Rigid is flexible: the versatility of steel, all terrain bikes

I took a train up to Santa Fe yesterday and rode uphill out of town for a few miles into a beautiful trail system called Dale Ball.  The trails transitioned in and out of varying states of smooth and flowy, gradual to steep climbing/descending with rocky and technical sections throughout.  I rode about 8 miles total (of trail) and another 7 or so of pavement.  The ride was amazingly fun, I suffered no flats, my bike performed flawlessly, and riding at my own pace made for a great outing with no stress to rush; though I did ride somewhat quickly overall.  I enjoyed the ride on my beautiful, fully rigid 1985 Kuwahara All terrain bike (yes I did just use that term).  The bike is no frills.  Cromo steel, friction shifting and utilizing "old" technology by today's standards.  I rode on 26" x 2.25" tires inflated to low pressure.  Wide handlebars and a brooks.  No nonsense, good-ol time tested stuff that has worked well for me.  I find myself returning more and more to this style of riding.  A good pavement push up toward some wonderful dirt trail is followed by a ride on yes, the same bike.  You might be thinking "One bike.. for pavement and dirt trail rides?".  The thing is that I like to keep things simple these days.  There is something about riding a diversified bike for multiple disciplines that just keeps you honest.  I don't want to make this post about gear as much as I want to make it about riding fully rigid steel bikes, the type that will get you from your door, to the trail for riding/hiking and back to the place where you started from.

One of the earliest versions of the mountain bike beautifully made by Tom Ritchey.
A fine bike capable of doing just about any kind of riding.  Load it with gear and you have a camping/touring bike.

Wanderlust

I come from a background of riding pavement and lots of it.  My first real interest in bikes began with thin tired road/fixed gear/single speed bikes and thus all my riding was on pavement.  I learned the value of pacing myself, negotiating big hills, maintaining a healthy cadence for my not so amazing knees and overall good riding etiquette.  I loved road bikes and the freedom they provided me but I wanted more exploration.  I knew of vast trail systems that existed in my front and back yard with no real way of riding them on the bikes that I was building and using up until that point. Eventually at one of my local bike hangouts I found an early 90's, fully rigid rock hopper frame/fork and built it up as a single speed with plush 2.3" tires.  I subsequently gave it the full gear treatment, rode it everywhere and loved it.  I was surprised at how amazingly well the bike did for city riding as it did on the loose stuff.  I could roll over massive cracks and breakups in the roads, hop on and off sidewalks if needed, roll over just about any imperfection in the streets and feel very comfortable doing it all.  I definitely noticed a slight gain in weight and reduction in speed with the new "mountain bike" but was having so much fun and enjoying the new freedom on the thing that it didn't much matter at the time.  The bug bit me and I started really getting into off road riding.  I started looking all over and around town for single track, fire road and new hiking trails to explore.

One of the only photos I have of my first ATB.
preparing to carefully descend the rocky La Bajada

Doing it all

 

My skills as a rider went through the roof when I started riding rigid bikes on dirt.  The bike control learned by riding off road was something that would directly translate to my ability on pavement as well.  Conversely my endurance, pacing and technique from riding long road rides greatly enhanced my abilities on the dirt just as well.  It was as if both disciplines of riding mutually benefited one another.  The best part was when I started incorporating road and dirt into long adventurous rides without any particular theme.  Riding paved roads on these bikes to trail heads opened the door to out and back trip that gave me a little bit of everything in one ride.  It was engaging in this style of cycling that began to lay to waste to the mentality of the necessity for dedicated genre bikes.  I was discovering that I could do it all on one modest machine while challenging myself in the process.  Having a jack of all trades bike inevitably slowed me down on both the road and dirt, but as I became more comfortable with doing everything just a little bit slower and stopped comparing my speed with others, I knew that I could have a ton of fun with fewer bikes for fewer dollars.

 Much of this approach came from a time when I started to critically take note of how and why we cyclists endure so much pressure from the cycling industry and cycling culture as a whole.  The pressure to fit into boxes.  The pressure to look the part.  The pressure to be taken seriously as a cyclist by other cyclists.  I wanted to break free from the gear obsessed, mile counting, weight pinching, high speed at all costs culture and enjoy riding with what was accessible, affordable, and easily repairable.  It was and still is in a way to me a form of silent protest, a proverbial middle finger to the marketeers that have often tried to sell us lower quality versions of the bikes that we sometimes had all along.  Like so many others I only felt that I needed more, newer, ever so subtly differing bikes and gear when I allowed myself to be sold the idea that it was a necessity.