It’s no secret that I’m a fan of Black Mountain Cycles: they’re simple and affordable steel bicycles designed by owner Mike Varley and produced in small batches overseas. After reviewing an MCD way back in the July 2019 issue, I purchased a Road+ frame that I turned into my beloved do-anything fender/basket bike. Since then, both the MCD and the Road+ have been discontinued and replaced by the Mod Zero. In addition to the Mod Zero and the rim brake Monster Cross, Black Mountain Cycles also offers La Cabra, “the goat.”

La Cabra is a dropbar mountain bike that blends the best aspects of old-school design elements with a few modern touches. The 4130 chromoly tubing is on the skinny side, the head tube is straight 1 1/8in., and the brake mounts are international standard (IS), all of which seem positively vintage these days. On the other hand, the frame has internal routing for a dropper seatpost, Boost hub spacing and thru-axles for modern wheels, and is designed around a wide-range 1x drivetrain (though it can accommodate 2x). To my eye, La Cabra looks like the original Salsa Fargo updated for the modern world.

The fork is non-suspension-corrected and is a work of functional art with a segmented crown, hooded dropouts, and all the braze-ons you could possibly need for fenders, racks, cargo cages, and dynamo lights. The frame has rear rack and fender mounts, triple mounts on the underside of the down tube, and room for two bottles inside the triangle on the three smaller sizes and three bottles on the two largest sizes. La Cabra can fit 27.5in. tires up to 2.8in. wide or 29in. tires up to 2.3in. It was designed around dropbars, but you can fit a flat handlebar if that’s more your speed.

Varley, who also runs the Black Mountain Cycles shop in Point Reyes Station, California, offers La Cabra as a frameset for $1,195 or as a complete in a few different builds. My test bike arrived in the Shimano kit with 27.5in. wheels, 2.6in. Vittoria Mezcal tires, and a dropper post. The drivetrain consisted of Shimano GRX levers mated to a Wolf Tooth Tanpan adapter in order to shift an XT derailer across an 11-speed Deore 11–51T cassette, with a 30T chainring on an XT crank. It’s a bit of a mishmash and doesn’t make for the crispest shifting, but it works well enough and has a nice, broad gear range for loaded riding. With the 1x GRX shifters, the left lever actuates the 125mm KS Lev Integra dropper post, which is the most effective and ergonomic solution I’ve come across yet for mating a dropper to a dropbar setup.

As with all his complete builds, Varley assembled the wheels himself, lacing DT Swiss 350 hubs to WTB’s KOM Tough i35 rims. It’s a bomber wheelset that proved to be flawless during my test period. Mounted tubeless to the rims were Vittoria’s Mezcal tires. It was my first experience with this Italian tire brand, and the Mezcals were fast-rolling and plenty grippy on trails. Riding the bike hard with pressure in the mid-teens, the tires suffered no punctures or tears. I’ve now got the Mezcals on my list of great tires for bikepacking.

For touchpoints, Varley installed a Salsa Cowchipper bar and a WTB Volt saddle. I swapped out the Volt for my preferred Brooks Cambium C17, and while I generally prefer bars with less flare than the Cowchipper, I found it suited the bike quite well. I also liked the 460mm width — plenty wide enough to fit a big handlebar bag and provide leverage for trail riding without being so wide as to feel inefficient when putting down the miles.

La Cabra is part of a resurgence in dropbar mountain bikes in recent years, joining the likes of the Tumbleweed Stargazer and the Surly Grappler, among others. But whereas many of those bikes take cues from the evolution of mountain bike geometry, with slacker head angles and longer reaches, the geo of La Cabra seems downright ordinary, almost old-fashioned. But don’t let the numbers fool you; La Cabra is a mountain bike through and through.

My first few rides with La Cabra took place on local singletrack trails in the foothills, with steep, punchy climbs, fast descents, and the usual loose-over-hard trail surface that leaves you wanting for traction. I ride these trails with gravel and mountain bikes alike, but I’ll approach my ride differently depending on the rig — if I’m on a dropbar bike, I’m mostly staying in the saddle and trying to keep it rubber-side down. Such was my initial approach on La Cabra, the curly bar misleading me into thinking it would ride more like a gravel bike.

The first indication of my wrong-headedness came when the trail pitched up. I spend most of my time on the hoods when riding dropbar bikes, but the stack height is so high on La Cabra that as soon as the grade went up, I felt much more comfortable with my hands in the drops. Now that I was in the hooks climbing a steep pitch, it felt natural to stand out of the saddle and give it a little gas, and that’s when it hit me: this thing wants to go.

What struck me years ago about the MCD was just how lively it was, and now it was clear that Varley had managed to instill La Cabra with that same ephemeral quality.

At the top of the climb, I turned around, lowered the dropper post, and proceeded to confirm that, yes, La Cabra is a dang mountain bike. I had never ridden a dropbar bike so fast on singletrack, nor while hooting and hollering and … wait for it … hitting jumps(!). Granted they were little baby jumps, which are the only kind of jumps I do anyway, but my point stands: what I thought was going to be a beast-of-burden type of bikepacking rig, intended for churning through the miles on some distant dirt road, turned out to be, in fact, one of the funnest mountain bikes I’ve ever dropped my heels on. I was leaning into corners, sprinting out of the saddle, and generally riding La Cabra like a wild dog runs down a jackrabbit.

And yet, La Cabra is also a fine bikepacking rig. Last summer, I loaded it up for a three-day loop on dirt roads in Nevada (see “The Middle of Nowhere is in Eastern Nevada,” November/December 2023), and it was the perfect companion for a long weekend of self-supported riding on variable desert terrain. With a Rawland Rando rack supporting a Road Runner Jumbo Jammer bag in the front, an Oveja Negra framebag in the middle, a Tumbleweed T-Rack in the rear, and Outer Shell’s Pico Panniers on the fork, I was able to carry everything I needed to stay fed, hydrated, and sheltered in the high desert. I didn’t pack like a minimalist; I had a full tent, a folding chair, and lots of food — even when weighed down with extra water, La Cabra never felt slow or ungainly. It helped that its starting weight was a mere 27.6 pounds, which I consider pretty darn good for a steel bike with alloy wheels and components. And with that high stack, it made for a very comfortable place to pedal out the miles all day long.

I’m an unapologetic 29er fanboy, but I was curious about the 27.5 x 2.6in. setup, and I’m glad that it was included on my test bike. The smaller wheels spun up quickly and felt a little more eager to be whipped around corners compared to 29in., and I never felt like I needed the taller wheels for better rollover. Similarly, the fat 2.6in. rubber felt great on singletrack and worked a treat on the wide variety of road surfaces I encountered in Nevada. The big tires rolled right over rocks and potholes, and I was able to stay afloat on sandy tracks for longer than my riding partner, who was on 2.3in. tires, although I still managed to spin out in the really deep stuff. It’s not a fat bike, after all. If I were planning to ride a route that I knew was composed of smooth dirt roads and I intended to prioritize speed and efficiency, I would opt for 29in. wheels, but that’s the beauty of La Cabra: you could have a couple of wheelsets and swap between them depending on conditions.

I don’t have much to report from the complaint department. My test bike arrived with a rear brake that needed a bleed, which I quickly had done at my local shop, but I guess it didn’t take. During the Nevada trip, I noticed the issue get worse and worse; I would have to pump the lever several times to get the rear brake to work. Also, on rough, high-speed descents with the bike fully loaded, I noticed some weird handling characteristics, as if the bike were flexing too much under me and wandering a little. It was disconcerting, but it went away after I checked some speed. I confirmed with Varley that La Cabra is not an expedition bike; he designed it to ride best with “minimal to modest” loads, and really heavy loads might overwhelm it. So this probably isn’t the rig to carry your collection of cast-iron pans.

When I first saw pictures of Varley’s second run of La Cabra frames, I initially had misgivings about the color, Peanut Butter (Pantone 7511 if you’re curious). It grew on me over time, and when I finally saw it in person, I found I liked it quite a bit. While riding La Cabra, I noticed a nice bonus to the Peanut Butter paint: it hides dirt and mud very well, which makes it a great choice for a bikepacking bike!

My complete test bike came to the tune of $4,235, which is kinda pricey for a rigid steel bike, but it’s a needs-nothing build that includes high-quality wheels laced up by the man himself. If I were buying one myself, I’m not sure I would change anything from the test build aside from swapping in a 32T chainring instead of the 30T (saddles don’t really count as they are so personal), but that’s a quibble.

In addition to the Shimano complete, Varley also offers a couple of SRAM dropbar builds with hydro or mechanical disc brakes, as well as a couple of flat bar builds that are quite a bit more affordable than the dropbar offerings. (Note that any complete build from Black Mountain Cycles includes handbuilt wheels.) The frameset price of $1,195 is on the higher end of frames produced in Taiwan, but I think it’s a fair number, and if you already have parts on-hand, buying the frameset can save you some coin in the long run.

I’ve reviewed a lot of great bikes over my years at Adventure Cyclist magazine, but only a few of them have really stood out as something special. One of them was that MCD, and La Cabra is another. It’s a perfect example of how a great bike is alchemy. No single factor explains it; instead, I can only point to the compliant frame, the magic of handbuilt wheels, and the geometry chosen by someone who has been designing bikes for decades. It all comes together to produce a bicycle that simply feels alive.

Black Mountain Cycles La Cabra

General

Best uses: Mountain biking, bikepacking, gravel riding

Price: $4,235 complete, as tested (frameset $1,195)

Weight: 27.6 lbs. (without pedals)

Available sizes: 15in., 16in., 18in., 20in., 22in.

Size tested: 18in.

Contact: blackmtncycles.com

Components

Frame: 4130 chromoly steel, rack and fender mounts, triple mounts on underside of down tube, two bottle mounts in front triangle

Fork: 4130 chromoly steel, rack and fender mounts, triple mounts

Tires: Vittoria Mezcal 27.5 x 2.6in., tubeless

Shifters: Shimano GRX 1x

Cassette: Shimano Deore 11spd, 11–51T

Brakes: Shimano RS785 hydraulic disc

Notable Geometry

Head tube angle: 70.5°

Reach: 385mm

Stack: 632mm

Seat tube length: 460mm

BB drop: 70mm

Head tube length: 175mm

Standover: 799mm

The post Road Test: Black Mountain Cycles La Cabra appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

It was only Day One, and we’d already found ourselves in a grim state of affairs. Our route had deteriorated from a pristine gravel road to a rarely traveled doubletrack with the occasional sandy patch to the scant path on which we now pushed our bikes. This trail might once have been passable on two wheels, but it appeared that runoff from this year’s massive snowpack had erased it from the face of the earth. We could occasionally hop on our bikes and pedal for 50, 60 feet, if we were lucky, but mostly we dragged our loaded rigs through fine sand several inches deep, and had been doing so for miles.

There was no alternate road, and turning around wasn’t an option. There wasn’t anything out there anyway, no salvation. We were in the actual middle of nowhere, in eastern Nevada, attempting a three-day circumnavigation of Great Basin National Park. We hadn’t seen a lot of people since leaving Ely that morning. We’d last seen another human — an older guy driving a bombed-out truck who pointed out a herd of elk to us on the side of the road — hours ago.

Evan and I hadn’t said a word to each other since we started pushing our bikes. We were in unspoken agreement that 1) we preferred to sit alone in our respective pain caves, and 2) it was entirely possible that we could be approaching real danger. There wasn’t any utility in complaining about the sand, or whining about how tired we were after riding for eight hours, or fretting about our diminishing water resources and the utter lack of the wet stuff along this part of the route. But as Evan pushed his bike onto supportable dirt and swung his leg over the top tube and got a few pedal strokes in, only to grunt in frustration as his rear tire fishtailed in the sand and he again hopped off the bike and dropped his head and began to push — and I followed the same pattern a few bike lengths behind him — he glanced back and we locked eyes for a moment, telepathically agreeing that our planned campsite, marked as Indian Springs on all the maps we’d consulted, absolutely had to have water. The light coming through the ponderosa was beginning to change; evening would soon be upon us.

As we topped out on the “road,” I felt a small wave of hope: we were done climbing, and the descent before us consisted not of sand but of loose rocks. It was rideable, at least. And despite the report of zero percent chance of storms we’d gotten from Evan’s satellite device, a few drops of rain kissed my cheek.

After crossing several more washed-out sections of road, we rounded a corner and came upon what could only have been a mirage. For hours we’d been riding through a brown and gray desert populated with pale, greenish-blue sagebrush, juniper trees, and ponderosa pine. Suddenly the landscape erupted in vivid, almost cartoonishly green shrubbery. It was like seeing color for the first time, and it was so shocking that it didn’t register with us at first. We split up to seek out water. I followed the road up a gradual ascent as Evan went the opposite direction. The road quickly turned to sand again. I pushed my bike for a few minutes before letting it fall to the ground and abandoning it. I figured I could cover more ground without it. After stepping off the road to look for any sign of a spring, I heard a shout. Turning around, I saw Evan on top of a boulder the size of a small bus, waving his arms and yelling excitedly. I quickly ran back to my bike and rode down to where I’d seen him. The road became engulfed in waist-high grasses and I rode through — was that mud? I came to a stop to call for Evan, and then I heard it: a babbling creek and buzzing insects. Water!

It was cold, clear, and plentiful. We filtered, filled our bottles, splashed our faces, and washed dirt from our arms and legs. Evan found a spot deep enough to shove his entire head into the creek; I followed suit thereafter, ignoring the two beetles mating on a nearby rock. Not a hundred feet from the creek was a perfect desert campsite: a flat-ish stretch of dirt enclosed by boulders and a few large juniper trees. We weren’t the first ones to camp here. In fact, we’d been following tire tracks from a single dirt bike for miles. That person must have camped here too. But no sign of pedal bikes. In fact, we didn’t see any other cyclists on our route at all, which isn’t surprising given how remote this area is. We might have been the first bikepackers at this campsite.

As the sun set behind the mountains, we could see the valley unfurl to the east and glimpse the road we’d tackle in the morning. Two parallel straight lines, a doubletrack road, jutted all the way to the horizon and would take us to the southern edge of Great Basin National Park. We hoped — prayed — that it would be rideable. If it consisted of deep, unsupportable sand? That was tomorrow’s problem. For now, we set up our tents and cooked our dinners, grateful to end the first day of our trip on a high note.

Ely is a town of about 4,000 people in the mountains of eastern Nevada. Founded as a stagecoach station on the Pony Express Route, the discovery of copper in 1906 led to rapid growth and, like so many other towns in the Mountain West, a series of booms and busts. Visitors can experience the town’s history at the Ely Renaissance Village, an open-air museum, and by admiring the many murals on the sides of buildings downtown.

Kyle Horvath, the director of tourism for White Pine County, Nevada, invited me to come check out Ely and experience the potential eastern Nevada has for bikepacking. Kyle has been mapping local routes on his own and hopes to put Ely on the map as a future bikepacking destination. He sent me a collection of GPX tracks he’d put together — some of which he’d put tire to dirt, some he hadn’t — and I pieced together a three-day route I began to informally call the Great Basin South Loop. We would start and finish in Ely and traverse an entertaining collection of desert ecosystems, climb a few mountain passes, and stop for a night in the tiny town of Baker for a dose of civilization. In short, I hoped to get a lot of bang for my buck in three days’ time.

Kyle had hoped to join me, but we both had busy summer schedules and our original plan of setting off in May was dashed by the stubborn snowpack. I didn’t want to be pushing my bike through enormous snowdrifts. I landed on the final week of June as the only week available, but Kyle would be out of town filming a local athlete in the Race Across America. Luckily, I found a buddy to come with me.

Not long after I moved to Salt Lake City in the summer of 2020, I met Evan on an overnighter set up by our local shop, Saturday Cycles. We were both military veterans (I was a grease monkey in the Marines; he worked on nuclear submarines in the Navy) and we became fast friends. It helped that we were both a little older than the others and rode at a similar pace. We spent the next few summers riding bikes in the summer and snowboarding in the winter, and after he completed his PhD in the spring of 2023, he was offered a job he couldn’t refuse: teaching electrical engineering at the University of Utah’s Asia Campus in Seoul, South Korea, for two years. It was obvious what had to happen next: a going-away bikepacking trip.

Thankfully, Day Two was mostly uneventful. We saw a herd of pronghorn and got our first glimpse of the snowy peaks of Great Basin National Park as we neared the tiny town of Baker, where we spent the night. Note to those looking to replicate our route: plan for a layover day in Baker.

Day Three was bound to be a doozy. Completing our loop back to Ely would see us crossing not one but two mountain ranges, the Snakes north of Baker and the Schells to the west. Luckily, we had an ace in the hole: if we got into trouble, we could summon help from Kyle via Evan’s Garmin satellite device. I for one wasn’t above asking for a ride if we really needed it.

Our first surprise came at the southern edge of the Snake Mountains as we forded our bikes across a healthy-looking creek. Not knowing what was in store, we stopped to remove our shoes and socks before the crossing and then took the time to clean and dry our feet before putting them back on. Within a few minutes of pedaling, we came to another creek crossing. And then another. Our route crossed Silver Creek over and over again, to the point that, to save time and effort, Evan decided to just get his shoes wet and I switched to sandals.

Up and up we labored, following the creek and riding through increasingly lush zones. As we gained elevation, we came upon bristlecone pine trees and wildflowers. Finally, the drainage we were following opened up into a convergence where the different forks of Silver Creek merged to form the body of water we’d spent all morning crossing. We were maybe a quarter of the way into our day’s mileage, and we could see that the road ahead was so steep we’d be pushing our bikes. Moreover, some weather was forming above Mt. Moriah to the north and looked to be heading our way. We had no time for equivocation.

There exist different flavors of bike pushing, and I’ll take hauling a loaded bike up a steep road on a firm dirt surface any day over heaving my rig through several inches of moon dust. Luckily, the pushing was over before we knew it, and the weather seemed to be holding off. We dropped over the ridge and followed a steep descent deep into a hot, dry canyon — the opposite of the zone we’d just left. There followed a long climb up a very consistent grade, so consistent as to drive you mad. The pitch never eased up to give us a break, but at least we found some level of distraction in the changing temperature and available wildflowers as we gained elevation. The lupine turned from blue to purplish as we gained the ridge.

As we found ourselves on a plateau with a view of the gorgeous Spring Valley to our west, we took the opportunity to have a break and check in with each other. It had been a long day: we’d climbed over 5,000 feet and still had another 30 miles and 3,000 feet to go before reaching Ely, and it was getting late. It was nearly 5:00 PM. Neither of us had a strong desire to roll into town in the dark, with all the restaurants closed (food being front of mind at this point in the journey), and finding a place to camp for the night and finishing the route the following day wasn’t ideal. We both had stuff to get home to, and sooner rather than later.

Another option we discussed was scrapping the last part of the route and riding pavement back to Ely. It would be a little quicker, but the thought of pedaling 30 miles on a high-speed, two-lane highway with no shoulder as the sun went down made me a little nauseous.

Finally, we agreed to swallow our collective pride and call for help. I actually had signal for once, so I messaged Kyle to let him know our situation and ask for a pickup. The last section of the route would have to wait for another time.

After confirming the message was sent, we geared up and began the harrowing descent into Spring Valley. Following Evan, it became immediately clear to me that this was going to be steep and fast. The road hooked around a quick S-bend abloom with flowers and then pitched straight down into the steepest road I have ever seen in my life. I was reminded of riding roller coasters as a kid — ratcheting slowly to the edge and, for a moment, hanging midair, my organs pressed against my ribcage, people on the ground like insects, and hearing vanishing screams from the seats in front of me before I too plummet to the earth. This wasn’t a road; it was a waterfall made of rocks and dirt; it was falling off the face of the planet.

I crashed. I went over the bars and landed ungracefully, but luck was on my side: other than a few scrapes, I was fine, and the bike came out unscathed. I’m not afraid to say I walked for a little bit after that until I could regain some courage.

Before long the road settled into a sane gradient, and we cruised out of the mountains and into the broad expanse of Spring Valley. Crepuscular rays broke through the clouds, highlighting the dust rising and dissipating from a vehicle in the distance. Before us lay verdant green fields and farmhouses, roads like a T-square, and the Schell Mountains still frosted with the winter’s heavy snowpack and backlit from the setting sun. Evan was a mile ahead of me, a speck, but I could hear him hooting with joy.

After I caught up with him, we rode side by side, hunting for a washboard-free track in the dirt road and remarking on the sine wave of emotion that is bikepacking. Especially on a tough loop like this one, in which we’re researching the route and are quite possibly the first bikepackers on some of these roads, the lows can get pretty low, but then we find ourselves pedaling across one of the most beautiful valleys in recent memory and all the things that brought us down and made us question why we pedal overheavy bikes into the hills in the first place — crashes, pushing through sandy washes, knee pain — are transmuted into hilarious remember-whens, as if we’ve developed instant (and highly selective) amnesia.

We hadn’t gotten a response from Kyle — no signal down here — but as we approached the western edge of the valley and the paved road that would take us back to Ely, we saw a truck pull off the macadam and come to a halt in the dirt. No one got out. Could it be Kyle? we asked each other. Had our salvation arrived, possibly with snacks? It was only a half-mile or so away, but it seemed to take forever to get there. Finally, someone got out of the truck and stood there, watching us as we pedaled closer.

I stood to pedal up the short rise to the truck and about fell off my bike from exhaustion as I came to a stop.

“Kyle?”

Evan and I are sitting at a table overlooking the smoky Copper Queen Casino at the Ramada. We had waltzed into the Smash N Grab restaurant (nee Evah’s) just moments before closing time; I might feel bad were I less famished. Our server seems cheery though. She brings us ice water as we gaze at our menus.

Kyle (yes, it was him at the truck) is a true Trail Angel. He and his brother picked us up and gave us Peanut M&Ms and Powerade as we motored back to Ely. We thanked him profusely and lamented our failure to complete the loop, but he was just happy we’d given the route a shot. Evan and I tried to explain how much we enjoyed the route, which sections were rideable and which weren’t, but it was hard to explain in a moving vehicle. We would have an official debrief the following morning over breakfast at the Prospector Hotel and Gambling Hall.

Evan and I had been dying for cheeseburgers, and Kyle had promised that Smash N Grab served the best burger in Ely. So after checking into our hotel and showering up, we dragged our tired legs down the street to the Ramada.

After ordering our burgers, our server asks if we’d like anything else. “I’ll have a scoop of ice cream,” Evan says. The server asks if he’d like her to bring it out when he’s finished with his burger. “No,” he says, “I’d like it as my appetizer.”

This man is a genius! I tell the server I’ll do the same.

Within moments, we each have a bowl of ice cream before us. I have plain old vanilla, but Evan has birthday cake, which I didn’t even know was a flavor. We eat our ice cream, and it doesn’t even matter that it’s mediocre at best. Evan’s bowl has pieces of actual birthday cake in it.

Spring Valley

Situated between the Schell and Snake mountain ranges, to the east of Ely, Spring Valley is a broad, north–south valley that is so lush, it’s hard to believe that no river feeds into it. Instead, over a hundred springs flow into the valley — hence the name — and feed a water table that is protected by a layer of clay. In the valley grow several plants common to the high desert such as sagebrush, rabbitbrush, greasewood, and the like. But there is one species that stands out: groves of Rocky Mountain juniper, known as swamp cedar locally and Bahsahwahbee in Shoshone, are an ecological oddity. Rocky Mountain juniper trees tend to grow in dry, rocky soil on mountainsides, but these groves are in a valley and fed by groundwater with high salinity. They’re also the only native trees in the entire valley.

The swamp cedars and the surrounding waters are considered sacred to the local Western Shoshone and Goshute Tribes, whose ancestors lived in Spring Valley for thousands of years and used Bahsahwahbee for ceremonial purposes. During the western expansion of white settlers in the nineteenth century, there were three massacres of Native tribes in Spring Valley and at the site of the swamp cedars — two perpetrated by the U.S. Army and one by vigilantes. Since then, the Bahsahwahbee has been considered a sacred memorial site for the massacre victims.

The area encompassing the swamp cedars is now listed on the National Register of Historic Places, and in 2021 the state of Nevada passed a law barring anyone without a permit from cutting down the Rocky Mountain junipers. (At one point there were plans in place to pipe the water from the valley’s aquifer to thirsty Las Vegas, but those plans were canceled in 2020.) The local Shoshone and Goshute Tribes are now pushing to designate the Bahsahwahbee as a national monument. 

Great Basin National Park

Great Basin is one of the country’s least-visited national parks, but it’s not for lack of attractions: there are pristine alpine lakes (fed by the only glacier in the state), herds of pronghorn, and, thanks to some of the darkest skies in the U.S., great stargazing. You can pedal the paved road all the way to 10,000 feet (or take the shuttle if your legs are talking to you), park your bike, and hike to the 13,065-foot top of Wheeler Peak, the second-tallest mountain in Nevada. Reserve a tour of the Lehman Caves system and explore the limestone and marble caverns and their stalagmites, stalactites, and … helictites, whatever those are. And let’s not forget the oldest living trees on the planet, bristlecone pines, some of which are thousands of years old. If you’re up for it, you can search for Methuselah, the oldest-known bristlecone at 4,900 years and whose location is a secret. nps.gov/grba/index.htm

Baker

The tiny town of Baker, pop. 400 (seems more like 40), is the gateway to Great Basin National Park. You won’t find any luxury resorts or condos in Baker, but you will find all the amenities a bike traveler needs, such as indoor lodging, camping, a couple of restaurants, a general store, and a post office. If I were to repeat this trip, I would plan for a layover day or two in Baker to take advantage of the park and to spend more time petting the shop cats at the Bristlecone General Store. travelnevada.com/cities/baker

Nuts & Bolts

Eastern Nevada

Getting to Ely

As the desk clerk at the La Quinta informed me, Ely is “four hours from everything.” Fly via any number of airlines into Salt Lake City, Reno, or Las Vegas, and rent a car for — you guessed it — a four-hour drive to Ely.

When to Go

The best times to visit eastern Nevada are spring and fall, with an emphasis on spring for wildflowers and more abundant water from snow runoff.

At an elevation of 6,400 feet, Ely is listed as one of the coldest places in the contiguous U.S. That elevation moderates temperatures during the summer: during our trip in late June, we experienced mostly highs in the 70s, and Kyle assured me that a heat wave for Ely consists of a two-hour period of 92°F. As you get into lower-lying areas, however, expect higher temperatures. Baker, for example, sits about a thousand feet lower than Ely and was a fair bit warmer.

Where to Stay

There’s no shortage of places to stay in Ely, but I highly recommend booking early, as it’s a busy tourist destination. We stayed a night each on either end of our trip at La Quinta; it was clean, offered waffles for breakfast, and we were able to park the car in the grocery store lot next door during the trip.

If you want to stay someplace with a bit of character, there are a number of historical hotels in operation, such as the Hotel Nevada and Gambling Hall (opened in 1929) and the Jailhouse Motel and Casino, both downtown. Note that smoking is allowed in casinos and bars in Nevada, a fact I was reminded of when Evan and I rolled into town and got a beer at the Hotel Nevada.

In Baker, you can find indoor lodging at the Stargazer Inn and tent sites (with showers and laundry) at the Whispering Elms Motel and RV Park.

Eat and Drink

We enjoyed excellent breakfast at Margarita’s in the Prospector Hotel and great burgers at Smash N Grab in the Ramada. If you’re looking for fine dining, check out the Cellblock Steakhouse, where you can eat your dinner inside, yes, a jail cell. There are many other options we didn’t get a chance to try, such as taco shops and sports bars. For groceries, there’s a Ridley’s right next to La Quinta on the south end of town.

In Baker, you’ll find snacks and supplies at the Bristlecone General Store and sit-down meals at Sugar, Salt & Malt.

What Bike

I rode a Black Mountain Cycles La Cabra, a steel dropbar mountain bike, with 2.6in. tires, and I think it was the right bike for the mix of smooth gravel, sandy washes, and rocky descents on our route (look for a full Road Test in a future issue). If you pick another route in the area that sticks to the main gravel roads, you can get away with a more traditional gravel bike with skinnier tires, but even then I wouldn’t go any narrower than 40mm.

What to Do

A quick glance at a map will show you an endless array of gravel roads surrounding Ely and its environs, but don’t forget about your mountain bike: there are singletrack trails too, mostly on Ward Mountain to the south. Train buffs should check out the Nevada Northern Railway Museum, home to the Ghost Train of Old Ely, a working steam train. There’s even an annual race in September, in which participants ride the train to the start and then race it — on dirt or on the road — back to Ely!

Farther afield, you can find fishing, hiking, swimming, and boating at Cave Lake State Park, and be sure to check out Ward Charcoal Ovens State Historic Park, featuring giant charcoal ovens you can walk right into (don’t worry, they’re no longer in use).

Water

To be clear, this is the desert, so drinkable water should be top of mind. We got lucky in that this year’s massive snowpack led to healthy springs and creeks, but that may not be the case every year. Pore over your maps, find snowpack and water data online, and call BLM and Forest Service offices for local beta depending on where you’re planning to ride. If you’re worried about not being able to find water on your route, it’s never a bad idea to drive the route ahead of time and cache water.

There are a lot of cattle, elk, and pronghorn in this part of the country, so be sure to filter or treat any water you find. And keep an eye out for abandoned mines — you don’t want to be drinking anything downhill of mining tailings.

Other Routes

It’s important to note that the ride Evan and I did was partly route research; Kyle hadn’t ridden much of it, and as you can see, we ran out of time to finish it. In retrospect, I would have stretched it out to four days. Kyle has documented other routes starting in or near Ely that are fully vetted, much of them perfect for a short week or a long weekend.

Resources

For more information on riding in Ely and eastern Nevada in general, visit elynevada.net.

The post The Middle of Nowhere is in Eastern Nevada appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

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Gravel Bike Geometry

Diamonback Haanjo 5

Picking the Right Bike for Bikepacking

The post Road Test: Diamondback Haanjo 5 appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

Moots Routt ESC

Test Bike Measurements

Specifications (as tested)

Gearing range

The post Road Test: Moots Routt ESC appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

Bike testing is an important part of what we do here at Adventure Cyclist, but lately, with the pandemic causing havoc in the industry, it’s been difficult to get bikes to review. Hence what you might have guessed about the bike pictured here: it’s a little big for me. But this is what was available, and we weren’t in any position at the time to turn it down.

The Bike

At six feet tall, I’m a size large, but the Velo Orange Polyvalent you see here is of the Low Kicker variety (also known as a drop frame), so the fact that it’s an XL isn’t a big deal. Its standover height, the geometry figure that determines whether I can comfortably straddle the top tube, is a mere 657mm. Compare that to the same-sized diamond frame’s standover of 842mm. (The latter would roast my chestnuts for sure.) The XL size also brings with it a larger stack height and a longer reach, and I adapted easily to both.

Why would you want a drop frame? If you’re of short stature or have mobility issues and can’t swing your leg over the top tube of a traditional bike, a drop frame can be a big help. Drop frames are also great if you often ride in a skirt or dress. Or, heck, maybe you just like the extra-classy looks of a dropped top tube.

Velo Orange describes the Polyvalent as its “do-it-all” bike, “the ideal platform to build a sturdy tourer, practical commuter, comfortable all-day randonneur, or a rugged gravel bike.” The Polyvalent does indeed have a longish wheelbase, braze-ons aplenty, and clearance for big tires, all of which help slot it into that “do-anything” category. Velo Orange also added thru-axles, disc brake tabs, and internal routing for the rear brake housing. In spite of those modern touches, the Polyvalent retains a very classic — and classy — look, much of that due to the elegant French bend in the fork. The brilliant paint doesn’t hurt either. Velo Orange calls it “sage metallic;” I call it an earthy green with metallic flakes that sparkle in the sun. If the swoopy top tube doesn’t get the attention of passersby, the paint sure will.

Interestingly, the Polyvalent is intended for 650b or 26in. wheels, not 700c (if you must have the larger wheels, look to Velo Orange’s Pass Hunter model). With fenders, the Low Kicker will clear 650b x 48mm or 26 x 2.3in. (with smooth tread). Without fenders, you can squeeze 650b x 2.1in. or 26 x 2.3in. knobbies, which verges on mountain bike territory.

The Parts

My test bike arrived with a smattering of components that were new to me. What most stood out on the build were the shiny, silver Voyager wheels in 26in. diameter. I hadn’t ridden a bike with 26in. wheels in almost 10 years, but guess what? They’re round and they roll just fine. In fact, I’m so used to bigger wheels that the hoops on the Low Kicker felt especially nimble, particularly when cornering on dirt trails. At 22mm, the Voyager rims are a little narrow for 2.3in. wide tires, but they’re tubeless compatible (and arrived tubeless on my test bike) and available for disc or rim brakes. Velo Orange’s disc hubs (tested) look similarly sharp in chrome, are thoroughly modern with thru-axles and sealed cartridge bearings, and the freehub body pops right off without tools.

Mounted on the Voyager wheels were strange-looking knobby tires with a strange name. Ultradynamico is a tire brand started a few years ago by Ultra Romance, of internet bikepacking fame. (Haven’t heard of him? Doesn’t matter.) I found the Mars tires to be … interesting. On the one hand, they offered excellent grip and low rolling resistance on dirt, and even pretty good grip in the snow. On the other hand, those big center chevrons are quite noisy on pavement, so much so that I didn’t need to ring a bell to gain the attention of pedestrians: they could hear me coming. What’s more, the tire’s construction is a little unusual in that the sidewalls feel very thin — I mean, err, supple — while the tread casing is pretty thick. I didn’t suffer any punctures or notice any drawbacks to this design while testing, but in the long term I would worry about slashing the sidewalls if riding primarily off-road.

Also new to me were the cable-actuated hydraulic Origin8 Vise brakes. They looked nearly identical to the Yokozuna brakes that former Editor-in-Chief Alex Strickland reviewed a couple of years ago. In fact, Connor Mangan at Velo Orange confirmed that they are re-branded Juintech calipers, the same as the Yokozunas. I never had the opportunity to try the Yokos, but I can confirm that the Vise brakes are very, very powerful. They don’t quite have the smooth feel of full hydraulic brakes, but they’re close. The Vise brakes brought the Low Kicker to a halt easily in all weather, including snowy conditions and even the dreaded smooth pavement covered in wet leaves. These are good stoppers.

The most unusual parts on the Low Kicker were the drivetrain components. My test bike arrived with a 1x clutch derailer, 11–46T cassette, and 1x dropbar shifter/brake levers (also known as brifters), all from a new value-oriented brand called Sensah. Being a 1x setup, the right-hand brifter does the shifting while the left is just a brake lever. And there’s no secondary paddle — the right brake lever is the shifter. A small push with a single click shifts up to a higher gear while a bigger push with two or more clicks downshifts to an easier gear. And you can downshift three gears at a time, which is nice. The shifts were quick, crisp, and unusually satisfying. As a side benefit to the single-lever shifting mechanism, you can ride with mittens in the winter and shift easily.

Unfortunately, the clutch (a device on pretty much all modern off-road derailers that provides tension on the chain and keeps the chain from falling off on a 1x drivetrain) on the SRX derailer didn’t seem to do much. The chain would slap noisily in rough terrain, and adjusting the clutch to its maximum made no difference. Mangan told me he’d seen good reliability from Sensah and hadn’t come across any issues with the clutch derailers. He agreed that I must have gotten a dud. At least the derailer is only $69!

Notable among the rest of the componentry was the handlebar. The Daija Cycleworks Far Bar, in 480mm width, is an appropriate choice for this bike, but the 21° of flare is just too much for my taste. I find that much flare puts the hoods at a weird angle that forces my wrists into an uncomfortable position, and then in the drops I have to really reach to find the brake levers. I know a lot of people love these super-flared bars, but they’re just not for me.

The Ride

I own a fine example of a “do-it-all” bike, my beloved Black Mountain Cycles Road Plus, so I have a good idea of the qualities needed for a bike to really be capable of all the things. The Low Kicker has the easy ones checked off: big tire clearance; braze-ons for racks, fenders, and cargo mounts; and a middle-of-the-road geometry that ensures it handles just as well with a load as without. The other necessary qualities are harder to enumerate, such as ride feel. At 28.2 pounds with pedals, the Low Kicker’s weight is respectable; it’s neither a flyweight nor a porker. Similarly, its tubeset feels sufficiently lively without noodling its way around corners when loaded. Standing out of the saddle and sprinting, the Polyvalent gets up and goes pretty well, which I did not expect. Even with big, knobby tires, I felt encouraged to hammer on the pedals when riding it, and when I would sit back down and resume a pleasant cruise, it just wafted along like an air-sprung Cadillac.

Another necessary quality for a good “do-it-all” bike is the ability to seamlessly go from one type of road surface to another. Tires surely play an important role here, but regardless the Low Kicker felt just as capable and confidence-inspiring on the dirt tracks crisscrossing the Salt Lake City foothills as it did bombing down canyon roads. Indeed, I wouldn’t hesitate to take the Low Kicker on a loaded tour with an even mix of pavement and gravel, although I might opt for 650b wheels with 48mm file-tread tires, but that’s a personal choice.

But maybe the most important — and most intangible — quality of a good “do-it-all” bike is that it makes you feel good, by which I mean your body feels good when riding it and you also look good doing so. Call me vain, but there’s nothing wrong with feeling good when riding a classy bike around town. I certainly felt pretty darn great while riding the Low Kicker all around Salt Lake City, and even got a few hoots (surely directed at the bike, not me). Putting aside my sore wrists from the handlebar’s flare, I also physically felt great while riding the Polyvalent, even hours into a big ride.

At $3,070, it’s hard to call this particular Polyvalent Low Kicker a bargain bike, but I would argue that you’re getting good value for your dollar. I can’t speak to the long-term durability of the Sensah components, but — the derailer’s clutch aside — they performed well for me. For $925, you can get yourself a bare frameset and affix whatever parts you can scrounge up. In any case, I can guarantee you’ll have yourself a handsome-looking rig, and chances are good that it’ll be a pretty versatile bike. It might even do it all.

Velo Orange Polyvalent Low Kicker

Price: $3,070

Sizes available: S, M, L, XL

Size tested: XL

Weight: 28.2 lbs. (with pedals)

Test Bike Measurements

Stack: 619mm

Reach: 399mm

Head tube length: 182mm

Head tube angle: 73°

Seat tube length: 600mm

Seat tube angle: 72°

Top tube: 600mm (effective)

Chainstays: 435mm

Bottom bracket drop: 67mm

Fork offset: 60mm

Wheelbase: 1061mm

Standover height: 657mm

Specifications (as tested)

Frame: 4130 double-butted chromoly steel, two bottle mounts, rack and fender mounts

Fork: 4130 double-butted chromoly steel, rack and fender mounts, triple mounts

Handlebar: Daija Cycleworks Far Bar, 480mm

Stem: VO Tall Stack, 80mm

Rear derailer: Sensah SRX, clutch, 11spd

Shifter/brake lever: Sensah SRX

Brakes: Origin8 Vise cable-actuated hydraulic disc

Rotors: Tektro 160mm

Bottom bracket: SRAM GXP, threaded

Crankset: SRAM Apex 1, 42T, 170mm

Cassette: Sensah SRX 11spd, 11–46T

Headset: VO threadless

Seatpost: VO Grand Cru alloy

Saddle: VO Touring

Hubs: VO Disc, 100 x 12mm front, 142 x 12mm rear, thru-axles

Rims: VO Voyager 26in., 32h, tubeless

Tires: Ultradynamico Mars 26 x 2.3in., tubeless

Pedals: VO Sabot

Gearing Range    

         42

11    101.6

13    85.9

15    74.5

18    62.0

21    53.2

24    46.6

28    39.9

32    34.9

36    31.1

40    27.9

46    24.2

Contact: 6730 Dover Rd Suite 113, Glen Burnie, MD 21060, info@velo-orange.com, 410.216.2988, velo-orange.com

The post Road Test: Velo Orange Polyvalent Low Kicker appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

Ibis has long been a boutique brand in the mountain bike world, with its premium carbon frames demanding a premium price. So it came as a happy surprise when, in late 2019, Ibis released the Ripmo AF, an aluminum-framed version of the long-travel Ripmo. It was the first aluminum bike in 20 years for the Santa Cruz, California, brand.

In January 2021, Ibis released a follow-up in the alloy line: the Ripley AF, an aluminum-framed version of the stalwart short-travel 29er rig. Like its carbon counterpart, the Ripley AF features the same DW-Link rear suspension system, the same 120mm of rear travel and 130mm front, and 29-inch wheels with room for big rubber.

We love a good value here at Adventure Cyclist, so of course I spent months pestering Ibis for a review model. One finally arrived late in the season with a bit of a mishmash of componentry — a result of the pandemic shortages still wreaking havoc on the industry. My review bike was a blend of the Deore and NGX models that Ibis offers, with Shimano Deore brakes and cassette mated to SRAM GX Eagle derailer and shifter. The rest of the build was standard fare for the Ripley AF, including a Float DPS Evol shock and Float 34 Performance fork, both from Fox, and Schwalbe tires mounted to Ibis’s S35 wheels. The dropper post was an upgrade model, the incredibly smooth BikeYolk Revive with a whopping 185mm of drop.

It wasn’t that long ago that you could either have a bike that would climb really well or descend really well, but never both. Lucky for us, bikes like the Ripley AF are breaking that mold. Ibis’s DW-Link is a very efficient suspension system, which allows the Ripley to climb with an alacrity that belies its downhill performance. Other than on pavement or when I had the bike loaded up, I rode with the shock and fork fully open; on dirt, there simply is no need to use the pedal platform on the Float DPS shock. Whether I was seated and spinning a low gear or standing up and hammering on the pedals, the Ripley AF fairly scooted uphill. Make no mistake, this is no flyweight XC race machine, but it still rewards your pedaling effort with immediate forward momentum. I did find that the rear wheel would get hung up on rocks and ledges a bit more than I would like, but it’s possible that I could have found a better balance with some more fine tuning of the shock.

Aiding the Ripley AF’s climbing performance was its 76° seat tube angle, which is on the steeper side of things. In effect, a steep seat tube angle places your hips farther forward in relation to the crank, giving you the feeling of pushing down on the pedals as opposed to pushing the pedals forward. Living where I do in Salt Lake City, that pedaling position was often a boon — when the road or trail pitched up into near-vertical territory, I wasn’t forced to shift my weight forward on the saddle to keep the front wheel down because I was already there. If you live in an area with flatter terrain, you might not realize the benefits of such a design; in fact, you might find it counterproductive. On flat roads or trails, like riding across town to another trail system, I noticed that the forward position of the saddle put more of my body weight on the handlebar and my hands would get sore.

Speaking of angles, the Ripley AF’s head tube angle is … wait for it … 65.5°, a degree slacker than the carbon model. A slack head tube angle essentially puts your front wheel farther out in front of you, which leads to more confidence and stability when riding downhill at speed. This makes the Ripley one of the most capable mountain bikes I’ve ever ridden. I took this bike on some seriously rough and rowdy terrain, and it handled everything with aplomb. It was also a wicked fun rig on smoother, tighter trails, including flow trails and jump lines. It’s truly a bike for the full spectrum of mountain biking.

To test its potential for bikepacking, I loaded up the Ripley AF for a local overnight in the middle of November. The route included way too many pavement miles, some dirt roads, and plenty of steep singletrack. And that was just getting to the campsite. With a little more air in the suspension and tires, the bike handled the extra weight just fine, though I did take advantage of the climb switch on the rear shock for most of the way up.

The next morning, I set off in a light drizzle to take the “fun” way down. This very quickly morphed into Type 2 fun as I strained to push my loaded rig up near-vertical hills and careened down scraggly goat paths on the other side, making full use of the Ibis’s suspension travel and its aggressive geometry. Even loaded down, the Ripley AF felt comfortable, stable, and confidence-inspiring on what was maybe the sketchiest bikepacking descent I’ve ever done.

Rides like this one, that are on the extreme end of the bikepacking spectrum, do an excellent job of highlighting potential faults in a bike. For the Ibis, a couple of things came to light. While climbing the steep trail to the campsite, I decided that the 32T chainring was too big. For bikepacking, I would throw a 30T or 28T ring on it. Luckily, that’s easily done thanks to the direct-mount Descendent crank. (The stock NGX build comes with a SRAM NX crank, which also has a direct-mount chainring.) On the descent, I found the limit of the two-piston Deore brakes pretty quickly. I like those brakes a lot, especially for the price, but they were simply outmatched trying to slow a heavy, loaded bike on very steep trails. A larger front rotor would help. (The stock NGX build comes with four-piston SRAM G2 brakes, which I’ve had middling success with in the past.)

Otherwise, the spec was solid. The Fox fork and shock were smooth, supportive, and took repeated hits with consistent performance. The Ibis S35 wheels are inexpensive but dependable, with 35mm wide rims to better support the big 2.6in. rubber. My only gripe with the wheels was the 10° rear hub engagement, which I found to be a little slow in technical terrain. The Hans Dampf tires also impressed: they didn’t have the most outright grip, but they rolled nicely on pavement and had very predictable breakaway in loose terrain. Most importantly, the tires never lost air, burped, or punctured. And for what it’s worth, I mostly ran them in the high teens for air pressure, adding only a couple PSI for the overnight. Oddly, the funky pairing of the GX Eagle derailer to the Deore 12-speed cassette worked pretty well. I have Eagle on one of my own bikes, and Deore on another, and both are great 1x drivetrains.

The cable routing situation on the Ripley AF is, admittedly, a bit of a mess. The rear brake, shift cable, and dropper cable all exit the down tube at the same port, so you have three lines in the way when trying to mount a bottle cage (heaven forbid you also try to mount a tire pump). It’s workable, but frustrating. On the other hand, I never heard any rattles from the housing inside the frame, so that’s a plus.

When the bike arrived, the BikeYoke dropper post was already installed. I needed to lower it for my saddle height, but the thing wouldn’t budge. To be clear, the dropper functioned just fine, but the post itself was stuck in the frame. I had to yank it out with ratchet straps. I ended up using one of my own dropper posts, which was shorter than the BikeYoke, in order to ride the Ripley AF, but even my own post could only go so far into the seat tube before getting stuck. After I returned the bike, Ibis determined that the frame was a pre-production model in which the seat tube hadn’t been properly reamed at the factory after welding. They assured me that it isn’t an issue on production models.

I was left deeply impressed by the Ripley AF, so much so that I’m already recommending it to friends who are in the market. At nearly 33 pounds without pedals, it’s on the hefty side but I never felt like the weight held me back. This small-brand bike has a sophisticated suspension system, solid componentry, and modern geometry that is just as good on the ups as it is on the downs, and all for $3,500. That’s still a big chunk of money, but considering everything the Ripley AF can do — and the fact that there’s nothing in the spec that needs immediate upgrading, which I can’t say for a lot of bikes — it’s about as good a value as you’re going to find in the mountain bike world. And who doesn’t love a bargain?  

Ibis Ripley AF NGX

Price: $3499

Sizes available: S, M, L, XL

Size tested: L

Weight: 32.8 lbs. (without pedals)

TEST BIKE MEASUREMENTS

Stack: 622mm

Reach: 475mm

Head tube length: 115mm

Head tube angle: 65.5°

Seat tube length: 418mm

Seat tube angle: 76°

Top tube: 630mm (effective)

Chainstays: 432mm  

Bottom bracket height: 335mm

Fork offset: 44mm

Wheelbase: 1217mm

Standover height: 722mm

Specifications as tested

Frame: Ripley AF

Fork: Fox Float 34 Performance, Fit Grip damper, 130mm travel

Shock: Fox Float DPS Evol, 120mm travel

Handlebar: Ibis alloy, 780mm

Stem: Ibis alloy, 31.8mm clamp, 50mm length

Rear derailer: SRAM GX Eagle

Shifter: SRAM GX Eagle

Brakes: Shimano M6100 Deore two-piston, hydraulic

Rotors: Shimano RT66, 180mm front and rear

Bottom bracket: SRAM Dub, threaded

Crankset: SRAM Descendent, 175mm, 32T chainring

Cassette: Shimano M6100 Deore, 10–51T, 12spd

Headset: Cane Creek 40

Seatpost: BikeYoke Revive dropper, 185mm

Saddle: WTB Silverado

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

Rims: Ibis S35 alloy, 32h, tubeless

Tires: Schwalbe Hans Dampf Super Trail Evo 29 x 2.6in., tubeless

Gearing Range

         32

10    95.0

12    79.3

14    68.0

16    59.4

18    52.8

21    45.1

24    39.5

28    33.8

33    28.8

39    24.3

45    21.1

51    18.7

Contact: Ibis Cycles, 2240 Delaware Ave, Santa Cruz, CA 95060, 866.424.7635, askchuck@ibiscycles.com, ibiscycles.com

The post Road Test: Ibis Ripley AF appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

Redesigned for 2020, Ritchey’s new Outback is a bit of a departure from the norm. In the world of gravel bikes, where so many new models are either borrowing from road racing with sleek aero frames, or from mountain biking with slack angles and enormous tire clearance, Ritchey has found a third way by prioritizing rider comfort above all else.

Looking at the Outback’s profile reveals a few hints as to its intentions. Starting at the back, you might notice that the proportions seem a little off. Look at the amount of white space between the rear tire and the seat tube: pretty generous, right? That’s because the chainstays are 453mm long, which is the longest of any gravel bike I’m aware of. I brought this up in an email with Fergus Liam, Ritchey’s U.S. marketing manager, and I think I hit a sore spot.

“Oh boy,” said Liam. “This has been the talk of the town since releasing this frame. Frankly, I blame the trend of super tucked rear wheels with the tires grazing the back of seat tubes like an ’80s track frame. The need to sit someone right over the rear wheel on a frame designed to be ridden off-road is confusing. It’s like asking to sit on a jackhammer. Lengthening the stays elongates the wheelbase for a more stable ride while allowing the rider to be more comfortable on rougher terrain.”

Moving on to the front triangle, you might notice that the frame’s tubes look a little … skinny. At least you would if brands like Surly pop to mind when you think about steel frames. Compared to the oversized tubes of most modern steel bikes, the Ritcheys look downright dainty, but to me they just look right.

Finally, the fork and head tube are also unique to Ritchey. The fork is full carbon and, according to Liam, was designed to maximize tire clearance without being too long. A shorter fork allows for a longer head tube, which means a longer steerer, which in turn means more material to absorb harsh terrain before the vibrations reach your hands. And, this being a Ritchey, that steerer is straight 1 1/8in.

“Tapered forks mean tapered head tubes, which means heavier, bigger down tubes, which makes for a very stiff front end that doesn’t feel good after a while off-road,” said Liam.

Indeed, Ritchey designed the Outback from back to front to maximize the rider’s comfort without taking anything away from the riding experience. The long rear center might suggest ponderous handling, and the skinny tubes and long, narrow steerer might imply noodly steering, but let me assure you that this is a precision instrument.

Pulling the wasabi-green bike out of the box, I noticed a full complement of Ritchey’s go-fast WCS kit, including hyperlight 700c Zeta wheels, 40mm Speedmax tires, a carbon VentureMax handlebar, and a Skyline saddle with carbon rails. The drivetrain was Shimano GRX, but with a single 40T chainring and an 11–42T cassette, I could tell that hauling heavy loads up steep hills would not be in my immediate future. But haulin’ oats on doubletrack and singletrack? Yup.

The Salt Lake City foothills do not have an abundance of classic “gravel bike terrain.” Our gravel roads either splinter off to rough double- and singletrack trails or deteriorate into a boulder-strewn mess that only a fat bike can make sense of. After building up the Outback, I immediately took it out for a quick shakedown ride on some of the tamer bits of singletrack. Hilarity ensued.

Riding a gravel bike on singletrack — an example of “underbiking” — is one of life’s great pleasures. What were once fairly boring trails under the wheels of my mountain bike suddenly became the most exciting trails in town on the Outback. It was pretty darn fun.

It was also pretty darn smooth. All of those little Ritchey touches make for a nicely riding bike that doesn’t punish your body when the trail turns rough. Even with higher tire pressure than I would normally run (the tires were tubed), the Outback floated over rocky sections. I could look down and see the carbon fork flexing quite a bit. And at the end of a long ride, my hands still felt fresh.

Comfort may be the Outback’s selling point, but there are other benefits to its design. One is traction. A stiff frame isn’t just going to be uncomfortable; it’s also going to bounce around and make it hard to keep the tires on the dirt. But the Ritchey flexes in all the right ways. On one trail that I rode the Ritchey on a lot, there are a couple of steep, rocky pitches that aren’t a given even on a mountain bike. You need to know where to place your wheels, where to pedal, and where to lift your rear wheel. I made both climbs on the Ritchey on the first try.

Another benefit is speed. It’s a fast bike, both on-road and off, and its WCS kit certainly isn’t hurting in that regard. The wheels especially are incredibly light, and the SpeedMax tires are, well, speedy. They’re some of the fastest gravel tires I’ve ever used, and in the rocky, loose-over-hard dirt we have here in SLC, they provided more traction than I expected. After riding a fair bit of pavement while connecting dirt routes, I’m convinced that the Outback is faster than my road bike.

The rest of the build kit performed well, though I did make some changes. They were mainly for fit, like swapping out the Ritchey seatpost for a zero-offset Thompson I had lying around. The whole bike felt bigger than expected, and the included components such as a 100mm stem exacerbated that stretched-out feeling. The size large, which is typically my locked-in size, was big enough that I could have gone for a medium instead and benefited from a lower standover height.

The carbon VentureMax handlebar was appropriate for the kind of riding the Outback is designed for, but I found the 24° flare to be a bit much for my taste. I did like the extra width in the drops, though, especially while descending, and I really liked the flat tops. They were a very comfortable place to put my hands during long climbs.

Shimano’s GRX drivetrain performed flawlessly, but I would have preferred either a wider-range cassette or a 2x system. The 26 gear inches at the low end wasn’t quite low enough for a loaded overnight up some very steep, very loose fire roads. I walked a lot. What didn’t need changing were the brakes. Holy cow, those GRX brakes were powerful. It was very easy to break a tire loose.

With rear rack mounts and triple mounts on the fork, the Outback is ready for loaded adventures. Unfortunately for me, the test model I reviewed had a pre-production fork, according to Ritchey’s Liam, so the three bolts on either side of the fork didn’t quite line up. Liam assured me that the issue has been fixed for all production bikes. I was still able to get all my gear on it and head out for an overnight in the foothills, a task the Outback performed with aplomb. It never felt out of sorts or overwhelmed, but I wouldn’t want to subject those lightweight 24-spoke wheels to too much weight too often.

In fact, if I bought an Outback for myself, I would want two wheelsets for it: the Zeta 700c wheels with the SpeedMax tires for fast and light rides, and a set of 32-spoke 650b wheels with wider rims and knobby tires for loaded off-road missions. Yes, the Outback was designed for either wheel size, with a maximum tire capacity of 700c x 48mm or 650b x 2.0in. With big 650b knobbies, I bet the Outback would be a monster.

Because Ritchey doesn’t sell complete models, you can buy an Outback frameset for $1,549 and build it up as you see fit. You can buy directly from Ritchey through their website, or from a local shop via distributors BTI and QBP. That frameset price is a little higher than that of comparable models from other brands, but it’s a fair premium for those special Ritchey touches.

The Ritchey Outback is a special bike, and with its smooth ride, the ability to swap wheels, and the abundance of braze-ons, it just might be your do-it-all gravel rig.  

Ritchey Outback

Price: $4,200

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

Size tested: L

Weight: 21.0 lbs. (without pedals)

Test Bike Measurements

Stack: 587.4mm

Reach: 390mm

Head tube length: 170mm

Head tube angle: 71°

Seat tube length: 515mm

Seat tube angle: 73°

Top tube: 569.8mm (effective)

Chainstays: 453mm

Bottom bracket drop: 68mm

Fork offset: 50mm

Wheelbase: 1069.6mm

Standover height: 817.8mm

Specifications (as tested)

Frame: Heat-treated, triple-butted Ritchey Logic steel; straight 1 1/8in. head tube; three bottle mounts; rack and fender mounts; replaceable stainless steel derailer hanger

Fork: Ritchey Carbon Adventure Fork, triple mounts, rack and fender mounts

Handlebar: Ritchey WCS Carbon VentureMax, 420mm, 24° flare

Stem: Ritchey WCS C220, 100mm

Rear derailer: Shimano GRX 810 1x

Brifters: Shimano GRX 810 1x

Brakes: Shimano GRX 400 hydraulic disc, flat-mount

Rotors: Shimano Ice-Tech Freeza, 160mm front and rear, Center Lock

Bottom bracket: Wheels Manufacturing, threaded

Crankset: Shimano GRX 810, 172.5mm, 40T

Cassette: SunRace 11–42T, 11spd

Headset: Ritchey WCS

Seatpost: Ritchey WCS 1-bolt, 27.2mm

Saddle: Ritchey WCS Carbon Skyline, carbon rails

Hubs: Ritchey WCS, 100 x 12mm front, 142 x 12mm rear, thru-axles

Rims: Ritchey WCS Zeta OCR, 24h

Tires: Ritchey WCS Speedmax 700c x 40mm, tubeless ready  

Gearing Range

          40

11    100.6

13    85.1

15    73.8

17    65.0

19    58.3

21    52.5

24    46.2

28    39.5

32    34.6

36    30.7

42    26.3

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

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

While I was taking a water break on one of my local trails in the Salt Lake City foothills, a jogger stopped to ask me about the bike I was riding.

“Wow, that’s a really nice-looking bike,” he said. “What is it?”

“Why,” I responded.

“I just want to know the brand,” he said.

“Why,” I repeated.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, a little exasperated. “Just tell me what it is!”

“Why,” I said yet again.

I’d been dying for someone to ask me that exact question as soon as I received the bike from Why Cycles, and I was enjoying my own little Abbott and Costello routine too much to drop it. The runner, not getting the joke, glared at me and jogged away in a huff. I could have told him “What’s on second,” to give him a hint, but I was too pleased with myself.

Why came out of left field (zing!) in 2016, started by three industry veterans who wanted to make “straightforward, clean, eye-catching bikes done right,” as it states on the website. Currently, Why Cycles sells five models: a dirt jumper, a fat bike, a gravel bike, a fairly traditional mountain bike, and the Wayward you see here. And you can have them in any frame material you want, as long as it’s titanium.

The Wayward V2 is a 29+ hardtail made for loaded bikepacking, mountain biking, and everything in between. It’s a model of versatility with mounts galore (including for a rear rack), sliding dropouts to accommodate geared or singlespeed drivetrains, and even a seatstay break in case you prefer belts to chains. It can accommodate a rigid or suspension fork, features internal cable routing for clean lines, and boasts room for full-on 29 x 3.0in. tires, which happens to be my personal preference for a bikepacking rig.

This was my first experience with a space-metal bike, and as such I won’t attempt to compare the Wayward to other titanium bikes. But I can say that every element of the frame on my test model looked pristine: the finish was lustrous, the graphics subtle, the tubes curvaceous, and the welds tidy. Titanium is well known in the bike world as an expensive frame material, and the Wayward looks the part. But compared to many other titanium bike brands, Why bikes are reasonably priced because they’re made at a small outfit in northern China and sold consumer-direct. So you pay less for a Why, but from what I can tell, you don’t get any less.

Rivers of ink have been spilled on the wonders of titanium and its benefits for bike frames. While I try to avoid hyperbole, I will say this about this particular titanium bicycle: it’s magic. Yes, it’s light, and yes, it’s beautiful, but much more importantly, the Wayward rides lightly and rides beautifully. What I mean by that is the inherent compliance and springiness that titanium bikes are known for manifest in the Wayward in the form of increased traction on climbs, a liveliness under acceleration, and a damped, muted feel on rough descents.

I happen to own a similar bike that makes for an apt comparison: my carbon 29+ bike has similar geometry numbers to the Wayward, weighs nearly the same, and even has the same wheels. But when ridden back to back on the same trails, my carbon bike bounces and skitters on rough terrain where the space-metal bike just seems to sail right along. Similarly, my hands feel the buzz much more on rough descents while riding my bike, whereas the Wayward takes the sting out of even the harshest impacts. Like I said, magic.

But it’s not just the fancy frame material that makes the Wayward such a pleasure to ride; the fact is, this Why is a big bike. As modern mountain bikes have grown longer, lower, and slacker, so too have many bikes in the bikepacking category. Personally, I think a long bike pays dividends for long days in the saddle, especially if you’re loaded up. A longer wheelbase gives you better traction, better high-speed stability, and increases frame compliance. And a longer reach feels more comfortable over the long haul, at least to me.

Case in point: while I was testing the Wayward, my wife and I set out for our first ride on the Wasatch Crest Trail, a must-ride singletrack epic here in Salt Lake City. I did a bad job researching our route, and what I’d thought would be a fairly simple 20-mile outing with about 2,000 feet of climbing became more like 40 miles with over 4,000 feet of gain. For those of you keeping score, that’s double. The Wasatch Crest lived up to its reputation, but we were underwatered and underfed for the long slog to close our loop. I may have caught my wife looking up divorce attorneys on her phone. It was the most out of gas I’d been in a long time, but the Wayward just wouldn’t quit. Those little individual assists in traction, compliance, and liveliness combined to form something that felt akin to cheating. And in the best way possible.

The Wasatch Crest Trail also has some pretty rough descents. It’s a trail on which I would otherwise ride my full-suspension bike, but the Wayward is so capable as a pure mountain bike that I had no trouble charging rocky, technical lines at unreasonable speeds — all while riding the trail for the first time. I also found myself setting personal records on both climbs and descents at my local haunts. It’s the first bike I’ve ridden that truly made me question the need for full suspension.

Not that forgoing full suspension will necessarily save you money. All told, the bike I tested retails for over $6,000, but that price includes some fairly high-test equipment: a 12-speed X01 Eagle drivetrain (including carbon crank arms), which provided all the gear range you could want and shifted flawlessly; Industry Nine Backcountry 360 wheels, which are pricey and stiff but well-suited to the dual tasks of trail riding and loaded bikepacking; and a jaw-droppingly beautiful titanium handlebar from Oddity Cycles that costs $350 (!) on its own. I haven’t had great luck with SRAM brakes in the past, but the G2 RSC hydros worked well enough unless I was on a particularly long, fast descent, where I would experience some fade. I expect larger rotors would solve that problem. The RockShox Yari fork was nicely supple but is no longer on offer; Why now specs the better, lighter Pike Ultimate instead. The Crank Brothers dropper went up, and it went down — no surprises there. What did surprise me were the Terrene McFly tires, which rolled efficiently enough, though not as quickly as my go-to WTB Rangers, but held tenaciously in corners. They’re a great tire for splitting the difference between bikepacking and trail riding.

You can certainly save some coin by forgoing the Oddity bar and stepping down to GX Eagle, which is what I would do. (The Oddity bar is also 22.2mm, which requires a shim to fit in a standard 31.8mm stem.) Heck, if you want to build up a Wayward yourself, Why sells a bare frame for $2,449, which ain’t bad for titanium, or a frame and fork combo for $3,049, which is also a fine deal considering you’re getting a top-spec fork for $600.

(If the notion of spending three grand on something you can’t even roll through your door yet seems crazy, remember that value is always relative. To put the Wayward’s price in something resembling context, a Salsa Timberjack titanium frame will run you $2,700.) 

If you’ve read between the lines of this review, you’ll have gleaned my opinion that this bike belongs to that rare, storied category of bicycle: the quiver killer. There are a lot of versatile bikes out there, but compromises abound. On the Why? Not so much. If you want a bike that can charge as hard as you dare on the roughest of trails one day and schlepp your gear on the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route the next, and with that special titanium look and feel, then you already know the answer. 

Why Wayward V2

Price: $6,079

Sizes available: M, L, XL

Size tested: L

Weight: 28.6 lbs. (without pedals)

Test Bike Measurements

Stack: 656mm

Reach: 465mm

Head tube length: 116mm

Head tube angle: 67°

Seat tube length: 460mm

Seat tube angle: 73°

Top tube: 645mm (effective)

Chainstays: 435–450mm (adjustable)

Bottom bracket drop: 70mm

Bottom bracket height: 312mm

Fork offset: 51mm

Wheelbase: 1204mm

Standover height: 754mm

Specifications

Frame: Why Wayward titanium, bottle mount on seat tube, triple mounts on top and bottom of down tube, bolt-on framebag mounts, rack and fender mounts, sliding dropout, frame break on seatstay

Fork: RockShox Yari RC, 120mm

Handlebar: Oddity Lowrizer titanium, 800mm width, 45mm rise, 10° backsweep, 22.2mm clamp

Stem: Truvativ Descendant, 50mm length, 31.8mm clamp

Rear derailer: SRAM X01 Eagle

Shifter: SRAM X01 Eagle

Brakes: SRAM G2 RSC hydraulic disc

Rotors: SRAM Centerline, 180mm front, 160mm rear

Crankset: SRAM X01 Eagle DUB, carbon, 32T, 175mm

Cassette: X01 Eagle, 10–50T, 12spd

Bottom bracket: SRAM DUB, 73mm threaded

Headset: Cane Creek 10-series

Seatpost: Crankbrothers Highline dropper, 31.6mm diameter, 150mm travel

Saddle: Ergon SM10 Sport

Hubs: Industry Nine Hydra, 110 x 15mm front, 148 x 12mm rear, thru-axles

Rims: Industry Nine Backcountry 360, 32h

Spokes: Industry Nine alloy straight-pull

Tires: Terrene McFly, 29 x 2.8in., Tough casing, tubeless ready

Gearing Range

         32

10    96.3

12    80.3

14    68.9

16    60.2

18    53.6

21    45.7

24    40.0

28    34.3

32    30.1

36    26.8

42    22.9

50    19.3

Contact: Why Cycles, 770 Industry Way, Unit B, Carbondale, CO 81623, 970.456.7336, supportbox@whycycles.com

The post Road Test: Why Wayward V2 appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

Among Specialized’s electrified offerings, all of which are named Turbo something — Levo, Kenevo, Creo, Vado, and Como — the Turbo Como is the “comfort” model, a bike designed for ambling around town. It’s styled like a cruiser bike, and indeed it rides a bit like a beach cruiser: seated over the rear wheel, the front way out ahead of you, relaxed, unhurried.

But even if you’re going nowhere in no hurry, there’s a 250W motor helping you get there faster. The Turbo Como is a Class 1 eBike, meaning it’s pedal-assist only (no throttle) with a maximum assisted speed of 20 MPH. The 3.0 model tested here comes with a 460Wh battery integrated into the downtube. The 4.0 and 5.0 models — there are also “Low-Entry” (step-through) models at each price point as well — offer similar motors with larger batteries.

The Como’s aluminum frame and fork have rack and fender mounts to suit your all-weather and carrying needs, the meaty tires help tune out bad road vibrations, and it even includes a kickstand and front and rear lights. The drivetrain is simple, dependable Shimano Alivio; with nine gears, it’s plenty to get you up even the steepest of hills. And braking power comes from Tektro’s T275 hydros, which are a smart, affordable spec for this application.

In the cockpit you’ll find a comfortable, swept-back handlebar adorned with a bell and a remote for dialing up or down the boost level, as well as a display that shows your speed, battery level, mileage, etc. I found the bell particularly handy; on the Como, you will be going faster than pedestrians, drivers, or even you would expect, so it’s important to make your presence known.

Aft of the cockpit is — surprise! — a saddle, and a big, squishy one at that. I generally don’t find comfort saddles like these to be terribly, well, comfortable, but it suits the Como given the pedaling position. The seat tube angle is a very slack 68°, putting a lot of your weight on your behind and necessitating a wider perch.

This being a comfort eBike, smooth is the name of the game. Regardless of which of the three modes you’re in — Eco, Sport, or Turbo — the assist comes on smoothly and without any undue violence. Unlike some other eBikes that shove so hard you nearly fall off the back, the Como is more civilized.

Whereas other mid-drive eBikes suffer from resistance when you cross the assistance threshold, Specialized’s motors — which it developed with Brose, the German electric motor manufacturer — eschew direct drive for belt-driven planetary gears. According to Marco Sonderegger, leader of Turbo eBike Product Development at Specialized, the belt drive makes for a quieter motor and eliminates that resistance. Indeed, although I rarely bothered to go any faster than 20 MPH, doing so was a much smoother affair than I’ve experienced on other eBikes.

The real genius of an eBike is not that you’re getting someplace faster or perspiring less along the way. Instead, it’s this: as soon as I picked up the Como from Bingham Cyclery, my local Specialized dealer here in Salt Lake City, I found myself making up excuses to run to the grocery store or to the post office. Trips for which I might have otherwise walked or taken the car or simply not taken at all, I was now riding the Como.

To test its carrying capacity, I mounted a rear rack, affixed a couple of large Ortlieb panniers, and scurried off to the grocery store. This store happens to be at the top of a large hill, and, as expected, getting there on the Como was a breeze. Once there, I bought a week’s worth of groceries and crammed it all in the panniers. It was enough that, coupled with the Como’s already hefty 47.6 pounds, I could hardly lift up the back of the bike to swing it around. Once rolling, the Como handled pretty well in spite of all that weight in the back. And going down the hill was a good test of the Tektro brakes, one they passed with flying colors.

When it comes to range, the Turbo Como likely won’t be your pick for an electrified cross-country epic. Specialized doesn’t offer a claimed range for the 3.0, but it does have a handy range calculator on its website. Using Eco mode with few stops and on flat terrain — and an average speed of 16 MPH — the calculator claims a maximum range of 53 miles for me, which sounds about right. In Turbo mode, that drops to 29 miles.

Indeed, I made the 20-mile round-trip trek to REI a couple of times on the Como, a mostly flat route with a lot of stops. I used Turbo mode because, well, why not, and, having started with a full charge, each time I returned with about a quarter to a third of the battery left. Once depleted, it’s about four to six hours to reach full charge. I usually plugged it in at night when it got low and enjoyed a full battery the next morning. (The battery is removable and lockable.) 

Another handy tool is Specialized’s Mission Control app, which connects to the bike via Bluetooth. In addition to tracking your rides and showing your bike’s firmware status, the app lets you customize the assist modes to your liking. But the most useful part of the app is Smart Control. With Smart Control, you pick how far you want to ride by time or distance, along with how much climbing your route has and how much assist you want on the climbs, and the app will adjust the motor to get you to your destination without depleting the battery. It’s a great way to eliminate range anxiety.

At $3,250, the Como 3.0 is Specialized’s most affordable eBike. There are certainly less expensive eBikes out there (such as the Charge XC in last month’s issue), but it’s hard to discount the benefits of buying from a major brand with widespread dealer support. If it were my money — and, with each new eBike I ride, it looks increasingly more likely that it will be my money someday soon — I’d spring for the Como 5.0 for its larger (600 Wh) battery, fenders, and front Pizza Rack. But the 3.0 is an excellent foray into electrified ownership, a bike that can serve your cruising and commuting needs and even carry your camping gear for a quick overnight, assuming you keep your mileage in check.

Author’s note: While I had the Como in for testing, it kept disappearing from my apartment. Where was it going? Turns out my wife had been stealing it for her commutes up the (very) steep hill to the University of Utah. In her own words:

“When Dan wheeled the Como through our front door, I knew it would be my new commuting bike. It was striking just how easy it made my mornings. Thanks to Turbo mode, my commute time was cut in half. I no longer had to plan two outfits: one for class and one for the ride up to class. I could now just toss on my scrubs, throw a lunch into my pack, and be on my way. The integrated headlight and taillight meant never needing to worry about whether I had charged my usual commuting lights. The zippy pace erased my fears about creeping slowly uphill in the dark with impatient motorists honking at me from behind.”

So maybe the real danger of buying an eBike isn’t running out of juice or developing a hernia from heaving it up a set of stairs. Instead, the real danger is that you might have to buy two.

Specialized Turbo Como 3.0

Price: $3,250

Sizes available: S, M/L, XL

Size tested: M/L

Weight: 47.6 lbs. (including pedals)

Test Bike Measurements

Stack: 699mm

Reach: 363mm

Head tube length: 225mm

Head tube angle: 68°

Seat tube length: 450mm

Seat tube angle: 68°

Top tube: 660mm (effective)

Chainstays: 485mm

Bottom bracket drop: 75mm

Wheelbase: 1142mm

Standover height: 835mm

Specifications

Frame: E5 aluminum, rack and fender mounts

Motor: Specialized 1.2E, 250W

Battery: Specialized integrated and lockable, 460Wh

Fork: Turbo Como aluminum, rack and fender mounts

Handlebar: Specialized alloy, 30° sweep, 680mm width, 31.8mm clamp

Stem: Specialized Flowset, 20° rise

Derailer: Shimano Alivio Shadow SGS, 9spd

Shifter: Shimano Alivio

Brakes: Tektro HD-T275 hydraulic disc

Rotors: Tektro, 160mm rear, 180mm front

Crankset: Custom alloy forged crankarms, 170mm, 46T chainring

Cassette: Shimano CS-HG200, 11–36T

Chain: KMC e9

Seatpost: Specialized alloy, 30.9mm

Saddle: Body Geometry “The Cup,” 245mm

Hubs: Specialized, 15 x 100mm front, 12 x 148mm rear, thru-axles

Rims: Double-wall alloy, 32h

Tires: Nimbus II Sport Reflect, 650b x 2.3in.

Pedals: Specialized Commuter

Extras: Kickstand, bell, front and rear lights, bar-mounted display

Gearing Range

         46

11    115.3

13    97.7

15    84.7

17    74.8

20    63.5

23    55.2

26    48.8

30    42.2

36    35.3

Contact: Specialized Bicycle Components, Inc., 15130 Concord Circle, Morgan Hill, CA 95037, 877.808.8154, specialized.com

The post Road Test: Specialized Turbo Como 3.0 appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.