-owner Renee Nadeau told us about the place as she served us $1 sample pours. She and her husband Matt had lived in Colorado, hence the Kokopelli logo. They began their business in a basement in 1997 and now work out of a beautiful building filled with artwork, with a covered porch that’s perfect for sitting. Now one of the oldest microbreweries in the state, Rock Art has a strong local following. Their business is a family affair — Renee’s brother, Jason Brunault, a woodworker, built the Vermont-shaped trays the samples are served on. Their older son, Dylan, an artist, drew some of the cartoonish can labels. And the youngest, Cody, is assistant brewmaster. “He’s not old enough to drink,” Renee said. “But he can follow a recipe.” The Brewers Association, a trade group, lists Vermont as having 68 craft breweries — a paltry sum compared to California’s 907 or Colorado’s 425. But then again, when you consider that Vermont is the second-least-populous state in the nation, with about 624,000 residents, but has more breweries than Delaware or Rhode Island or Alabama, that number seems more impressive. In fact, the association lists Vermont as the nation’s top consumer of craft brews per capita at 22.3 gallons annually for each resident 21 years or older. Presumably much of that beer goes into the gullet of tourists. Sonoma County has its wineries; in the Green Mountain State, hops are the grape of choice. After we finished our samples, it was time for lunch. So we headed down the street to the other brewery, Lost Nation. We sat outside, next to a large smoker, and washed our delicious sandwiches down with more beer. (This might be a good time to include an obligatory paragraph about drinking responsibly. We generally combined our tastings with food and took enough of a break to ensure that we were clear-eyed and sharp-minded when ready to leave.) There were some serious climbs ahead as we headed into the remote Northeast Kingdom, Vermont’s least-populated region. The names of the roads said it all: Ketchen Hill, Echo Hill, Garvin Hill, Bridgeman Hill. As we climbed higher, we could see ridge after ridge of untouched forest. Houses were isolated; cars few. Max had a friend from this area. “In the wintertime, people hold monthly or even weekly dinners for their neighbors,” he said. “Otherwise, they might never see anyone.” At one point, the road degraded into an overgrown doubletrack, with wide mud puddles we had to skirt around. A horse exploded out of the bushes in the field next to us and raced along the fence, happy to have companions. Our next destination was Hill Farmstead, an award-winning brewery. Their website lists more than 100 different varieties, each brewed in small batches. It’s not uncommon for aficionados to line up before dawn for a new release, and batches often sells out in hours. While the Farmstead store was closed due to COVID, you could order a four-pack ahead of time and pick it up at the door. As the day went on, it was becoming increasingly clear that we were not going to make the 5:00 PM closing. Finally, Hoop called the office in desperation. Could they please leave the beer outside for us? They couldn’t. What if the local youths found it? Max laughed. “There can’t be more than like eight ‘local youths’ around here,” he said. “And what would they be doing hanging out at a craft brewery in the middle of nowhere?” Fortunately, the employee agreed to stick around for a few more minutes. At 5:15 PM, we rolled into the gravel parking lot. Peering through the windows, I saw a warehouse stacked with wooden barrels. Some of their brews are aged for as long as five years in such vessels, many of which had previously contained bourbon or similar spirits. We wouldn’t get a tour of this storied establishment, but at least we got our beer. Hoop held the cans aloft in victory — a four-pack of Marie, an unfiltered German-style helles lager clad in an austere, dark blue label. We headed down the street and consumed it at a grassy intersection. Unremarkable, I critiqued, but certainly welcome. A lone cyclist rode by, out for an afternoon ride. We asked him about the roads down to Hardwick, our destination for dinner. “I’m not going to lie to you. There’s some more uphills,” he said. “But there’s some downhills too.”

The final climb to the legendary Hill Farmstead Brewery.

Alan Wechsler

We got another late start the next morning. Hoop’s rear derailer had problems and needed professional help. The nearest bike store was in Montpelier, Vermont’s capital, about three hours’ ride away. Hoop elected to take paved roads while Max and I veered up Buffalo Mountain Road. For this stretch, we would follow some of the most rugged terrain of the trip. Vermont is said to have more dirt roads than any other state in the country. Despite being a small state, it’s easy to see how that could be true. Besides the many gravel roads that connect rural communities, there are hundreds of miles of “Class 4” roads, unmaintained but open to anyone hardy enough to ride it. Buffalo Mountain was one. As Max and I climbed, the trail got more and more technical until we found ourselves pushing through sections too rocky to afford us a clean line. At one point, a gang of dirt bikers motored by, dressed like Road Warrior extras in body armor. “Now that’s the way to do this trail,” Max said. Eventually the road improved and we popped back out into civilization next to an old church. Reading the historical marker was a lone dirt biker, dressed in protective clothing. He pulled off his helmet and asked where we were riding. He was an older man, about retirement age, and he nodded approvingly at our route. “I did some cycling when I was younger,” he said. “In fact, I rode a bike around the world back in the 1970s. Took two years and cost $5,000. These days I need a bicycle with an engine.” By the time we met up with Hoop, his bike had been repaired. We headed over to Three Penny Taproom, famous for its beer collection, for a late lunch. We got an outdoor table right away, and I tried a Hill Farmstead Convivial Suarez, which was brewed with hibiscus and lemon and had a unique pink hue. It was one of my favorite beers of the trip. By now it was 2:00 PM, and we still had half the day’s ride left. In the interest of expediency, we skipped the next section of gravel, taking a busy two-lane highway down to Northfield. There was a brewery here, but it looked closed, and anyway we had no time to spare if we wanted to make Waitsfield before dark. From here the route turned west, climbing up and over Waitsfield Gap before plunging down into the next valley. The road turned from blacktop to gravel to dirt before it finally regressed to an overgrown and unmarked doubletrack headed for the ridge. We were losing the light, but we had to go slow — the route was so rugged that we walked much of the way downhill. As the skies darkened, we emerged onto a gravel road, which took us to Waitsfield, home to the Sugarbush ski resort. It was now well after 8:00 PM, and nearly all the restaurants in this tiny town were closed. We found a Chinese takeout place down the street and ate our meals by headlamp on a nearby picnic table. Luckily, a local suggested a great place to camp outside of town along the Mad River. After a hearty breakfast the next morning, we headed south for a bit and then west. On the agenda was Lincoln Gap, the tallest drivable pass in the state. It’s a steady 20 degrees of steepness for two miles, topping out at about 2,500 feet. It would be the last big climb of the trip. “Don’t bother waiting for me,” Hoop told us. “I’m going to walk it.” By now he had discovered that his Cannondale gravel bike was geared more for racing than touring. Even with a working derailer, he didn’t have a gear ratio low enough (or legs strong enough) to spin through such a steep ascent. Not that Max and I had it much easier. As the road steepened, we switched back and forth across the lanes, watching for cars and stopping every five minutes to catch our breath. It took us an hour to climb those two miles, sweat pouring down our faces. Hoop, on foot, showed up about a half-hour later. But now we were looking down into the Lake Champlain Valley, the northeastern portion of Vermont: more developed, less hilly. After a screaming descent, we headed south, passing waterfalls and maple sugar farms, a matrix of blue tubes running from tree to tree. Once we passed a spring with a built-in water fountain. If you put your hand over the end of the pipe, water would spurt out of a hole in the top, making it easy to drink. Later we had a short conversation with a lady putting her child into a car seat. Her yard was surrounded by a stockade fence made from old snowboards. “My husband has some of the first Burton snowboards ever built, but we took those down because people were trying to steal them,” she said. “He started snowboarding at Stratton in the ’80s, and he got banned because the ski patrol wouldn’t allow snowboarding. After a while, when they saw how popular it was getting, they hired him as a snowboarding instructor.” A few minutes after that, the skies darkened and it started to thunder. A passing jogger invited us to shelter in his barn, which we accepted. The storm turned into a torrent, and his generosity saved us from an hour’s soaking. We were in a jovial mood as we headed toward Middlebury, our next destination. At one point, a wild turkey ran across a farmer’s field. “They’re raising road runners,” Hoop whooped. “He’s gonna paint a tunnel on the cliff and run right through it.” “The guy next door is raising Wile E. Coyote,” Max replied. It was a bit abrupt to find ourselves back in a bustling city with busy roads and traffic lights. We threaded our way through town and made it to Drop-in Brewery, behind a nondescript storefront located on the side of noisy Route 7. But the beers were good, and founder Steve Parkes had a few moments to chat. Born in Great Britain, he’d been running microbrews in the states for more than 30 years. He reminded me of a book I had just finished reading: The Audacity of Hops: The History of America’s Craft Beer Revolution. In it, author Tom Acitelli tells the story of how America had gone from having one craft brewery in 1975 to the point where there are thousands today. Parkes, I realized, was one of the pioneers of the movement. I would have loved to have asked him about it. A generation ago, nearly all Americans were perfectly satisfied drinking mass-produced and uninspiring lagers and pilsners. Now, it’s not hard to find aficionados who know the difference between a single and double IPA, or who go out of their way to try an obscure sour or a peanut-butter stout. For many, beer is the milk of life; consumed not to get drunk but to explore the endless flavors an imaginative brewer can muster with water, malt, yeast, hops and a myriad other ingredients. It’s exactly what this bike tour was about. Parkes was about to close up, so we didn’t have time to have this conversation. I did, however, ask him if he was familiar with Acitelli’s book. He scowled. “He didn’t mention me,” he said, half in jest. “I just wrote him a long letter telling him all the breweries he left out.”

Nuts & Bolts

When to Go

You can ride the GMGG anytime from April to October, although spring is muddy. In June, black flies can be thick in some areas, and in July mosquitoes will be buzzing. Late September to mid-October offer crisp, clear days and world-famous fall colors.

What to Bring

Gravel or mountain bikes are essential for this tour, although one could easily create a road-based tour following a similar route. Bikepacking-style packing is recommended to keep weight down and allow for negotiating some rugged terrain.

How to Ride

Most ride the loop clockwise and start from Burlington, which has a relatively easy first day and saves the biggest climbs for later in the ride. We did the ride in five days, but you could lengthen it to reduce the daily vertical and give you more time for sipping.

Where to Stay

There are plenty of motels and a few campgrounds along the way. We elected to stealth camp most nights in the woods between towns.

What to Eat

You will rarely be more than several hours’ ride from great restaurants, cafés, and small-town markets.

More Information

bikepacking.com/routes/green-mountain-gravel-growler

First-time Bikepackers Tackle Bethel to Burlington

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Surly Serendipity

Ally Mabry — Tue, 02 Mar 2021 18:29:13 +0000

This story originally appeared in the March 2021 issue of Adventure Cyclist magazine.

Five years ago, I didn’t know a thing about bikes or cycling culture or that people were starting to turn adventure cycling into a career — I just knew I liked to ride long distances and that sleeping outside was really nice. I wanted to give dirt touring a shot and I knew my ’90s aluminum road bike wouldn’t cut it, so I turned to a friend who spent a lot of time obsessing over all things bicycle.

The idea of building up a used frame with used parts was seriously daunting — albeit an unbeatable learning experience — and initially I was set on buying a new complete bike for the ease of it. That is, until my friend sent me an eBay link to a purple Surly Straggler frame in my size. Bonus: it came with a custom Porcelain Rocket framebag!

I’m a sucker for a good story and love to learn the details about my used goods’ past lives, especially the ones I plan to integrate into my daily life. Before committing to the buy, I asked the eBay seller if the frame had any good stories behind it, not really expecting much. What I got in return was a list of all the gravel tours it had previously endured and an accompanying Flickr gallery supplying visuals.

Ally Mabry

My heart fluttered knowing that this bike’s first tour was on the same route I’d planned to take on as my first tour, and that its rider (also on their first bike tour) was Sarah Swallow, who quickly went from a name I didn’t recognize to a name that inspired me to create my own bikepacking stories. Scrolling through the myriad adventures this piece of welded purple steel had already taken, I placed myself in the photos with it, also experiencing those dirt roads and dreamy vistas. Learning the legacy of my new touring bike merely confirmed that I was destined to ride it all over the place, and so in the ensuing years, that’s exactly what I did.

If you’re reading this magazine, I’d wager you’re also a sucker for good stories. Next time you’re contemplating buying a used bike, ask the seller what stories the bike holds — you might just get an extra dose of inspiration along with your purchase.

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