If you want to buy a trail mountain-bike helmet these days, you’re in luck. Half-shell helmets—the most common style for mountain biking and the only type we are dissecting here—are a popular category. There are about three dozen options from ten or so brands, spanning a massive price range, and all of them must meet the same Consumer Product Safety Commission impact-testing standards. That can make choosing a helmet quite difficult.

There are several reasons to spend extra on a lid, starting with the fact that, well, it’s your head we’re talking about here. Aside from additional features (like improved ventilation) and better fit, pricier helmets have better design and construction that can—but won’t always—make them better performers in an actual crash. So if more-expensive helmets are lighter, better ventilated, and sometimes safer, how much should you spend?

Aside from cheapo lids at big-box stores, most mountain-bike helmets sold at independent bike shops start at $50 and go up to $300. For trail riding, our sweet spot—the point where you get the most performance for the dollar, and where additional gains per dollar spent start to tail off—is around $100 to $160. That’s a wide range, but as you’ll see, there’s a good reason for that.

How to Understand Safety Ratings

The primary job of a helmet is to protect you in a crash, right? Even though safety is the central goal, there’s not a lot of great information out there about how mountain-bike helmets stack up to one another. That’s partly due to how testing and certification work. The CPSC does not test helmets; instead, helmet manufacturers do their own testing (or pay a third-party lab to test them) and essentially self-certify. Also, CPSC standards are pass-fail, with no discussion of relative performance above the minimum thresholds, or compared to other models. For legal reasons, helmet makers almost never make safety claims or even talk about how far their helmets exceed testing standards, which means there are very few ways to really compare helmets for crash performance.

For higher-price adult helmets, the . It is the only independent body in the U.S.A. publishing helmet-test results that reflect both linear and rotational impact forces (more on that soon) and assign overall numerical scores that allow limited comparison between models. There are other factors in buying a helmet, of course, but crash safety should be your main focus, and VT’s ratings offer the best method we’ve seen for comparing lids.

Features that Matter

Rotational-Energy Management

Every helmet listed below has a rotational-energy management system. This is a kind of “slip-plane” technology, typically a liner that sits close to your skull or between two layers of helmet foam. The most popular is from a third-party provider, MIPS (an acronym for “multidirectional impact protection system”), but some brands use proprietary systems (such as POC’s SPIN pads, or the honeycomb-like WaveCel technology exclusively licensed in Bontrager helmets).

Research suggests that traumatic brain injuries like concussions may result mostly from rotational forces that violently twist the brain inside the skull, rather than the linear impact force directed straight into whatever object you hit. Rotational-energy management systems work by letting the helmet slide and rotate slightly against your skull in the crucial milliseconds after impact, dissipating some of the forces that create that twisting or shearing stress on the brain.

These systems first came into existence about a decade ago. But no official certification standard (from either CPSC or similar protocols in other countries) measures rotational energy, so helmets are tested and certified only on how they handle conventional, linear impact forces. Still, we recommend that you buy a helmet with a rotational-energy management system. Thankfully, except for helmets purchased from mass-market retailers like department stores, it’s hard these days to find one without it.

Additional Safety Tech

Around $150, you’ll start to find helmets with roll-cage reinforcement: essentially a plastic or polycarbonate lattice inside the EPS foam that works a little like rebar reinforcement in concrete and helps hold the helmet together structurally in an impact. Some top-tier helmets also come with multidensity construction, which basically uses higher-density foam in some zones for better protection against high-energy impacts, with lower-density foam to help mitigate lesser crashes.

Fit, Comfort, and Ventilation

First, look at the fit system: typically a dial at the back that tightens the helmet around your occipital lobe. The best fit systems completely encircle the skull at the rim of the helmet, keeping your head centered; cheaper ones are anchored only halfway around and basically shove your forehead against the inside front. The cheap systems are less comfortable and may inhibit the function of rotational-energy management systems. (For folks with large heads and/or who wear larger-volume hairstyles, look for helmets whose size XL fits a head circumference greater than 60 centimeters, instead of going by the listed size.)

Ventilation isn’t simply about the number of holes in the helmet; look for deep air channels in the foam in front of and behind each vent.

Mountain-bike helmets almost always have visors; at the higher end of the sweet-spot range, their position is adjustable so you can store goggles on the helmet when you’re not riding.

Some of these helmets also have features like grippers at the back to help keep goggle straps in place, or accessory mounts for lights and action cameras. Slim webbing straps often feel nicer and less bulky on the face.

The Sweet Spot

Giant Roost MIPS ($100)

Giant is best known as a bike brand, but its helmet line is serious stuff: every model tested by VT gets five stars, including the MIPS-equipped (also sold as the women’s ). It has large, deeply channeled vents and thoughtful features like a magnetic mount pad for Giant’s Numen Link+ taillight.

Specialized Tactic 4 MIPS ($120)

The newest iteration of features a MIPS Evolve liner and a fit system that has six heights to fine-tune the fit. Ventilation is generous, and the notch at the top rear helps keep goggle straps in place. The Tactic also just (barely) became VT’s highest-testing helmet ever, and e-bike riders will be interested to know it passes Dutch NTA-8776 standards for Class 3 e-bikes.

Giro Source MIPS ($130)

łÒŸ±°ùŽÇ’s doesn’t have a ton of features, but it does add an adjustable visor and łÒŸ±°ùŽÇ’s excellent Roc Loc 5 fit system. It also comes in four sizes (two in the ), including an XL that fits heads up to 65 centimeters around. It does not yet have a VT rating, but similar Giro models get five-star scores.

Bontrager Rally WaveCel ($160)

Bontrager has a cycling exclusive on WaveCel tech (a MIPS alternative), so you’ll find it only in Bontrager bike helmets, which uniformly test well, if similarly to top MIPS-equipped helmets. also has a fit system from Boa—which you probably know from shoes—for a comfortable, secure fit. It has an adjustable visor, it comes in four sizes (XL fits up to 66 centimeters), and Trek offers a free replacement if you crash yours in the first year of ownership.

Lazer Impala MIPS ($160)

Like Giant’s, Lazer’s lids (including ) generally score very well in VT’s testing. For the extra cash over the brand’s $110 Coyote, you get slightly better ventilation, a removable accessory mount, and a four-position visor with a no-slip goggle gripper at the rear.

Below the Sweet Spot

There are affordable helmets that perform as well in testing as higher-price models. What you’ll give up here is primarily fit and comfort. They have less ventilation, they’re a little heavier, and the sizing and fit systems are more spartan. But if you want to save some cash, you can’t go wrong with these two, which both have five-star VT ratings:

Lazer Chiru MIPS ($70)

This is a classic case of “Why spend more?” The has, well, MIPS, a 360-degree fit system (a step down from the Impala’s), generously sized vents (albeit fewer than pricier helmets), and even an optional LED taillight for riding home from the trailhead after a sunset session. It’s the best value in a trail helmet we know.

Giant/Liv Path ($55)

This affordable trail lid (offered by both and its sister brand , in the same model name) features a MIPS liner, a 360-degree fit system, and a choice of eight colors. Downsides: only two sizes, fewer vents, and a fixed visor.

Above the Sweet Spot

More-expensive helmets often have better ventilation, with more and larger holes and deeper channeling to promote airflow. They also have thoughtful features like accessory mounts and goggle grippers. But the biggest reason to consider spending over $160 is multidensity construction (not all of them use it, so look closely at helmet specs when researching on manufacturers’ websites). It’s a promising technology: several top-scoring helmets in VT’s database use it, and we hope to see its use expand, especially to lower prices.

Sweet Protection Trailblazer MIPS ($180)

The now second-best-performing helmet VT has ever tested, the takes a twist on the zoned-protection approach: it uses a single density of EPS foam with a four-piece in-mold shell in variable-thickness polycarbonate to offer more protection in vulnerable spots.

Fox Dropframe Pro ($200)

Want full coverage? The Enduro-style looks like a motorcycle helmet. It features MIPS, dual-density foam construction, and extra pads so you can fine-tune the fit. Note that its sizing is the least generous we found, at a max of 60 centimeters for the XL.

With the exception of one newer helmet that hasn’t been tested yet (the Giro Source MIPS), all of our picks get five-star ratings from VT; other, similar trail helmets from Giro regularly get excellent test scores.

The post This Is the Right Amount to Spend on a Mountain-Bike Helmet appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

Last year, I wrote about the cold-weather apparel that keeps me riding outside year-round. But what you wear is only half the equation; the other part is the bike itself. Winter riding comes with its own unique demands: icy roads and trails that make for dicey traction, slushy crud that sprays all over you and your machine, and short days calling for extra lighting.

You probably don’t need a separate winter rig for winter commuting or errand riding. And while fat bikes are fun, their four-to-five-inch-wide tires shine brightest in a narrow set of conditions (deep, packed snow) that renders them useful only a few days a year for most people. Most utility, gravel, or mountain bikes can be made winter- and snow-worthy with a few key parts. Note that while some of these gear tweaks, like fenders, apply equally well to road bikes, others don’t, like flat pedals and winter-specific tires. Yes, you can ride a road bike all winter, but for icy or sloppy conditions, they’re not the best tool.

Good Winter Tires

There are two subcategories of winter riding: trail riding and everyday utility riding around town. You’ll need different tires for each.

Town Riding

When it comes to town riding, you really only need winter tires if you live in a place where snow on roads gets packed down, melts, and refreezes; otherwise, regular tires do just fine. If that’s the case, consider a set of studded tires, which have rows of metal spikes embedded in the lugs and siped tread blocks that help grip on ice. Schwalbe’s highly regarded ($82 to $86) is a fantastic pick, partly because it comes in different diameters for gravel, utility, and mountain bikes. If you regularly encounter ice on commutes but only in occasional spots, consider Specialized’s ($51). It features studs just on the outer tread lugs for extra cornering grip on ice. The downside: it’s only available for 700c wheels. Some notes about studs: they will come out; that’s what studs do. That does not mean the tire is shot. You can buy ($17). And be careful cornering on dry pavement, where the metal studs actually reduce traction.

Trail

The first thing to know about tires for riding snowy trails is that you may not need studs at all unless your trails are especially icy. On unpaved surfaces, fresh snow often gets churned up by passing feet and tires and mixes with dirt, which makes it a bit less slippery. In those conditions, studs don’t help. For snowpacked trails without a lot of ice or for fresh snowfall up to about six inches, normal tire widths—up to 2.6 inches wide on most modern mountain bikes—offer plenty of traction. Look for trail and enduro tires intended for loose conditions: the meaty, wide-spaced tread blocks bite well and shed snow. Good examples: ($80), the ($78), and Specialized’s front tire ($70) and rear tire ($60). Steer clear of most dedicated mud tires, which have big, wide tread blocks but usually come in a narrow casing that won’tÌęoffer the flotation you want.

Fenders

The best full-coverage fenders do a fantastic job of keeping frigid, grimy road and trail spray off you and your bike. The downsides: they can be cumbersome to install and often reduce tire clearance, and you have to leave them on your bike. If you only need occasional protection, consider the quick-attach varieties, which work surprisingly well but install and remove in seconds without tools.

Road/Gravel

I’m a longtime user of SKS’s quick-attach ($65) setup on my road bike. It fits most bikes, and once the front bracket adjustment is dialed, the front and rear fenders are easy to put on and take off unless you’re switching bikes. For wider gravel tires, the ($80) uses a similar system and offers full coverage around fatter rubber. The strap attachments look a bit kludgy, but they’re secure, durable, and fast to install and remove.

Mountain

It’s almost impossible to get full coverage in a mountain-bike fender, since suspension and big tires interfere with fit, and aggressive trail riding makes long fenders bounce around too much. Portland Design Works’ Mud Shovel ($19 , $27 ) is about as good as it gets, which is to say good enough to keep that rooster tail off your butt and prevent your shoes and shins from getting fully drenched in muddy snowmelt. Both attach tools-free in seconds.

Town Riding

For around-town riding, there’s a solid case for bolt-on fenders, which offer fuller coverage and are harder to steal. ($65 to $90) are some of the best, with secure mounting hardware, durable aluminum construction, and mud flaps. They come in nine sizes, including options for recumbents. Before buying, check your frame’s tire clearance and make sure it has eyelets for fender hardware. If not, you’ll need some ($1.50).

Lights

During the short days of winter, you’re more likely to be out riding in the dark or at dusk. Lights make you more visible to other road users and are a key safety tool for illuminating dangerous road conditions like black ice. Look for headlights with a low setting of around 200 lumens, which provides good visibility to drivers and a “get you home” level of light if your battery is running low, and a medium setting of 400 to 600 lumens. Medium is where you’ll be most of the time and provides enough light to really illuminate your surroundings and increases your visibility without draining your battery. High settings vary widely from light to light, and you’ll wind up using them sparingly—only in true darkness, away from any sort of ambient moon- or streetlight—because they quickly drain your battery.

±·Ÿ±łÙ±đ°ùŸ±»ć±đ°ù’s ($100) is an excellent example, with settings ranging from 200 lumens to 1,000—bright enough for night trail rides—in a compact, bar-top setup with a quick-release mount. A more affordable option is Cygolite’s ($56), which tops out at 600 lumens and has a pulsing mode to enhance your visibility to drivers without messing with the beam pattern that illuminates your path.

For city riding, you’ll also want a taillight. I’m partial to Bontrager’s ($60), a featherweight, compact powerhouse that attaches tools-free and cranks out up to 90 lumens via steady and flashing modes. It’s an ideal daytime running light as well. A simple, low-cost option is the ($15), which provides a 270-degree wide beam in steady or flashing patterns and up to 80 hours of run time on two standard AAA batteries. It’s not as bright, but if the choice is between an affordable, less-powerful light and no light, get the light.

Flat Pedals

It’s hard to beat clipless pedals for a secure, efficient connection to the bike. But they have some drawbacks in winter. Namely, snow can clog the retention mechanism. As for the shoes you have to wear them with: walking traction is sometimes limited, the metal cleats conduct cold directly to your feet, and, except for spendy winter-specific models, insulation and waterproofing are scant. Enter flat pedals.

Flats let you use any footwear you like, including insulated, waterproof boots. Look for a broad pedal platform that will support even bulky shoes. Spikes, called pins, help keep your foot securely on the pedal even through snow and ice. Models with replaceable metal pins are superior to those with pins molded into the pedal body—the latter aren’t tall enough to provide the grip you need.

I’m a big fan of RaceFace’s ($55). Mine have held up great for several years of winter town and trail riding. Another good option is eThirteen’s ($49). Both are wide platform pedals with a generous arrangement of tall, replaceable pins. Don’t be concerned by the composite platform material used on both models. These pedals are both designed for dirt jumping and BMX; they’ll take a pounding, and the plastic pedal body insulates against cold better than metal platforms.

Pogies

Pogies originated in kayaking, but winter cyclists quickly adapted them for riding. A pogie is an insulated overmitt that encloses the handlebar grip and controls, so you can get away with wearing a thinner glove for better dexterity. Gloves and mitts aren’tÌęgreat for very cold weather because the insulation between your hand and the handlebar gets compressed. What’s more, bad fit can worsen circulation issues and lead to cold fingers. Pogies avoid all that since the insulation is on the outside. ($75) uses 5 millimeters of neoprene, like a wetsuit, for weatherproof protection. The neoprene also offers some structure to keep them from collapsing if you need to remove a hand to signal a turn. The simple handlebar cinch attachment is easy to install and remove, so these are great for urban riding if you don’t want to leave items on a locked bike. They’re available in versions for both flat and drop bars. Want something warmer? ($150) have puffy synthetic insulation that’s good down to below zero degrees and feature inner pockets for storage. They’re for flat bars only.

The post You Don’t Need a Fat Bike to Ride in Winter. Try These Five Gear Upgrades Instead. appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

There aren’t many technologies as the Presta air valve. So it’s surprising that, in the roughly 100 years since its invention, it’s basically never changed. Until now. A new valve design from Reserve, the wheels division of Santa Cruz Bicycles, promises a better, more user-friendly experience that’s ideal for modern bikes that run on tubeless.

First, some brief valve history (nerdery) is in order. In 1887, John Boyd Dunlop created the first commercially successful pneumatic tire. A few years later, August Schrader invented the spring-loaded air valve that bears his name and is found today on everything from car tires to suspension forks to department-store bikes. Presta valves appeared sometime between the late 1800s and the early 1920s (patent databases of its invention) and is now found almost exclusively on high-end bicycles.

In that application, the Presta valve offers two relevant advantages. First, because of its smaller air volume, a Presta valve makes it easier to inflate narrow, high-pressure road tires with less force. Second, the valve itself is about half the diameter of a Schrader valve, and a smaller valve hole means a stronger rim. Both helped Presta catch on as a preferred valve technology for bikes, and for decades nothing changed, because it didn’t have to.

Then, in 1999, a trio of French wheel and tire brands—Hutchinson, Mavic, and Michelin—launched the Universal System Tubeless. And ever since, riders have been trying and struggling to install tubeless tires with Presta valve technology. Presta valves, which work fine when part of an inner tube, simply aren’tÌęgreat for tubeless systems. The limited airflow makes it tough to inflate and seat a tubeless tire bead initially. They’re also prone to clogging with congealed sealant, which then limits airflow even further, and eventually the valve core gets so gummed up that you have to replace the whole thing.

I have personally used the following approaches to try and install tubeless tires: air compressor, gas-station inflator (with valve adaptor), CO2 cartridge, tubeless charging chamber, tubeless charging pump, or exhorting any number of gods. But those methods are either relatively expensive and require specialized tools, or they’re unreliable, dangerous, or all of the above. What almost never works is a standard floor pump, so I employ this trick: I use a tube to seat half of the tire bead, and then I remove the tube and seat the other side with a pump, or a charging chamber followed by a pump and a prayer.

So I was intrigued by Reserve’s new ($50 per pair), because it promises easy installation with nothing more than that simple shop tool. Public reception indicates that mountain bikers are also intrigued, although there’s some grumbling about the price (more on that in a minute).

The big difference is that Reserve says the Fillmore has three times the airflow volume of a Presta valve. The reason airflow volume is so important for a tubeless install is that you need a lot of air going into the tire—really fast—to push the tire bead from the rim bed’s center channel out to the sidewall, where it locks to form an airtight seal. Presta valves just aren’t made to allow that.

All valves have a rubber seal of some kind to stop air from escaping. In the case of Schrader and Presta, that’s a cylindrical gasket inside the valve core; Schrader valves also feature a spring to keep it shut, while the Presta gasket is held in place by air pressure alone. In both cases, because the gasket is inside the valve core, it takes up valuable space.

The Fillmore addresses that with a high-flow design that basically opens up the real estate inside the valve. Like Presta and Schrader, it’s a poppet valve. But the gasket lives at the base of the valve, instead of inside the valve core. With less stuff inside the core, the Fillmore allows higher airflow while maintaining the same diameter as Presta valves. This means the Fillmore fits all existing rims, so there’s no need for new industry standards or for riders to buy new wheels. (It also works with pretty much any floor or mini pump.) A secondary benefit of putting the O-ring at the valve base is to stop sealant from entering the core, where it can congeal.

The Test

About two months ago, I got a set of Fillmores, just in time to replace the worn tires on my singlespeed, which I’d been putting off. The singlespeed is mostly a winter trail bike, a kind of riding that works best on a tubeless setup, to allow the low pressure that produces a larger contact patch for better traction and flotation. I unfolded a pair of , stripped the old tires off, and thoroughly cleaned the rims of dried sealant.

The Fillmore is a universal-style valve, intended to fit almost any rim-bed channel. Although Reserve allows that there may be a few incompatible wheels out there, I had no issues even with a decade-old Mavic wheelset. The Butcher Grids went onto the rims pretty easily, which is sometimes an indication that a tire bead will be especially leaky on installation. So I injected sealant, attached the floor pump’s chuck with a small prayer, and began pumping vigorously.

Typically, what happens in this scenario is I pump until I’m cross-eyed and the tire casing expands and contracts like a bellow as air leaks around the bead. Try as I might, I can almost never force enough air into the tire or do so fast enough to seat it against the rim, so I have to turn to a tubeless charging system. With the Fillmore, the casing inflated and 
 miraculously held. I pumped faster. The gauge rose to 10 psi, then 20. I kept going past 40 (you should overinflate initially to fully seat the bead, but never past the maximum listed pressure on the tire or rim, whichever is lower). Just above 45 psi, I flipped the pump chuck off and spun the wheel on its axle, bracing for the aerosolized mist of sealant that might come from a gap in the bead seat. Nothing. The installation held—and on the first try. No compressors or chargers. No like soaping the rim sidewall to get the tire bead to slip more easily into place. No cursing even.

So Reserve seems correct: the Fillmore’s higher airflow makes tubeless installs far easier. Subsequent efforts with Maxxis tires on the more modern carbon wheels of my Ibis met with similar results. Not enough time has passed for me to judge the sealant-clogging claim, but the way the valve is designed, it makes sense it would be less prone to that problem.

The other aspect I can’t evaluate yet is its durability, especially the main O-ring seal. Poppet valves are an old, proven design, so I’mÌęnot worried about that. The issue is more about waiting to see if Reserve got the manufacturing right.

Right now the Fillmore is only available in one length, which fits rims with a depth of less than 29 millimeters (i.e., mostly mountain-bike wheels). But Reserve says longer versions, which will fit road and gravel wheelsets with rims up to around 65 millimeters deep, are on the way, hopefully by April (supply chain willing).

The biggest complaint, at least from comments I’ve seen, is its price. The Fillmore is $50 a pair, about $20 to $25 more than most tubeless Presta valve pairs. A 100 percent premium! No wonder people are upset. But that kind of percent-based comparison, which is a great way to assess the relative value of high-price upgrades like wheels, doesn’t work nearly as well for low-cost items. I mean, we’re talking about $25 here. (If you want to be upset about something, be mad at the industry for charging you $25 for replacement valves for two decades before doing anything to address the basic shortcomings of the design.)

I’m not the guy to tell you to spend money on bike stuff for some theoretical gain: it’s dumb to drop $300 on carbon-fiber handlebars, when said bars will improve your ride experience by roughly 0.03 percent over the $100 metal bars they’ve replaced. But when you’re talking about stuff that really impacts your ridingÌęor maintenance experience, like tires or handlebar tape or, in this case, valves, I’m all for spending more on quality. With the Fillmore, an extra $25 produces a noticeable benefit: a reliable, low-hassle method to install tubeless tires, which equals more time to ride.

If the Fillmore ends up lacking durability or leaks air or is prone to clogs, I’ll report back and say so. But my initial experience is that it’s exactly what the bike industry needs more of: simple, relatively affordable solutions to persistent problems that riders have been dealing with for too long. Kudos to Reserve for spending its research and development resources not on chasing marginal gains but on something that might actually make life better for lots of riders.

The post This New Valve Could Make Tubeless Tires Not Suck appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

At moderate fitness, it takes me roughly 27 minutes to ride from my driveway to the gate in Boulder Canyon, and almost exactly another 15 minutes to Lucy’s Overlook. I know the climb intimately: where there are short, steep spots to power over and where I need to shift down and keep my cadence high.

But today I’m almost a minute faster from the house to the gate, and almost 30 seconds faster to the overlook. It’s not because I’ve gained fitness. Rather, today I’ve traded in my usual bike for a , a stunningly high-performance (and high-priced) race bike optimized for this very outcome. Every surface has been meticulously shaped for aerodynamic efficiency, with airfoil cross sections even on the seatpost, and all shift and brake cables entirely hidden inside the frame and cockpit.

It’s perhaps the furthest current expression of a new trend, called integration, which started in performance road bikes and is now trickling into lower price points and even gravel and mountain bikes. In an attempt to chase ever more marginal gains in stiffness, aerodynamics, and weight savings, designers have started ditching stock handlebars, stems, and other components. Instead, many design their own parts that are integrated with, and often proprietary to, the frameset. “If you’re designing a bike where you don’t have the requirement to use a standard handlebar, stem, or seatpost, you can model it as one piece,” says Graham Shrive, director of engineering at Factor Bicycles. That freedom lets engineers use shapes they otherwise couldn’t. The resulting frames can save weight by shaving material where it’s not needed; or they can have a smoother transition between cockpit and frame for better aerodynamics. But those watts gained and grams lost come at a cost.

First: integration reduces component choice, lessening the consumer’s ability to customize both bike fit and ergonomics. Second: if something does go wrong, an integrated design often defies a simple fix.

Canyon’s new Aeroad is a prime example. It was well received when it launched last fall. But in early March, Alpecin-Fenix pro racer Mathieu van der Poel—Canyon’s highest-profile sponsored athlete—almost crashed when a portion of his Aeroad CF SLX’s carbon fiber handlebar or warning during a race.

The next day, Canyon issued a for owners of the affectedÌęAeroad CFR and CF SLX models. On most bikes, you could simply swap out the handlebar and be back to riding right away. But the CFR and CF SLX feature a special one-piece handlebar/stem called an for fully internal cable routing. No other handlebars—not even Canyon’s other Aerocockpit designs—are compatible with those frames.Ìę

Two weeks after van der Poel’s accident, Canyon : it would take months to redesign and manufacture a replacement Aerocockpit, during which time owners shouldn’t ride their bikes. This is an example of one of the signal weaknesses of integrated bikes, which is that they’re more likely to be what I call brittle: a problem with one essential but proprietary part can effectively brick an otherwise perfectly functional bike.

Most riders, even enthusiasts, don’t race. The watts and seconds gained from integrated designs matter less than ride quality and riding time, which are hard to get if your bike isn’t functional. So as the industry increasingly adopts integration as a design approach, it’s worth asking: what do we gain, and is it worth it?

How Did We Get Here?

The integration push really got going about 15 years ago when brands started designing frames and carbon-fiber forks as single units with proprietary headset configurations.Ìę

But three other developments really pushed the trend forward: internal cable routing, electronic shifting, and then wireless electronic shifting. These design shifts and technologies all came about in close sequence, and they fed off one another in a somewhat circular fashion. Internal cable routing became increasingly necessary once brands started going electronic (electronic wiring looks messy if routed outside the frame, but luckily electronic wires are small, so fully internal configurations were possible). In turn, the hassle of stuffing wires into stems and headtubes led the industry to turn to wireless drivetrains. And wireless drivetrains, combined with carbon fiber’s blank-page design capabilities, gave bike makers even more freedom to accelerate their fully integrated cockpit creations.

So in a long-way-round fashion, the push for integrated bike designs created a problem that the bike industry solved by getting rid of cables almost entirely, thus freeing up even more opportunities for integration.

Bike makers like to say they’re only responding to what sells; if people still wanted metal, rim-brake, nonintegrated performance bikes, they’d make those. There is truth to this assertion. Demand for rim-brake wheels and cable-actuated shifting has plummeted at the high end of the sport. But the full reality is a lot more complex. From what’s advertised to what’s available in shops (in normal times anyway), the industry markets and sells what is new, and most of the design and product-spec decisions aren’t driven by cyclists but by bike brands and their suppliers. Cyclists buy these bikes in no small part because they’re told integrated designs are better, and that’s what there is to buy. But is it—for most, non-racing cyclists—actually better?

What Do We Lose with Integration?

The bike industry tells us these bikes are better because of attributes like weight savings and improved aerodynamics. The aerodynamics story is , as are the aesthetics: a bike with hidden cables just looks more badass. But the actual performance benefit of hiding cables is negligible: it saves just 12 seconds over 25 miles compared to having all four brake and shifter cables exposed,

Even in the case of the Aeroad, Canyon claims the gain from external to fully internal routing is which suggests the real difference is even less. (For context, a reasonably fit recreational cyclist can put out 200 to 300 watts at threshold, which may or may not be what Canyon has in mind with “extreme cases.”) I’d argue that we—the industry and consumers—have made this shift mostly out of vanity. More important, we haven’t really accounted for what that choice has cost us.

First, take drivetrains and brakes. Increasingly, bikes are designed to workÌęonlyÌęwith disc brakes and electronic shifting. Those technologies play better with internal routing, even though some riders prefer rim brakes and mechanical-shifting drivetrains for their simplicity and reliability. Component brands have responded: SRAM and, now, Shimano produce their 12-speed groups only in electronic shifting versions, and Shimano’s Dura-Ace and Ultegra are available commercially onlyÌęwith disc brakes. Campagnolo is now the last component brand still designing new cable-activated drivetrains for road bikes.

Likewise, integrated handlebars and stems reduce choice for bike fit and ergonomics. While most bike brands make proprietary bars and stems in decent size ranges, shortÌęstem lengths (under 90 millimeters)ÌęareÌęespecially hard to find, which penalizes smaller riders. Often there’s only one option for stem angle, or handlebar reach and drop. In contrast, independent brands like Zipp and Ritchey offer multiple configurations and models. The complex headset designs and proprietary stems required for fully hidden cables can make it difficult or impossible to add stack height for those who prefer or need a more upright riding position. One-piece bar-stem configurations don’t even allow you to rotate the handlebar to fine-tune your hand position. Some of these brand decisions are small—offering an integrated stem in only five lengths instead of seven. But they add up, and the cumulative effect is a narrowing of options.

It’s important to note what’s forcing these choices. Even big bike companies like Specialized or Shimano don’t have limitless R&D resources. Time and money spent developing aerodynamic tube shapes or wireless electronic shifting have to come at the expense of something. Offering rim- and disc-brake versions of bikes means engineering and manufacturing two different forks to handle the different stresses from each type of braking, for instance. Brands go disc-only because that’s where they’ve decided the majority of the money is.

There’s also the brittleness that I mentioned. Like Canyon, Factor also last spring when Israel Start-Up Nation racer Tom van Asbroeck broke his Factor Ostro VAM’s steerer tube at a cobbled race just days before van der Poel’s Aeroad handlebar failure. After investigating, Factor determined (as it ) that the problem was an improperly manufactured batch of steerer-tube compression plugs that loosened even at proper preload. So ISN mechanics resorted to bonding the steerer plug to the fork and over-torquing the bolt, which caused a stressed riser to break the fork.

Factor ended up replacing plugs on consumers’ bikes, and its in-race failure didn’t get nearly the attention Canyon’s did, but it too highlights the weak point of tightly integrated systems. More recently, Specialized for a similar issue with the compression plug. If once is happenstance and twice is a coincidence, then we’re one recall away from a broader question of whether a different compression plug is the fix or if these steerer systems need a fundamental redesign.

Van der Poel’s handlebar breakage was a different issue but may have resulted from including that Alpecin-Fenix team mechanics may have overtightened the brake-lever clamp. That clamp is not Shimano’s but Canyon’s own design, required to fit the Aerocockpit’s ovalized cross section. Predictably, it’s taken time to fix. The company with thicker walls and a new, rounder clamp cross section under riders at July’s Tour de France, including during . But van der Poel was at October’s Paris-Roubaix, and Canyon still has not announced when handlebars will be swapped on consumers’ bikes, even as Aeroad CFR and CF SLX owners are now in their eighth month with a $6,000 to $9,000 aerodynamic sculpture. (Canyon is offering a $1,200 or $1,500 purchase credit to the estimated 1,500 worldwide owners of the faulty models, making for a roughly $2 million hit to the company even before redesign and replacement costs.)

Weeks ago, I contacted Canyon USA’s PR agency to ask about updates on the brand’s replacement timeline, as well as how the episode has affected the company’s philosophy about design integration going forward. My questions were sent to Canyon headquarters in Germany, which never replied despite several attempts to get comment, and and haven’t gotten much info either.

That’s a problem. I’ve heard that some Aeroad owners, frustrated with the long wait and sparse communication, just started riding their bikes again with the stock Aerocockpit. If what happened with the Aeroad and Ostro can befall pro team mechanics, then it’s absolutely within the realm of possibility for shop staff and consumers. Van der Poel and van Asbroeck were lucky they didn’t crash; an amateur rider with lesser handling skills might not be so fortunate.

Does Integration Provide a Better Riding Experience?

The short answer is “Yes, but
” For most of us, I’m not sure it’s enough to make the drawbacks worthwhile. I’ve been spending time lately on that Ostro VAM equipped with the new 12-speed Dura-Ace group and C36 wheels. From a performance standpoint, it is superb. I don’t race anymore, but if I did, it would be an ideal choice. Compared to a nonintegrated bike, the Ostro is clearly more aerodynamic. And like other integrated designs I’ve ridden, it manages to pair a sharp, aggressive response under power with a connected-to-the-road ride quality; you’ll still get road feedback, but buzz is somewhat muted. Some traditional bikes struggle to match that level of stiffness without sacrificing ride quality.

I’ve also spent some time testing an Aethos, one of Specialized’s new high-performance, nonintegrated bikes designed around off-the-shelf components. The Aethos is a lightweight road bike that optimizes ride quality rather than aerodynamics. It’s a disc-brake-only, electronic-drivetrain-only bike, but that’s the limit of its restrictions. It has round tubes and uses a standard 27.2-millimeter-diameter seatpost with an external clamp. Cable routing is internal in the frame only, allowing you to choose whatever stem and bar you want. No funky axle spacing or special adapter for the bottom bracket.

It’s an interesting point of comparison to the Ostro. Both are excellent bikes, and they have similarities. But they’re different in important ways, and that matters for the rider. The Ostro is more finicky: during testing, its seatpost was prone to slipping even at proper torque, and I couldn’t easily adjust the handlebar height. But from a performance standpoint, the bike is stiffer under power and more precise on descents. In hard braking for corners, I detected some understeer in the Aethos that I suspect is due to its lack of torsional stiffness compared to the Ostro. But the Aethos is stiff enough for most riders’ purposes. It’s also a super climber whether you’re in or out of the saddle. Perhaps most important given Specialized’s design goals, the ride quality is better than the Ostro’s—actually, better than almost any carbon bike’s I’ve ridden. Not for nothing, several media outlets have deemed one or another Aethos model as (early reviews of the new, gravel-oriented , which has a similar design, are ). It feels, most closely, like a lighter version of an excellent steel or titanium bike: carbon for a connoisseur.

Where Is the Trend Going?

There’s a sense that integration may not go much further than it has. “I think it’s going to stall out a bit,” predicts čóČ賊łÙŽÇ°ù’s Shrive. “You’ve gotta have two wheels and a front and rear brake, so it’s limited how far integration can go.”

I know that there will always be conventional bikes. Small builders especially, who don’t have the capability to engineer integrated designs (or the interest in chasing such marginal performance gains), are always going to rely on outside companies to provide components like stems, handlebars, seatposts, and even forks. But the success of the Aethos, followed by Specialized’s introduction of the Crux, gives me hope that big brands will realize there’s still a solid market for nonintegrated bikes, for riders who want high performance but are focused more on the riding experience than chasing podiums or Strava PRs.

For riders who want to wring every watt and second out of their performances, who rely mostly on professional mechanics for doing much more than swapping a chain or brake pads, who prize an aggressive position on the bike, and for whom compatibility is not a concern because they buy new bikes every three to five years, an integrated bike is the way to go. A model like the Ostro is among the very best of that genre. But a nonintegrated model like the Aethos is probably a better choice if you have a nonstandard fit or need a bit more height on that stem spacer stack; if you hold on to bikes for a long time and want maximum flexibility for replacement parts; or if you simply want the opportunity to customize and outfit your bike the way you like. I know it’s not as aerodynamic—and maybe less stiff under power. But it rides beautifully, and if a component doesn’t work for your fit, or it slips, or even breaks, you can just buy a new one.

The post Integrated Road Bikes Perform Better, but at What Cost? appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

E-bikesÌęare sometimes touted as a major () tool in the fight against climate change. But just like any electric motor, the lithium batteries that power them are a problem. Their production, especially the requisite lithium and cobalt, is a process. What’s more, their life span , and disposing of them is a challenge because chucking lithium batteries in the trash is dangerous—and even . Typically, getting rid of them involves a trip to your county’s hazardous-waste disposal site, where you’re charged a fee to have them thrown away.

That will change in 2022, thanks to a , spearheaded by the nonprofit advocacy group People for Bikes. Essentially, a group of bike brands intend to pool money to pay for consumer battery recycling—and not a moment too soon. As e-bike sales in the U.S. accelerate, “we know as an industry we need to do better on sustainability and climate issues,” noted Jenn Dice, president of People for Bikes, in a statement that touted the e-bike battery recycling initiative as a major step forward.

The key is a partnership with Call2Recycle, a battery-recycling nonprofit with deep experience in the job. The company has recycled over 140 million pounds of batteries in the past 25 years, according to its CEO, Leo Raudys.

Call2Recycle will serve as the initiative’s coordinator, building aÌęnetwork of battery drop-off locations from the nation’s roughly 3,000 independent bike shops. After collection, the organization will send the batteries to its processing partners, four of which are domestic and two of which are foreign—one in South Korea and one in Belgium. (The consortium brands are funding the recycling service, which will be free to riders; however, consumers will still have to pay for replacement batteries.) One of those national partners, Redwood Materials, previously . The consortium plans to start operations in February and launch a consumer-direct mail-in recycling option next summer.

“Initially, individual brands explored the potential to pursue e-bike battery recycling themselves, but the logistics and costs were prohibitive,” says Ash Lovell, People for Bike’s electric-bicycle policy director. Several years ago, the organization started talking with member brands about an industry-wide approach. This new program is the result.

The impact could be significant. People for Bikes estimates that around 12 million e-bikes will be sold in the U.S. between now and 2030. The average e-bike battery has a capacity of 500 to 1,000 recharge cycles. With average use patterns, that comes out to a life span of roughly three to five years. Over the next decade, that could mean as many as 24 to 36 million batteries. This industry e-bike battery-recycling program will take those batteries and process the raw materials into new ones. Redwood MaterialsÌę between 95 and 98 percent of the materials in a battery.

Perhaps the most impressive aspect of this endeavor is the deep roster of industry companies that have signed on: more than 20 bike makers, from traditional favorites like Giant, Specialized, and Trek to some of the most prominent players in the e-bike-specific segment, like Pedego, RadPower, and Super73. Motor brands have also stepped up for inclusion: Bosch, Shimano, and Yamaha are all members. And if you live near one of REI’s 168 stores, you’re set; it’s a member, too. Call2Recycle’s Raudys thinks they can add more. “We know there are as many as 75 (e-bike) brands in the market,” he said. While getting all of them involved might be a challenge, “we are confident we can obtain participation from 85 to 90 percent.”

The bike industry is notoriously fractious; part of the reason there are is that no one can agree on a single best approach. While getting dozens of brands and hundreds (or maybe even thousands) of shops to buy in as partners might seem impossible, the fact that so many important companies have already signed on is promising.

The new program, and particularly the timing of its announcement, is also auspicious in another way: Congress is currently putting the finishing touches on , a keystone policy goal of the Biden administration and the Democratic Party. One small part of that bill isÌęa federal tax credit for e-bike purchases. The bill faces an uncertain path, and over intense negotiations the scope of the e-bike tax credit has changed several times. But it continues to be included in the bill.ÌęNow, with its new program, the bike industry is sending lawmakers—and cyclists—the message that it’s a motivated and responsible partner in the fight against climate change.

The post The Bike Industry Has a Battery-Recycling Program for E-Bikes Now appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

I hate to tell you this, but your mountain bike probably doesn’t fit you.

If you bought a bike in the last five or so years, there’s a substantial chance that the frame is too big for you, your seat is too far forward, and the handlebar needs to be cut down or even replaced.

But bro! you spray at me from the tailgate of your lifted TRD Pro, You don’t even know me, bro!

You’re right. I don’t know you. I have never seen you on any bike, much less your current shred sled, which is of course totally dialed. And I have no idea just how hard you ride.

But here’s the thing: I’m probably still right. I know, because it almost happened to me too. It’s not really our fault. But if you won’t listen to me, listen to Lee McCormack.

McCormack is one of the foremost instructors in the sport, a Boulder, Colorado–based skills-book author, bike fitter, and coach with more than two decades of experience. He’s personally worked with, by his estimate, about 8,000 mountain bikers, ranging from total novices to World Cup downhillers. He’s also the creator of a fit system called that addresses what he sees as one of the central challenges of full-suspension bikes right now: they’re too big. Specifically they’re too big in a dimension known as reach, which is essentially the horizontal distance between the top of the headtube and an imaginary vertical line that runs through the center of the bottom bracket. “If you’re six foot four, then mazel tov, bikes finally fit,” he says. “But 90 percent of the people buying a new bike are on the wrong size.” Let’s say that’s overstated by half. It’s still an insane number of people on ill-fitting bikes.

How did it happen? Can it be fixed? And what the hell can you do about it if you already bought a bike?

How We Got Here

With the exception of cross-country race bikes, the modern trend in mountain-bike geometry is best summed up in a phrase you’ve likely seen in reviews: long, low, and slack. That’s shorthand for a longer reach and wheelbase, (sometimes) a lower bottom-bracket height, and a slacker headtube angle.ÌęThe geometry makes for bikes that are more stable when descending, particularly at high speed and in chunky, technical terrain. But it also means the size-mediums of today fit very differently from the mediums of a decade ago.Ìę

Bike technology exists within a feedback loop involving the bikes, the riders, and the trails themselves. As suspension has gotten better, mountain bikers have moved on from four-wheel-drive roads and smooth singletrack to technical trails. They’ve ridden harder, putting new demands on bikes, which in turn have become more capable, and thus cyclists have moved on to ever more technical terrain. “It’s a spiral of evolution,” says Travis Brown, a member of the 2000 Olympic team who now runs mountain-bike research and development for Trek Bikes. “The product informs the riders and the riders inform trail development, and it cycles back on itself.”

For an example, look at the Sakura Drop, a five-foot-tall step-down that was of the Tokyo Olympic cross-country course. Although there was a less technical “B line,” almost every rider in both the men’s and women’s fields confidently hit the drop. Just 15 years ago, a jump like that would have been considered a legit feature on a .

According to Peter Zawistowski, director of engineering for Yeti, the change in wheel size on full-suspension bikes—from 26 inches to 29—was pivotal to the geometry shifts. In an effort to keep handling consistent with the larger wheels, designers realized they needed more trail to slow down the steering a bit, and they obtained it partly through slacker head angles. (Broadly, trail is the distance by which the front wheel’s contact patch trailsÌęthe steering axis.)

Even as those changes have created challenges for bike fit, “the reality is that bikes today are faster and safer,” says Barry Anderson, a biomechanist and lead fitter with boutique shop and fit studio, in Scottsdale, Arizona. Riders noticed, as did big brands, and now long, low, and slack is essentially the de facto geometry, especially in the trail and enduro categories that make up the vast majority of bikes sold.

Compare Yeti’s original 2012 trail 29er, the SB95, to the 2021 . They broadly share suspension designs and have identical wheel travel, but in a size medium, the SB130’s wheelbase is 65 millimeters longer (6 percent), the headtube is three degrees slacker, and trail is a whopping 30 millimeters greater. That increase in trail is a big part of what accounts for that stabler feel. Also consider Specialized’s platform. Over nine years, its wheelbase grew by 53 millimeters and its head angle got 3.5 degrees slacker. (For both brands, bottom-bracket height remained almost the same.)Ìę

But the most notable shift is in reach, which grew 54 millimeters on the Yeti and 33 millimeters on the Stumpjumper (comparing size mediums). After less than a decade, the reach on Yeti’s medium SB130 is now longer than the XL SB95’s, and the reach on the medium modern Stumpjumper is longer than the old large’s. The change in reach is qualitatively different from shifts in metrics like trail, because it affects not only handling but also fit and sizing.

“For a long time, none of our bikes were big enough for me,” says Trek’s Brown. “I’m six foot two and always rode our largest size, and it was still not long enough. Then about ten years ago it got to a sweet spot, and the last few years I’ve been going down a size or two.”

If you haven’t adjusted your preferred frame size with the times, there’s a good chance that your bike is a little big for you, which will hurt your riding (and your body). Slack head angles and longer trail offer stability but can cause annoying front-wheel flop at low speeds, making technical climbs harder. If you’re dealing with a too-big bike, that’ll be even more pronounced. Long wheelbases are great for railing chunky sections without getting bucked around so much, but they suck at tight switchbacks and get bogged down in the kind of low-speed technical descending you find on the East Coast—problems that are also exacerbated if you’re wrestling with more bike than you need. Plus, a bike that fits poorly can lead to back and knee pain.

Fit Has Also Failed Mountain Bikers

Bike fitters rely on standardized methodologiesÌęto dial in a customer’s most ergonomic riding position. Trouble is, those approaches are all drawn from road biking, so they prioritize power from a mostly static seated position and are appropriate for up- and downhill grades of about 10 percent. Mountain biking can involve grades three times that, Trek’s Brown points out. And while you do spend time seated, you also spend a lot of time in attack position: standing, knees and elbows bent, ready for the dynamic moves you’ll need on technical climbs and descents. But almost all bike fits are done in static positions on stationary trainers, explains Colby Pearce, an expert fitter who works with both road and mountain bikers. “For road fits, we have very clear metrics around comfort and power output and you can use techniques like motion-tracking [software] to look at joint angles,” he says. “But you can’t replicate mountain-bike handling on a trainer or import those values into the fit process.”

Because fit has largely ignored most mountain bikers, they return the favor. When I posted on Twitter asking what fitters people used for mountain-bike fits, I naturally got a string of reply-guys telling me that fit doesn’t matter for mountain biking because the position is dynamic. I’d argue that means fit matters even more, because as McCormack explains, the sport’s dynamic nature requires explosive power production and passable technical skills in multiple riding positions. Poor bike fit can get in the way of that.

This is where McCormack’s RideLogic comes in. It’s intended for all-around riders who want optimal handling, especially on technical terrain. Its primary aim is to position you on your bike so that you can ride with what McCormack calls heavy feet and light hands, steering and powering your bike from your lower body. This keeps your center of gravity low and stable, lessens the possibility of endos on techy descents, and reduces fatigue because you’re not using your upper body to muscle the bike around. McCormack also runs skills clinics, because a great bike fit alone is only the foundation for building up your technical abilities. “I realized I couldn’t separate body mechanics from riding technique,” he says. “And you can’t separate either of those from bike setup.” (One note: if you’re mostly a cross-country rider who stays on less technical terrain, a traditional fit, for all its shortcomings, may still be better.)

RideLogic relies on two key measurements that McCormack came up with. First is what he calls Rider Area Distance (RAD, get it?): the distance between the center of your bottom bracket and your handlebar steering center, just above the headset and slightly behind the stem clamp. It’s almost directly related to reach. The second is Rider Area Angle in Degrees (RAAD), which, crudely defined, is derived from your bike’s RAD and stack height, and it controls how upright your position is on the bike.

If your RAD is too short, your weight will be too far forward, which can lead to rear-wheel spinout on steep climbs, among other issues. Too long, and your arms will be almost straight, limiting your range of motion and making it harder to move the bike underneath you in technical terrain.

To find your RAD, prop your bike between two stepladders, picnic tables, or the like—whatever gets the bike a few feet off the ground so it can pivot freely around the bottom bracket. Set the bike between these props, balanced on both pedals with the cranks horizontal. In your riding shoes, stand on the pedals, grab the handlebars, and stand up as if you’re doing a deadlift. Ideally, if you’re standing with arms at full extension, the handlebar should rest atÌęyour hips. If you have to uncurl your fingers to stand fully upright, your RAD is too short. If you have to bend your elbows to lift the bar to your hips, it’s too long. ’s Joy of Bike channel on YouTube covers it in detail; the basic on-bike approach is at 5:40.

McCormack finds that most people’s RADs are too long. The easiest, cheapest way to adjust RAD on a specific bike, McCormack says, is to swap stem lengths. If that’s not enough, you can also try stems with different extension angles, or handlebars with more sweep or narrower widths.ÌęA wider reach to the grips has effectsÌęsimilar to a too-long RAD, putting you at the limit of your range of motion. It may cause upper-body fatigue and pain. (A good starting point for bar fit places your elbows more or less behind your wrists when you’re in attack position.)

Once your RAD is close to ideal, RAAD is usually within a degree or two of optimal (there’s a calculator , which you can pay to use). For most trail bikes, he says, it should be between 58 and 60 degrees. Lee created other measurements he takes into account when doing a bike fit, like Steering/Hands Offset, but he considers RAD the key component.

What’s the Solution?

Bicycle geometry (to say nothing of fit) is devilishly complicated. For example, if you balance a bicycle with your hand and then give it a shove, it will roll upright for a surprising length of time, even re-balancing itself to some degree, before it slows and topples over. But we don’t know exactly why. As some from engineers Jim Papadopolous and Arend Schwab shows, it’s not the gyroscopic effect of the spinning wheels, or the caster effect of trail, or weight distribution, as much as it’s all these factors working together. Then add the presence of a rider. And to that, add a rider who, on a mountain bike, is moving dynamically over the bike as the bike itself moves over uneven terrain. The tl;dr: even bike-design experts don’t fully understand how bicycle geometry works, or what exactly leads bicycles to handle the way they do.

So is McCormack right about RideLogic? As with all things fit, there’s no single answer, but I think he’s onto something the industry is only starting to realize. For validation, he simply points to years of trial and refinement—spreadsheets, geometry charts, equations, and of course all those fit consultations with clients. When riding on technical terrain, McCormack says, “Your handlebar follows a specific path of rotation. It’s not mysterious. There must be an ideal distance between your hands and feet to allow that to work based on the size and proportions of your body.”

None of the fitters I spoke with were very familiar with his system, although all respect McCormack’s knowledge and agreed that existing, road-oriented fit methods aren’t really right for modern trail and enduro riding styles. A few questioned whether McCormack’s approach appropriately prioritized seated climbing, because RideLogic doesn’t start with saddle position. But McCormack contends it’s a non-issue. Seat height/setback and RAD/RAAD are independent of each other, he says; they’ll never be in conflict. If you have pain or complaints about your pedaling position, seek out a good traditional fit, then plug in your RAD and RAAD numbers to get the cockpit dialed. Finally, adds McCormack, do all that before you drop six large on a new bike.Ìę

I’m a hopelessly average five-foot-nine rider with moderate handling skills. I love my medium Ibis Ripley, don’t get me wrong. And luckily, the RAD is close enough for my body that, with an with more backsweep, it works. On modern flow trails, the bike is a blast. But there are some trails I love that are more primitive, twisting and turning to hug spiky rock outcroppings and dense copses of trees where wide handlebars don’t fit. They’re technical, but not in the burly bashing-drops-and-rock-gardens style that’s popular now. And there, deep in those woods, I sometimes wonder if I’d be better off on a small.Ìę

Bike fit and sizing are highly personal. They should comport with the rider’s size and riding style, the kind of bike, and the terrain. Zawistowski says that, while no one trail-bikeÌęgeometry will work for every rider, Yeti’s approach offers the best fit and handling it’s been able to create. But my sense, talking to others, is that it’s likely that the long-low-slack trend will begin to reverse a bit in coming years, at least on the mid-travel (120- to 130-millimeter) trail bikes. Even Trek’s Brown, who helps shape that brand’s direction, suggested that the long, low, and slack trend had gotten out of hand. “The whole thing became a paradigm where more was always better, and that got fossilized in the minds of the industry and riders,” he says. “And there are aspects of that that are not beneficial anymore.”

And if change does happen, I suspect that we might find that the bikes of the future, which are actually kinda like old bikes, ride pretty great. That while there are compromises, they’re modest and more balanced ones. Maybe, in this future bike world, you won’t need to be Richie Rude railing a rock garden at top speed to get full enjoyment out of your ride. Rude, a two-time Enduro World Series champion, is a key R&D resource for Yeti, where he’s helped develop the brand’s flagship race bike, the SB150. I should note that he’s almost six feet tall, a height Yeti’s Fit Guide puts on the cusp between a medium and a large for that bike. He rides a medium.

The post Your Mountain Bike Is Probably Too Big for You appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

Last year my friend Dan’s Cervelo R5 was stolen out of his garage. Armed with a payout from his homeowner’s insurance, he started looking for a replacement, only to run headlong into the unprecedented product shortages caused by the pandemic-influenced bike boom.

Since simply replacing his R5 wasn’t possible on a short timeframe, he began to consider other options. Chief among them: whether to get a bike he could use for multi-surface adventures. Dan isn’t alone. Gravel is one of the fastest-growing segments in the bike industry. But traditional roadies like Dan don’t automatically gravitate toward it. They love how ultralight modern road bikes zip up climbs, along flats, and down descents. They love the zen of turning the pedals at 90 rotations per minute for hours on smooth asphalt. They’ve heard about gravel riding—these days, how could you not?—but they’re not itching to enter Unbound or go on a bikepacking trip. And they often live in areas where it takes a bit of pavement riding to reach the dirt. Call them gravel-curious.

That’s Dan. A longtime roadie, heÌęwas interested in expanding his riding horizons. But he lives in Denver and didn’t want to get stuck with a bike that was overbuilt for his needs and inefficient on pavement, with fat tires, slow-steering geometry, and unnecessary accessory mounts. Fortunately, there’s a newish breed of road bikes that seems ideal for riders like Dan.Ìę

What’s All This Alt-Road, All-Road Jargon?

The bike industry can never settle on one term. I’ve heard this niche called road plus, alt road, new road, and all-road. Whatever you call it, the subcategory is probably best defined by its attributes: clearance for somewhat wider tires than traditional road bikes (usually around 35 millimeters), classic road geometry, limited extra accessory mounts, and an emphasis on balanced performance for pavement and smooth dirt roads and trails.

Riders define all-road according to their own use and preference on necessary tire width, so it’s a wide niche.ÌęAll-road encompasses road bikes from full-on race rigs that happen to fit 32-millimeter tires, like theÌę or the , to models that are designed primarily for great ride quality and also fit 32-millimeter rubber, like . (Both of the latter two come stock with conventional 25- and 26-millimeter road tires, respectively.) This niche also includes changelings like , which debuted in 2012 as an endurance road bike and morphed into an all-road machine with clearance for 38-millimeter tires. And it covers purpose-built all-road bikes like . That’s all proof that all-road is as much about perception and marketing as it is about the physical specs of the bike.Ìę

“I think all-road is the ideal road bike for most people,” says Sam Pickman, Allied’s director of product and engineering. “Gravel really sparked people’s interest in exploring. But the fact is, most people live in cities where there’s not a ton of gravel riding available to them. The all-road bike is perfect because they don’t give up a lot of performance on the routes they normally ride, but they can jump off and do some dirt here or there.”

How We Got Here

It’s easy to see the influence of gravel on all-road bikes. But in many aspects, like geometry, all-road is essentially an evolution of the old endurance road category, says Pickman. The granddad of endurance road bikes is the Specialized Roubaix, which debuted in 2004 and was the first of a new genre that emphasized comfort, with features like a more upright rider position, vibration-absorbing technology in the frame and fork, and slightly wider tires.

Regarding wider tires: all tire-clearance figures here are as claimed by the bike maker, but they’re notoriously fuzzy. In reality, tire width varies based on the rim it’s installed on. Plus: ISO measurements require four millimeters of space between the tire and each chainstay or fork blade. As a result, many brands are conservative with clearance claims. Riders can and do fit wider rubber than a frame is rated to accept.

For a while, endurance road bikes struggled to find a role. Bike brands often marketed them as hardcore race bikes for cobbled classics like Paris-Roubaix, but then muddied the perception by adding elements like tall stack heights and low gearing that attracted a very different kind of rider. The result, as Pickman accurately points out, was that endurance road rigs always had a dorky rep as an old man’s bike. Then came gravel, which seemed to give these kinds of machines a specific design direction and purpose that endurance road lacked, as well as a fresher, younger-feeling expression.

Where Is It Going?

As with all new genres, all-road is evolving quickly as designers find innovative ways to make bikes more capable on various types of roads and trails. One notable example is Allied’s new model, , which uses flip chips: modular front and rear dropouts that let the rider adjust the geometry to a road or gravel setting. In the former position, you get a pretty classic road-bike geometry, with responsive handling and clearance for 30-millimeter tires. To switch to gravel mode, adjust the chips in the dropouts, which lengthens the wheelbase and boosts tire clearance to 40 millimeters; the steering relaxes a bit for more stability on rougher terrain.Ìę

Flip chips aren’t new; they’ve been around in mountain bikes for years. More recently, brands like Cervelo and Otso have begun using them for gravel rigs. But Allied is among the first brands to use them in both the front and the rear. It’s the most clever mechanism I’ve seen for expanding the range of a drop-bar bike.Ìę

The Echo, like all Allied bikes, is undoubtedly expensive. But the addition of flip chips makes it enticingly versatile. With two pairs of wheelsets (one shod with road tires and the other with gravel rubber), tenÌęminutes, and a few Allen wrenches, you can get two different bikes in one package. Chips may be the way of the future for these bikes because, in addition to adjusting tire clearance, they offer geometry changes better suited for each style of riding than you’d get by swapping wheelsets alone.Ìę

What’s Right for You?

If your current road rig fits you, is mechanically sound, and you’re happy with it, then there’s no reason to change, no matter how old it is. But if it’s pushing tenÌęyears old and you’re thinking about a replacement (or, as in Dan’s situation, you’re starting from scratch), a new all-road model is going to be a noticeable improvement in versatility, not to mention components and ride quality.

An all-road bike is capable of even competitive road riding. Meanwhile, the disc brakes, broader gearing, and added tire clearance, which may range from four to ten millimeters more than a road bike, will open up a ton of terrain that would have pushed your old rig to—or past—its limits. And if you live in an area where your gravel options are limited or require a lot of pavement riding to reach, all-road is a great choice because it expands your options without major compromise for on-pavement efficiency. Even if you end up wanting a gravel bike, too, there’s not much downside here, since you’ll still have a kickass road bike that’s capable of mixed-surface adventures.

Surely there are drawbacks to the all-road approach, right? Or everyone would just be selling their gravel and road bikes, and refuting with an all-road setup. There are compromises, of course. Any time you’re looking to use one bike for multiple purposes, “you’re going to give up something,” no matter what style of bike you buy, warns Pickman.Ìę

From a performance road standpoint, all-road bikes usually lack a touch of the competition-focused edge you’ll find in a high-end race bike. There’s not much attention paid to aerodynamics, for instance. The longer wheelbases on all-road bikes can also create a less responsive feel, which matters in criteriums or on zesty descents that demand fast line adjustments. (This is why Echo-style flip chips are so neat: you really do get two geometries in one bike.) All-road stack heights are generally taller for better comfort on long rides, so it’s harder to get into a low, aerodynamic position.Ìę

Those factors might be meaningful if you really want to mix it up in races or competitive group rides. But even then, they’re subtle and probably won’t cost you a race. The more significant limitations are at the gravel end on the capability spectrum.

Most obvious is the tire clearance. When Open released its original UP gravel bike, which has clearance for 40-millimeter tires, it made a point of noting that you could run narrow road tires on the bike and still be pretty happy on a fast group ride. But if you get a bike that won’t accept more than 32- or 35-millimeter rubber, there’s nothing you can do if you want to go wider.

Second: while many gravel bikes feature more accessory mounts than most riders will reasonably use, most all-road bikes swing too far the other way. The Echo, for instance, has a third bottle mount on the underside of the down tube, but no fender eyelets or top-tube bag mounts either, which does hamper versatility a bit. Both limits—tire clearance and accessory mounts—are asymmetrical; you don’t have to use them if your bike has them, but you physically can’t on a bike that lacks those attributes. If you think gravel racing or bikepacking might be in your future, you might quickly outgrow an all-road bike.

The other reason an all-road bike might not be a good fit is if you have a newer road bike—especially one that has disc brakes and clearance for 30-millimeter tires—and aren’t sure of where your gravel exploration might stop. Better to experiment with what your current bike offers and then add a gravel bike if you want to get into wilder terrain.

For Pickman, the difference comes down not just to what you want to do with the bike, but how you want it to feel. That’s what settled it for my friend Dan as well. He wanted a bike with the efficiency and responsive ride of his old R5, but still capable of exploring dirt.Ìę

Ultimately, he went with a , which has the same claimed tire clearance as his R5. That was partly a function of the pandemic: Canyon was one of the few brands that had bikes ready to ship in weeks, not months. But Dan also liked that the Endurace’s geometry was more on the road side of the all-road spectrum yet could still handle some bigger tires. Something like the Cervelo Caledonia or Trek Domane felt like a step too far away from his R5. (Canyon’s aggressive pricing didn’t hurt either.)Ìę

Around Denver he rides it mostly on pavement with the stock set of wheels and road tires. But he also spends time in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains of southern Colorado, where the dirt roads are rougher and wilder than the urban Front Range. So he bought a second pair of hoops and set them up with 32-millimeter Panaracer GravelKing SK tires, which measure out to 34 millimeters wide on the bike’s DT wheels—technically four millimeters wider than the Endurance’s rated tire capacity.

So far the rig has been mostly up to the challenge. The gearing is low enough for even steep climbs, and since Dan isn’t bikepacking, he doesn’t want for extra accessory mounts. After a couple of rides bouncing over washboards, he’s learned to trust the lower pressures that are possible with wider tires.

In fact, he’s having so much fun on dirt that he bought a gravel bike: a , with clearance for 45-millimeter rubber, or up to 53-millimeters if you use the smaller 650b wheel size. It features a few more mounts for fenders, a top-tube bag, and three bottles, but no rack or frame bag bosses. Regardless, he has no regrets about his Endurace purchase, because it’s still a great bike for road and light dirt.

That’s what’s so great about all-road. It’s a gateway for a lot of riders, the perfect bridge between road performance and adventure capacity—between what you’ve always done on a bike, and what you might want to do next.

The post Are You Gravel-Curious? Here’s How to Choose a Bike. appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.