The Radavist

The touring world is changing, no doubt about it. Steel frames are still the norm for obvious reasons, but disc brakes are now widely accepted and people are venturing far and wide with component choices that only a few years ago may have been considered imprudent.

One group doing this is the young and adventurous among us, arguably oblivious to their equipment’s lack of serviceability. Under these pioneers, bikes go into the wild with sometimes ugly, yet highly functional home-hacked solutions that get the job done. They are out there for the pure experience, pushing the boundaries of equipment that only a few years ago was considered cutting-edge technology.

Another side of this coin is people at bike companies, with access to the newest stuff before it hits the market, building custom bikes to their own specs to push the limits. It’s not uncommon to see mountain drivetrains on road frames, tires that are too big to pass safety standards, and so on. These bikes, however, rarely make it past the engineers’ and product managers’ personal collections.

When product managers spec bikes, they are held to account by bean counters making sure bikes will sell through – and that means sticking to tradition and not taking chances. I love it when companies have the guts to spec a bike in a way that’s pointed at radness rather than tradition. When I see a production bike deviate from industry norms in this way, my eyes light up; the Kona Sutra LTD is one of those bikes.

In recent years, bikes of all kinds have been segregated into smaller and smaller categories, marketed to more and more specific uses. Meanwhile, riders are looking for a performance machine that allows them to enjoy a wide range of riding. Splitting the difference between categories can make for a confusing experience while looking for a bike. The Brodie Wolff is one such bike, with DNA from a variety of places. I’ve spent the past few months ripping the Wolff on roads, trails, and everywhere in between.

Porcelain Rocket’s Moots Fatty with Hunter Fork
Words and photos by Morgan Taylor

Our recent trip through the Rockies to visit Porcelain Rocket’s shop was months in the making. The plan was to start with the shop visit in Calgary and then backtrack for a ride with Kevin Tweed in Banff the following day. I was excited to experience first hand the majestic Canadian Rockies, and to ride with Kevin on his home turf – but we were skunked.

In the days approaching our visit, massive wildfires burning south of the border combined with stagnant weather patterns to send a blanket of smoke over much of southern BC and Alberta. I had imagined shooting Scott’s Moots with a breathtaking Banff backdrop that I knew Kevin could lead us to, but that idea was out the window. Fortunately, Scott’s Moots holds its own. The haze lifted just enough to let an orange sun bring out the depth in the titanium, and we made some magic.

Repeating Patterns at Porcelain Rocket
Words and photos by Morgan Taylor

Spending a few hours at Porcelain Rocket’s Canadian headquarters, I got a sense of just how much Scott Felter has invested in this business – and in the culture surrounding it. Scott began stitching bags for bikes while living in Banff, at the head of the Tour Divide Route. After a few years working out of a basement in Victoria, BC, he’s been in his current shop in Calgary for three years. On this particular day, Tim was working on a production run of frame bags for Rocky Mountain Bicycles, while Scott and I perused the layers of Porcelain Rocket’s history.

Words and photos by Morgan Taylor

Pristine. That’s how every bike starts out. Every build has its moment of perfection before it succumbs to a life of abuse – cross bikes especially so.

When I walked into Kelowna, BC’s The Lions Cyclery, recently opened by former Vancouverites Meshkat Javid and Ryan Lidstone, that moment of perfection was oh-so-apparent. These two are building the shop’s reputation on “a higher standard of fit and function” – and having worked with both of them in the past, I know that means an obsessive attention for detail during the bike building process.

Words and photos by Morgan Taylor unless otherwise noted.

Six months ago, I hung up my modern mountain bike and began riding a fat bike with thumb shifters and cable brakes as my only bike. Accustomed to the niceties of lightweight wheels, four piston brakes, and an 11-speed drivetrain, I’ll admit I didn’t have a lot of faith in this experiment. I had a feeling I would be itching to get back on my other bike long before the snow melted.

You see, not especially long ago, I held some fairly strong opinions about fat bikes. I worked in mountain bike media, had access to all the newest technology, and was convinced that fat bikes were so far outside the realm of acceptable mountain bikes that I chose to write them off.

Vancouver’s Super Champion
Words and photos by Morgan Taylor

In 2007, former pro snowboarder Tyler Lepore opened up a track bike shop in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside. With its wood paneling and white walls, carefully curated framesets and splashes of colorful parts, the space had a modern, almost gallery-like feel. Add in clean branding and a collection of t-shirts with hand-drawn art, and Super Champion felt more like a skate shop than a bike shop.

Chunks’ Nagasawa
Words and photos by Morgan Taylor

When we think of building a bike, there’s usually an aesthetic ideal and a finished product in mind. While many of the beautiful bicycles we pore over are works of perfection, the range of aesthetic ideals is as varied as the riders who put them together.

I’ve known Chunks since the early days of fixie freestyle. We used to get together on a weekly basis to do backwards circles and bunny hop converted road frames – sound familiar? That weekly gathering gave us the motivation to ride through winters, sharing laughs and forging friendships along the way.

At the time, the NJS track bike was an aesthetic ideal it seemed we all lusted for. The race-bred, yet street-tough style led many down the path of looseball hubs and B123s in less than optimal conditions. Some went even further, to a carefully curated, freshly imported Keirin frameset dripping in Nitto and Dura Ace.

Weather Be Damned
Words and photos by Morgan Taylor

I’ve had my eye on the Indian Arm route for years, but never put the pieces together to make it happen. Looking at the elevation profile it seemed simple: 37 kilometres from one coastal fjord to another, over an 800 metre pass. Existing literature indicated the gravel road surface should be rideable save for a handful of washed out bridges. When Lyle Vallie suggested we attempt the route on a few days notice, I committed without hesitation…