On fat

I've finally got the Pugsley dialed into a setup that works magically for me. I've set it up as the work horse explorer. Aside from the obvious rackage, the bomb change was the swap to the Space Bars. Buddy Alex introduced me to these bars years ago. I borrowed one of his weirdo Rohloff mountain bikes that had these bars and was sold. I'm not crazy for these bars as actual mountain biking bars, but for all other urban/trail/do-it-all setups, I love them.

Speaking of mountain bikes, I've tried that kind of riding on the Pugsley and I just cannot make the tight corners at speed on this bike. I think it's just got too steep a front end for that kind of railing and rolling. But as an all-day work-horse unimog, the Pugs is excellent.

The Pugs has been a slow burn for me. Initially, my thinking about the bike's utility was limited to snow and sand riding. Right away, though, Glen and I discovered how much fun these bikes were on trail riding -- while we couldn't rail as accurately on fast turns, the monster traction and volume of the tires often made up for shitty line picks and the subsequent corrections. At about the time we started riding fat, a bunch of XC-style fat bike  started emerging: slack angles and shocks (!).  Buddy Pat has switched completely to fat for all of his dirt riding. I've got a Soma Sandworm frame stowed away in Glen's garage. It's taking me some time to collect parts for it. Fat components, especially wheels and forks, are still fairly limited in selection and as a result pretty costly.

Relatedly, the standardization (such as it is in the bike industry) across the various fat segments is still being sorted out. It seems to me that a lot of the standardization is driven primarily by QBP via the Surly and Salsa teams. These are the folks that ought to be credited with taking the big, expensive initial risks in mass-productization (is that word?) of fat components. From where I sit, these are some smart folks in both engineering and understanding the market. They seem to be informed largely by a more utilitarian design culture than your average race-first bike company, which is only a good thing. But -- since many standards are still competing -- for example, I can think of at least 4 different rear OLD standards and I'm not a fat bike nerd --- prices are high. If you're reading this and you are interested in buying or building a fat bike, then here's some advice: buy complete.

Anyway, after slugging through a number of shitty snow rides, I discovered that the snow riding thing is not that interesting to me as a primary Puglsey scenario. I should qualify that a bit: if you're talking riding groomed trails in the mountains, I'm interested in that. But if your talking: "hey -- it's like 36 F and the snow is deep, wet, and sort of melting, let's grab our fat bikes and go for a ride." F that s. That's just not fun.

The thing the lit the Pugs up for me was riding it at our place on Kettle River. I ride through the meadows along the edge of the river, over fallen trees, along the rocky shore, through the sand. Since much of the Recreation Area by our property is closed to motor vehicles, the Pugs enables me to expand my fishing reach into otherwise hard-to-access spots.

This sort of exploratory riding requires rackage. For the last couple years, I've gotten along with a shitty alloy rear rack that rattled and didn't set the bucket panniers back far enough. I've been watching for a good cromo rear fat rack for a couple years. They're few and far between and for various reasons those that exist don't work for me. When I discovered that Tubus finally made a Fat rack, I knew that was the one. And it is. I love Tubus racks: steel, smart, simple, and can take loads of abuse.

For front racks, a Tubus Duo will work, but I've wanted a proper porteur style rack for years. Surly just released their 24-pack front rack that is cromo and works good enough. I don't like how it attaches, but I understand that if you are going to produce a zillion racks you need to make them fit a bunch of bikes to sell them, so I get it. At some point, I'm going to hook up with Pat and braze some fixed mounting stays to the otherwise perfect platform. But for now, this is working.

I just bought Glen's small Pugsley for Maddie and Liza to share. With a short stem, and a women's saddle this is a great bike for them. Before summer comes, I'll get another Tubus rear rack for it and put the Duo on the front. We'll be doing some overnighters and interesting exploring.

Racking Rocinante

If you've perused this blog much you'll know that my family has a river place up north on the Kettle River. You might also see pics of our trusty old Toyota truck, Rocinante. This truck belonged to Liza's dad. He named it. He gave it Liza a few years ago before he died. It's really a perfect truck for us in the context of the river place. I load it up with all sorts of crap for projects up there. And while there, it's the main hauler for people and supplies on the back roads of Ferry County, where you're expected to load up the bed of your truck with people, coolers, and inner tubes for floating the river.

Since it was made back in 1983 when compact trucks were truly compact, it fills up quickly when I put a couple bikes in the bed. I've been bugging Glen for at least a year--in the subtle way that I do-- to help me get some racks going for it. Since he started the stock NFE project though, he's just slammed all the time trying to keep up with demand. That's great and I'm a part of machine that is generating orders for him and watching the schedule and trying to keep customers informed of progress -- so as a result, I've backed off in the last few month with my nagging about racking Rocinante.

Before racking: two fatties pretty much filled 'im up.

A couple weeks ago I had big pile of crap to bring up to the river. I wanted to bring *my* NFE for obvious reasons, but with all the crap, it was a pain to wedge in the bed of the truck. Necessity is indeed the mother of invention... and as a result, my jammed up truck resulted in what I like to think was a pretty innovated solution for hauling the bike. To wit:

For some reason this horrified Glen. Perhaps it was the zipties holding that grate to my lumber rack. Perhaps it was the thought of the grate grating on the NFE paint that got under his skin. Maybe it's a class thing: he didn't want his NFE associated with a dumpy-ass, Joad-looking pile of crap. Who knows. If you know Glen, you know he's not the most verbose dude in the world. All I know is that after posting that pic to Instagram, he sent me an email with a picture of a bed-mounted, side-load bike hauling solution that made me WANT. He told me to bring my trays over on the next Saturday and he could probably knock out that solution in about an hour. Had I know that just hacking my own solution would've motivated him into action, I would've done this a year ago. Handy bit of intel for the future, that.

Sensing the zeitgeist, I pushed it as I often do: "Hey, while you have your welding shit out in the driveway, how about you hook me up with a front hitch mount. There's a plate with holes in it down there and really, how hard could that be?"

He crawled around under the truck for a while, gave me a shopping list of two metal objects, one of which, of course, I screwed up. And told me to be there Saturday. He's always got home and yard stuff going on, so I told him I'd try my labor for his: I'd do his Saturday work of pulling out a little retaining wall as he racked the truck. Until the stock NFE project came along, he would normally  work through his honey-do list on evenings and weekends. But now he's working early and late every day. So weekends are really his only time to block off and get other projects done. So it's win-win.

His time estimate on the side racks was on the money: it took him about an hour. It's simple, elegant, and pure Glen excellentism.

The front hitch part, which he reminded me that he hadn't "estimated the time for this tomfoolery," (that's a direct quote, "tomfoolery") -- took about 4 hours. In that time I moved approximately 2 tons of rock, debris, earth, and trash (that's a direct Truth).

Sidenote: The supplies part that I screwed up was that I got the wrong receiver hitch. So it turns out that there's a 2" receiver and a 1 1/4" receiver. Everyone knows that. I knew that. What I didn't know is that there's a sleeve for the that fits in the 2" receiver that looks damn like a 1 1/4" receiver. They might as well be identical. Anyway -- looked good to me, but Glen wouldn't have it. No hacks for Glen when you're hauling bikes in front of the car. So it looked like he'd get mostly done with the project but not be able to put the actual receiver on. This was about 2 hours in. Getting this time with Glen and his welder out in his driveway was such an opportunity.... and it would be difficult to reconstruct as we're trying to get these NFEs out the door.  I was bumming but trying not to show it, when buddy Pat showed up to watch the progress.

The muddy ass on the left belongs to Pat. That's the most recent picture I have of him. It's from our recent Orcas ride.

Pat is an engineer in the outside world, but in real life he is a super nerdy problem solver ex-grease monkey (build, modified, and raced stock cars: fucker's legit) dude that loves building cool bike shit and being involved with building cool bike shit. He knew of this event and wanted to check in on progress. AND, like Glen, Pat's a solid. So he shows up. He and Glen barely exchange more than a few grunts and nods and Pat gets it -- understands the fix Glen is making. Totally sees the stupid wrong receiver that I bought and he's out of there. He shows up a 1/2 hour later with the right hunk of metal and a receipt for $25 for me. At this point I had moved approximately 1.5 tons of rock. It was hot. I was dehydrated. But I swear I nearly cried with joy when he showed up with what was of course the correct receiver and I realized that my project would complete.

It goes without saying that my "simple front hitch solution" was neither simple nor a solution. Click for big. One hunk of metal that I did get right is a 1/2" plate of steel. That's the money piece there wedged in between the receiver and the truck.

That's Glen's Pugs. Liza borrows it when we head to the river.

The rack is the best value hanger rack of all time: a Sun Lite. It's burly and super easy to hack/modify. Glen shortened it a tad to increase visibility.

In the end, I'm thrilled. Glen has asked for a picture with the truck loaded up with at least 8 bikes. That will come, but I want to happen naturally. Watch this space for that someday in the future.

Your standard bike pile at the river.
 There are 7 bikes here. Five of them came up with us on this particular hang: 3 in the truck, 2 on the car. This year: all on the truck.

A flurry of snow

Glen at Riverside State Park

Yesterday it snowed all day: excellent light powdery snow. Glen, Joe, and I took a spin around RSP. My plan was to wake up early this morning and do some x-country skiing around Manito. But after gearing up and opening the door, it's clear the snow is now on the way out. It's like 40 degrees out there. The snow is mushy and wet and shitty. Shoulda taken the ski option last night.

Instead, I'll post some pics. There has been much Pugsley'ing over the last week or so.

Maddie was at Schweitzer with her cousin for a week of snowboarding. Liza and I went up and hung for a couple days. I brought the Pugs to try out the Nordic trails there. It was not rad. I think mainly this is because I rode the trail after a bunch of snow dumped on it and before it had been groomed. The views and scenery were beautiful, but I'm wishing I would've just skied.

Liza: bringing a gun to a gun fight.

I also broke a chain while out in the wild. It was a brand new SRAM chain. As I had in the past, I was carrying the trusty CT-5 chain tool. Which, again, saved my bacon and provided an opportunity to wallow in smugness... all for about $12. What a value!

The best part of the Schweitzer trip was riding down the 9-mile descent from the resort to the valley. I left at about 9 in the morning, so there was essentially no traffic going down the hill. There were approximately 1 million cars going up the mountain at that time though. There were patches of snow and gravel and ice and all sorts of funnery on the road down.

The road has a handful of serious switchbacks. I'd like to report that I railed into those turns at speed, but with the stream of traffic in the opposing lane, I figured it wouldn't be a good thing if I missed the line or drifted through the turn into (or under) a luxury SUV. So I played it cool.

And then there was yesterday's happy fun snow time with Glen and Joe. This was great because it was driving snow. Generally, I like the Pugs for dirt time more than snow time. But the conditions yesterday -- about 4-6 inches of freshly fallen snow -- were pretty much perfect for low-pressure, fat cruising.

Pugsley'ing Saltese

Glen, Pat, and I took a lap around the Saltese Conservation area this morning. I rode out there for the first and only time about a year ago. At that time, we didn't do the full lap. It's not a huge lap. Map is here. I'm guessing it's about a 6 mile loop? It was a 45 minute ride: you ride generally up most of the time, then you descend back to the trailhead. That's my kind of ride.

But the ascent was a beautiful thing. I'm thinking the total elevation gain is only 400 feet or so, but the trail is so moderate and perfect. We're all wintery and out of shape, and the climb is perfect for that. And if a guy was in good shape, the hill would be a great climb on a CX bike: standing and slowly grinding the pedals for a nice clip up the hill.

I sort of had a religious experience climbing up that hill this morning. For one: xmas holiday this year has been a bit rough for a number or small reasons. Overall: life is good for sure. And climbing up a hill like that in the dense fog with a couple of my best friends really forces right and good thoughts into my head. And the fog was so great. Visibility was about 75 feet. So climbing up the twisty turny single track, I'd glance to the right and see a cyclist in a spot that didn't make any sense as far as I could figure. This happened a bunch. And of course it was Pat or Glen. But it was sort of trippy and surreal and happy time for me.

Jamming down the hill was fun too. Glen and I are pondering the handling characteristics of the Pugsleys. Our consensus is that the tires make for great XC-style descending, but the front-ends of the bikes fight against predictable and normal handling behavior.

Pat is on his new Bucksaw and pretty damn happy with that. I rode it for a hundred yards or so and found it to be frigging sweet. Pat remarked about how the Bucksaw just stays glued to the ground. I'd have to concur.

I think a guy could make the Pugsley into a good-enough XC mountain bike by putting a suspension-corrected fork on it. This solution is not my invention. According to Pat: lots of guys have done this. Putting a big honking tall fork on there would pivot the bike on the rear axel and slacken out the steepish HT/ST angles (70.5 degrees and 72 degrees, respectively), into something that should rock the descents much more effectively.

In fact, about 4 years ago local fat bike guru, Mr. Nelson, let me borrow his Pugs. Interestingly, he had a suspension fork on his bike. I want to find that fork. And I want it on my Pugs. And I really need to bite the bullet and put some hydro brakes on that sucka.

Spreading the fat around

Glen let me borrow his Pugsley for a weekend. It fits Liza well and she liked it. She's not ready to go off and buy one anytime soon, but I'd like to think that the potential is there.

Digging the Pugs

I've not posted much on the Pugsely since Glen got it for me. Of course, I don't post much about anything anymore...

The Pugs is a great bike. The virtual ink that is spilled about the Pugs, and fatbikes in general, tends to be of the extreme (ya know, epic) types: guys rolling across deserts or through the snow of Alaska's winter or along the remote shores of some far away place. That's sweet stuff for sure. And there's a part of me that would love to do some long weird journey on that bike.

But I've really enjoyed letting the Pugsley sort of wiggle its way into my non-epic lifestyle. Last winter there were a bunch of snowy days where I loved rolling down the hill 3 miles to my bus stop. At 6 AM on a quiet morning with fresh layer of snow, the Pugs was the perfect fun way to start the work day. Not surprisingly, the Pugsley makes a great snow commuter.

Glen and I took a few rides in the dirt out at Riverside, where the monster knobby contact patch of the Nates allowed me to rail into fast corners in a way I've not done on any bike. The familiar trails I've ridden a bunch of times on cross bikes and mountain bikes were transformed into a whole new experience on the Pugsley.

And this summer, I've been bringing the Pugsley up to the river. As expected, it's been a perfect roller for cruising down the dirt road to the beaches beyond our spot. But the last few weeks I've been putting the Pugsley to work and it's probably the most satisfying of all the experiences I've had on the bike.

The fishing has been rough for the last few weeks. My normal spots are skunking me out. I have a couple bucket panniers on the Puglsey that I load up with fishing stuff, beer, food, and other crap. Until recently, I just treated the Pugsley like a car: taking the roads to my favorite holes.

But a couple days ago, after getting skunked, I was ready to saddle up and ride back. I was frustrated. I wanted to go further around the bend on the river, away from the road. I've walked through there before but it's a long walk on round boulder-y rocks, and walking sucks and takes forever. Then duh... it hit me -- the Pugsley was made for that shit. I took a bunch of air out of the tires and started pedaling up the river. And it was glorious.

I rode through sand, mud, rocks, and through shallow sections of the river. I rode up over the edges overlooking the river -- these were curvy sections of the river far away from the road. I still got skunked the whole way. But it opened up a huge set of possibilities.

There are a bunch of places on the river that I've fished before by floating/hiking, and that's fun, but it's a commitment because I end up miles from home and with a long walk back or reliant on coordinating a ride back. But with the Pugsely, I can keep all my crap on the bike and just ride it out. It's silly how long this took me to realize this.

Some folks call it a Sling Blade, I call it a Kaiser Blade.

The other thing I've been doing is using the Pugsley to cart my trail-blazing equipment. It's the same deal: I've got to cross a lot of forests with tall bushes and grass, lumpy forest floor, and a bunch of small deadfall. On the Pugs, it's fun and easy. I've got one trail about 3/4 finished and another in the hopper. I'm motivated.

The Pugsley makes a great workhorse.

Reframing

After the crazy sun and warm weather yesterday, I figured RSP would be mostly ridable. My expectation was that we'd get into the trails and be able to haul ass and rail into the dirt as we did on our first fat-bike outing at RSP a few weeks ago.

I was thinking a few northerly-facing sections might be covered with ice and snow, there would be a lot of soft spots, but mostly riding would be clear.

And that was pretty accurate -- if you're only measuring broadly: anywhere there wasn't a trail my thinking held up. Unfortunately, the trails have been ridden and trodden upon verily over the last few weeks, so the they were sheer ice almost exclusively.

We arrive at about 7:20 AM this morning. We were bumming as we pulled into the 7-mile trailhead and saw all the iced-over trails. Glen hopped on his bike, rolled over a section of trail, and the bike just instantly slid out from under him.

The picture above shows a pretty standard trail. I think we were both sort of silently pondering a bail-out plan, but we ended up tooling around a bit.

After a while though, we found it pretty fun to avoid the trails. In fact, there were sections where the trail sort of provided a general direction. With fat bikes and low pressure, just cutting through the forest was pretty easy. And fun. Especially descending through sections of non-trailed forests. We cut down a couple of steep long hills, rolling and hopping over deadfall and avoiding branches and trees as we picked up speed.

We ended up riding for over 2 hours. It was great.

I'm thinking it's probably not great form to go cutting through the forest off the trails. That approach doesn't scale well. And riding the edge of the existing trails is not something that scales well either. Over time, with many riders doing these things both approaches would pretty much trash bits of the forest and overly widen the trails I suppose.

But I realized a couple things here: firstly, I was reminded as I often am when I set my expectations for bike trips, that they don't often turn out as you think they will. The key to enjoying shattered expectations is to reframe and figure out how to make them fun.

Liza likes to tell me of time in highschool when she was hanging out with a mutual friend of ours at a restaurant. A song came on that she thought was cheesy and she mentioned this to our buddy.

He agreed it was a cheesy song.

"But," he said, "Try this. Imagine this is your most favorite song of all time. It's the song that changed your life because you love it so much..."

When you listen to a cheesy song or end up on a shitty ride, this is a great place to approach the shittiness from. It's true: try it with a lame song. If you really reframe, you can love any crap song or shit ride.

Rolling up and seeing this sheet of ice everywhere can make you turn around, or make you get creative about different ways of having fun on your bike.

The second thing I realized was that I really want to figure out a cool camping trip for the Pugsley. Low pressure, fast spinning, slow rolling over logs, mud, snow, ice, etc is really working for me right now. I'd really enjoy a few days of that kind of riding capped by camping under the stars with some TenFidy.

Good snow... finally