bikepacking .com

[Sajama]

Now this websites reviews are mostly of the made in the USA variety.
Last time I looked it was mini panniers,guess what no Ortlieb or other European makes.
Not wanting to upset Tailfin fans but why buy overpriced gear and when it's endorsed by the elite cyclists I ask myself if it's so good you don't need bombarded by all the reviews.
Why don't we support stuff this side of the pond and promote the good stuff.
Am not that impressed by the Old Man Mountain Elkhorn racks, no triangulation and it's an IKEA build with nuts and bolts, if Ortlieb /Tubus do a new gravel /bikepacking rack I am in.

[Lazarus]

They do a removable one that is hundreds of pounds cheaper than tailfin..amazed folk will pay £100 for a powdered coated bent arch shaped piece of metal or x 3 if its carbon ( as if thats dearer to make).


US based site is biased to US where as we all love exposure lights ...same bias.

[faustus]

Yeah there's a US bias, but there's a decent level of UK stuff as I think a decent proportion of their site traffic is from the UK. They have a fair few UK routes, they have a thing for UK steel bikes from Cotic, Stooge and Pipedream, and i've seen plenty of reviews of Ortlieb, as they really rate them. Pretty sure they did one on the quick rack (https://bikepacking.com/gear/ortlieb-quick-rack-review/). It does depend if you look in individual reviews or the collections they have. It's worth using the search as sometimes the 'catalogue' review pages have set parameters that might exclude similar stuff they have reviewed. Bags tend to have a US bias as its supporting cottage industry in the US, but they do have some UK stuff too like Straight Cut and Wizard Works, and Carradice.

Also worth noting that one of the editors is Cass Gilbert, who is from the UK and seems to champion UK stuff on the site - not least a BB200 inspired route published there: https://bikepacking.com/routes/bear-bon ... mid-wales/

[voodoo_simon]

Ortlieb were one of the original supporters think of the site and it’s the first one on their supporters links too

They also seem to love Stooge bikes at the moment and I’ve always been impressed with the UK/GB coverage they offer too

Yes, they also support a lot of USA based cottage industries and fair play on that

[Tractionman]

as a wider point I regularly drop in on bikepacking.com and enjoy reading about the routes and the features, it's amazing it is still ad free for non-subscribers, I have looked at paying a sub for the 'journal' but with the exchange rate and air-mail it's a tad pricey for me, anyone on here subscribe?

cheers,

Keith

[Bearlegged]

I don't subscribe, but do have a copy of the journal (unopened). Happy to send it to you for the cost of postage plus a beer.

[mikehowarth]

It definitely has a US bias - most of the main editors and contributors are based in the US and a large part of their sponsorship funding is from US brands.

I think Cass and Lucas do a good job of balancing out UK and European slant where possible, but the logistics of shipping gear for testing has its challenges.

It's a fantastic resource, and editorially it sets a high bar for any route submissions or gear reviews.

[fatbikephil]

I've been subscribed for a few years now. The first few journals were a good read, but I eventually got fed up of the same story written for a load of different tours. They all seem to be about the writer finding their inners selves and communing with the world rather than actually saying what they did, where they rode and what the trails were like. Add in the mandatory photos of locals in far flung places, which I always find slightly patronising, and I no longer find it appealing, so will probably cancel soon. The stuff on the site is a mixed bag - good reviews of stuff as they do put it through it's paces but the on line tails are just more self indulgent mindfulness twaddle. Interestingly, the odd tale that that is about the ride and the route never seems to get any comments....

The comments section is highly entertaining, however, as at least one person always comes up with some daft / stupid defamatory comment then everyone else lets rip at him back. They even put an article up encouraging Americans to vote and all hell broke loose - it's now been pulled!

[Valerio]

I'm a subscriber and I've bought a couple of extra prints of their journal.

The content on their website is generally excellent. Reviews are really good and (usually) thorough. There's some bias sometimes but nothing in comparison to reviews on many other websites.
It is obviously US biased but the UK is probably the #2 country represented on the website so I'd hardly complain.

I only have two gripes, if I really have to criticise it:
- the quality of the media accompanying the articles is incredibly high. Now, this is not a bad thing per se and it's the reason why the website is successful, but I think it really limits the number of people that can contribute and it ends up being the usual suspects (usually endorsed by brands) that get featured.
I've submitted a few articles in the past and none of them was even acknowledged. Granted, my English is crap and my photography even worse. But I think they're missing out on more routes being shared and more good stories being shared, just because the photography isn't 10/10
- like Phil, I find the stories about "getting lost to find yourself" "it's not all about pain and suffering" etc a bit....old. Almost as if the photos have taken precedence over the written content.

The journal is good and I like to support the website, but I'm afraid the membership might not survive the budget cuts going into Christmas.

[Tractionman]

I don't subscribe, but do have a copy of the journal (unopened). Happy to send it to you for the cost of postage plus a beer.

Thanks! I'll send you a pm

Thanks for the other replies and comments, I looked again last night at the sub, works out at around £52 a year, so not far off STW.

I bought a few copies of 'Dropped' (https://www.instagram.com/dropped_mag/?hl=en) but then it disappeared.

I do prefer print mags to digital.

all the best,

Keith

[jameso]

The first few journals were a good read, but I eventually got fed up of the same story written for a load of different tours. They all seem to be about the writer finding their inners selves and communing with the world rather than actually saying what they did, where they rode and what the trails were like. Add in the mandatory photos of locals in far flung places, which I always find slightly patronising, and I no longer find it appealing, so will probably cancel soon.

Though the ride reports in other places that are generally 'we went here and did this and the trails were like this' can read like a schoolkid's what-I-did-this-weekend report? I know what you mean though, what you say here ^ was similar to how I felt about Sidetracked after a while - a beautiful magazine with incredible images and some excellent writing but it felt like it trended towards a similar style. It became 'a thing' that people aspired to being featured in and it started to feel same-y despite the variety of the trips featured. I think the truth is being an adventurer or rider etc doesn't create interesting content in itself, there needs to be more to the story. Perhaps most riders aren't really looking for an experience much beyond the riding itself (fair enough, most of us aren't), and there aren't many doing things like @theironlyportrait on IG. Or, with trip ideas like the Cranes when firsts were more readily available. The reading is better when the riding is secondary, for me.

Having said that I think bikepacking.com has more than it's far share of interesting articles and trip reports, it's a great site. If the sub is similar to STW, seems fair. Also that some of the writing and test reports on the Radavist are (imo) the best I find online.

[jameso]

I bought a few copies of 'Dropped' (https://www.instagram.com/dropped_mag/?hl=en) but then it disappeared.

Hi Keith, if you have a copy of #4 and wanted to sell it on, PM? Cheers.

[Tractionman]

I bought a few copies of 'Dropped' (https://www.instagram.com/dropped_mag/?hl=en) but then it disappeared.

Hi Keith, if you have a copy of #4 and wanted to sell it on, PM? Cheers.

hi jameso, alas I think issue #4 never appeared?** I have #2 and #3, but missed out on #1 as it was sold out by the time I saw them for the sale. Pity really.

all the best,

Keith

**I think I am wrong, did #4 appear? I remember not buying it thinking I would buy two issues at a reduced rate as I had for #2 and #3

[faustus]

Agree with the comments on the Journal, I had a sub for maybe 2 years. I quite enjoyed the print magazine, but it did tend towards that similar thing and it does tend to attract the aspiration of a certain kind of trip report and photography. Which is all fine, but I get a bit bored of it sometimes. I think I get a bit jealous of the photography as it's so damn good, but I also miss a bit of the gritty, slightly crappy 'real' snapshots from bike trips, which are often a better representation of what the ride feels like sometimes, than hero gravel and golden sunshine through aspen leaves. I think I've read too much biking stuff to find generic stuff all that interesting.

The Radavist is a good read, though it does have a lot of overlapping content with bikepacking.com when it comes to gear releases and reviews.

[Bearbonesnorm]

Interesting - with regard to trip reports, I think it's true that the whole finding yourself thing is done to death and only really relevant to those on that actual trip ... capturing a moment in time with the written word, is not an easy task - no matter how special. I also tend to think that bikepacking isn't a spectator sport. Making any trip report entertaining is easier if the reader already knows the area or knows the writer.

Anyway, I'll admit to a little disappointment when my request to BP.com for something to aid the WRT prize pot was ignored, despite Cass putting a word in. I know I shouldn't have been but I was ... perhaps surprised more than disappointed.

[fatbikephil]

In contrast to my comment above, this was a good one - https://bikepacking.com/news/2024-lespe ... ona-recap/ A certain amount of introspection but a good way of capturing what looked to be a toughie with plenty of perspective and some pointed digs at the social media culture.

The photography thing does both impress and frustrate me too. Nice pics are always worth a look but a grainy blurred pic which reflects the riders state works too. In a moment of pure self indulgence I submitted a readers ride (ahem) a few years ago - I got a response but my photography skills didn't make the grade

I did consider doing a piece on last years BB300 but ultimately I new it would be a waste of time without good photos.

[faustus]

Yeah that is a shame about the photos, because that editorial standard might prevent an otherwise worthwhile/interesting/excellent piece of writing, and conversely it might unintentionally promote average writing because of good photos..?

[whitestone]

To a large degree the photos are typically blue sky/amazing sunset sort of shots (ones from the Pacific NW tend not to be) which while actually showing what you might see if you did that route tend not to be representative of UK/Northern Europe conditions.

Two of my bugbears with the photos are:

• No captions
• The shots accompanying a ride aren't in order in the slideshow carousel.

The latter isn't a problem if you know the area but take a bit of working out (if you can) if you don't. I suspect the lack of ordering is down to how shots get uploaded - if the submitter drops twenty shots (in order) into the submission form then there's no guarantee that they arrive in the correct order so bikepacking.com's code will simply accept and order them as they arrive. The only way round this is for the author to be able to manually reorder them once they've uploaded.

The "finding myself" style of writing seems to be a particularly American trait - much of 1980s US climbing literature was the same, either that or variations of Robert Johnson's deal with the devil

[Bearbonesnorm]

Two things ...

Just like many things in life, I think bikepacking (generally, not just .com) can have a tendency to take itself too seriously - after all, it's little more than simply riding bikes and making dans.

Secondly and back to trip reports, I wonder whether some folk lose sight of the actual goal, which in my mind is telling a story - albeit a factual one. Here's an example of what I mean, I don't blame you if you CBA reading it and those who do will need to provide their own mental pictures but I hope that won't be too difficult.

The 'Toughest Push In Wales' had led to a later than anticipated arrival at Penhros Isaf. In turn, that had resulted in a later than usual departure the following morning, which meant the food provided by the cafe was more late lunch than early breakfast. By the time each of us had taken our turn to say, "we'll just have one last brew", whatever light there was, had begun to disappear.

Something was wrong, my legs wouldn't work. They hadn't been overly compliant the previous day but I'd shrugged it off and assumed day two would see them return to their usual form - I was wrong. Insignificant inclines became monstrous hills and I found myself twiddling along in 22 / 32, while trying hard to formulate convincing excuses for Mike and Scott. My only hope was that tomorrow would be better.

Although gravel had given way to tarmac, the change in surface didn't herald the arrival of civilisation. The road pushed us deeper and deeper into the mountains but in doing so took us nearer to our destination. The map indicated a bridge, a left turn, a track and if luck was with us, somewhere to spend the night out of the incessant wind and rain. The deafening roar of water indicated that we'd crossed the ancient stone bridge and in accordance with the map, we found the start of a puddled, muddy track leading off into the blackness. In less than five minutes we would find out whether my hunch had been correct. If it was, then salvation and a haven for the night beckoned but if I was wrong, well, let's just say the evening could become very unpleasant, very quickly. We pedalled on, each of us secretly wishing, hoping and maybe even praying.

A kink in the track delivered us from evil. Lights picked out the dark silhouette of a structure just off to the right - we weren't home and dry but hopefully, we were home. The final tussocks of the day deposited us safely by the front door. I turned the broken remnants of the handle, nothing. I was unwilling to believe it was locked, so tried again with a little more force - bollocks. Mike was already making his way round the side looking for a chink in the building's armour. I stood staring at the locked door. I looked down at the floor hoping to see a piece of slate lent against the wall or a stone that looked out of place, anything that might indicate the location of a key. No stones and no slate, I lifted my head and looked up. Hammered into the door frame was a rusty screw, hanging from it was an even rustier strip of metal. For no real reason, I reached up and lifted the metal from the screw and beneath the bent strip of oxidising steel was a key. I walked inside and straight over to the window Mike was trying to get through. "How did you get in there?", "magic" I replied.

Downstrairs was spacious, dry and just a little dusty and upstairs was the same. A brush was located and in full accordance with the 'leave no trace' ethos we set to. Five minutes later and you'd never have known the place had received any form of cleaning. With our bedroom now sorted, we retired back down the wooden stairs to partake in the age old bikepacking ritual of eating, brewing up and talking rubbish. It was a friendly building, it almost felt lonely. Perched high out in the mountains waiting for the warmth and noise of human company, a reminder of its previous life. As we sat, sprawled out along the battered wooden benches, the building slowly drew the heat out of us. At first it was just feet but the old stone and slates were hungry and within a couple of hours we were all starting to experience the tell tale shivers that indicate bed-time. We ascended the stairs once again and reacquainted ourselves with sleeping bags.

I wanted to sleep but the more I wished for a speedy journey to the land of nod, the more unlikely it became. I lay there listening to Mike and Scott as they contended for first prize in the 'Worlds Noisiest Mat' competition. Scott's Neoair sounding very much like the often mentioned crisp packet and Mike's Exped producing a more worrying sound, a sound like someone rubbing a half inflated balloon between their arse cheeks. With the collar of my jacket stuffed firmly in my ears, I rolled onto my side and stared out of the low window that faced me and thought. I thought about my legs and whether a new day would see them rejuvenated. I wondered whether the rumbling noises from my stomach meant I was hungry or full. I tried to work out how I'd not seen Mike blow up a balloon while I'd been in the same room and I thought about the lights outside the window. I gave the glass an extra hard stare hoping that it might scare the approaching lights away but they just got brighter. I told myself there couldn't be lights, after all we were up a dead-end track in the middle of nowhere at midnight, why would there be lights? Unfortunately, the only answer I could muster was that, the lights and more importantly, whoever was in charge of them must be coming here.

I decided not to invoke panic until the moment I actually heard a car draw-up outside and its engine stop and its doors open, I quietly said, "there's someone here". Mike had obviously decided that a certain level of panic was called for in this instance and replied, "you're f*cking jokin'" but soon realised I wasn’t, as the beam of a torch rushed through the window and lit the entire room up. We waited for the noise of a door catch but it didn't come, we thought about all the things we'd left down stairs in plain view through the windows and regretted all the money we'd ever spent on high-viz this and reflective that. We could hear faint voices but couldn't make out any words, lights continued to flash across the building and through the windows but still no one came in. BANG! Scott had remained largely quiet until that point, "f**k me, is that a gun?" he said trying to be as quiet as you can be in such circumstances. I let out an imaginary sigh of relief, they weren't here for us, they were here for the foxes. Minutes turned to treacle and passed like hours but eventually the car was started once more and the lights faded. Okay, now close your eyes and go to sleep, I told myself but out on the hillside a second shot kept my eyes wide open. For an hour, I watched the lamps light up the sky in the distance. The noise of an engine was never out of ear shot but sadly it wasn't loud enough to drown out the sound of rustling crisp packet and someone rubbing a half inflated balloon between their arse cheeks.



Water dropped like a cold wet curtain from the overwhelmed gutter above. On the other side, our adversary snarled and cut the air with icy claws. We'd fought for two days but in truth, we’d known from the outset that it would be a battle we could never hope to win. Knowing defeat is inevitable should never stop you fighting but had we fully anticipated the ferocity of the onslaught that befell us, we may have changed tack . Now, here we were, backs to the wall, trapped. The doorway of a rural Welsh community centre was going to be our Alamo.

I pushed at the heel of my left shoe with the toes of my right until it released its grip on my foot and fell onto the floor. Squatting down beside it, I lifted it up and ceremoniously poured the water from inside. My sock followed and another half pint of liquid sunshine splashed on to the concrete flags as I rung it out. Perhaps I should empty the other one and do a brew?, I thought. As I pondered, a car drew into the car park opposite us. “Bollocks, looks like were going after all" said Mike, nodding towards Burty’s arrival. None of us were new to this. All three of us had seen active service and been on the receiving end of live fire many times. Wet, cold, tired and hungry we could do but this really was something else and deep down none of us wanted to go over the top and rush headlong into another bombardment. Sadly, the arrival of Burty made a tactical retreat far less likely.

"Yer wearing bin bags" said Burty, "and you've only got one shoe on and where's your sock?". I mumbled a reply as the four of us unconsciously lined up, forming a rag tag, thin red line staring out at the battlefield. The realisation that our fate wasn't entirely cradled in our own hands became a stark reality when Karl and Cat arrived a few minutes later. "Okay, so where we going then?" asked a rather upbeat and enthusiastic Karl. Two days ago, thoughts of a full Berwyn traverse had fuelled my imagination, now the same thought filled me with a mixture of dread and panic. I looked at Mike, he looked at his feet, I turned to Scott who simply turned his gaze deep into his luxurious beard. Burty shuffled round, carefully avoiding Karl’s question and pretended to admire the 80's brickwork of our fox hole. Pushing the barrel of the pistol tight against my temple, I sighed my last breath and squeezed the trigger, "Over the Ber" but before I could finish the sentence and the wet shallow grave I was digging, Cat the cavalry came to the rescue and said, "pub's open, let's go there. We'll have a drink and a warm up while we decide what to do".

With my sock inside out, shoe back on with laces flapping and an errant black bin bag doing a good job of obscuring any remaining vision left by the rain, I cycled the 300 yards to the pub. The old oak door wore its age well, iron hinges let out a squeal of delight as the heavy door swung open and we dripped into the pub. The landlord wore his age less flatteringly, he stood behind the dark wooden bar and gave us a smile that effortlessly conveyed the message, 'don't bother trying to explain, it's quite obvious that either the circus is in town or the village has some new idiots'.

We took the warm welcome to heart and in short order transformed the seasonally decorated snug into a jumble sale. Socks were draped over the fire guard, gloves hung from the mantle and helmets lay gently steaming under the christmas tree. It somehow seems wrong ordering tea in a pub but I've never been swayed by convention, so I ordered two pots. The first one didn't touch the sides and I sat with the still hot teapot resting on my lap as I made in-roads into the second. Scott was nursing a pint of Guinness and I secretly hoped he might develop a taste for it and suggest we spend the remainder of the day and maybe even the night, tucked up in our cosy bunker. The landlord brought Cat a bowl of cheesy chips, which I'm ashamed to say that although not hungry, I looked at it longingly with a desire usually reserved for carnal rather than culinary pleasures.

The clock tick tocked by, the fire was slowly working its magic and the tea having the desired effect. Things were looking up until a voice said, "right then, who's got the maps?". All eyes fell to me, I reached behind, pushed a hand down the back of my damp shorts and like a magician producing a rabbit from a hat, pulled out two maps. After quickly looking at the covers, I pushed one back down my shorts. It showed the lands to the north, I didn't want to go north, north would prolong the suffering by an additional 24 hours. I wanted south, definitely south, south was good.

Diplomacy flowed across the table, everyone concerned that all the other members of our merry band would leave the sanctuary of the pub happy. After some considerable time and another round of drinks a decision was made, it involved travelling south, a rudimentary roof for the night and a special guest appearance from the second highest road pass in Wales. We readied ourselves for the great outdoor's while fending off questions from bemused locals. We couldn't give good answers, whatever we said sounded stupid in the face of what would inevitably befall us over the next few hours. Telling someone that you enjoy something after they've spent the previous hour listening to you moan about it, really isn’t the hallmark of sanity.

I walked purposefully through the pub, both my socks the right way out, a buff pulled up over my nose and a tattered bin liner providing a last defensive coat of shiny black armour. We had a plan, one that would take us nearer to our final destination and provide more substantial accommodation than a simple sheet of nylon. It wasn't grand or overly ambitious, remarkably it was sensible and straightforward and it started with the opening of the old oak door. I turned the handle and pulled, a blast of cold, water-laden air hit me in the face but I pressed on. Standing in the open yard the wind made its presence felt, it swirled in every direction, grabbing at my clothes and desperately trying to burrow its way through the layers. I lifted my loaded bike from the floor, the wind roared and tried to snatch it back from me. Propping it against an upturned table, I lifted my arms towards the sky and howled back. if we were going down, then we were going down fighting!

[jameso]

hi jameso, alas I think issue #4 never appeared?** I have #2 and #3, but missed out on #1 as it was sold out by the time I saw them for the sale. Pity really.

all the best,

Keith

**I think I am wrong, did #4 appear? I remember not buying it thinking I would buy two issues at a reduced rate as I had for #2 and #3

That's a shame, it had Jonathan K-B's TNR article in it, or was going to. He's a good trip reporter.

[riderdown]

Code: Select all

Toughest Push In Wales' 

I couldn't read beyond that as it was clearly a hyperbolic fictional account

If it had said second hardest then I would have kept going

[Hyppy]

I'm a supporter of theirs, and still have a few unopened mags to get through. I usually save 'em up and read them if I'm on holiday but don't seem to have had the chance this year.

If they didn't have the editorial stance they have, I doubt I'd subscribe or even visit: I'm a photos before words kinda reader. A picture paints a thousand words and all that! I did apply for their 'Readers Lens' bursary a few years back, but didn't get anywhere. :-/

[Johnallan]

I enjoyed Stuart's words far more than any arty photos and glamorised gear reviews

[MuddyPete]

Telling someone that you enjoy something after they've spent the previous hour listening to you moan about it, really isn’t the hallmark of sanity.

It's the mark of a bikepacker .

[Bearbonesnorm]

enjoyed Stuart's words far more than any arty photos and glamorised gear reviews

Thank you John. Hopefully your mind's eye was able to conjure up the required images.