As we embark on this volume, the 25th since Bike began as a more impassioned answer to the tech-heavy magazines of the 1990s, you'll notice a different look and feel as you turn the pages of the April issue, which is already showing up in mailboxes and will hit newsstands on Friday. A modernized logo, designed by Bike's inimitable art director, Andre Aganza, anchors the cover, and finally incorporates a mountain, an icon that has oddly always been missing from the Bike logo.

And inside, you'll find less, but more. The stalwarts, like "Buzz," "Grimy Handshake" and "Butcher Paper" remain, but we've slimmed down the number of different departments in order to focus on quality—prioritizing presentation and substance over fitting in a prescribed number of sections.

The gear pages also aim to go more in-depth, digging into the product development stories that happen well before a shiny new bike hits the market and dissecting trends instead of simply reporting on them. For instance, in the April issue, Bike's managing editor Will Ritchie reviews the unconventional Zerode Taniwha, and he also digs into the technology at play within the Pinion gearbox on which the Taniwha operates.

Photo by Bruno Long.

Why the changes? Because in this day of non-stop news, shrinking attention spans and society's constant attachment to screens and addiction to mindless scrolling, we hope our loyal subscribers and the others who choose to pick up Bike want to slow down, want to spend more time freed from the relentless tug of technology and want to take the time to digest an image or a story before rushing to consume the next tidbit of information, and strive to be the kinds of people who value a connection with trails and open spaces more than a connection to the internet.

In the April issue, you'll find stories written by such people—those who crave the uncertainty of venturing into ultra-remote places where the path is unpredictable and where a phone app is of no use in navigation or trail beta. Take Ben Haggar, who embraced loneliness to embark on a solo mission across the vast, empty Greenland tundra, armed with meager rations, Google Earth files and a desire to push beyond his comfort zone.

And in "No Quarter," editor-at-large Brice Minnigh recounts his crew's harrowing traverse of the remote ridgelines that define British Columbia's Purcell Mountains in pursuit of first-descent freeride lines. In addition to Minnigh's words in the April issue, a digital feature and film from "No Quarter" drops Friday here on, as part of our continuous endeavor to present print-quality content across all of our platforms.

Even as our presentation evolves, the tenets upon which Bike were founded two-and-a-half decades ago will never change: It will always be about the ride, and most importantly, about the readers. Thank you for 25 years.