This week, I wrote a short piece on Get Britain Cycling - a multi-party enquiry tasked with accessing the measures needed to shift cycling into the mainstream in the UK. Namely, what it would take to make cycling an integral part of life at both transportation and social level. The findings of the report have just been published, detailing a series of 18 far reaching yet realistic recommendations. These include a suggested goal of a 10% cycling modal share by 2025 – which is to say, one in ten journeys to be made by bicycle, upping this to a fifth of the pie by 2050.  Currently, world-leader Netherlands stands at 27%, with Denmark at 17% and Germany at 12%.

As a dad, one of my favourites is the recommendation to bring cycling into the national curriculum, by teaching school children bicycle handling skills – just as kids are taught to swim, they should be taught to ride a bike safely and confidently. Of course, a safe environment and bike-friendly communities are part of the jigsaw too, and there are detailed suggestions for more bicycle paths, and urban speed limit cuts for vehicles. Given cycling’s breadth of benefits – from transportation to health to a happier workplace – there’s some very pertinent ideas on how all this could be funded.

Now is the time to ensure that the political powers that be react to these findings. The Times newspaper has set up an e-petition to bring the report to Parliament: 60,000 people have signed up so far – another 40,000 are needed. As journalist, newsreader and CTC president Jon Snow recently underlined, “the lessons from Europe are that this takes strong political leadership, leadership from all parties.”

Please read the Worldwide Cycling Atlas post, sign the petition and pass the link on (http://epetitions.direct.gov.uk/petitions/49196). It’s quick and easy to fill in. This is a very real chance to help initiate a monumental change within the UK, one that will help shape its transportation future over the next few decades – just as the Dutch did so progressively in the early 1970s. It’s inspiring and exciting stuff.

Signing the petition will only take a few moments of your time.

I’ve also now set up a While Out Riding Facebook page, where I hope to promote cycling advocacy issues as well as my own travels. Please ‘like’ it, if you feel so inclined!

Long grasses and wizened oak trees, atop manicured knolls so idyllic I’ll forgive them for their ferociously steep inclines. It could be Middle Earth – I can easily picture hobbit holes burrowed into its perfect hillocks. Or Devon without the rain.

Surprisingly, this is Shell Ridge, just a short BART ride away from San Francisco and Oakland, yet laced with as dense a weave of dirt roads and singletrack as any city dweller could dream for. In fact, I’d have been hard-pressed to even imagine such a beautiful and photogenic haven of open space so close to such a seething mass of metal and people.

I could wax on… It’s a place of gentle, subdued colours that fade from one hue to the next, as early morning sunlight floods into every nook and cranny of its ancient oak groves, before crescendoing into baking midday heat, and then retreating into the golden glow of late afternoon.

So how come I’d never heard of Shell Ridge? Well, I had in a way, but only as the setting to nearby Rivendell, the Grant Peterson-run bicycle builders famed for, amongst other things, their fancy lugwork, wire baskets and pragmatic philosophy of riding. Who knows, the area’s Tolkien-esque echoes may well have played an influence in the naming of the company itself. Hunkered down in a warehouse within Walnut Creek (more suburban that it may sound), this neighbouring patch of land is a fitting backdrop to these purveyors of beautifully crafted bicycles, gleaming Japanese racks and the finest traditional saddlebags.

Watch this video for an insight into the inner workings of Rivendell, crafters of a particular style of cycling poetry – one that, now I’ve visited Shell Ridge, I recognise to be in perfect harmony with their surroundings.

Thanks to the fine folks at Rivendell for showing me round, and those with whom I shared a couple of night’s surreptitious camping amongst the oaks – Jared, Mark, Jake, Colin, Daniel and Olivia.

The basics: 

There are around 31 miles of trails in Shell Ridge – as can be seen on this downloadable map (though we just explored and got lost, which works too). Shell Ridge flanks Mount Diablo, which also offers a rich vein of dirt road exploration potential.

The closest BART stop is Walnut Creek (half an hour from Embarcadero), then it’s a few miles riding through the ‘burbs to one of the Open Space’s various entry points.

Rivendell Bicycle Works is just a few blocks from the station.

A healthy, rather delicious dessert: avocado and date chocolate mousse.

What you’ll need.

This is a short and sweet recipe, and one that’s quick to make too (apart from the soaking of the dates). Plus, it’s dairy-free.

You’ll need:

10 plump dates, soaked for 3-4 hours in water

2 ripe avocados

1 cup of unsweetened cocoa powder

Sprinkle of sea salt

1/2 teaspoon of vanilla extract

(plus a tablespoon of maple syrup or a dollop of maple cream if you have an especially sweet tooth)

What to do:

Blend everything together in a good processor, with the S blade.

That’s it!

Spoon into glasses and pop it in the fridge for a bit before serving. You should have about 4-5 helpings.

In go the avocados.

And the plump, pre-soaked dates – stones removed.

Pile on the cocoa powder, and a sprinkle of sea salt.

Give the blender a blast.

Add the date water to get the consistency of your choice.

If you want to really indulge, sneak in some maple syrup or maple cream.

Et voila. Best served chilly, and with a big spoon…

Dirt roading in the Bay Area proved a good testing ground for the Krampus/Rohloff combo.

I’m not sure there’s such a thing as the ‘perfect’ bike, at least if you’re attempting to shoehorn everything into one machine. But right now, I have to say my current setup feels completely dialled. It’s as good as it’s ever been, fine tuned for the kind of terrain and travels I enjoy most. Above all, it’s a blast to ride.

Still, it’s a perennial habit that I’m always tinkering, refining, experimenting, looking for those elusive last improvements. Perhaps they’re not always improvements – just something different. Anyway, with my trip to Peru/Bolivia/Argentina in mind, I’ve jotted down some random gear thoughts while they’re fresh in my mind. Inevitably, these ponderings won’t suit everyone, and take into account my riding style (dirt, dirt and more dirt) and my destination – namely that it will be cool and mountainous, and at the time of year I’m visiting, predominantly dry. Choices might well be different it was, say, predominantly paved, or jungly, humid and bug-infested.

Bike:

After reverting to derailleurs for much of last year, I’m delighted to be reunited with my Rohloff 14 speed internal hub (thanks GBT for the build!). Despite its few foibles, the Rohloff is ideal for laden, dirt road touring. As omnipresent as derailleurs are, I won’t be leaving home without it again, and definitely recommend one if funds permit.

Rohloff Speedhub: ready to do battle with mud, dust and grime.

Similarly, the Krampus/Rohloff combination has proved a real success (by way of a nifty Monkey Bone). Previously hamstrung (for touring purposes) by a 1×9/10 limit, it boasts a full range of gears, without any of the chain/tyre rub issues I experienced previously. Although Surly markets the Krampus as a trail bike, now that I’ve made some tweaks to the frame (namely, a proliferation of water bottle cages), it’s morphed into my favoured roughstuff bikepacking machine. Cranked up to speed it feels unstoppable, ironing out every ripple in the road. Full report soon…

More bottle.

As for tyres – always a topic of debate amongst cyclists – its 3in Knards have impressed too, offering such a plush ride that my body is rarely sore at the end of the day, no matter how harsh the terrain. Without doubt, they make a worthy replacement to suspension for more challenging off road touring. Although the extra weight is undeniable, their heft hasn’t proved to be an issue, more than mitigated by near-limitless grip – both up and down the trail. Still, given their price ($90 for the non-folders) and relatively soft compound, I’m not sure that they’re the sweet spot for my own touring needs – I’m thinking a longer lasting 2.2.5-2.4 would suit me better, adding to mud clearance too. But there’s no denying that when it comes to babyheads, corrugation and sandy patches, Knards are in their element.

Whittling down gear for long distance, pannier-free travel is always a challenge. Still, I’m in no rush back to revert back to racks or a trailer just yet. A combination of a handlebar rollbag, framebag (both from Porcelain Rocket) and a roomy, easy to access saddlebag (Carradice Super C) offers space for gear, food, DLSR and my Macbook Air – without resorting to a backpack. I like the concept of the Bagman2 (with Expedition Support), but I need a tougher version for more rock-strewn backcountry riding. I’ve needed to repair the support plate – hopefully the fix will hold out. Otherwise, I might try a small rear platform rack to support the saddlebag.

Finally, I’m about ready to bid adios to my SPD pedals for the next trip. That’s not to say I’m a die-hard convert to flat pedals for all applications, but the current combination of chunky, pin-laced pedals (Performance Bikes Shovels) and Keen hiking shoes is working really well, and rarely leaves me wanting. I’m tempted by a pair of Shimano Saints - of which I’ve heard good things - as my current pedals are on loan.

Clothing:

My full gear list is posted here. These thoughts are related to that list.

Smartwool stuff: undoubtedly comfy, but it’s expensive and I’m just not getting it to last as long as I’d like. For now, I’ve reverted to my old favourite (but sadly no longer made) Ground Effect Robin Hood, a Merino blend hooded top. It’s getting a little threadbare, but hanging onto life. (update: the RHs are back!)

Baggy shorts and merino underwear (Rapha, in my case) work great. No padding required. I don’t miss trousers; I’m fine with shorts, thermals and wool leggings when it gets chilly. As for social occasions, I’ll get by – I don’t mind looking a bit odd.

More trivially, my favourite Indian bobble hat was fatefully shrunk in the wash. I love my hat, so this is a (minor) travesty. I’m on the lookout for a worthy replacement.

Camping:

I’ve been borrowing a 6 Moon Designs Gatewood Cape, a minimal tarp that doubles up as a waterproof cape. Although the cape transformation hasn’t proved relevant to cycling (I always carry a waterproof shell), it’s a great tarp in its own right. I’d buy one of my own, but I’m thinking of investing in its big brother, the Wild Oasis - which, for just an extra 57g, includes a mosquito skirt, and it’s roomier too. The Gatewood Cape packs away into its own pocket, easily tucked into my handlebar roll bag next to sleeping bag and layers. I barely know its there. Inevitably, a single skin tarp isn’t without its compromises – but for where I’m heading, I think I can live with them. Review forthcoming.

6 Moon Designs Gatewood Cape. A paltry 312g in weight, and not much bulkier than an inflatable sleep mat.

My sleeping bag is in need of replacement for the big trip; this will be my chance to try out a quilt, most likely from Jacks ‘R Better. I’ve heard good things about them.

Electronics:

I’m not unaware of the irony of paring back clothing and camping gear to the minimum, only to haul more than their equivalent weight in camera gear.

But… I like taking photos. I’m constantly debating the merits of a lightweight mirrorless camera system versus a higher quality, full sensor DSLR. A DSLR may be brick-like, but I’ve come to really enjoy my Canon 5dMk2 with a simple 40mm f/2.8 pancake lens as a general use camera. It’s quick, robust, and relatively speaking, not too obese. Plus, I really like the 40mm angle of view – it’s the same I had on my Lumix GF1. In fact, I’ve so enjoyed this single lens setup that if I could drum up some cash, I’d think seriously about investing in a Fuji X100s (with its fixed 35mm lens) and taking just that. (Similarly, if budget wasn’t tight, other contenders would include an Olympus OM-D, a M4/3 camera that comes highly recommended by cycle tourists). All three of these cameras allow you to separate the focus from the shutter release, which, for one reason or another, is my preferred way of taking pictures. In any case, if you already own a Canon DSLR, check out the 40mm pancake – it’s a relative bargain at $150-200.

I’m now joined by an umbilical chord to my iPhone 5 (web browing/reading/music/topo maps/GPS/photos). A downside is that it’s ever hungry for juice. The Goal Zero solar panel I’ve been borrowing has worked really well. Affixed to my front pouch, it will charge up my iPhone in less then a day, given several hours of New Mexican/Californian sunshine. But… I’m ready for a dynamo, most likely a Schmidt Son, rigged up with a Tout Terrain Plug 2.

Goal Zero solar panel – does a good job at keeping your electronic gadgets juiced up.

Talking of iPhones, I’ve been experimenting with using mine as a replacement for my Garmin Etrex 20. At $80, Lifeproof cases are hardly cheap, but they’re completely dust and waterproof, and the bike mount works really nicely for onboard navigation. Review soon.

Lifeproof iPhone case and handle bar mount. Handy for both unfamiliar city riding, and following GPX routes.

Future ponderings to include:

Observing how the Rabbit Holes fare (they’re single wall rims) over time, and how such wide rims handle 2.25in inch tyres, like a Schwalbe Big Apple, Schwalbe Smart Sam or WTB Weirwolf. Smart Sams would be seem to be bargain at $30, but unfortunately they’re not folders, which I prefer. Weirwolfs are light, have a great tread and ride really nicely, but may not last as long. Chunky Maxxis 2.4in Ardents are also a contender. We’ll see.

Looking into the viability of going tubeless, at least for an initial portion of the trip. Beyond the South West (mined as it is with goatheads), punctures are rarely a real issue on tour. Perhaps more importantly, tubeless tyres feel great at low pressure, offering a very effective alternative to suspension over even the roughest terrain, while eliminating dastardly pinch flats.

If you have thoughts or experience on any of this gear, I’d welcome any comments!

Here’s just a few photos from the trip. More to come soon…

The early bird gets the worm. Sunrise in the Marin Headlands, just a short ride across the Golden Gate Bridge.

Dirt galore. Jake negotiates the descent down Coastal Trail, south of Pantol Ranger Station.

The biking brotherhood. These well worn shoes and tattooed emblems belong to Jared, fellow dirt lovin’ amigo.

Loose, off camber tracks are the name of the game in the Headlands, as ridden by generations of dirt road riders, since the dawn of modern mountain biking. 

Shell Ridge, rising steeply from the foothills of Mt Diablo, is a sublime open space area. It’s laced with buff singletrack, meandering its way through tunnels of old and wizened oak groves.

Meanwhile, back in the city: Twin Peaks and its switchback descent. There’s all kinds of riding to be had straight from your front door.

The trail along Bolinas Ridge – one of my favourites – is framed by lush foliage and an austere corridor of redwoods.

Spring time – Californian poppies resplendent in all their neon glory.

Did I mention my bike? It’s a Surly Krampus, nicknamed Brutus, and now complete with Rohloff Speedhub and tubeless 3in tyres. Seen here with Colin’s Pugsley and Jake’s Marin Eldridge Grade.

Shirt fluttering in the coastal breeze, Jarod and his Rivendell Hunqapillar let loose, to an oceanic backdrop and distant rocky bluffs.

Dipping tyres and toes in waters at Muir Beach.

Different strokes for different folks: the bicycle basket, surprisingly capable at hauling all your camping gear, on dirt and pavement alike.

Further explorations around the polished hilltops of Shell Ridge.

The Bay Area: a Mountain Biking and Roadie paradise.

Training it:

The train from Oakland, CA to Albuquerque NM, costs $130 (booked a few days in advance, and date changeable for no fee). If you have 28 hours to spare, it’s affordable, relaxing, bike-friendly and scenic.

The segment from Oakland to Bakersfield includes free wifi too, which I’m availing myself of right now, as does the bus link from Bakersfield to Union Station, LA.

The bike travels free and unboxed to LA, then it’s $10 to New Mexico – and a further $15 if you need to purchase a bike box. Amtrak boxes are massive, and require very little disassembling of your steed.

Happy New Owner.

Recently, I acquired an old Specialized Stumpjumper through the classified pages of Craiglist. As the first production mountain bike in the world, the venerable Stumpy is the stuff of legends, and a bike I’ve long coveted. Although 20 years of accrued excitement is a lot of hype to live up to, it was everything I’d hoped for, and it inspired me to expand a brief blog post into a short column for the Singletrack - an independent mountain bike magazine in the UK.

As usual, I exceeded my word limit, so space constraints demanded that it be trimmed back for print. This is the full version.

Almost 30 years old, my ’84 Stumpjumper has become my day to day ride. A history lesson with every pedal stroke.

Days of Klunker, published in Singletrack, Issue 80.

Urban Dictionary definition of Klunker: An automobile, or occasionally another object, that is in poor condition due to mechanical problems, age, damage or other issues.

The bike in question was sold to me by Val, whose gentle manner, fist length beard, and well worn Paul Components cycling cap made him a reassuring seller. A short spin round the block revealed a wonderfully smooth ride that belied three decades of existence, and certainly seemed worth every cent of the $200 price tag we’d settle upon.

I’d always harboured a craving for a vintage American MTB, and a recent move to New Mexico, USA, had revealed a slew of opportunities via the treasure trove of Craigslist. Indeed, only a few months of web scouring had passed before the appearance of a gate-like, 22in Specialized Stumpjumper Sport – perfectly suited to my own lanky frame – urging me to take on its stewardship.

Quite apart from nostalgia, the idea of possessing a piece of history that was affordable and relevant to me definitely appealed. As did the sleuth work that was required to unearth a fragment of its story. As much as I could tell, it was probably fabricated in 1984 (I’d have been 10, and riding my flame red Raleigh Grifter Mk2 at the time). With its fancy lugs and dual crown fork, it was identical to the iconic Stumpjumper launched in 1981, the very first mass produced mountain bike the world had seen.

In any case, its patina suggested it had been well cared for; the shop sticker indicated its journey began in Tucson, Arizona, a swathe of desert so dry the US Air Force mothballs its planes there. Original decals still adorned the Chrome-Moly tubeset – Special Series Touring – in banded yellow, orange and red. Wiping away ingrained dirt like an archeologist revealed cranks stamped with tell-tale markings – FT MC60. These allowed Andy, my go-to expert, to date them back to 1989. “While your Stumpjumper has features that are a mix between the paleolithic klunkers of the ’70s and the neolithic mountain bikes of the late ’80s, it leans toward the klunker side of things as far as expected performance goes,” he observed with a professorial nod.

Likewise, neither the Deore 7 speed freewheel nor front and rear mechs were original – not that I cared. Every change was part of its story. And besides, they worked. Ke-klunk. Aptly, that’s the sound of a Deore II friction shifter pushing a 7 speed chain into gear. No hint of mechanical problems there.

Its shiny, triangular bullmoose handlebars were original, and the elegant, high flange Shimano hubs (a few more swipes of the archeologist’s brush: MB MN72) were likely specced at the time. Gorgeous they were too, complete with cigarette-thin axles bodies and elegant, cut out windows. To these, were laced to wideset Araya rims: Made In Japan, 36 holes a piece. Back then, 32 spoke wheelsets were the domain of racing, not that too much of it existed. The majority of bikes were for exploration. With or without panniers. Pushing up a hill if need be.

The pushing part was clear from the geometry: endlessly long chainstays and angles so slack the bike seemed to be falling backwards. 70.3 and 68 degrees were the go-to numbers of the time (by the late 1980s, more contemporary 73 degree seat and 71 degree head angles had largely taken over). But what does that mean? Good for descents, not so great for climbing, which would account for the peculiar noodliness I noticed when honking out the saddle. Historically, the geometry reflects the era. Again, I wasn’t so worried. After all, walking up a hill is a just chance to take a breather, or chat with friends.

With so much mountain biking heritage to its name, imagined eyebrows raised as I cruised around town. In any case Dave, owner of Mellow Velo, my local bike shop, positively glowed when I rode over. He promised to teach me the dark art of adjusting cantilevers, as up until then, grabbing a handful of brake (literally, as the levers are enormous), didn’t completely guarantee the promise of stopping.

Not that I’d originally intended to really push Stumpy beyond city duties – I’d bought the bike mainly for forays around town. But old bikes have a way of stirring up restless feelings. Only a few days had passed before its wheels were shod the fattest set of 26in knobblies I could find, previously accumulating cobwebs in the yard since my acquisition of a 29er.

After all, a bike with this kind of pedigree needs to be really ridden, I figured. It would be an injustice to do otherwise, I reasoned. Its day of re-initiation involved a climb up Forest Road 89 – an old rough and tumble jeep track that winds steeply up into the mountains behind town – followed by a plummet down loose and rubbly singletrack; rocks, steps, slabs and all. Let loose. No holds barred. And, despite a broken chain, a few mistimed turns and a loosening headset (all part of the Klunker Experience, so I’m told), I thoroughly enjoyed it. The ride was noticeably different from that of its modern cousin, my rigid 29er, but in its own way, no less entertaining.

Perhaps it was the sense of history imbued within the bike. Maybe it was the romanticised imagery of jeans-clad mtb pioneers, hurtling recklessly down Mount Tam, California (foot down, plumes of dust in their wake). Most likely, it’s because there’s good reason this was the very bike that inspired a generation of riders to get out – and begin discovery of their local trails.

A lugged frame, a twin plate fork crown crown, bullmoose bars and an Ideale saddle  - just some of the details on my new/old Stumpy.

Thank you Andy, aka Big Dummy Daddy, for 80s mountain bike technical advice, and a thoroughly entertaining fat tyre history lesson.

This Sunday I’ll be arriving in the Bay Area – after a 26 hour train medley from New Mexico – for a 12 day bike tour.

My plans aren’t completely formed as yet, except that I’d like to ride amongst the redwoods in Santa Cruz, spend some time exploring Marin Country, visit friends in San Francisco, and head over to Oakland – and see what’s happening in the bike culture department there. I might even strike out to Yosemite, an area I’d love to visit.

If anyone is around and would like to meet up/camp/ride, let me know. (Otherwise, trail and dirt road advice is always welcome!) I’m planning to spend as many nights under tarp as possible.

Should anyone be heading in the direction of New Mexico around May 3rd or 4th, from San Francisco or LA, I’m on the lookout for a ride home too. Thanks.

But I also love camping locally (almost) as much as I do further afield – particularly for a deeper sense of appreciation of my local environment, and place within it. Recently, I’ve been enjoying a spate of short but satisfying S240s – Sub 24 hour Overnighters, an initialism coined by Grant Peterson, of Rivendell fame. Micro Adventure is another name for a similar idea; that one comes courtesy of round-the-world rider and writer Al Humphreys.

With the arrival of spring comes the urge to spend more time under tarp, or better still, the night sky. Making this fit within the jigsaw of other commitments is the challenge – hence the appeal of these simple, soul replenishing overnighters…

The Great Outdoors makes a great changing room too, as demonstrated by Jeremy, seen here with a Rivendell Hunquapillar and Ford F100.

Hitting dirt is always a good feeling, especially on an afternoon like this. It’s tops off weather, at least for Jeremy, he of the ‘short shorts’ in winter fame… 12 miles from downtown Santa Fe, Glorietta Mesa is an open expanse of National Forest and BLM land, a web of backroads rife with red dirt potential…

Aside from his passion for cycling, this particular piece of inkwork celebrates Jeremy’s love of train-hopping.

Eager to make the most of the afternoon, we set off at a good clip, an imaginary loop loaded into the Garmin and iPhone.

It’s perfect riding: rough and rutted four wheel drive tracks abound.

New Mexico, never short of drama. After all, this is big sky country.

Occasionally, hostile barriers do their best to divert us…

It’s that time of day.

Our forest service map – as well as Garmin, Gaia and Googlemaps –  indicate, in no uncertain terms, that there’s a road… right here…

An alternative route is found, though it means backtracking a few miles from where we’ve just come.

And as the sun sets, a suitable sleep spot is decided upon.

Carefully, given the dry conditions, we make a small fire – and toast a few rounds of tortillas, which we fill with avocado and beans. Simple, sustaining food.

New Mexican Overnight food pack list (afternoon snacks, dinner and breakfast):

3 x avocados

Dehydrated bean mix

Coconut butter

Tortillas

Bag of nacho chips

Peanuts with lime

Trail Mix

Larabar

Mango, apple and banana

De la Rosa mazapan

4l of water

Camp (roll mats, a bivy bag and a tarp) are quickly dismantled for an early start the next day.

En route back to Santa Fe, we make a brief stop at Cafe Fina, and in the absence of fresh cinnamon rolls, I indulge in a lemon and poppyseed muffin…

Then, it’s a quick spin along the Rail Trail back into town. Overgrown but still functioning, it’s a historic route between Santa Fe and Lamy, that is now only served by a 1920s tourist train. If the area looks familiar, it might be that you’ve seen it in the remake of Elmore Leonard’s 3:10 to Yuma, or in Young Guns, the Hollywoodised story of Billy the Kid.

A singletrack for a good proportion of the way, it crosses dry, sandy gulches, as it winds its way through desert sagebrush and chamisas.

By 9.45am, we’re back in Santa Fe and headed to our various commitments…

S240s are affordable, easy to organise and above all, invigorating. They come highly recommended. I’m aiming for at least a night like this a week..

Gear: Jeremy went the basket/saddlebag route on his Hunqapillar, and I opted for my Porcelain Rocket framebags on the Ogre. Both worked well!

Camera: Canon 5dMk2 with 40mm f/2.8 lens. The aim here was to keep things light and simple with one pancake lens. The full set is on my Flickr page.

Speckled about the Carson National Forest like rough gems, are some of the earliest Spanish settlements in northern New Mexico – including that of El Rito, where our overnight bikepack began.

Like many other parts of the state, there’s a weather-faded feel to its hamlets; pockets of abandonment where time flows askew. Hispanic in character, they seem transplanted straight from the rugged and remote mountains of the Sierra Madre, south of the border in Mexico. The houses are, far the most part, downbeat and patched up. More often than not, collections of lifeless tyres and cars in open surgery clutter their yards. It’s a discordant aesthetic within this natural space and beauty, yet as integral a part of rural New Mexico as the forest and the sagebrush themselves.

With this feeling in mind, I’ve processed this collection of photos in a different style than usual; bleached, like an old, forgotten roll of film that’s been left out too long in the sun…

The full set of photos, in technicolour, can be seen on my Flickr page. Within the post, each picture will enlarge if you click on it.

El Rito, established in 1786. Ramshackle, even by New Mexican standards.

This building dates back to 1912. The forlorn phone booth looks in no better shape.

A dirt road heading north into the Carson National Forest.

Outwardly, this pair of Internationals look to be in good working order.

A closer inspection reveals that inwardly, their guts have been removed.

Forest Road 44. An avenue of red-tinted ponderas.

Somewhere deep in the forest.

One of the many primitive 4WD tracks that make this area a bikepacker’s delight.

Good enough to drink. Unlike the parched dry lowlands, there’s no shortage of water in the high country.

Pitched between an ageing cottonwood and the El Rito – the Little River. That night, we’re lulled to sleep by the ancient sounds of water and wind.

Reading matter. Barefoot running and a forest service map.

Don’t leave home without it.

Warm bellies for a cold night.

Too early in the season for 10 000ft.

The Valle Grande Truck Trail. A short foray reveals it to be snowbound for now. Will return.

Blowdown.

Wild and abandoned singletrack,  as cluttered as a New Mexican yard, slows our progress considerably.

Lower in elevation, clear roads and a perfect summer pasture.

The rural hamlet of Plaza Cañon. Home to little more than a collection of houses, husks of old cars, and yard debris.

In better shape than most, but just as timewarped.

Just hanging on.

Roadside scene.

Juxtaposition.

Very New Mexico.

Just as New Mexico.

Camera: Canon 5dMk2 with 24-105 f/4 lens. Photos imported into Lightroom and processed using the Nik Collection Color Efex Pro plugin.

Route:

We parked up at the church in El Rito, a hour’s drive from Santa Fe. Our route lead us north along FR44, diverting east onto Canada del Potroro. This faded into a faint doubletack, then became a more established dirt road, before finally whittling down to a wild and abandoned singletrack, strewn with blowdown and requiring a couple of hours to negotiate. Later, a far shorter bushwack led us steeply down the hilltop onto 106, where we descended and camped beside the diminutive El Rito. Our original intention had been to strike north west towards the Canjilon Lakes and the Brazos Cliffs. However, it transpired that this area remains for a large part smothered by snow, so we doubled back up 106, exploring a few side valleys for future reference, before plummeting down into Canon Plaza via a primitive 4WD track. A mix of sandy sagebrush riding and paved road led us to Vallecitos and Borracho – so name for a famous old steer, El Borracho  (the Drunken One), who died in the local wash. From there, it was simply a case of following FR44 back to El Rito, via the Valle Grande Peak. A very nice little loop. The first hike a bike might possibly be avoided by staying on the more established dirt road, instead of following the creek floor, which are may suggested was a 4WD trail.

In a month’s time, options will abound in the forest, perhaps even at higher elevations…

Eats:

El Farolito, in El Rito, is the place for traditional, cheap Mexican cuisine – if you’re lucky enough to pass by when it’s open. Otherwise, El Parasol in Española does a mean chicken and guacamole taco. If you’re linking the area with Abiquiu has a gas station with great tamales.

Don’t skimp on the green chilli, a New Mexican favourite.

Founded in 1885, its name – noisy, in Spanish – harks back to a former life, to days when the quiet river it flanks was known as roaring rio ruidoso. Indeed, the whole area is steeped in history from the pages of the Old West, notably through its association with Sheriff Pat Garett and the notorious frontier outlaw Billy the Kid – the old courthouse in neighbouring Lincoln is even said to be pocked with gunshots from his escape. Nearby Fort Stanton, now developed into the area’s most extensive trail network, claims an equally colourful past, with protagonists that include cavalries of Buffalo Soldiers, Kit Carsen (trapper, scout, soldier and a dime novel favourite of the era), as well as the Mascalero Apaches, whose ancestral home this region is.

Surrounding Ruidoso lies the subdued yet beautiful Lincoln National Forest, erupting from the brittle dry plains of the Chihuahua Desert, and the setting for pine, fir, aspen, oak and grassland meadows – as well as an equally diverse network of dirt roads and trails. Lying some three hours drive south from Santa Fe (two from ABQ, NM and El Paso, TX), the climate is a notch warmer than northern New Mexico, making it the perfect spot for a late winter/spring break bikepacking escape… Coupled with its blend of natural beauty and historical intrigue, it’s an area with fantastic potential.

The Lincoln National Forest, southern New Mexico – packed with a plethora of mellow dirt roads, like this one.

… and this…

And this one, framed by rugged peaks of the Capitan Wilderness.

Tim, bikepacking aficionado, and my companion on this trip.

Tim is a voracious collector of biking and hiking gear – which I frequently borrow… Making the most of New Mexico’s unblemished skies, on this occasion I tried out a Goal Zero solar panel. Full review coming soon.

His new Revelate Sweet Roll.

Winding our way through a corridor of ponderosas.

Dwarfed again by the Capitan Mountains, a smaller range within the Lincoln National Forest, running to the North East of the more prominent Sacramento Mountains.

Towards Fort Stanton the wind gathered strength and a dust cloud filled the sky, so we sought refuge in a small but intruiguing museum that chronicles the area’s rich tapestry of history.

The photo to the right  records the meeting of Mascalero Apaches and Indian Agent AJ Curtis, in 1872. In the early 1860s, the Mascelero people were forcibly removed from their home in the Sacramento Mountains, and ‘encouraged’ to take up farming in the Bosque Redondo. In 1865, they fled and lived without homes for the next 5 years, until they were granted a reservation in their ancestral home in 1873, where they live today.

Chilling out at Fort Stanton, 158 years before us… Two non-commissioned officers of the 3rd Infantry, in 1855.

Finally the wind abated, so we ventured out of the museum and took to the road once more.

Gotta love that New Mexican sun. The solar panel worked a treat. I left it fixed to the daisy chain of my Porcelain Rocket front pouch throughout the day, amply providing a full charge for my iPhone at night.

Looking out towards the Sierra Blanca Peak, and the Apache Ski Resort – the modern day legacy of the Mascelero people.

A last finger of light. Time to seek out the evening’s accommodation.

With sunset, came a drop in temperature.

Our chosen spot proved to a good one, shielded from the wind by a giant juniper tree, conveniently nibbled into shape by a herd of cows.

Sleeping out under the stars is one of the highlights of living in New Mexico.

It was a cold night though. Water was frozen solid, so we waited for it to defrost.

Another item on my shopping list – Tim’s ultralight Thermarest NeoAir, weighing a scant 12oz, or 350g.

Bodies thawed out once more, we made our way to a junction where we’d arranged to meet Cody, a fellow bikepacking enthusiast who ran the bike shop in Ruidoso.

Stricking north towards the West Mountain and the Capitan Gap.

The one-street settlement of Capitan is home to Smokey Bear, the mascot of the National Forest, named after a black bear cub that was rescued from a fire in the Capitan Gap.

From there, the three of us set off together, with a last night’s camping to enjoy before completing the loop to Ruidoso the next day.

A climb rewarded us with wiews towards the lava flows of this volcanic region.

The arid plains of the Chihuahuan desert surround the Lincoln National Forest.

That evening, we pitched camp halfway up Nogal Canyon, setting up our tarps in preparation of the cold night ahead.

This was the first chance I’d had to try out my new WTB Weirwolfs. Despite coming up considerably narrower than their 2.5in claimed width, they proved perfect for the conditions – and bikepacking in general.

Tim’s minimal and feathery cuben-fiber tarp, made by Bearpaw Wilderness Designs.

A fire kept us warm…

… its embers providing the evening’s entertainment, before we retreated to our respective cocoons.

Come morning, Tim’s secret breakfast ingredient to hurdle the switchbacks ahead: chunks of coconut oil mixed into porridge oats.

Then we resumed the climb. Towards the top, we slipped and slid our way through snowy patches, looking out to views of the ski fields on the Sierra Blanca peak.

Cody, aboard his Giant Anthem, garbed in full Revelate gear.

Later that morning, the ride back to Ruidoso provided a glimpse of the fire that engulfed the White Mountain Wilderness in 2012, destroying some 224 homes.

Then we were back in town, tucking into complimentary chicharrón – pork scratchings – at the aptly named Porkie’s, perhaps the BEST hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant I have visited to in the US!

A carne asada, onion, tomato, pepper and avocado burrito filled even this famished cyclist…

Thus ended one of my favourite bikepacks in New Mexico so far… For sure, I will be back for more.

Route: We based ourselves in Ruidoso (6900ft) and enjoyed two full days of riding, bookended with a couple of hours on either side. Total distance was around 125 miles. Thin and long Ruidoso, strung out over several miles, has all the amenities.

Cody Thurston at the Bike Shop proved to be a mine of information (thanks!), suggesting our route, and even joining us to camp out on the last night. Cody plans to develop a multi day loop and post a gpx route for fellow bikepackers. There’s certainly scope for several days of riding.

We rode out of Ruidoso on 70, turning off onto FR 443 and 558, crossing the highway at Glencoe to ride up Diablo Canyon (E7). Briefly skirting round some of Fort Stanton’s singletrack network, we then detoured into Fort Stanton itself to avoid the galeforce winds gusting that day, before crossing over onto FR338A, C1, and taking FR142 back to pavement at Capitan. Then, we cut back towards Nogal (FR105), turning off to climb Nogal Canyon (FR400), and returning to Ruidoso via Alto on the 48.

With more time, we’d have loved to have made it further north to the settlement of White Oaks, home to the characterful No Scum Allowed Saloon, as well as exploring the northern side of the Capitan Wilderness. The towns of Carrizoso and Lincoln would doubtlessly be cool places to visit too. That’s ok though. It’s always good to have a reason to return…

Recommended:

The museum in Fort Stanton shows a short video on the area’s history, which really helped infuse a sense of context to our journey.

Singletrack:

On this occasion, we were keeping to dirt roads rather searching out singletrack. Recommended trails within a mile of the bike shop include the Grindstone Lake and Cedar Creek trails. The Fort Stanton area has also been developed, and would make a great pit stop on a bikepacking route. The best trails at the fort are considered to be the ’12 Hours in the Wild West Loop’: Kit Carson, Capitan Overlook, Buffalo Solider and Outlaw trails.

Bike Shops: There’s one in town which is called, as it happens, the Bike Shop. It’s a great resource for local information/trails/bikpacking gear.

Cody Thurston, my Ogre, and the Bike Shop, Ruidoso.

Cody is a fan of all things touring.

Maps and Navigation: We used the free black and white Forest Service map, the Lincoln National Forest map, and Gaia’s topo mapping, on my iPhone 5, which doubled up as our GPS. 

Food and Water: Plenty of water along the way, including at various water tanks, Fort Stanton museum (and at the Horse Trails Parking Lot, on 220), and Capitan. Food in Ruidoso (whatever you do, don’t miss Porky’s Mexican Restaurant!) and Capitan (burritos at the gas station). Had we made it to White Oaks, we’d have frequented the No Scum Allowed Saloon too. Bear in mind we were riding early in the year – at the beginning of February – so temperatures were cool.

Gear: I rode my Surly Ogre, with a Porcelain Rocket and Carradice saddlebag combination, while Tim used his Revelate packs on his Raleigh XXIX. I was perfectly happy riding a rigid fork, though some of the jeep tracks are relatively rough. Gear highlights included our Goal Zero solar panels, which worked a treat and kept smartphones fully charged. Tarps were useful given the strong winds and sub zero night time temperatures. Later in the year, sleeping under the stars would be bliss.

Camera: Canon 5dMk2, with Canon 17-40mm f/4 and 70-200 f/4 lenses. More photos can be seen on my Flickr page.