About the Ride

The temperature drops five degrees as I swing off of the surface road and onto the bike path that sweeps under the freeway. It runs along a creek, and at dusk it holds the first patches of cool night air. The bike is quiet under me. It’s overkill on the smooth gravel–there’s no need for its wide, knobby tires, sophisticated suspension, and electronic shifting here. Further up the path I’ll pass a family, kids on run bikes, nothing but two wheels and handlebars. That’s all it takes to enjoy this “trail.”

But I’m on a review bike, ostensibly “reviewing” it. When I unboxed it and built it, that was abundantly clear. I had to do the mental tabulation: Why is the saddle different from stock? Are these bars full width or cut? Who trimmed the steerer tube at this length, and why did they hate tall people? Is there a clearance issue at bottom out? Why else would there be so much paint missing from the back of the seat tube? The electronic shifter is set up the opposite of my preference — make a note to figure out how to hook it up to the cloud and change what the buttons do. Measure weights, start a new note on my phone to drop impressions into after each ride.

I’ve spent much of my adult life shaping a career around articulating my opinions and impressions of pieces of recreational equipment. So even when I’m not reviewing something, I’m reviewing it. I can’t help it.

But tonight the frogs are singing along the creek, and at a couple of junctures I ride through clouds of gnats that are hovering near moisture. Tonight I rode the review bike downtown, sweated and grunted my way through a free yoga class, then rode dirt jumps as the sun dipped low.

Pump off the lip, loft, swing forward, land, coast, pump, loft. For some reason I’m thinking about the first bike I ever got air on, a chrome BMX with acid green decals that I’d ride around in circles on a concrete basketball court, trying to lift the back wheel at the same time as the front. Pump off the lip, front end comes up, bend the bars into a shape, try to impress the fraternity of old guys with beat up shins and receding hairlines at the jumps tonight.

Reviewing bikes is complicated. There are so many variables to control, so many choices that require due diligence. Make sure you’re consistent with your suspension setup, your tire pressures, your cockpit fiddlings. Go for a ride, tweak some things, go for another ride, try to isolate what was affected by those changes and what’s just a result of the trails finally getting some rain. Is something wrong with the suspension, or just wrong with my knees? Do it again. Write a review that will satisfy the most pedantic Cat 3 bro on the internet, without killing other riders with boredom.

I’ve seen the folks who bring a scale to bike festivals, tabulating a spreadsheet in their phones of bike weights and impressions while their families do their best to enjoy the spectacle. That’s a way to review bikes. The numbers all coalesce into the most objective description of a bicycle that we can form. But the romantic in me hopes there’s more to reviewing bikes than the numbers.

Mountain bikes are more than playthings to strap to the back of our SUVs when we head out to “recreate” over the weekend. They’re one of the most accessible and practical forms of transportation in the world. And it’s easy to lose sight of that in the mess of numbers and impressions around the latest dongles and progressive geometry trends. The innovations and trends aren’t the problem, but they give us excuses to get further from the roots of what makes bikes great.

So yes. This is a review bike. I’m reviewing it. But in addition to timed laps on control trails and time spent with a scale and calipers, I’m treating it more like that first chrome BMX, as my favorite form of transportation. Ride to the swimming hole, cool down with the rest of the neighborhood who bailed early from work on a Tuesday. Lead a group ride full of strangers, demonstrate a move on it, try to help others’ build confidence on their bikes. Wander through downtown nearly nude, participating in the World Naked Bike Ride, popping wheelies and laughing at the crowd. Ride to yoga, hit the pump track after, figure out the new jump line, tentatively try my first no-hander of the year.

I know the head tube angle, I have a good idea of the shape of the rear suspension’s progression curve. The review will touch on that spaceage drivetrain, explain the geometry and its implications. I’ll go deep, trying to suss out the details for folks considering spending a summer’s worth of savings on this bike. But for now, the creek is bouncing along beside me and it’s just dark enough that I don’t need the light clamped to the bars. I challenge myself to singlespeed it home, push one gear up and down the undulations just like I used to.

Yesterday I tried to find the bike’s limits, did my best to ride it fast on challenging trails, figured out how it did under pressure. Tomorrow I’ll sit down and write the full review, dive deep into the nerdery. But tonight I’m a boy on his first bike without training wheels again. Dusk is falling and soon I’ll hear my mom’s call to get off the street and come in for dinner. Push deep into every pedal stroke. Feel that special stretch above my knees as I concentrate on pulling back up from the dead spot. Carry speed into the transition of gravel to concrete at the start of this pedestrian bridge. Push down, load up, pump, pull back, lift, loft, reach out, trying to land as far down the bridge as possible, skid a little as I make the next corner. Tonight it’s about the ride.