Late February might not normally be a time one could expect to find dry conditions in the Snake River Canyon. Blame climate change or just call it good luck but a long spell of dry and unseasonably warm weather in the middle part of the month has resulted in excellent trail conditions throughout much of southwestern Idaho. I joined on with a crew of seasoned desert travelers for a trip through the Snake River Canyon from the Swan Falls dam, downstream on the southern bank before crossing the river at Celebration Park and pedaling back upstream on the north side.
Our crew of six drove from Boise to Swan Falls, where we were greeted with a stiff breeze and chilly temperatures. We debated layering strategies, topped off water supplies and saddled up to explore the canyon.
We made our way across the dam walkway to the opposite bank and struck dirt on the sandy beach.
We rode upstream along the riverbank before taking a sharp right turn and heading up a steep, rocky ascent. Having entered into this ride in a state of near-total ignorance regarding the route details, I was afraid that we were about to climb the whole way to the canyon rim on this rugged, broken track.
Fortunately, we peeled off the uphill path after a brief but strenuous climb and began to contour along the upper slope of the river bank.
The road conditions also improved dramatically and we spun along the hardpacked dirt road, soaking in the scenery and sunshine.
We made our way along the firm, sometimes sandy double-track through grasses and sagebrush.
Before long, we reached a grouping of rocks standing all alone in the midst of the grassy flood plain. Many of the larger boulders were covered with tattoo-like petroglyphs. I won’t attempt to summarize the history of human habitation in this canyon, but these ancient marks stand as a testament to the fact that humans have found this to be a significant place for hundreds of years.
We continue to be drawn here for many of the same reasons that those early people came but we weren’t making camp among these relics from the past.
We paused for a snack and reflection before climbing aboard our steeds and continuing the downstream journey. The clouds above had begun to thin, the breeze had diminished to barely a whisper and we were all happy to shed some layers.
As we continued along the river bank, our grassy flood plain grew narrower and narrower until we were confronted with a section of boulder-strewn canyon wall that fell away at a 45-degree angle straight to the water. The trail through the boulder field was narrower than our tires in many places and rocks varying in size from babyhead to VW Bug impeded our progress.
As I’m often prone to do, I neglected to photograph this most challenging section of the ride as I was too busy trying to keep my wheels beneath me or lifting my bike up and over obstacles. Some of the more daring riders claimed to have ridden 75% of this section. I was lucky to clean 50% and was happy to walk the remainder of the time.
After exiting the boulder field we continued to traverse hillside singletrack until we reached a junction for the bridge crossing at Celebration Park. We made our way across the old railroad bridge and stopped for lunch at a sunny picnic table before rolling upriver on a heavily-braided, dusty single, double and sometimes triple-track across the grassy plain.
On the northern side of the Snake, we soon came to the same boulder field that inhibited our progress on the opposite bank. However, we found much easier going this time around as the rocks were strewn across a rolling section of the flood plain rather than a steep hillside.
We wound and bounced our way around and over the rocks, past the remains of stone shelters and across sandy washes along the riverside.
Compared to the outbound trip, the return leg was much easier going. Some recently-dried sections of trail were heavily cratered from equestrian use earlier in the season but the fatbikes smoothed out the worst of the bumps. We slowly meandered closer to the canyon wall through grasses and brush. Birds flew to and from their cliffside nests and we enjoyed the sun on our backs while we pedaled east.
Eventually, we emerged at the end of our trail and the start of a gravel road that would carry us back to the cars at Swan Falls Dam. “Okay, you can put your slicks back on,” joked one of our party.
We made it back to the Swan Falls park in good spirits; tired from the day’s exertions but happy to have had a rare late-winter opportunity to explore this amazing canyon. I’ll be back, for sure.
When we arrived at the trailhead we were a hardy band of 16 or 17, many of whom were venturing into this high desert landscape for the first time. After several weeks of cloudy, wet and often icy winter weather in the Treasure Valley, we were primed and ready for a sunny day in the desert. The weather forecast looked to be on our side and we hoped that the recent spell of dry weather would have allowed the roads and trails of the Owyhee country to dry sufficiently.
Unfortunately, we had driven into a thick fog bank outside of Grandview. The chilly, moisture-laden air penetrated our clothing and had many of us wondering if we had brought enough layers. Also, the looming threat of wet conditions stood to dash all our hopes of venturing into this rarely visited area of Idaho.
When moisture is present in sufficient amounts in this parched, erosion-prone landscape, the silty, flourlike soil of the flood plains and river bottoms becomes a sort of sticky dough. This is cruel stuff. Part quick-drying cement, part biscuit batter with a wide assortment of stones, sticks and other detritus spread throughout, the “Owyhee Gumbo” is legendary for its ability to stick to just about anything and set hard, preventing bicycle wheels from turning and fouling all manner of moving parts.
Knowing that we may have to abort the ride if we encountered sustained muddy conditions, we unloaded bikes in a farm road turnout, made our final preparations and pedaled west on the chunky gravel to see what the day would bring.
Unfortunately, the conditions quickly deteriorated as the road entered a flood plain and made several crossings of the rutted, sloppy stream bed. These were precisely the kind of conditions we were hoping to avoid. Photos cannot do justice to the evil of this particular breed of mud.
The more experienced Owyhee travelers made their way through the rocks and brush off to the side of the main tracks. The uninitiated, stubborn or foolhardy among us charged headlong into the silty, sinking mudholes. We sunk in slop over our rims and up to our pedals. Our wheels rapidly packed with the silty, dough-like mud and scraped their way between fork blades and rear stays. Then the Owyhee Gumbo claimed a victim.
I pedaled smoothly into a deeper section of mud, coasted breifly through the worst of it and began pedaling to churn my way up the little rise from the bottom of the stream bed. I heard a snap and felt my chain lock up. Expecting a simple clog, I looked down to see my rear derailleur twisted against the rear of my cassette. The parallelogram had snapped cleanly off, leaving only the upper knuckle still attached to the hanger. Great. We were less than two miles into our ride and I was wondering if my day might already be over. As it turned out, I wasn’t the only one feeling that way.
While I set about assessing the damage and feasibility of a solution, the mutiny in our ranks was already taking place. Talk of gravel road alternatives, broken bikes and carwashes drifted through the canyon as I unbolted what was left of my derailleur and stripped off the shifter cable. I punched a pin out of my chain while other voices countered that conditions were bound to improve when we climbed out of the drainage onto the plateau above. By the time I had found a workable gear and shortened the chain to rig my machine into a singlespeed, all but seven of our once mighty expedition force had beaten a retreat back to the cars. Such is the fickle nature of desert travel, especially in the winter.
Somewhat demoralized but not yet beaten, I decided to press on and try my luck with the intrepid remaining crew: Jim, Stacy, Wendell, Star, Sal and Kurt. Afraid that my overstressed chain might snap or derail with heavy pedaling, I did my best to keep my cadence quick and light. My confidence in the ad-hoc singlespeed rig improved when it withstood a few out-of-the-saddle efforts to get over some punchy climbs. Fortunately, our planned route would climb gradually until the turnaround point, so I could expect to coast a good portion of the return leg if my repair failed and I was forced to bail at any point along the way.
As we had hoped, road conditions improved dramatically as we gained elevation. Once on the plateau, the well-graveled double track had a soft, spongy feel under our tires but did not have the same sticky, glutenous, dough-like texture we had encountered down in the wash. We picked our way around a handful of trouble spots as we pedaled our way through the fog, into the void.
We stopped briefly for a snack at a rock outcropping, hoping the sun would burn its way through the fog that clung to the sagebrush and stone. The sloping walls bordering Big Horse Basin Gap were barely visible through the haze as we approached but the suspended vapor glowed brightly with the warmth of the sun, calling us higher.
We climbed into the gap, slowly gaining elevation until we emerged in a world of light and clear blue skies.
We rode through the corridors of stone, soaking up the warming rays of the January sun and feeling wholly justified in having made it through the trials below to earn this reward.
The road wound its way through the pass, bordered by eroded rock spires and chimneys.
Finally, we emerged from the gap into the full glory of Horse Basin. Towers of batholithic rock bordered the road as we grunted up the final steep pitch to reach the next plateau.
Feeling energized by the sun and spurred on by the desire to keep my gear turning at a quick cadence, I pressed on up the road ahead of the rest of the group. Forging into new territory, I soaked up the landscape as I powered my singlespeed southbound over the rocky, rolling terrain. At the high point of our ride – 4,300 feet up on the desert plateau between the deep canyons of Big and Little Jack Creeks – I paused for a stretch and to regroup before heading down the cherrystem trail to our final destination.
Wendell, ever the enthusiastic high-desert explorer, led the descent to the canyon’s edge.
Sky followed with the rest of the crew, exhilarated by the quick descent on the cherrystem to the edge of the canyon and the wilderness beyond.
Now, where I come from back in good ol’ Dixieland, our creeks don’t look much like this. It is hard to believe that Big Jack Creek – the stream that carved this massive gorge out of the sand and rock – is only a minor tributary of the Bruneau River and not a stream with the power of the Owyhee or the Snake.
We loafed in the sunshine and explored to our hearts’ content, snacking on whatever provisions we had brought along while soaking up the unadulterated quiet. Though we may have wanted to toss out our bedrolls and stay the night, duty and responsibility called us back to the city. We would have to wait until another day to watch the stars come out over the desert. Reluctantly, we packed our bikes and pedaled back up the cherrystem to begin the return leg of the journey.
We were rewarded with a light breeze and mellow downgrade for most of our ride through the Basin, toward the gap in the rocks far in the distance. I was able to spin my gear at a quick cadence and carry easy speed but fell off the wheel of the faster descenders when things got steeper.
As we made our way back down into Big Horse Basin Gap, we were pleased to find that the fog had completely burned off in the intervening time, allowing clear views of the surrounding country that had been invisible that morning.
We used a larger helping of caution when returning through the still-sodden river bed, however. The sun had done some good work drying things out but there was still no safe line along the main path. We took to the bush on the high side of the drainage, looking for footing on large rocks to avoid the slippery, clinging batter that weighed down our bikes and threatened to come over the tops of our shoes. Finally, we emerged back onto the heavy gravel and cruised down the final dip in the road to the cars where clean clothes and cold beverages awaited. We rubbed our legs and stretched our arms in the glow of twilight, quite pleased with our day’s work. Finally, we piled back into our vehicles for the ride back to town and hatched schemes for future expeditions into this strange and beautiful country.
A couple of weeks ago – while the Bike Hermit and Sky King were out gallavanting around west Texas – a longtime customer from McCall called the shop. He introduced himself as Chris but I’m told he’s known as “The General” in certain circles. He was heading to Boise for a long weekend to escape from the pre-ski-season cold and was hoping to get a ride or two in. Naturally, I was pleased to have a good excuse for a longer ride than my usual December fare and was happy to oblige.
We agreed to meet Thursday morning for a two-hour spin before I was to be in the shop at 12:00. We settled on a loop that would take us up Willow Creek Road and across Pearl Road before heading south via Hwy 55 for the return leg. Had we paid much attention to the map, we might have deduced that we had no hope of covering 45 miles and 3,000 feet of elevation gain in our allotted time. However, ignorance is bliss and it was in a state of uninformed excitement that I rolled up to the shop at 9:30 Thursday morning. It happens to the best of us. Due to ignorance, poor planning or a simple twist of fate find ourselves out on the bike for twice as long as we think. This was one of those kind of rides. I’ll go ahead and confess: I was late to work.
‘Cross Bikes at the Shop
Despite low-hanging, gray skies and the looming threat of rain we filled bottles, double-checked tire pressure and prepared to roll out of Boise along the popular Hill Road bike route.
The General’s Steed with Lone Peak Kickback Top Tube Bag
We cruised westbound at a conversational pace on the flat, smooth asphalt. On the outskirts of the neighboring town of Eagle, we turned northbound and into the hills. It wasn’t long before the nice, level road through housing developments and farmland kicked uphill and carried us into the open country north of the Treasure Valley settlements.
Cresting a Hill, Rolling Northbound
After a few ups and downs, Willow Creek Road soon turns to dirt. Recent rains had tacked down the normally dusty surface and we were greeted with excellent conditions. The road was fast, grippy and reasonably smooth other than the odd pothole and occasional section of washboard or braking bumps. However, this section of road appears to get good, regular maintenance. The same can’t be said for many of the sections that still lied ahead.
The road signs confirmed that we were heading into more exciting territory. The road began to wind steadily uphill through a narrow canyon. We encountered some sections of softer dirt that had us double checking our tires for slow leaks. There were none, it was only the energy-sapping spongy road tread that robbed our previous efficiency.
The soggy tread combined with the steady 6-7% grades and occasional steeper corners to make the Willow Creek climb a proper challenge for us both. The road continued to wind its way uphill for the next six miles, gradually bending eastward through the mining claims on Pearl Road.
The General on Willow Creek Road
Thankfully, we saw only one large, lumbering mining truck working the claims that day. Other than the diesel-belching dump truck, we hadn’t encountered a single other vehicle since turning onto Willow Creek Road. I’m always a little amazed how far away from the big city you can be with just a few miles between you and downtown Boise. Though barely 20 miles from the Capitol dome, we had entered the land of abandoned mineshafts marked by the bullet hole-ridden husks of ancient automobiles.
Old Mine Entrance on Pearl Road
When we finally reached the summit of Pearl Road, we were greeted by an expansive view of the Boise Front, spread out to the west. The low-hanging clouds concealed the snowy summits but the panorama still made a worthy reward for the exertions of the climb.
View from the Pass
On the descent from the Pearl Road summit to Hwy 55, road conditions deteriorated dramatically. Signs warned of the lack of winter maintenance. We were now on the wetter side of the ridgeline and it showed. Deep ruts filled with muddy water had formed in the road and the entire tread was a slippery mess of saturated clay and fine sand. Harried by a high-school-aged kid joyriding in the slop on his dirt bike, we descended through the challenging conditions as our tires snowballed into rolling hoops of tacky mud.
We finally arrived at the intersection of Pearl Road and Hwy 55 in a chilly drizzle, glad to have made it through the muddy section without a spill in the frigid muck. We donned rain jackets and pulled our earflaps low for the quick descent on the highway shoulder. At this point, I was already well overdue at the shop and near the end of my food stores. I tucked low over my handlebars and allowed the grade to carry me back down to town.
Readying for the Descent
Before long, I looked back and saw Chris fading out of sight behind me. Spurred on through the flatlands by tardiness and hunger, I kept turning the pedals as quickly as I could despite the cold, fatigue and calorie deficit. The return leg along Hill Road felt practically interminable until I finally reached the intersection of Hill and 36th, unlocked the shop door with my frozen fingers and shuffled my dirty feet inside.
The phone was ringing and orders were accumulating as I hurriedly pulled a change of clothes from my messenger bag and realized that I had… forgotten… my… shoes. Doh! I distinctly recalled setting them out early that morning, saying to myself, “now you don’t want to forget your shoes.” Oh well. It was still worth it. Chris rolled in a few minutes later, looking about as shell-shocked as I felt. Fortunately, it was nothing a bit of sustenance and dry clothes couldn’t fix and we were soon refortified and smiling.
We were fortunate to have snuck in our ride when we did, as a wave of snowfall and frigid temperatures rolled through Boise just a few days later. We’ll be lucky to see the view from the Pearl Road summit again anytime soon. Long rides can be hard to come by this time of year but the rewards are certainly worth the difficulties. Come springtime, we’ll collect dividends on the investment of quality saddle time in the winter.
The wintertime (known to some among us as the “off-season”) is a great time to experiment with your bike setup and few components can transform the ride of a bike like handlebars. Unlike many so-called “performance” upgrades that claim to offer weight savings, greater precision or improved efficiency, different handlebars change the way your body relates to the bicycle in a fundamental and important way. The wrong handlebar can make the finest bicycle nearly unrideable. The right handlebar can enhance comfort, control and confidence. The Jones Loop H-Bar does just that. As many of the Surly bikes we sell (in addition to many other touring bikes) come with drop bars and bar-end shifters, I thought I’d share my experience converting my personal bike from drop bars to H-Bars. I’ll get more into the details and technicalities of the process – especially the fit aspect – in a future post, so stay tuned for that.
I built my dirt touring bike – the RandoGnar – around drop bars. I had the wide-open and reasonably smooth gravel roads of north-central Oregon in mind when drawing up the plans and laying out the cockpit. The position is very similar to what I’ve used on my cyclocross bike to provide a good balance of comfort, aerodynamics and pedaling efficiency for long, mixed-terrain rides and ‘cross racing. This setup performed admirably on the Oregon Outback in May, 2014 and I wouldn’t have changed a thing. However, on rough descents or technical singletracks, the hand and body positions offered by drop bars leave something to be desired. When riding in the drops – the preferred position for descending – my weight is shifted far forward over the front wheel which tends to generate a feeling of “oh-crap-I’m-about-to-get-pitched-over-the-bars”. This leads to tension throughout the my body, causing fatigue and a diminished ability to ride lightly over rough surfaces.
Open country and smooth gravel on the Oregon Outback
Upon moving to Idaho and sampling some of the unpaved roads and singletracks in the central part of the state, I found myself wishing for a different handlebar. Descending on a loaded bike through rough, rocky, loose terrain can be sketchy on any bike but I’ve had some harrowing moments on rutted, washed out mountain roads and trails down in the hooks of my deep drops.
A section of steep, rocky road near Scott’s Mountain on the Smoke ‘n’ Fire 400
Anyone who has ridden a modern mountain bike can tell you that a short stem and wide, flat handlebars yield enhanced control in challenging terrain. It is easy to keep the front wheel light and approach steep terrain with confidence. So for mixed-terrain bikepacking and touring – where we ride long hours on loaded bikes in widely varying conditions – we need a middle ground. We like the range of hand and body positions offered by drop bars but miss the confidence and control lent by a flat bar with things get rough. The Loop H-Bar treads this fine line better than perhaps any other handlebar available.
Your list of necessary parts will vary, but here are the parts I needed to effect the conversion.
The bits: Jones 710mm Loop-H bars, Thomson X4 90mm 0-degree stem, Paul Thumbies, Shimano canti levers.
I replaced my 100mm, -10 degree stem with a 90mm, 0 degree version to bring the handlebar clamp up closer to level with the saddle height for a nice, balanced riding position. I am now able to rotate my hips back slightly and rest my weight lightly on the saddle with most of my body supported by the pedals. The stance is upright and controlled but with enough forward reach possible to tuck under the wind. On the road, the forward extension offers a very similar perch to riding on the “ramps” of my drop bars. On singletrack, the extra width and rearward extension provides a very strong and confident stance to attack steep terrain with one finger tucked in the crook of the brake levers. The overall look is a little cruiser-y but the bike feels much more at home in singletrack.
Rando-Gnar with Jones Loop-H Bars
These bars are now the widest I have on any bike. The extra leverage and control is remarkable.
Cockpit from above
ODI’s classic Longneck BMX grips pair well with the Jones bars. The extra length covers more of the handlebar section than a standard mountain bike grip. I prefer to trim the flanges off for additional shifter clearance. We also offer the ESI foam grips which are designed for the long grip section of the H-Bars.
Also, I found (in corroboration with Jeff Jones’ guidelines) that the ergonomics of this setup are much improved by adjusting the brake levers’ reach screws in slightly to bring the lever blades closer to the bars. Those with extra-long fingers may not need to make the adjustment but the levers are easy to reach with the first finger even when at the farthest rearward position on the bars. The BL-R550 levers deliver a very strong pull to my cantilever brakes and a comfortable lever shape for one or two fingers.
De-flanged BMX grips and brake levers with reach adjusted in slightly
The sweep and width of these bars has transformed the Rando-Gnar from a dirt road crusher into a singletrack slayer. I’m able to ride much faster and more confidently than I ever thought possible on a rigid bike. In addition to the range of hand positions, the 45-degree sweep of the bars offers excellent leverage for lifting either end of the bike over obstacles in the trail. This is especially helpful when the bike is loaded and requires more effort to maneuver.
From the front
Thomson’s X4 stem pairs perfectly with the Jones bars. Even the alignment marks align with the edges of the clamp jaws.
Alignment hashmarks placed perfectly for Thomson clamp
On the first few shakedown rides in the Boise foothills, I had to consciously keep my speed in check any time the trail pointed downhill. The riding position inspired so much confidence that I quickly outran the available traction from my close-knobbed tires in loose corners. With my weight shifted over the rear wheel and my hands out wide, I was able to leverage the bike around downhill corners with ease and maintain a comfortable, relaxed posture. When climbing, I could easily shift my hands forward to keep the front wheel down.
At the top of Scott’s Trail in the Boise Foothills
Overall, I’m quite happy with the comfort, control and multiple riding positions the Jones bars offer. On longer stretches of smoother terrain I find myself missing the aerodynamic position offered by the drop bars, but feel that the off-road confidence and control more than makes up for the slightly decreased efficiency on the pavement.
Rando-Gnar with Jones Loop-H bars in the wild
Overall, the Jones H-Bars are an excellent alternative to a drop bar for touring bikes that are regularly ridden in more technical and demanding situations. I’d recommend them to anyone who wants to blend the confidence and control of a flat bar with the comfort and hand positions of a drop bar. I’ll be taking a closer look at the setup process in a future post, so feel free to chime in with any questions you’d like to have answered or ideas you’d like to see explored. Thanks for reading!
Even if you’re a close follower of developments in bicycle lighting technology, you may not be familiar with the new generator hub systems from Shutter Precision, or SP. However, we suspect that you’ll be hearing a good deal more about their hubs in the near future. With a background in the production of advanced photographic shutters for digital cameras and mobile devices, SP used their expertise in miniature electronics to develop a new dynamo hub system. The Taiwanese company began production in 2009 and now markets a line of hubs that rival the quality, performance and weight of the industry leaders at a surprisingly low price. We are currently stocking the PD-8 (6-bolt disc) and PV-8 (rim brake) hubs in 32 and 36-hole drillings with a bright silver finish.
Excellent finish quality and clean lines on the SP PD-8 and PV-8 dynamo hubs.
Given that my understanding of what actually happens inside a dynamo hub is limited, I won’t attempt to describe what goes on internally to set these hubs apart from the others on the market. It’s all magic and wizardry as far as I know. Despite my ignorance, I will risk some comparisons here.
SP claims that their 8-Series hubs (like the ones we have) deliver 72% efficiency at 15km/h (9.3mph), meaning that you as a rider are required to supply an additional 3.3 watts to generate power. If accurate, this puts the 8-Series in a dead heat with the highly-regarded Schmidt SONdelux, perhaps the industry’s benchmark for efficiency. In experiential terms, this level of drag is practically unnoticeable while riding. The Shimano DH-3N80 hub on my RandoGnar is supposedly only 53% efficient – requiring something like 4.5 watts at 15km/h – and I often find myself riding around with my light on in the daytime after neglecting to switch it off the night before.
In terms of weight, the 8-Series hubs are also right on par with the Schmidt. SP claims 390g for the rim-brake version and 410g for the 6-bolt unit. Schmidt gives an identical weight of 390g for the SONdelux and 395g for the Shimano-compatible CenterLock disc option. Shimano claims a weight of 490g for their lightest offering. These numbers also put SP at the top of the class, regardless of price.
Okay, so they’re efficient and lightweight. That’s a good start, but all the high-tech internals in the world don’t matter if the thing isn’t reliable. SP backs all of their hubs with a two-year warranty against defects. They have survived the rigors of the Tour Divide and numerous other long, arduous races and tours without issue. In the hand, they feel just as sturdy and well-made as the Schmidt units. They spin on high-quality cartridge bearings rather than the cup-and-cone systems that Shimano uses in their hubs. Unfortunately (as with all dynamo hubs, to my knowledge) the bearings are not replaceable or serviceable by the user. However, the hub can be returned directly to the factory for bearing replacement if they ever wear out. If within the warranty period, this service will be performed for roughly $30 US including shipping. The SP hubs also use a connector very similar to Shimano’s which makes installing wires, removing and installing the wheel a simple matter.
SP’s wiring connector, shown here still partially disassembled.
Okay, so let’s get down to dollars and sense here. A dynamo lighting system is no small investment and we all want to be sure we get the best our budget will deliver. For the price-concious consumer who still prizes performance, the PD-8 or PV-8 will be difficult to top. This may be the new standard for bang-for-your-buck in a dynamo hub, bar none. We’re selling them for the very reasonable price of $123.97. Compared to the $300 price tag for the SONDelux, this an amazing value. Shimano’s Alfine or DH-3N80 hubs cost almost exactly the same as the SP but are less efficient and likely to be less durable. These were formerly the best alternative for anyone who didn’t want to spring for the SON but are clearly outclassed by SP.
So why should you buy anything else for your dynamo build if these hubs are so great? I’ll have to leave that to you to decide for yourself but I’ll offer some food for thought. Perhaps the single biggest factor setting the Schmidt offerings apart is the five-year warranty compared to two years from Shutter Precision. Schmidt uses a “smart pressure compensation system” to prevent the buildup of condensation inside the hub shell which can lead to corrosion or freezing of the generator parts over the long haul, allowing them to offer such a generous guarantee. It is unclear wether SP uses any similar technology in their hubs. Aside from this discrepancy, the other differences are fairly subjective.
SP is a relative newcomer to the business, so despite their excellent track record so far they are relatively untested over the long haul. Some brand-oriented customers will prefer the prestigious Schmidt name or the tried-and-true Shimano. Also, there’s no avoiding the fact that these hubs are made in Taiwan. We all know that lots of really nice things are made in Taiwan, so quality isn’t the issue. I can’t speak to the ethics or sustainability of Shutter Precision’s business practices, so I’ll leave that judgement to others. Regardless, many consumers would rather put their trust in a German-made product. Prefer Shimano’s CenterLock disc rotors? You’re out of luck with SP unless they decide to license that technology in the future. Also, our stock is currently limited to the aforementioned PD-8 and PV-8 in silver with 32 and 36-hole drillings. SP offers a wide range of other models, colors and drillings but availability is currently scanty in the US.
Overall, Shutter Precision is an exciting new player in the dynamo hub market and we’re happy to be able to offer these hubs to our customers. No product is perfect, but we think the ratio of price to performance they offer is exceptional and are looking forward to getting them laced, wired and between the dropouts of some bikes in the very near future. Shoot us an email or give us a call in the shop if you’d like to talk about wheel build options or a lighting setup for your bike.
We are often asked why Surly specs bar-end shifters rather than integrated brake/shift levers on the Long Haul Trucker, Disc Trucker and Cross-Check. This is a good question and one we thought warranted some explanation.
Disc Trucker with bar-end shifters.
When you walk into most bike shops, you’ll most likely find that every single new bike with drop bars is fitted with combination brake/shift levers from Shimano, Sram or perhaps Campagnolo. They have become ubiquitous for a myriad of reasons, most of them good. With an integrated shifter, the rider has complete control over braking and shifting from a single hand position without having to let go of the bars. Now, the rider can shift while bouncing over rough terrain, from the hoods or the drops, even out of the saddle or in a full sprint! Try that with your old downtube shifters and you may be picking your teeth out of the dirt. This was quite an advancement and has changed the way riders interact with their bikes in a profound way. Many cyclists could never imagine going “back” to bar-end or down tube shifters. Why should they?
Straggler with Shimano STI brake/shift levers
If integrated shifting is so great that it has become the standard for drop-bar bikes of all styles and price points, why would a bike company include anything else on their complete bikes? Are Surly’s bikes spec’ed by crotchety retrogrouches who are scared of progress? Maybe. Are they trying to rip us off by sticking us with obsolete, outdated parts for an exorbitant price? Doubtful. Did they accidentally order ten million sets of bar-end shifters that they had to put somewhere? Possible, but unlikely. Surly does use integrated shift levers on a handful of bikes like the Pacer and Straggler, so we know they’re not afraid to spec them when it makes sense. Perhaps it comes down to having the right tool for the job.
For all their wonders and benefits, the level of convenience offered by integrated shifters comes at a price, both literal and figurative. These things are not cheap! Next to the frame and wheels, those little clicky bits are usually the most expensive component on your bike. For example, Shimano’s latest Ultegra STI (Shimano Total Integration) levers carry an MSRP of $400. If you want the top-of-the-line Dura-Ace units you’re looking at at whopping $700! You could buy a nice new frame with money to spare or even a complete entry-level bike for that price!
In contrast, a pair of Dura-Ace bar-end shifters (probably the finest indexing bar-end shifters on the market) will set you back about $120. Depending on your drivetrain requirements, many shifter sets (like these little dandies from SunRace) cost much less. This saves you money on the complete bike and makes replacement in case of a crash or damage much less painful for the pocketbook.
Also, the operation of integrated shifters can be very confusing for new users. Learning which of the four shift paddles (two of which are also brake levers) does what, when and how to use them adds to the intimidation and nervousness many new riders feel. So much focus is required to learn how to shift that it is easy to forget how to brake, especially when your brake lever is also your shifter! Conversely, bar-end shifters use only two levers – one for each derailleur – that are completely separate from the brake levers. Pull it towards you to shift one way, push away from you for the other. The lever even stays in place to remind you what gear you’re in. Easy for new riders to learn, refreshingly simple for the experienced.
The other main drawback of integrated shifters is their complexity and lack of serviceability. There is a whole heck of a lot going on under those hoods that allows you to pull and release cable, shifting willy-nilly up and down across your cassette to your heart’s content. When something goes wrong in there, there is often nothing to be done. Here’s a photo from the Black Mountain Cycles blog that illustrates the point:
Photo by Mike Varley, Black Mountain Cycles. Used with permission.
Holy smokes, look at all those tiny springs! We must note that Shimano does not intend for their shifters to be disassembled in this way. None of the pictured parts are available as replacements and getting this whole mess back together would be quite a chore. The problem with this particular shifter (as per Mike’s story on the blog) was that the teeny little spring in the lower-right corner broke, preventing one pawl from doing its job holding the cable reel in place and rendering the shifter useless. When something like this happens there is no recourse other than to replace the entire unit. In favorable conditions Shimano’s integrated shifters have a surprisingly good track record but they will all wear out eventually. When they do fail you will quickly find yourself up shi(f)t creek without a functioning paddle. This could be only a minor inconvenience if you’re close to home and have deep pockets but is not a situation you want to be in when out on the road for an extended tour.
For the sake of comparison, I pulled the Shimano 9-speed bar end shifter off the RandoGnar to see what goes on inside this little guy. Much like the integrated shifters, the guts of the bar end shifters are installed at the factory and aren’t meant to be taken apart for service. Unlike the STI units though, bar end shifters rarely fail or wear out. Here we can see why. This shifter has been in constant service since 2008; first on my Long Haul Trucker, then on the RandoGnar. It has seen many thousands of miles and an uncountable number of shifts in sometimes horrible conditions. It has never been cleaned, serviced or lubricated in any way. It still works well and I expect to get many more years of service from it. Given the same treatment, I would be lucky if an integrated shifter lasted half that time.
That’s all, folks. Not much going on in there, huh? No tiny springs, no diminutive pawls, just a shift lever, couple of ball bearings, detent ring, big burly spring and some washers, bushings, post and nut to hold it all together. Simple and robust. I gave everything a clean, oiled up the moving parts, reassembled the shifter and bolted it back onto the bike. It now works as well or better than when it was new.
To be clear, I’m not claiming that bar-end shifters are more serviceable than integrated levers. While they may be easier to take apart (I would never dare disassemble a fully-functional STI lever) and have fewer parts, Shimano does not offer replacements for the internal components. If something breaks inside your bar-end shifter, you’ll have to replace the whole unit, same as the STI. What I am saying is that there is much less to break inside a bar-end shifter, so the probability of a failure is minimal. And, if you do manage to break one you won’t have to sell a kidney to fund its replacement.
This is why they’re spec’ed on Surly’s touring bikes and many others. When compared with integrated brake/shift levers they are inexpensive, simple and reliable; all prized traits in touring gear. For my money, they’re the flat-out best shifter for a drop-bar touring bike. Surly gets that. You’ll get it too once you try them.
What has been your experience with integrated or bar-end shifters on your touring bike? Tell us about it in the comments below. Thanks for reading.
We are always looking, hoping and striving for the best possible experience when we head out on a bike trip. Our free time to dedicate to these journeys is limited and valuable and we should do everything in our power to make the most of the opportunity. Many components in this alchemical equation are beyond our control. Weather, terrain, wild animals and innumerable other factors will all have a say in what we have to cope with out on the trail. We can try to plan and prepare for some of these unknowns but they are beyond our influence.
However, there are also key ingredients in an enjoyable bike trip that are wholly up to us. Our planning, preparation and packing all have the potential to make or break a trip. In hopes of improving our experience the next time, we look back upon returning to see what lessons can be learned. How did your planning, preparation and packing work out? What worked and what didn’t? What would you do differently next time? As you unpack, you have the opportunity to take a second look and assess your approach. Is there anything buried in the bottom of your bags that you had forgotten was there? Do you still have two pounds of food left over? By paying attention to these things during and after your trip, you’ll be able to learn from your mistakes and keep from repeating them in the future.
So, in hopes of offering some insight into this process, I’ll go through my unpacking and look back on the recent Smoke ‘n’ Fire 400. In doing so, I hope other new bikepackers and tourists will learn from my successes and failures so they can make their own mistakes rather than repeating mine! You may remember my Packing List and Planning posts on this blog. If you haven’t seen those I’d go back through them for the relevant background information.
Planning:
Overall, I’m pretty happy with my approach to the route. Given my lack of fitness and unfamiliarity with most of the terrain, I was well aware that any major setback could easily put me into a position where I would need an extra day to complete the route. So, I set out on Wednesday morning hoping to finish the ride before dark on Saturday but prepared to be out another night and finish on Sunday if needed. However, things went well out there and I was able to make it back to Boise’s Hyde Park neighborhood just before 7:00pm on Saturday. I was a bit disappointed to miss happy hour but the post-ride beer tasted just as sweet.
Victory Beers in Boise!
My daily distance goals proved to be attainable, though perhaps more difficult to reach than I expected. I’ll also admit to underestimating the amount of time the tougher climbs would require and the physical toll they would take. When planning, it is easy to be overly optimistic and forget how grueling long climbs can be on a loaded bike and I fell into that trap. Because of my lack of respect for the climbs – especially the grind up to the Dollarhide summit – I fell short of my goal to reach Redfish Lake on the second night. Looking back, I made the right call to stop and bed down rather than push on longer into the night. I made up the difference the next day over more level terrain and made it to Deadwood Reservoir on night 3 with daylight to spare.
Dollarhide Summit
On a navigational side note, I did have some difficulties with my Garmin. I don’t know if other riders had similar experiences with their GPS equipment but my Edge 500 seemed to be struggling to communicate with its satellite and was very slow to update my position. Not a lot of satellites over Idaho, perhaps? I wasted a good deal of time standing still, waiting for it to re-find the route after going off-course. I was glad to have the Garmin but learned to keep the cue sheet handy to avoid missing turns. A handlebar bag with a map case is an ideal place to carry a map or cues and I’d like to experiment with different front carrying setups on future rides. Storing it under the strap on my handlebar bag works but is far from ideal.
Cockpit Setup
Also, I was very happy with the Revelate Feed Bag and found it to be a perfect addition to my cockpit. The ease of access to my trail mix and other snacks was excellent and allowed me to keep a constant flow of food coming in. The outer mesh pockets also provided a perfect place to stuff energy bars, empty wrappers, my audio recorder and other small objects that I wanted to keep close at hand. The attachment was simple and secure, though the stabilizer strap that loops under the fork crown was just barely long enough for my bike. Riders on more modern mountain bikes with tall forks and short head tubes won’t have problems but folks with high handlebars and non-suspension corrected front ends may have to improvise an extension to the strap.
Preparation:
I was not in the best of shape coming into this event. Other than quick rips on the mountain bike up in the Boise foothills and riding to get around town, I haven’t been on the bike much since returning from my short trip on the Hot Springs route back in July. Given that less than three weeks intervened between my hearing of the event and taking the start on September 10, there really wasn’t time for training. Mostly, I just focused on sleeping well, getting quality food in me and drinking enough water. Given that I much prefer hoppy beverages to plain water, this can be a challenge! I was certainly well-rested and had the leftover base from my other long rides this summer to get through the Smoke ‘n’ Fire but suffered more than I would have liked. I made up for my lack of fitness with experience and a conservative approach to the event. I knew I couldn’t afford to take big risks.
The Boulder Mountains seen from the Harriman Trail
Overall, I measured my efforts well, stayed within my limits and got through each day’s ride about as well as I could expect. I only had one cramp (while putting socks on in my bivy), consistently ate and digested well and only had a small handful of nagging aches and pains beyond the normal soreness and fatigue. I had some pain in my achilles tendons, usually a symptom of a too-high saddle. I dropped it 2-3mm on the second day and things improved a bit. I also had some minor saddle sores and chafing. This could also be attributed to the too-high saddle forcing me to rock my hips on the seat. This point illustrates the need to put in plenty of pre-trip miles on the bike you’ll be touring or bikepacking on. Had I been riding the RandoGnar and not my mountain bike for the weeks before the race I would have discovered the saddle issue beforehand and corrected it before it caused issues.
On a related bike-preparation note, this ride certainly pushed the limits of singletrack riding that I would knowingly undertake with my current handlebar configuration. I love all the hand and body positions that my long-reach, deep-drop handlebars offer on easier terrain but they place me at a disadvantage when things get steep, rough or technical. For future trips with more singletrack riding, I’d switch to a more upright handlebar configuration. Something like the Jones H-Bars might be ideal as they offer a wide range of hand and body positions and would put me in a stronger position to attack difficult terrain.
Nasty, washed-out trail
Packing:
It is easy to nerd out over this department. Sure, there are map nerds and fitness nerds out there too with their own brand of dorkery but nobody nerds out like gear nerds. You know the signs. You’ve seen the shelves and closets overflowing with x-pac, down, silnylon, titanium and carbon fiber. I’m talking about computerized spreadsheets with a few-thousand bucks worth of outdoor gear and bike parts all described, tagged, weighed, starred, “faved” and color-coded. And of course, everyone’s favorite obsession – light weight – is actually kind of a big deal when you’re talking about pedaling the whole mess up and down mountains for a few days. However, any factor in your planning, preparation or packing stands to wreck your trip if you screw it up – no one more than the others – so don’t forget to do your due diligence in other areas. Don’t let the gear get in the way of the experience.
I try to choose gear that is space-efficient and functional and try not to obsess about the weight. I can’t afford to re-outfit myself with the ideal kit for every trip so I’d rather purchase gear that is versatile and durable. For the most part, I think I packed well. I used every piece of gear I carried except for the ones I always hope not to use: tools and first aid.
However, the colder-than-expected temperatures in the low twenties (one night set a record low near Stanley) certainly pushed the limits of my equipment. If I had gone any lighter on shelter or clothing I could have easily gotten dangerously cold. I had a tough time keeping warm through my second-night bivy at the bottom of the Williams Creek Trail, high up in the Wood River Valley.
Daybreak in the Valley of the Sawtooths
The frigid air seemed to sneak in through imaginary drafts in my bivy and sleeping bag though both were zipped and cinched tight except for a small breathing vent to prevent buildup of condensation inside the bivy. My feet suffered the worst of it. They were just starting to warm up and come back to life after some jumping jacks until I got back on the bike. The icy wind pierced my meshy shoes like needles. I improvised toe covers from a pair of ProBar wrappers (inserted over my socks, inside the shoes) which helped cut the chill and retain some heat.
Putting the “PRO” in ImPROvisation
More substantial gloves, toe covers and/or chemical warmers in my shoes would have made the chilly mornings much less painful. Also, despite the lack of extra space in my bivy, I’ll be sleeping with my shoes on future trips where lows are expected to be below freezing. All the icy metal, plastic and carbon fiber in the soles of my shoes sucked the heat out of my feet faster than my blood could circulate.
Food-wise, I was pretty happy with what I carried and how much. I made one resupply stop in Stanley where I purchased some additional ride food (beef jerky, Baby Ruth, Snickers, Mr. Goodbar, two bananas) and supplements (pouch of chunk chicken, Ramen noodles) for my final dinner on the trail.
Dinner at Deadwood Reservoir: Lentil Soup with Chicken and Ramen
I stopped at some of the convenience/general stores along the way when they were available for cold drinks and to refill water. I also enjoyed a beverage stop with some new friends at the Featherville Saloon on day 1 and an amazing breakfast on the morning of day 3 at the Redfish Lake Lodge.
Frosty Beverages in FeathervilleThe “Northwest Breakfast” at Redfish Lake
Aside from these little luxuries, I ate and drank only what I carried and was able to ride safe in the knowledge that I had plenty of calories on board, could filter water from any of the many streams on the route and cook up a hot meal whenever appropriate. Conversely, with good route and resupply information, proper planning and measured riding, one could tackle this route (as many did) with a bare minimum of food on the bike, relying on services in towns and outposts along the way. Although a more expensive way to travel, this tactic certainly has its benefits as food gets heavy fast. It would have been easy to drop several pounds of weight off my bike by leaving the cookset and camp food at home but I would have had to sacrifice a good deal of my self-sufficiency and independence. For my purposes, it wasn’t worth it.
Breakfast atop Scott Mountain
I rode into the darkness on both of the first two nights and found my lighting setup to be nearly ideal. The combination of the dynamo-powered headlight fixed to my front rack and the USB-rechargeable lamp on my helmet worked well in a variety of conditions. I could use the low, wide, bright beam cast by the dynamo light for most roads and supplement that light with the headlamp’s powerful spot for singletrack or whenever a more precisely-directed beam was needed.
Helmet-Mounted Light at Five Points Campground
This system really proved itself on the second day. I had used the CygoLite for the last couple of hours on my first evening’s ride and continued to employ it while I cooked my dinner and made camp that night. I plugged it into the Sinewave Cycles Reactor as shadows began to grow long on the second day, got it topped back up to a full charge and used it for three or four solid hours on the second night to get me through the Fisher Creek/Williams Creek singletrack section under the light of the stars. This descent was one of the highlights of the trip and would not have been any fun at all with sub-par lighting.
Last Rays of Sun Over the Sawtooths
Looking back, it is hard to see this ride as anything other than a great success. Even so, I’m still looking forward to refining my approach to future rides and applying what I’ve learned. I hope these posts have been helpful and entertaining. Feel free to leave your questions and comments below. Thanks for reading!
So, what happened out there? Frankly, I’m not entirely sure. Even after nearly three days back at home and two glorious nights of sleep in my own bed I’m still sifting the ashes. All the oversaturated visions of rivers, mountains, valleys and canyons I had out there in the Idaho high country are swept into a continuous blurred mental replay that rolls to the soundtrack of fat tires rumbling over rock and gravel. I’ve been digging back through the artifacts – the empty wrappers and dirt-crusted bottles, the filthy clothes and foul-smelling socks, the crumpled maps and GPS tracks and the photographs and the journal entries – looking for answers. The excavation stirs the cooling embers of the fire that burned bright for four days but only a pale glow is left, barely visible in daylight. I can feel it in my still-tingling toes, swollen ankles and healing saddle sores. The photos are there, all 354 of them, but they don’t look quite like I remember them… There they are, the hot springs, the sheep herd, the hairpin turns, the bald eagle, the endless road. Depending on shutter speed, all of these photos account for somewhere around six seconds of total time over the course of 84 hours out there in Idaho. What happened in between?
For those on the outside of this event, Trackleaders’ ride tracking page offered a God’s-eye view of the action that feels something like a game of Pac-Man played in super-slow-motion. Through the miracles of satellite photographs and map overlays, the casual spectator had access to a wealth of information about the event as it unfolded in real time. Much like Santa Claus, they knew when we were sleeping, knew when we were awake and could probably make an educated judgement as to wether we were being bad or good. But while the race replay feature can show you who won and who slept and where we got lost, those little tracker pins racing around like deranged slot cars don’t really tell you much about what happens out there.
Despite all this recording of ones and zeros, there are massive gaps in the record: moments that went wholly undocumented or recorded in any way. These moments could hardly even be called memories as they were experienced in a state of no-mind.
After a couple of days, the routine of pedaling ones bike from sunup to sundown becomes natural. Time begins to distort. Sometimes hours fly by and you note the passage of time only when your shadow appears on the right rather than the left. Eventually – like a circumambulating pilgrim – we find a mental space in which we move through the landscape just as it moves through us, leaving only a faint track and puff of dust. A vague trace is all that is left of our passage, each through the other. No GPS data, no pixels or POIs on a map can tell those stories. The times of most complete focus make the greatest impact but leave us with only a vague notion of what happened, like a smeared painting or dream forgotten upon awakening.
So why do we go? What pulls us from of our comfortable lives out onto the trail where we are at the mercy of the elements and forces of nature that we could never understand?
Sometimes we need a challenge put to us. We need a test to pass, an opportunity to excel, to show our abilities and prove ourselves. Prove ourselves to who? Ourselves, mostly. To prove to ourselves that we can do bigger and better things that perhaps we ever thought we could.
Sometimes we need to escape. Escapism is a natural reaction to conditions that offend our spirits so we seek an escape into a simpler world to restore a sense of balance. Finding this balance point isn’t easy, however. Tip the scales too far and you might be gone for good.
Sometimes we’re chasing. We’re looking for something – we’re not sure what – that we lost along the way. Or we’re striving for a goal, driven on by the desire to acheive, conquer and win. Looking for one more fix, one more thrill.
No matter what drives us out into these places, out on our bikes over mountain passes and down harrowing descents, through darkness and blinding sun, frost and fire, we all end up finding something. It is different for all of us and that is what keeps us coming back. To get one more taste, to draw the cold, pre-dawn air into your lungs and feel it purify you as you round a bend on a high mountain pass. We go as explorers of the world within us and without us, to adjust our sense of scale and reckoning of our position. We go to be put in our place. To be awed and humbled by the majesty of the world outside the narrow tunnel we often see through.
We go to lose our minds, to find our no-mind, to forget everything except the essential: food, water, clothing, shelter and forward progress. Always forward. The mountains, rivers, pairies and gorges of central Idaho are the perfect place to outrun whatever chases us and find whatever we’re looking for. Out in this wide-open country there is room for us to grow and expand beyond the normal bounds that we exist in. The clear, blue air and cold, crystalline streams carry our hopes and dreams. We just have to carry enough food.
Upon returning, our charge is to carry the clarity of vision, simplicity of purpose and purity of drive found on the road into everyday life. This isn’t easy. Reintegration into a world that scarcely understands what we’ve lived through is not a simple matter. How does one explain the deeply-felt but inexplicable meaning of such a journey to friends, family or co-workers? To those who haven’t experienced something similar, it’s just a long bike ride and you’re just crazy for doing it. The truth is, they’re right on both counts. But there is more beneath the surface of a long bike ride.
To leave the lessons of the trail behind is to decline a great gift. Our daily lives can be hurried and complex, filled with a paralyzing array of choices or possibilities. With no cue sheet, route map or GPS track to guide us, we have to make our own way and find our own path. We must continue to seek moments of no-mind, break free of old patterns and habits that keep us trapped in a stable, predictable but ultimately unsatisfying existence. If we get it right, we’ll look at our familiar world through new eyes, see everything always for the first time, dream, chase and dream again.
>~\~>
See my pre-ride entries about packing and planning for the Smoke ‘n’ Fire 400.
By the time you’ll be reading this post, I’ll be headed eastward out of Boise with thirty-some other weirdos on a counter-clockwise loop central Idaho known as the Smoke ‘n’ Fire 400. You’ve probably already seen all the stuff I’m carrying with me. Now I’d like to share some of my hopes, dreams and plans for the ride.
I’m not really sure what to expect from myself as this will be my first long-distance solo bikepacking trip. On previous trips I’ve traveled with friends, ridden fairly hard during the day but spent plenty of time relaxing in camp and hanging out along the way to enjoy shady spots, roadside bars, swimming holes, hot springs and other amusements. On this ride, I’ll be on my own, free to ride at my own pace and set my own agenda. I don’t intend to ride so fast, hard and long that I miss all the grandeur around me and neglect opportunities to enjoy my surroundings. There is more to be gained from this event than simply posting a fast time. I don’t do these kinds of rides to set records but rather to explore the world within and without me, to push my own limits and see what lies around the next bend. I’m especially excited to have another opportunity to see more of my new home state and lay the groundwork for more Idaho adventures.
Given that my fitness has declined somewhat from the midpoint of summer, I’m trying to be cautiously optimistic in my planning for this trip. The route totals almost precisely 400 miles and roughly 33,500 feet of climbing. The distance is roughly the same but elevation total is more than twice that of the Oregon Outback and I spent a solid four days on that route. However, during those four days I spent more time standing still than moving. This ride will give me a chance to see what happens if I invert that balance and spend as much time as possible in motion without sacrificing the quality of my experience. Perhaps you share a similar curiosity and wonder what you might be capable of outside the boundaries and restrictions you find yourself constrained by.
So, my optimistic plan is to finish in four days, averaging 100 miles per day and arriving back in Boise late on Saturday. This is achievable if things go well and I have very few navigation, physical or mechanical problems but would be a seriously big ask given my relative lack of fitness and experience in these events.
The itinerary for the four-day plan would look something like this:
Boise to Five Points campground
Five Points to Redfish Lake
Redfish to Deadwood Reservoir
Deadwood to Boise
The more conservative plan is to finish in five days, averaging 80 miles per day and getting home sometime on Sunday. Given the freedom and flexibility I’ll have to keep pedaling, I’ll hope to do better than this but won’t be disappointed if circumstances conspire against me.
The five-day itinerary would be roughly:
Boise to Featherville
Featherville to North Fork campground
North Fork to Redfish Lake
Redfish to Deadwood Reservoir
Deadwood to Boise
Overall, I’m thrilled to have this chance to see some new parts of Idaho while exploring the edges of my ability as a rider. I hope you’ll follow my progress and that of my fellow participants via the Trackleaders race tracking page. I’ll also be tweeting from the field where possible. Follow me @rspinnaking. I’ll be using the hashtag #snf400.
After the ride is over, look to this blog for stories of success and failure, beauty and desolation, life and death from the first running of the Smoke ‘n’ Fire 400.
Greetings! I’m a new voice here so I’ll briefly introduce myself. My name is Ryan King and I’ll be riding the inaugural Smoke ‘n’ Fire 400 bikepacking race with the support of the good folks at Bike Touring News. I’ve done a small handful of rides like this, including the Oregon Outback in May of this year and a four-day trip on the Idaho Hot Springs Mountain Bike Route in July but this will be my first solo, race-type bikepacking trip. I’ve always sought out new ways to push my limits as a rider and am excited (and a little nervous) about seeing what I’m capable of through this test. As a first-time “racer” I’m no expert at any of this so I hope that I can offer some insight into my approach to this event and help others learn from my successes and mistakes while encouraging them to undertake similar challenges of their own.
Bicycle travel can be as simple or complex as you want to make it. I think this is part of why I enjoy a bikepacking-style approach and make every effort to streamline and simplify my trip rather than finding ways to bring more and more gear. This takes a good deal of planning and head-scratching sometimes but the joyful freedom of pedaling a bike packed with everything you need and nothing you don’t is well worth the extra work ahead of time.
So, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. What do you bring on such a journey and how do you carry it? Let’s start with the “how” and then get into the “what” after that.
Luggage
For me, the first decision isn’t so much what to pack as how to carry it. The carrying capacity offered by traditional rack-and-pannier setups is appealing (and ideal for longer trips) but their bulk makes them impractical when one intends to travel light and fast over more rugged terrain. The benefits of bikepacking-style luggage have been extolled elsewhere but the main advantages for my purposes are lighter overall weight, improved aerodynamics and more clearance on narrow trails or when pushing the bike.
My setup differs slightly from the “standard” bikepacking kit in a couple of ways. First, I prefer not to carry a backpack or hydration pack so I use a half-frame bag that fits under the top tube with room for water bottles in their cages. The frame bag does fit a 100 oz. hydration bladder to stretch my water-carrying ability when needed. Also, my bike is built around drop bars and a medium-size front rack, so I use a rack mounted handlebar bag rather than a handlebar harness. This allows me to carry odd shaped, non-compressible items and offers fairly easy access to all of the bag’s contents without having to unpack. For routes consisting of roads and easy singletrack, I find this setup to be ideal.
Although it can create something of a packing nightmare when trying to find space for everything, I find it important to place constraints on the amount of gear I’m able to carry by not allowing myself a place to put it. This forces a higher level of planning and prioritization that pays off if done right. Of course, there are potentially serious consequences to leaving a key piece of gear at home but experience and research will be your guide when it comes to what really matters. Overall, a lighter bike is more fun to ride, you’ll get up the climbs with greater ease, cover rough terrain more easily and be able to enjoy your time in the saddle much more. If your trip involves more time spent in camp than on the bike, you’ll want to pack very differently.
This is one department where opinions are as varied as the riders espousing them. Some will sleep very little or plan to use lodging along the route, carrying only the bare minimum for survival if forced to camp. Others will carry a full-size tent, air mattress and perhaps even a camp chair. Others prefer a hammock rather than sleeping on the ground. In wet climates a synthetic-fill bag may outperform down which loses its loft when wet. As outdoor gear gets lighter and more packable, there are lots of good options for bikepacking-friendly gear in this department if you have the coin to spend. My low-budget approach forces some compromise and I carry more weight and bulk in sleep kit than I would prefer but I know I’ll stay dry and warm in anything but full-on winter conditions.
Therma-Rest Prolite 3 Sleeping Pad, Small
Sierra Designs Zissou 23° Sleeping Bag, 700-fill “Dri-Down”
Black Diamond (Bibler) Bipod Bivy w/single pole and 4 stakes
Tools, Spares, First Aid
One of the great joys of traveling by bike is its efficiency. On a bicycle you have ability to cover an immense amount of distance each day, even over terrain that would stop a four-wheel-drive truck in its tracks. However, one mechanical issue at the wrong time will turn your amazing machine into a glorified luggage cart. If you don’t like the idea of pushing or dragging your bike for miles on end it is critical to carry the tools needed to fix common mechanicals and know how to use them. Most modern bikes require only a handful of hex wrenches to perform the majority of adjustments or repairs you’d need to make on the road. Don’t go off the deep end preparing for every potential catastrophe and weigh yourself down with several pounds of hardened steel that you’ll never use. If you maintain and service your bike before your trip, you shouldn’t have to perform major repairs in the field. There also comes a point where you have to place your trust in your equipment and hope for the best. Your tool needs will vary depending on your bike and route but my tool roll holds pretty much the same kit I would take on a long day ride with the addition of a few “just in case” items.
My first-aid kit looks small by comparison but I tend to ride very carefully on trips like this and rarely suffer much more than the odd abrasion. The Smoke ‘n’ Fire route is never too far from major roads or outposts of civilization, so I’ll rely on outside medical aid in case of anything more severe.
I plan to use my GPS unit and cue sheet for primary navigation but always like to have good old paper maps as a backup. I don’t like to place too much trust in electronics.
Relevant photocopied map pages from Benchmark’s Idaho Road and Recreation Atlas
Compass
Leatherman Wingman multi-plier
Bakoda Cable Lock (for a little peace of mind when making resupply stops)
First Aid Kit w/ alcohol swabs, misc. bandages, anti-chafe cream, moleskin patches, waterproof matches.
DIY Tool Roll with 6, 5, 4, 3, 2mm hex wrenches, vulcanizing patches and glue, 9 and 10-spd quick-links, tire lever, DIY multitool with chain tool, 8, 9, 10mm open wrenches and bottle opener, chain lube, duct tape, spare Crank Bros cleat, misc. spare hardware, spoke wrench, tube, rag.
DIY leather “Junk Straps”
Not Pictured: Topeak Road Master Blaster frame pump (on bike)
Electronics
The escape from our screen-filled, flickering electronic world of ones and zeros is an appealing feature of these kinds of rides. They allow you an opportunity to get back to a more immediate, unplugged, unfiltered, simplified existence. This is why I carry a minimum of electronic distractions. I brought an iPod on the Oregon Outback thinking I might need the music for extra motivation but never used it. I’m constantly shocked and amazed by the desire people have to carry all the mess and noise of the modern world with them into the backcountry. However, I do appreciate GPS technology for simple route-following and ride tracking, love my digital camera and struggle to imagine a world before high-powered LED lighting. The lynchpin of this setup is the dynamo hub on my bike which powers my main headlight and a USB charger that allows me to recharge most of my devices on the go.
Cygolite Expilion 700 USB-rechargable headlamp w/helmet mount
Garmin Edge 500
Gomadic Charging Cable (specific to Edge 500, also charges the Cygolite)
SPOT Tracker
Cell Phone & Charging Cable
Digital Voice Recorder (easier than a paper journal for ride notes)
Spare Battery for Panasonic Lumix DMC-TS2 (Camera not pictured. Guess why.)
On Bike, Not Pictured: Supernova E3 Pro Headlamp and Sinewave Cycles Reactor USB Charger, powered by Shimano DH-3N80 generator hub. Portland Design Works Radbot Taillight
Clothing
Similar to tools and spares, this is another department where it is easy to overpack in a vain attempt to be prepared for anything. In my estimation, if there isn’t a time where I’m wearing nearly every article of clothing I packed, I brought too much. I’ve fallen in love with wool shirts as opposed to the wicking synthetics typically used in technical clothing. They seem to hold just enough sweat or water next to my skin to allow it to cool me off when hot and never feel chilly or clammy when cold. For a trip like this where I don’t plan to spend much time in towns or in camp I don’t bring changes of clothes. I’ll be stinking to high heaven after a few days but bringing extra clothes just for the luxury of feeling a little more “civilized” isn’t worth it to me. However, with early morning temperatures expected to be below freezing in the high places I want to give myself the best chance of staying warm.
Synthetic (quick drying) underwear for hot spring or river dips
Icebreaker wool underwear
Rapha bibshorts
Specialized Pro MTB shoes
Cheap flip-flops
Not Pictured: Giro Insulated Vest
Hygiene and Hydration
I tend to keep things pretty simple here as well, especially for short trips like this. I find some kind of electrolyte supplement to be a big help for warding off cramps. I also get tired of plain water and like having one bottle of water and one of some kind of drink mix on the bike at all times, mixing up the flavors for some variety. It’s easy to get sick of a particular taste when you’re sucking it down hour after hour, day after day.
For a trip this short, I’ll make do with quick stream baths to get the worst of dust and dirt off but would never go without my toothbrush! However, I will use alcohol wipes in my first-aid kit to keep my backside clean. The last thing I want to deal with is an infected saddle sore.
Sunscreen
Hardshell sunglass case for glasses and toiletries
This is one area that I tend to overprepare in. In an ideal world, I would carry just enough food to get me to my next resupply location without going hungry. In the real world, I’d always rather have a little extra. I also never know what I might find at unfamiliar stores so I prefer to carry a larger supply of food that I know packs well and keeps my fire fueled rather than making do with whatever I can get my hands on. Also, this prevents me from being at the mercy of small country markets that often have irregular and unpredictable business hours. There is comfort in the knowledge that if shit hits the fan I won’t be going hungry.
For rides like the Smoke ‘n’ Fire, some light-and-fast purists will leave the cookset at home. For me, the comforting, morale-boosting ritual of preparing and enjoying a warm meal or hot beverage is well worth the extra gear and preparation time. I prefer to cook simple dehydrated meals where I can just boil a small pot of water and add food. This allows me to carry my simple, compact and lightweight alcohol stove. There are lots of dehydrated food options at grocery stores with well-stocked bulk departments in addition to the freeze-dried meals available at outdoor stores. Typically, I’ll carry oatmeal with dried fruit, granola or trail mix for breakfast and some kind of soup or bean mix for dinner. I’ll supplement these bases with whatever I pick up along the way. Jerky, smoked fish, tuna packets, summer sausage and cheese are favorites for quick protein and require no additional cooking. I’ll also try to pick up fresh fruit where possible and eat it immediately since it doesn’t pack well. When time and funding allows, a break for a hot meal in town is always a morale booster and gives me a chance to take on extra calories that I don’t have to carry.
On the bike, I’ll eat just about anything. I like prepackaged food bars for ease of carrying/consumption, calorie density and variety of flavors/nutrients. ProBars are among my favorites and I rarely get tired of them. I’m excited to try out Revelate’s handlebar-mounted feedbag on this trip as it will allow me to have a bag of trail mix or other snacks easily accessible for one-hand munching. In the past, I’ve finished trips with huge quantities of trail mix left over because it is so difficult to eat while riding and I’m typically eating my breakfast or dinner if I’m in camp.
For many of us, a hot cup of coffee in the morning is not a luxury but a necessity. However, coffee beans and the apparatus needed to prepare them can be difficult to justify carrying and create additional waste that must be dealt with in a responsible way. Fortunately, Starbuck’s VIA or Mount Hagen instant coffee packets are a workable substitute. I’d much rather drink VIA than actual Starbuck’s coffee; at least it isn’t burned yet. I also enjoy a warm cup of caffeine-free tea in the evenings while taking in the stars. Lemon ginger tea with a splash of whiskey is a pretty delightful nightcap!
Enameled Cup
Pot Gripper
MSR 1-liter stainless steel pot w/lid
1 cup Refried Bean mix
3 cups Lentil Soup mix
4 cups Oatmeal w/dried mixed fruit
2 Thai Noodle Soup packets
Trail Mix
Sesame Cheddar Sticks and Wasabi Peas
Fig Bars
12 assorted Energy Bars
Handkerchief
Bamboo Spoon
Pot Scraper
DIY Beer Can Alcohol Stove
DIY Bicycle Spoke Pot Stand
DIY Aluminum Foil Windscreen
Denatured Alcohol
Lighter
Starbuck’s VIA Instant Coffee
Assorted caffeine-free Tea Bags
I think that’s everything! Did I forget anything? Now for the task of packing it all into my bags and onto the bike! Packing strategies also vary widely but that’s a topic for another post. Until then, here’s a photo of the Rando-Gnar all packed up at the start of the Oregon Outback.
