The Radavist

We are three prospectors and this is our creed:

For over a hundred years, Death Valley has had its minerals extracted by machine and mule. Not just for gold and silver, either. Prospectors scoured the mountains for borax, antimony, copper, lead, zinc, and tungsten, packing out their load by mule. We are modern day Prospectors, however, we are not seeking riches, yet experiences, of which will be beaten into our soul by miles of washboarded and rocky roads. Our mules are our bicycles and we’ll take only photos, leaving no trace, taking nothing from this land. It’s given enough over the decades and its scars are still visible on the surface.

There’s no death in this valley, but life, at a micro scale, so nuanced that without the pace of the bicycle, might be passed over, unnoticed.

On this expedition, we – Erik, Dylan and myself – were prospectors… For over a hundred years, Death Valley has had its minerals extracted by machine and mule. Not just for gold and silver, either. Prospectors scoured the mountains for antimony, copper, lead, zinc, and tungsten, packing out their load by mule. We are modern day Prospectors, however, we are not seeking riches, yet experiences, of which will be beaten into our soul by miles of washboarded and rocky roads. Our mules are our bicycles and we’ll take only photos, leaving no trace, taking nothing from this land. It’s given enough over the decades and its scars are still visible on the surface.

Last Friday we embarked on a 100 mile journey through Death Valley National Park. The route was familiar to Erik, who attempted it years ago, but in reverse, with a band of other explorers, who fell victim to this great desert. Returning this round, Erik had a new found respect for this land, as well as much-needed reconnaissance by yours truly. My report: we should ride the biggest tires we have access to. This would soften the blow from the rugged roads and allow us to move with elegance through deep sand.

On top of that, literally, would be our provisions for four day’s worth of riding in the High Desert. This meant we’d need lots of water, lots of food, and warm apparel, on top of the standard backcountry emergency items. Packing all this in on a bike that’s destined to climb well over 10,000′ in its journey is no easy matter, yet the three of us took our own unique approach to outfitting our Pack Mules.

Jake’s Pacific Northwest Do-All Trek 970
Photos and words by Morgan Taylor

While we can easily find ourselves lost in things shiny and new, there’s no denying the allure of a carefully curated classic being put to good use. Jake’s Trek 970 is just one of those bikes, with a build that takes advantage of classic mountain bike practicality to create a versatile and stylish bike for days long and short.

Jake’s no stranger to well-thought-out steel bikes, already having a number of sweet builds in the quiver before his 970 came together. He leans toward time-tested components, durability over flashiness, and comfort over outright speed. The 970 is Jake’s Pacific Northwest do-all bike, with wide tires, loads of carrying capacity, and inspiration taken from its home in Seattle.

Oh, what a difference a few thousand feet can make. In sharp contrast to the incredible lushness of the story we shared yesterday from our ride to Hāna, the surroundings at elevation in Haleakalā National Park are cold, stark, and windy – simply other-worldly.

As is usually the case with high elevation destinations, you really are at the mercy of the weather on Haleakalā. What was a picture-perfect Hawaiian day down at sea level and for most of the drive up the volcano took an about-face as soon as we dropped off the ridge into the Haleakalā crater. We reached for our insulated jackets and descended into the fog.

Riding in a Forest of House Plants on Maui’s Road to Hāna
Photos and words by Morgan Taylor

If you’ve spent any time in tropical places, this may not come as a surprise to you – but to Stephanie and I, content and comfortable in the damp temperate rainforests of the Pacific Northwest, riding Maui’s Road to Hāna was completely mind blowing. We didn’t go to Hawai’i for the beaches (in fact, we didn’t even swim), and we weren’t really doing it to escape the rapidly deteriorating weather conditions at home. We didn’t have expectations, just a few recommendations and an open mind – our usual way of traveling.

Geology Through Bikepacking
Photos and words by Locke Hassett

As humans, we seek exploration of new places and the lessons that such exploration may bring; self-discovery, physical challenge, humility, solitude, community, and unforgettable views to name a few. We refer to this as recreation, which comes from the term “to re-create”. These endeavors are valuable, perhaps necessary, to the self. But, if we only learn about ourselves, the amount that we can give back to the world that allows us the privilege to explore can be limited. Ever so often, we must explore for reasons beyond understanding and re-create ourselves. We must explore with intention and inquiry. If the intention is set to learn not only about ourselves but about the landscape; it’s natural history and current state, we just might be able to become stewards of its future.

The Geology through Bikepacking course offered at Prescott College explores the geology, geography, and ecology of the Colorado Plateau through 3 different bikepacking trips over the course of a month. This course provides an opportunity to learn about a landscape by traveling through it. It uses the bicycle as a means not only for recreation, but for education. This is the story.

Rambling with the 333fab Air Land Sea
Photos and words by Morgan Taylor

Look at the surface of the 333fab Air Land Sea, and you’ll see a drop bar bike that fits bigger tires than most, amazing custom paint and graphics, and components that reflect the very best of what’s available. But dig a bit deeper and you find something that can really only be found in a custom bike, something that innovates and pushes the boundaries, something that’s truly special. The Air Land Sea draws you in. It asks you to look, not to rush, but to consider what a bike might be if there really were no rules. And, you can have one.

Down the Ladder into Hell
Words and 35mm film photos by Stan Engelbrecht

I don’t remember when I first heard of ‘Die Hel’ (The Hell). It’s the kind of thing that comes to you like a mysterious rural legend – a rumour of a tiny community of farmers living for decades in complete isolation in an impenetrable valley paradise. More than anything, I wanted to go to ‘Die Hel’. Places and people like this have always fascinated me. South Africa has for many, many years had a complex social and political landscape, and I always like to imagine that these individualist pioneers left whatever country they came from to escape some kind of governmental or religious ideology, and when faced with the same developing in their newfound home, they were driven further into the natural world. To live simply, in peace, with nature as their surround.

Southern California has been an October oven, with temperatures hanging out in the 90’s and 100’s for months now. Last week, we had enough and organized a group shred sess on Mount Piños, our favorite, yet not so frequented trail network about an hour and some change from Golden Saddle Cyclery. The drive isn’t bad either when you factor in the fact that everyone is going the opposite direction on Interstate 5. We sent out a text thread and gauged interest. Cache, one of the shop mechanics at GSC wanted in, as did Kyle, Serena, Colin, Matt from Mount Wilson Bicycling Association, and myself.

Truthfully I was a little worried about this ride. You climb about 3,000′ in 10 miles and it’s straight up with no change in grade. I hadn’t ridden since South Africa, save for a few grocery store runs, on a lower saddle, across flat terrain. While I was concerned, I’m not one to sit around and wait for the recommended four weeks of recovery, especially since I hadn’t felt pain in over a week. The human body is strange like that. It’s like a tea kettle, only whistling when it’s hot. I had been going hard leading up to South Africa, a bit of “training” if you will, which consisted of mostly doing bigger riders on dirt and here in LA, that means lots of steep grades. After South Africa, it was so hot out that I couldn’t ride even if my body was in working order. There’s nothing more miserable for me, not being able to exercise at all, yet I found motivation in the distraction-free life of being forced to sit at the computer every waking moment. Regardless, it had been what felt like an eternity… Was I finally rested up?

The Endless Fiesta in Bolivia’s Kimsa Cruz
Photos and words by Ryan Wilson

The best part about riding in the Andes of Perú and Bolivia is that finding a great route is about as simple as pointing to a couple of interesting looking spots on the map and connecting the dots.  Chances are good that you’ll end up on a rollercoaster of dirt roads through quiet valleys and over dramatic mountain passes.

While it’s fun to follow the tracks of fellow cyclists that have sought out these remote roads and trails previously, if I see a chance to head through an area with little to no info readily available, there’s definitely an extra element of intrigue.  Is there water?  Anywhere to find food along the way?  Is there actually a bridge over that giant river?  After all, the mystery of what lies around the next bend or over the next pass is what keeps me wanting to turn those pedals.

Romanticising the desert is as old as literature. From Edward Abbey to Aldo Leopold and Mary Hunter Austin. Over the years, authors and artists alike, have taken to these vast, arid landscapes for inspiration. I, myself, identify with these places and feel most at ease while traversing their planes and mountains. Perhaps its the ability to see for miles, in any direction, or it could be the intricacy of their flora and fauna, but the desert to me is the most wonderful place. Riding a bike in these conditions can be challenging, however. Typically, water is an issue, as is the sun and its oppressive rays, but probably the most incapacitating element is the wind, for you can take measures to block the sun and you can always carry more water.

Last year, I was supposed to travel to South Africa to partake in the Eroica, as well as a cycle tour around the Karoo Desert but I came down with the worst flu of my adult life the day I was supposed to depart. Fast forward a year and I really wanted to return, so I contacted Stan Engelbrecht, the Cape Town local race organizer to see if he wanted to do another trip. Stan also throws the Tour of Ara, a six-day, vintage steel bike-only race. He’s no rookie to races and so I struck up an email thread with him again. That’s when he told me that the Karoobaix was happening.

It’s no secret that Owens Valley has become a favorite playground of mine. It’s the interstitial region where I like to ride and explore when the Spring temperatures are too hot in Los Angeles and Death Valley has already hit triple digits. With natural hot springs, enough geologic formations to shake a stick at, and lots of rich history, this place is both an educational experience and a thorough workout, all in one. Especially when you begin to venture into the Eastern Sierra.

History. It’s something we rarely touch on here, and to be honest, I’m not sure why. I’ve read numerous books on Owens Valley, including Cadillac Desert, the history of how Los Angeles robbed this region of their water, and quite frankly, continues to do so, even today. After this trip, I found myself asking “where did the name Owens Valley come from?” To which, a quick history lesson began.

Words by Ty Hathaway, photos by Ty Hathaway and Julia DeConcini

It wasn’t but a few minutes of being back in the van after floating the Snake River that Julia was already figuring out what river was next and how to make it better. We had already gotten some good info about the North Fork of the Flathead River in Montana from a good friend of ours who grew up taking family trips down the section. He made it sound like some kind of magical dream land filled with big fish, crystal clear water, and endless scenery. Naturally, this would be our next river of choice, but this time we would do an overnight and with no van shuttle.

Taking the “Death Road” to the Edge of the Bolivian Jungle
Photos and words by Ryan Wilson

Coming into Bolivia, it’s hard to know what to expect. Where Peru’s reputation is pretty much all happy people, ancient ruins, and fluffy alpacas, the stories you hear about Bolivia prior to visiting are a bit more of a mixed bag. Some are very positive, but one thing repeated pretty often (other than how bad the food is) is that outsiders aren’t quite as popular with the locals. Rather than the welcome party you get in nearly every village in the Peruvian Andes when you roll in on two wheels, the Boliviano response is a bit more tepid… At least that’s the reputation.

Raidō is the r-rune of the Elder Futhark, an old proto-Germanic language, used by northern European civilizations. Its meaning translates to the ride or the journey and has been the icon of this website for years, at least in spirit. For Cari’s birthday this year, we wanted to do something new and challenging. We both had our picks for a vacation. Mine was a bicycle tour in Madagascar and hers was backpacking in Iceland. Luckily for Cari, it was her birthday, so she had the final say in the matter. All she wanted was to be on a trail during the Summer Solstice and her birthday, so we began planning…

A Goodbye to Perú Through the Ausangate
Photos and words by Ryan Wilson

For my final stretch through Perú (for now), I jumped onto the instant-classic route that Cass Gilbert and Michael Dammer founded one year prior (http://www.bikepacking.com/routes/tres-cordilleras-boliva-peru/), with a few tweaks. The highlight of this area is unquestionably the circuit around the 6,384m aka 20,945ft wall of rock and ice known as Apu Ausangate. The majority of which is pure backcountry single track through seemingly endless glacial peaks and pristine lagunas.