Mountain bike geometry has taken significant leaps and bounds in the last few years, with long, slack, low figures – referring to wheelbase and reach, head tube angle, and bottom bracket height respectively – now commonplace on a vast number of bikes across a range of disciplines.

Progressive geometry is often cited as improving a bike’s stability and handling, with more pronounced body movements and weight shifts needed to get it to change direction or line.

This, in turn, means a bike’s chassis is affected less by how bumpy or gnarly the terrain is, or how fast a rider is going, and reduces the effects of erroneous rider inputs. In theory, it makes bikes easier, calmer and more stable to ride.

Although the progress of change was initially slow when it came to progressive mountain bike geometry, the pace has picked up. This has led to a convergence of geometry numbers where, by and large, models intended for the same discipline from different manufacturers share certain figures.

Of course, every discipline has its own requirements – we don’t see super-slack 63-degree head angles on thoroughbred cross-country race bikes, yet – but the fact that different bike brands are offering similar figures on their bikes points to a sweet spot.

Yet there are still some outliers.

Finnish brand Pole and Nicolai’s Geometron are two good examples, with long, slack, low geometry taken to the next level – and there are very vocal proponents shouting about the advantages of this type of bike.

Still, progressive geometry, it seems, is here to stay – but is progressive always appropriate?

Will a beginner who’s riding a £500 mountain bike also benefit from new-age geometry? And should Olympic cross-country mountain bikes have 63-degree head angles? Or is extreme geometry best suited to extreme applications?

Our team of technical experts have assembled to chime in on what they think today’s mountain bike geometry should – or shouldn’t – look like.

Alex Evans – technical editor

Geometry is the free upgrade to unlock untapped potential

Bike geometry is one of the cheapest upgrades a manufacturer can make to its frames.

As long as the manufacturer is designing a bike from scratch, rather than doing some kind of mid-life cycle iterative update, choosing to design a frame with a 63- or a 66-degree head angle is, in effect, costless. So is increasing a reach figure or wheelbase number.

Except for the extra material required to make the tubes bigger, what additional costs are associated with that change beyond the prototyping and development associated with any new bike? I can’t think of an example where an extra-small bike costs less than an extra-large because it uses less material, although in our nickel and diming economy, it wouldn’t surprise me if that became a ‘thing’.

Changing a bike’s geometry, therefore, is not quite the same as devising a new carbon fibre blend or up-speccing the forks, derailleur, bars and wheels; the things most commonly touted as impactful upgrades to justify price increases.

Giving a bike long, slack, low geometry will have the biggest effect on how much fun any given rider can have without any associated costs.

And that’s the crux of my point: progressive geometry will benefit the beginner as much as it already benefits the experienced enduro racer.

So why do we see budget bikes with geometry from the dark ages?

The argument has long been that less progressive geometry – shorter, steeper, higher – makes bikes easier to flick around, change direction or manoeuvre.

And while that’s true on the face of it, it also follows logically that bikes with these geometry figures will be less stable, more easily knocked off-line and harder to ride at speed.

For beginners, that’s a bit of a problem.

Better technique, more skill and the confidence that comes with experience are required to keep shorter, steeper bikes pointing in the right direction.

So, is longer, slacker, lower geometry always better? For me, it’s a resounding yes.

I’d like to see this cost-neutral upgrade implemented across the board on cheaper and beginner bikes.

The benefits of increased stability, more control and, in turn, higher speeds – read: more fun – significantly outweigh the perceived benefits of quicker handling on steeper bikes.

Of course, there are limits as to how progressive a beginner-focused bike should go, but they need to be pushed in the first place so we can figure out where they are.

I suspect that head angles between 63 and 64.5 degrees, seat tube angles between 76 and 78 degrees, reach figures that settle between 475mm and 490mm for a size large bike, and chainstay figures between 440mm and 455mm are where most bikes should eventually settle.

Of course, I could be wrong…

Luke Marshall – technical writer

Progressive is best? Yes… and no

Is progressive geometry better? Well, yes and no. Ultimately, it depends on a rider’s perspective and point of comparison.

Mid-to-high-end bikes released nowadays are certainly faster and arguably offer an improved rider experience compared to bikes of 10 years ago, thanks to the trend for longer, lower and slacker geometry.

Are they more fun? Well, that’s debatable, because some of my fondest riding memories stretch back 20 years.

Would entry-level bikes provide a better riding experience if they shared the same geometry as more progressive high-end bikes? I reckon so. Today’s trail bikes offer more stability, better handling and greater control than the old-school geometry that cheaper models still sport.

Geometry should be on-par for bikes across the entire price spectrum to give all riders the best experience.

There is, however, a limit to all of this. Would today’s mainstream trail or enduro bikes be even better if the geometry continued on the trajectory of the past decade and became even longer, lower and slacker? It’s a no for me.

Low is a trend I can get behind because it improves both fore/aft stability and lateral agility. The best of both worlds. Riders spending time learning pedal placement in tech terrain is a worthy sacrifice for me. And a bash guard doesn’t add much weight.

However, while as a short-arse at 173cm (5ft 8in) I understand my perspective on long and slack might be somewhat biased, it does make it easier for me to find bikes I think are ‘too long’.

For reference, my preferred geometry numbers are around 460mm for reach, 440mm chainstays, a 64-degree head angle and 340mm-ish bottom bracket height. Give or take a little each way. With those numbers in mind, a 190cm (6ft 2in) rider would be on a 505mm equivalent reach.

Extending the reach, and combining that with a super-slack head angle, throws the front wheel way out in front of you. Even with extended chainstays, long bikes tend to have a more rearward weight balance.

This means you have to actively shift your weight forwards when riding to get the front wheel to behave as it should.

Not only does this mean supporting more weight with your upper body, which makes riding more fatiguing, it also takes a healthy dose of commitment and technique to do it well, something novice riders may naturally lack.

Without really getting your weight committed to the front wheel, understeer is easy, causing you to brake mid-turn and only adding to trail woes. Without an aggressive posture and good technique, very long bikes can, in my experience, cause more harm than their stability does good.

That’s not to say I think bikes should go backwards – geometry these days has found a pretty good middle ground that does most things very well nearly all the time.

But ask me this question again in another 10 years and you might get a very different answer.

Rob Weaver – technical editor-in-chief

Extreme bikes have pushed the mainstream in the right direction

While this is a very complex question that’s difficult to wrap up into a one-size-fits-all answer, longer, lower and slacker bikes are, for the most part, better, even for a stumpy little fella like me.

What’s more, if you were to travel back 10 years and ask me the same question, I’d have screamed “Yes” at the top of my lungs when answering.

Why? Well, despite an abundance of long-travel trail bikes (which soon got re-badged as enduro bikes), the geometry was, in most cases, really quite conservative. I mean, back then, we were riding down insanely fast Alpine descents on bikes with numbers closer to modern day cross-country bikes and bottom brackets so far off the floor you could drive a car underneath them.

Jump back on a bike from a decade ago and, while it’ll work just fine and still go fast, I’ll bet you won’t feel as brave when the speed picks up or the gradient steepens.

Thankfully, bike geometry really started to change (a lot) for the better not long after this and the boundaries of what was possible soon began to shift.

With the likes of Chris Porter and his Nicolai-made Geometron frames, the industry started to really take notice of how a trail bike could benefit from geometry figures closer to that of a downhill bike.

Admittedly, those super-slack and long bikes didn’t always excel on every trail. Get one pointed down something steep and confidence levels would skyrocket, while on the flip side, when the terrain was a little less extreme, such stretched-out machines could dull proceedings a little and weren’t always as playful.

But crucially, what those extreme bikes did was help to start a revolution. Soon enough the bigger, mainstream brands took notice and started experimenting with their own side projects.

Before we knew it, average reach numbers for a medium shot from 425mm to 450 or 460mm, head angles were raked out to within one degree of most downhill rigs (most enduro bikes now sport a head angle in the region of 63.5 to 64 degrees).

In a bid to allow us to corner with more confidence, bottom brackets have also got lower (though are creeping up again with suspension travel on the increase for these types of bikes).

All things considered, I very much like where the envelope-pushing trailblazers have taken modern-day mainstream geometry. What was once ridiculously long and slack is now more or less the norm.

Why wouldn’t you want to feel safer, more confident and faster on your bike? I know I do.

Tom Marvin – technical editor

We’re in the sweet spot

Without wanting to repeat Rob’s feelings on the matter, I have to agree broadly.

Times have changed and bikes have now, in my opinion, reached a real sweet spot.

I remember riding a Geometron for the first time. It was a dank, grey, wet day in South Wales, and Chris Porter took me to a hillside I’d never ridden before. Now, South Wales’ hillsides are notoriously steep and Chris being Chris, this was one steep hill.

The bike was longer than anything I’d ever ridden – by a huge margin – and it’s safe to say I’ve never ridden such steep tracks, blind, so well.

From this experience, one might expect me to be on Alex’s side of the argument – bikes should be really long and low and slack – after all, the Geometron utterly flattered my riding that day.

But I’m not.

Those bikes have their place and there’s no doubt they’ve pushed other bigger brands to step up their game. Your ‘average’ trail or enduro bike in 2022 has grown to meet the likes of the Geometron in the middle, and they’re all the better for it.

But such long bikes are specialist machines that require the rider to completely redress their riding techniques and skills. And, I’d argue, unless you’re riding those super-steep, technical tracks day in, day out, you’re not going to be getting the best out of your riding the rest of the time.

Pop me on an ‘average’ bike now, and it’ll still be able to get me to the bottom of the hill 99 per cent as well as those descending monsters created by Geometron. But take them to a blue-graded trail centre, and I’ll easily be able to pop the front wheel up, scurry it round a corner and attempt my best at a cheeky Scandi flick.

Yes, it’s possible to do all those things on a super-long bike. But I’d put money on you finding it easier to do them on a ‘normal’ bike than on one with a wheelbase that stretches into next week.

So, there we go. Super-long and slack bikes are ace. Point them down a steep hill and, without doubt, you’ll get down faster and safer. But, more importantly, they’ve also pushed other, more conventional, manufacturers to build better bikes – without following the trend all the way to its limits. For the vast majority of riders, that’s what really matters.

Navel gazing about Shimano product launches is one of our favourite pastimes here at BikeRadar.

But it’s not without good reason – along with SRAM, key launches from the brand are the biggest news in cycling tech, shaping trends in the industry as a whole.

2021 saw the release of two new road groupsets from Shimano – Dura-Ace R9200 and Ultegra R8100 – with both being significant updates that provide some insight into Shimano’s overall strategy for the next few years.

Product updates are often cyclical and, with that in mind, I’ve pooled together the BikeRadar team’s knowledge of Shimano gear past and present, to decide on the five key products I want to see from the brand in 2022.

1. Shimano 105 Di2

Shimano’s update to its Dura-Ace and Ultegra road groupsets was the biggest tech news of 2021.

Among other refinements, this saw both move to 12-speed and, for the first time, both were offered solely as an electronic Di2 groupset at launch.

Previously, both the mechanical and electronic versions of Shimano’s road bike groupsets would typically be released concurrently – but, unless there’s something of a U-turn, mechanical groupsets are dead as far as the brand’s two top road drivetrains are concerned.

SRAM has made similar moves in recent years, seemingly ditching its mechanical groupsets by stealth, while updating its electronic RED eTap AXS groupset in 2019.

SRAM then added the cheaper Force groupset to the eTap AXS family shortly after, with the third-tier Rival eTap AXS following in 2021.

The next groupset due to be updated in Shimano’s range is 105, and I think there’s a strong possibility it will go Di2.

While any electronic version of 105 would have been in the works long before Rival eTap AXS was released to the public, Shimano will not wish to be seen to be lagging behind its biggest rival.

While there is, of course, nothing wrong with mechanical shifting, SRAM has helped reshape the thinking on electronic shifting. Where it was once the reserve of top-spec dream bikes, with the launch of Rival eTap AXS, it is now increasingly seen as a normal spec option on mid-range bikes, albeit in the context of price rises across the market.

Offering an electronic groupset that appeals to buyers in the middle of the market will be key if Shimano wishes to remain at the sharp end.

If 105 Di2 is in the works, I expect it will also move to 12-speed, adopt the semi-wireless setup seen on Ultegra and Dura-Ace, and get a light aesthetic update.

Would mechanical 105 also get an update at the same time? Or will Shimano extend its commitment to electronic groupsets and ditch mechanical at 105 level?

I’ll be spending the next few months snuffling in the undergrowth of the patent office looking for tech truffles that give any hint of what Shimano is up to here. Stay tuned for more.

2. New XTR and XT Di2 groupsets

With hindsight, one could argue that Shimano was simply too early to the game with electronic groupsets for mountain bikes, with the launch of XTR Di2 in 2014.

Getting mountain bikers onto electronic groupsets when they weren’t even fully established on the road was always going to be a hard task.

Shimano XTR M9050 Di2 and XT M8050 Di2 were, in most respects, very good groupsets, but neither was enthusiastically embraced.

However, things have changed a lot since the arrival of XTR M9050. Electronic groupsets are now widely used on the road and SRAM has normalised the use of electronic groupsets off-road with its wireless Eagle eTap AXS family.

SRAM also played a bit of a blinder by realising the wider possibilities for integration that the AXS family offers.

The brand’s Reverb AXS wireless dropper post and Flight Attendant suspension control system both integrate into the Eagle family, and this is the big draw of electronic groupsets off-road for many riders.

Is it now time for Shimano to reinvigorate its line-up of electronic MTB components?

Shimano’s mechanical XTR M9100 groupset was released in mid-2018, which also puts it in line for an update if we’re following Shimano’s typical four-year product cycle.

If it is due to be updated, we wouldn’t be surprised if a Di2 version was released alongside a mechanical groupset.

3. Parts availability

I say this with absolutely no intention of throwing shade at Shimano – not even the biggest manufacturer of cycling components could have predicted the huge growth that cycling as a whole has experienced over the last two years.

Nor could Shimano have predicted the labour and raw material shortages that have affected all industries.

And I would guess the brand wasn’t expecting to be hit by fires, floods and now – of all things – highway robbery!

As a result, some Shimano parts have become almost impossible to get hold of.

All of this has conspired to make the past couple of years enormously frustrating for bike brands, shops and consumers, but I’m sure it’s equally frustrating for Shimano – what brand would ever wish poor availability and impossible-to-forecast demand upon itself?

Of course, Shimano is far from alone here, and I simply wish good fortune – and plentiful chains, cassettes and brake pads – upon all manufacturers, both big and small, for the year(s) ahead.

4. Updated GRX

Cast your mind back to May 2019, when Shimano released its then-brand-spanking-new Shimano GRX gravel groupset family.

Offering a 1x option, three spec levels (including Di2) and a range of wheelsets, GRX – the world’s first gravel-specific groupset – was groundbreaking for Shimano and the industry as a whole.

It’s now widely specced on many of the best gravel bikes out there and is consistently praised by all here at BikeRadar.

However, since then, it’s been all quiet from Shimano on the gravel front.

That’s not totally surprising – generally speaking, Shimano groupsets are updated on a three-to-five-year cycle.

While that would make an update to GRX a little bit premature, it wouldn’t come as a huge surprise if the brand brought forward a launch of an updated GRX groupset to stay ahead of the curve, particularly following last year’s arrival of SRAM XPLR, comprising of gravel-specific gearing and the gravel-tuned RockShox Rudy suspension fork.

Realistically, there’s little that I’d look to change with GRX – it is, very good after all – but I expect the next generation will follow Dura-Ace and Ultegra in going 12-speed and getting an aesthetic update.

Assuming a theoretical 12-speed GRX groupset used the same cassette spacing as the brand’s mountain bike groupsets, going 12-speed could also open up the possibility of so-called ‘mullet builds’ on Shimano groupsets, whereby a road/gravel crankset is paired with a wide-ranging MTB cassette.

Exactly how many consumers and bike brands will spec this on their machines is debatable, but one thing is for sure – gravel riding is going to remain one of cycling’s hottest tickets and Shimano will want to continue to capitalise on that.

5. Mechanical Dura-Ace

Given the overall trajectory of the road groupset market, this one feels a bit more of a pipe dream, but hey – why not think big?

Shimano Dura-Ace R9100 arguably represented the pinnacle of mechanical road bike shifting with a silky lever feel and reliability that remains pretty much unchallenged.

So good is the performance of R9100 that, in a comparison between SRAM Force eTap AXS and Shimano Ultegra Di2 R8050, BikeRadar’s former senior writer Matthew Loveridge decided he would buy neither, and would opt for mechanical Dura-Ace instead.

Since Dura-Ace R9200 launched as an electronic-only groupset, there have been no rumours, gossip or hearsay to suggest that a new mechanical Dura-Ace (or Ultegra, for that matter) groupset is in the works, and that feels like a missed opportunity.

While few would turn down the opportunity to own Dura-Ace R9200 Di2, there are some holdouts, and we’d love to see the option of a mechanical groupset available at the top-end of the sport.

Are mechanical groupset fans set to become the new rim-brake luddites? Will cable bores be excluded from the 12-speed community? Time will tell, but we won’t hold our breath.

After a decade or so of press-fit bottom brackets being the dominant system on high-end road bikes, there has – to almost universal acclaim – been a notable return to threaded bottom brackets in the last few years.

Specialized ditched its press-fit OSBB 61 bottom bracket standard in 2020, in favour of a traditional BSA threaded bottom bracket on the Tarmac SL7.

Even Cannondale, the brand that arguably kicked off the trend for press-fit bottom brackets on road bikes, recently specced a BSA threaded bottom bracket on its 2022 Synapse endurance road bike.

It’s hard to find many who’ll stick their neck out for press-fit these days.

However, Canyon recently nailed its colours to the mast with the new 2022 Endurace range, claiming the BB86 press-fit bottom bracket “creates a better pedalling platform for rapid accelerations”.

Perhaps controversially, I think Canyon is on the right track.

Despite the often-reported difficulties of press-fit bottom bracket systems, we should pause for thought before we consign them to Room 101.

A short history of press-fit bottom brackets

For those who didn’t live through the bottom bracket wars of the 2010s, let’s start with some history.

The first* press-fit bottom bracket system to come to mainstream road bikes was Cannondale’s BB30, introduced in 2000 as a proprietary system for its own bikes.

*For the sake of clarity, we’re going to exclude from this article the various press-fit BMX bottom bracket standards and other novel designs that exist.

Its large-diameter shell used oversized bearings, which allowed the use of 30mm aluminium crank spindles.

Instead of needing to be housed in an additional metal carrier, the bearings pressed directly into the bike’s bottom-bracket shell. As a result, overall bike weight could be reduced.

The larger aluminium crank spindles were also said to be lighter and stiffer than smaller-diameter steel crank spindles. Oversized carbon tubes can also be used to improve stiffness around the bottom bracket.

Removing the need for threads to be cut into metal frames, or for threaded inserts to be bonded into carbon frames, also helped reduce manufacturing costs by cutting out steps in the process.

In 2006, BB30 became an open standard, and given the lengths to which bicycle brands go to make road bikes ever lighter and stiffer (especially at the time when weight weenie-ism was at its peak), it’s no surprise brands started jumping on the bandwagon.

In the same year, even the notoriously conservative Shimano waded in with its own press-fit bottom bracket systems (BB86 for road and BB92 for mountain bikes), in collaboration with Scott.

From around 2010 onwards, almost every high-end road bike was designed with a press-fit bottom bracket.

Of course, many brands thought they could do it differently and better, too, so we were treated to countless new bottom bracket ‘standards’ on a frequent basis throughout the decade.

Why press-fit bottom brackets are better

When done right, there’s no need for the bottom-bracket bearings to be pressed into a separate, threaded metal shell.

Bear in mind that even threaded bottom brackets are technically press-fit bottom brackets. The bearings are simply pressed into a metal (typically machined aluminium) shell, which is then threaded into the frame.

Isn’t it obvious that the more elegant engineering solution is to just press the bearings directly into the frame and lose the extraneous metal shell?

After all, this is what we do for most other bearings on bikes, such as headsets, wheel hubs, pulley wheels, suspension pivots, etc.

If it works in all of those areas, it should work for bottom brackets.

In his video on the subject, Raoul Luescher, a specialist in composite manufacturing, says: “It’s not the fact that press-fit is bad, it’s that the understanding of how to make a press-fit carbon bicycle on a production scale isn’t there… But if you do it right, it’s 100 per cent [the better system].”

External threaded bottom bracket cups also limit tyre clearance at the rear wheel, unless you’re willing to widen the axle, because they cap the overall width of the bottom bracket shell and chainstay arrangement (there are creative ways around this issue, such as raised or dropped chainstays, or the solid-carbon chainstay yoke seen on the latest Specialized Diverge).

When asked why it had made such a clear point about standing by the press-fit BB86 bottom bracket system upon the launch of the new Endurace, Canyon’s Matthew Leake told us the benefits were “well documented”.

“The overall system is lighter compared to threaded solutions, while the larger interface creates a more stable pedalling platform, which translates to more of the rider’s power transferring from the pedals onto the road,” says Leake.

“From a manufacturing standpoint, it’s also simpler,” he adds, “without the need to co-mould metal inserts for the threads, a process that presents its own challenges when it comes to consistency and quality.”

On the specific benefits of BB86, Leake says the system “has taken a lot of the flak from other press-fit standards that have come onto the market, creaked about, and quietly been put out to pasture. In reality, the concept is sound, and the tolerances you have to keep to in large-scale manufacturing are not unattainably minute.”

Theory versus practice

Of course, I’ve no doubt many reading this are screaming something like, “Why doesn’t my press-fit bottom bracket ever shut up then?” As Leake alludes to, the issue is in manufacturing standards and tolerances, and not necessarily the concept of press-fit itself.

Still, far too many riders have suffered numerous issues at the hands of defective press-fit bottom bracket systems. A Google search for “press-fit bottom bracket problems” returns 21,700,000 results.

Creaking, crank play and low bearing service life were, and remain, the most common problems.

Trek’s BB90 system was, for example, notoriously plagued by such issues. When Trek began using the T47 threaded bottom bracket standard in 2019, BikeRadar’s former senior writer Matthew Loveridge said “I won’t miss BB90, the worst bottom bracket standard”.

It’s fair to say, though, that almost every press-fit bottom bracket system has come in for its fair share of criticism over the years.

While Canyon has sung the praises of BB86, the press material accompanying the launch of the Endurace also stressed “extra attention is paid to tolerances in the manufacturing process with stringent quality checks to ensure long-lasting, creak-free, smooth-spinning performance.”

Specialized, on the other hand, is among the brands to move back to threaded bottom brackets on its performance-focused bikes.

Stewart Thompson, road category lead at Specialized, says the recent switch from a press-fit OSBB 61 system (a variation of BB30) to a BSA threaded bottom bracket on the Tarmac SL7 was due to it being “the lightest and simplest bottom bracket solution” for Shimano and SRAM cranksets, noting these offer optimal shifting performance compared to third-party cranksets and chainrings.

“New construction methods allow us to make BSA threaded frames lighter than we ever made BB30 frames, without compromising on tyre clearance,” Thompson contends, and while Specialized “isn’t shy about innovation and using proprietary designs”, Thompson says the brand is nevertheless conscious those things need to offer clear benefits to riders.

While Thompson says modern threaded systems such as T47, which is essentially an oversized BSA threaded bottom bracket, are “a step in the right direction”, he claims adopting that system “would result in heavier frames, heavier bottom brackets, and take more care and different tools to install”, compared to BSA threaded bottom brackets.

“BSA threaded bottom brackets look to be the way forward for Specialized,” he insists.

Where did it all go wrong?

Canyon’s note about manufacturing tolerances gets to the heart of the matter.

The issue isn’t press-fit as a system – the issue is manufacturing tolerances on the frames themselves.

One industry source told us custom bearings were used by at least one brand in the early days of press-fit, for a more precise interface between the carbon frame and cranksets.

The increase in cost entailed was eventually deemed unacceptable, however, and thus standard bearings returned.

The reason threaded bottom brackets are relatively trouble-free is because the metal carrier shells can be more easily machined for a precise interference fit with the bearings.

This helps eliminate issues such as creaks stemming from movement of the bearings within the shell.

But I say ”relatively trouble-free” because threaded bottom brackets aren’t a cure-all fix. They’re still subject to the same tolerance and alignment issues as press-fit systems, after all.

While they might be less likely to creak, that doesn’t mean you’re always getting optimum service life or performance from the bearings.

Adding the required metal threads into a carbon frame also adds unnecessary weight and creates a potential point of failure in the bond between the carbon and metal.

The difficulty with most carbon bike frames is they’re essentially ‘done’ once they come out of the mould, with little scope for further adjustment. If it’s not in spec at that point, it’s very hard to change it.

A majority of carbon frames are also laid up by hand, meaning the placement of carbon fibre sheets within a mould is subject to potential human error.

Additionally, according to Luescher, when carbon frames are cured (essentially cooked in a large oven to solidify the resin within the carbon fibres), there will typically be some thermal expansion of the metal mandrel around which the bottom bracket shell is moulded, and some shrinkage or movement of the carbon fibre layers as everything is heated and cooled.

In order to end up with a finished frame that meets the required specifications, these things need to be accounted for.

It’s fair to ask, therefore, whether press-fit bottom brackets are too difficult to produce correctly on a mass scale. The existence of brands that are able to get it mostly right (such as Giant, Canyon, Orbea, Felt and Scott to name just a few) shows it is possible, though.

It’s sometimes proposed that metal sleeves can be bonded into the bottom bracket shell of carbon frames, which can then be reamed to the required size.

Beyond the issues with adding metal sleeves to carbon frames described previously, though, Luescher also says such inserts can potentially deform to the shape of the carbon shell, as the thin alloy may not be able to hold its shape after being bonded to the relatively stiffer shell.

Retaining compounds such as Loctite, or specialist problem-solving bottom brackets, can help when things aren’t quite perfect, but riders shouldn’t be required to resort to such things when another, more obvious solution exists.

Whose problem is it anyway?

Whatever the difficulties in manufacturing such things, a frame with a bottom bracket shell, or any other part, which doesn’t meet the specifications required (within the specified degrees of tolerance), shouldn’t end up in the hands of a rider.

Too many riders have unfortunately experienced these issues and, as a result, there has been a noted increase in calls for a return to threaded systems in recent years.

On one hand, it’s good to see the industry responding to the demands of consumers.

On the other, it’s disappointing to think some manufacturers seemingly can’t guarantee good enough quality control to continue with what is, on paper, the optimal bottom-bracket solution. Especially when we’re talking about bikes that often cost thousands of pounds / dollars / etc.

As James Huang noted back in 2014, the ultimate creaky bottom bracket fix is for bike brands to improve their manufacturing tolerances and quality-control processes.

And unless that happens, a simple backwards step to threaded bottom bracket systems might not be the panacea so many hope it is.

Think back to the last time you were riding your mountain bike. Draw your focus to the type of ground or, more specifically, the different colours and textures of mud and dirt your tyres were grappling with.

Although you may have been blissfully unaware exactly what the rich tapestry of browns you were rolling atop constituted, I would confidently bet my bottom dollar that it wasn’t just a single type of muck.

And even if, as I suspect, you weren’t hyper-conscious of the intricate arrangement of mud, I also bet you would have noticed something constantly changing and transforming beneath your tyres.

Whether that’s a buttock-clenching transition between grip and slip, or a leg-sapping increase in rolling resistance, or even, maybe, a splattering of gloop over your legs, bike and face, something is always happening.

Although inert when left to its own devices, once a bike, its tyres and a rider interact and pass over mud, it comes alive.

Its properties directly affect the way a ride feels; whether that’s hilariously traction-free, or so grippy you feel as though you’ve been blessed with skills usually saved for the sport’s upper echelon of riders.

It can also push a bike and its parts to their limits. It can block up even the best mountain bike tyres, remove and contaminate chain lubrication, penetrate suspension seals and prematurely wear all manner of parts. It can test bikes, parts and accessories to their very limits.

If you live anywhere remotely wet, mud is at the very heart of mountain biking – but there’s more to it than meets the eye. Here are five types of mud that, like it or not, every rider needs to know about. What types of mud are there, and what exactly do they do to your bike and the way you ride? I shall explain.

Let’s start with the sort of mud that’s universally accepted – in the mountain bike world at least – as the best type of dirt to ride on: loam (often referred to as hero dirt).

This sandy, fibrous mix provides some of the most predictable grip on the planet. The aggressively sculpted knobs of mountain bike tyres easily bite into the soft, loosely packed and slightly damp (but not claggy) dirt to offer incredible, predictable grip that’s easy to control. Hero dirt, as the name suggests, provides epic riding conditions.

The softer, slightly sticky nature of loam also means it gets picked up freely by your bike’s tyres and is sprayed around liberally as you change direction down the trail. The feeling of having soft, cold dirt spray up your lower legs is like no other.

Most natural trails in pine forest plantations – or naturally occurring pine forests – are made from the type of soil that either is loam or feels very close to it.

Enjoy it whilst it lasts, though, because the soft, delicate nature means it quickly erodes. This also makes loam one of the most coveted and precious types of trail surface, due the utmost respect.

This is arguably the worst type of dirt, and one that usually presents itself after weeks of beautiful dry weather. It will, almost invariably, catch you off-guard.

The impenetrability of the baked-hard ground generally found in the summer months means that, when it does finally rain, the trails turn into ice rinks. Dirt that would usually saturate and go sloppy simply gets coated with water, turning into a hard but polished and super-slick surface.

Mud spike tyres can’t bite through, and instead skirt over the top. It’s the same story for intermediate tyres, where the only thing that can help mitigate grease is a soft compound rubber, but even that has limited effects.

The fast-rolling nature of the hard ground, combined with the slippery surface, usually spells disaster because dry-weather speeds can be easily attained, but traction is seriously depleted.

The weather isn’t the only generator of greasy conditions – chalk and soil with high clay content are also notoriously slick to ride.

To ride this type of ground well, you need to have your wits about you, and the chances of crashing – or just riding badly – are significantly higher than on loamy trails.

Here, we have one of the more interesting types of mud for mountain bikers. Bogging, gloopy mud can both provide inspired moments of ultra-grip and, quite frankly, be an absolute nightmare.

If you keep your speed up and the tread of your tyres clear, it can feel as though there are no bounds to the amount of grip on offer. The malleability of bog means the tyre’s tread digs into its surface, providing slot-car-style cornering abilities and plenty of braking traction with smiles all round.

And its naturally sticky nature means speeds are easier to modulate because the increase in friction provides some natural drag.

However, go too slow and this gloop fills your tyres almost instantly, dramatically reducing grip.

The mud can also get stuck to your bike and its components, increasing its weight and reducing drivetrain performance, resulting in the kind of shifting that’s best not written about. Saddles and grips also become seriously slippery when coated.

Trying to ride this stuff can be a roll-of-the-dice affair rather than cool, calm and collected. Ultimately, it’s best to tackle this type of mud with absolute gusto and infallible confidence. Your chances of enjoyment will be exponentially increased.

The rock content in this type of dirt gives it a supremely grippy quality, where, as long as it hasn’t been compacted beyond recognition, tyres can bite freely into its surface.

The traction on offer is marvellously predictable, too, where measured slides can usually be initiated at will, and slowing down is infrequently a problem, regardless of whether it’s dry, damp or even seriously wet.

One of the main downsides (and the thing that creates its grip) of this sort of mud is how clingy and claggy it can be when it’s damp.

It seems capable of infiltrating the tiniest gaps in your bike’s frame, drivetrain and any other component, and can be a nightmare to clean off. If left unattended, it will reduce the lifespan of your bike’s parts, with the grit-like paste wearing through chainrings and cassettes quicker than Jolanda Neff on her way to gold at the 2020 Tokyo Olympics.

Damage limitation is the key here. I recommend tackling the post-ride clean-up immediately after the ride while there is still some moisture in the dirt that’s now clinging to your frame. If it dries on, it turns almost cement-like.

Dealing with hours of washing bikes and kit is worth it, because the grip on offer is guaranteed to make you smile.

Frequently touted as offering more grip than when the trails are dry, the super-liquifying nature of heavy, prolonged downpours does something unusual to virtually all types of mud.

If trail conditions and mud types were on a horseshoe theory diagram, both the lower-most points would indicate extreme grip in the wet and dry. Wet-as-a-river super slop sits at the very end of one of these points.

These conditions require dry-weather tyres, where the over-saturation of the dirt essentially ‘cleans’ the trails of any slippery matter, rendering spiked tyres pointless.

Any remaining mud is so diluted and constituent-less that it does nothing to hinder progress, because it’s unable to stick to the tyres, your bike, or the trail.

It takes a while to get used to super slop and have the confidence to push on, but once you do it’s a great feeling.

But riding in the dry is best…

Although it’s nigh-on impossible to avoid the different types of mud (especially if you live in a place with a temperate climate), we mountain bikers will encounter – with any combination of the above capable of presenting themselves on a ride – there’s no denying just how much better riding in the dry is.

Grip is predictable, every one of your bike’s moving parts and paint won’t get ground down by mud, and there’s little to do in the way of cleaning.

Yes, riding in the mud is fun, but only if it’s not your bike you’re ruining – and someone else deals with the clean-up operation.

What are your favourite types of mud? Have I missed out a crucial type of dirt that you just love to ride? Please let me know in the comments.

An abridged version of this article first appeared in Cycling Plus magazine. Issue 389 is out now – subscribe to Cycling Plus to receive a Castelli Squadra jacket worth £70 and save 30 per cent on the magazine shop price.

Amendments to the Highway Code designed, according to the Department for Transport, “to enhance safety for all road users [and] particularly those most at risk” are due to come into effect on Saturday 29 January.

The Highway Code is a mix of advice, guidelines, rules and mandatory legal requirements for all road users in England, Scotland and Wales, and changes to its wording have been under consideration for some time.

The new code includes a number of amendments that may benefit cyclists, including a hierarchy designed to protect vulnerable road users, updated guidance on riding two abreast and road position, and the introduction of a new technique called the ‘Dutch Reach’ to encourage motorists to check over their shoulder before opening a door.

Cycling UK, the cycling charity that campaigns for the interests of cyclists throughout the country, has called for updates to the code for the past decade and celebrated the latest step forward in getting the amendments it wanted.

Foremost in this is new wording that challenges what Cycling UK calls the ‘might is right’ mindset on our roads – the idea that the people in the biggest vehicles on the road hold all the cards.

The updated code introduces what is described as a hierarchy of road users – a “concept that places those road users most at risk in the event of a collision at the top of the hierarchy”.

It means those who pose the greatest risk to others have a higher level of responsibility, so a driver would have greater responsibility to look out for people cycling, walking or riding a horse.

“Everyone suffers when road collisions occur, whether they are physically injured or not,” says the proposed new text of the code.

“But those in charge of vehicles that can cause the greatest harm in the event of a collision bear the greatest responsibility to take care and reduce the danger they pose to others.”

Duncan Dollimore, Cycling UK’s head of campaigns, was effusive about the amendments, and said that “it enshrines in law the need for those who present the most risk on our roads to look out for those who are the most vulnerable. This can only make the roads safer for everyone”.

More than 16,000 people backed the amendments called for by Cycling UK when the government consulted on improving the Highway Code for vulnerable road users in 2020, according to Dollimore.

Other key changes include clearer guidance for drivers overtaking cyclists to give at least 1.5 metres when they do so and guidance on how motorists can use the ‘Dutch Reach’ technique when opening their door and stop the brutal ‘car-dooring’ that too many have suffered.

The ‘Dutch Reach’ says you should open a vehicle door using your hand on the opposite side to the door you are opening. A driver in the UK would open the door with their left hand; doing so would encourage them to turn their neck and look over their shoulder, and be less likely to slam their door into a passing bike rider.

“It shouldn’t take bravery to cross a road or ride to school with kids, but sometimes it feels that way,” says Chris Boardman, who last week was announced as the newly appointed active travel commissioner for England.

“These changes to the Highway Code clarify our responsibility to each other and simply reinforce what good road users already do. This refresh does more than offer guidance though, it makes our towns, cities and villages nicer places to live.”

There’s undoubted progress here for cyclists; the challenging of the ‘might is right’ idea is particularly pertinent, with the ballooning in size of cars – even before you get to the behaviour of some people driving them – making people riding bikes more vulnerable with every SUV redesign.

That said, many of the proposed changes are about having clearer language in the code, and are simply guidelines and advice (should not) rather than law (must not). Perhaps the biggest problem is that, for many, their knowledge of the Highway Code begins and ends with the passing of their driving test.

Hopefully, enough people can read this new text to take something from it and create more harmony on our roads, and the Department for Transport has belatedly announced a £500,000 publicity campaign to raise awareness.

Whatever you do, keep far more than 1.5m away from the reporting and reader comments of some media outlets when it comes to these changes, something I failed to do in my research. It’ll surely exaggerate even the substantial distance we have yet to travel to improve the lot of bike riders on Britain’s roads.

7 ways the updated Highway Code affects cyclists

Stanley Portus, digital writer

While some of these changes are new rules, others are simply updates or clarifications to the existing code. Here are seven of the most important Highway Code changes to keep in mind when cycling.

Road-user hierarchy

The updated Highway Code sets a hierarchy of road users, which places road users most at risk in the event of a collision at the top of the hierarchy.

This means those using heavier or quicker modes of transport should be especially vigilant for those who are at greatest risk.

“This principle applies most strongly to drivers of large goods and passenger vehicles, vans/minibuses, cars/taxis and motorcycles,” states the updated code.

While this update is aimed mostly toward those travelling in motorised vehicles, cyclists should be careful of horses and pedestrians, and everyone should be aware of children, older adults, or disabled people.

“Cyclists, horse riders and drivers of horse drawn vehicles likewise have a responsibility to reduce danger to pedestrians.

“None of this detracts from the responsibility of ALL road users, including pedestrians, cyclists and horse riders, to have regard for their own and other road users’ safety.”

Cycling in shared spaces

Reflective of the new road-user hierarchy, the Highway Code has fresh guidance on routes and spaces shared by pedestrians, cyclists and people riding horses.

Cyclists passing pedestrians, people on horses, or horse-drawn vehicles, should not do so closely or at high speed.

The code now advises you to slow down when necessary, let people know you are there, and not pass a horse on the left-hand side.

Riding in the centre of the lane

While cyclists have long been advised to ride in the centre of the lane, for improved visibility and to deter unsafe passes, the Highway Code has been updated to formalise this advice in given situations.

The new update says cyclists should cycle in the middle of the lane on quiet roads, in slow-moving traffic, or when approaching junctions or road narrowings.

The code also says cyclists should maintain a distance of 0.5m from the kerb edge when cycling on busy roads or with traffic that is moving faster than them.

The new code also clarifies that cyclists can ride two abreast – often a source of conflict on roads. While this has always been the case, a change in the language now places the emphasis on rider safety.

The previous version of the Highway Code stated cyclists should “never ride more than two abreast, and ride in single file on narrow or busy roads”. The updated code says: “You can ride two abreast and it can be safer to do so, particularly in larger groups or when accompanying children or less experienced riders.”

Drivers must leave 1.5m of space when overtaking cyclists

The Highway Code now includes updated guidance on safe passing distances and speeds for people driving or riding motorcycles.

The updated code says they must leave at least 1.5m when overtaking cyclists at speeds up to 30mph, “giving them more space” when overtaking at higher speeds.

The code also confirms that cyclists can pass stationary or slow-moving traffic on the right or left.

Using cycle lanes

While cyclists have never been obligated to use cycle lanes, the updated Highway Code simplifies the language around the use of bike lanes.

The new code advises cyclists to use cycle lanes and tracks “where they make your journey safer and easier”.

This, it says, will depend on the rider’s skills and the “situation at the time”, and clarifies that “cyclists may exercise their judgement and are not obliged to use them”.

Cycling at junctions

The Highway Code also has new rules regarding cycling at junctions.

When turning into or out of a junction, cyclists should give way to people who are crossing or waiting to cross.

If a cyclist is going straight ahead at a junction, they will have priority over traffic waiting to turn into or out of side roads, unless the road markings indicate otherwise.

The new Rule 75 outlines two-stage turns. At some signal-controlled junctions, there may be signs and markings informing cyclists to turn right in two stages.

Firstly, when the light turns green the cyclist should go straight ahead to the location marked by a cycle symbol and a turn symbol, and then wait there. Then, when the lights turn green on the far side of the junction, they should complete the turn.

Priority at roundabouts

The Highway Code will be also be updated to clarify that motorists should give priority to cyclists on roundabouts.

The new guidance says drivers or motorcyclists should not attempt to pass cyclists in their lane and should allow cyclists to move across their path as they travel across roundabouts.

The code already says cyclists can stay in the left-hand lane as they cross roundabouts. The new guidance will be added to advise drivers to take extra care when entering a roundabout to make sure they do not cut across cyclists in the left-hand lane.

The code says you can ride in the right-hand lane, too, and move left when approaching your exit.

We’ve all been there. You’re exhausted having summited the climb but uncomfortable, too. You’re hot, there’s sweat in your eyes and you’re soaked through.

But hold on, isn’t that a £400 waterproof jacket you’re wearing? Shouldn’t your jersey be nice and dry while the water beads beautifully from the waterproof fabric that’s been engineered by a scientific genius and can only be described using a string of complicated acronyms? So why are you wet?

Staying dry isn’t easy

Don’t get us wrong here, we’ll always pack a waterproof jacket if we’re heading out for a long day in the hills. Being able to keep the worst of the weather out is really important, especially during the cold winter months. But riding in a waterproof jacket – even the super-fancy, expensive ones – isn’t always the most pleasant experience. In fact, at times, it’s kind of gross.

If you’re working hard up a climb or hammering along a fast section of singletrack, it doesn’t take long for your temperature to sky-rocket. Then comes the sweating and, despite the claims around breathability, you can get as wet inside the jacket as you are on the outside. Stand around for too long chatting to your mates and you soon start getting cold. Great.

While there’s no denying some brands and fabrics are better at keeping you dry and managing your body temperature than others, in our experience, it’s rare that they’re perfect.

Are there alternatives that work, though? I’ve pulled together BikeRadar’s best MTB tech brains – Tom Marvin, Luke Marshall, Alex Evans and myself – to get everyone’s take on the matter.

This is the first instalment in what (we hope) will be a new series called Spoke Tension (see what we did there?), where the BikeRadar team wade in with our unfiltered opinions on the topic of the day.

Robin Weaver – technical editor-in-chief

In praise of windproofs

I honestly have mixed feelings about waterproof jackets. On the one hand, the very best waterproof mountain bike jackets do manage to keep the weather out and prevent you from melting, especially if you’re riding at a steady pace. That’s not always the case when mountain biking, though, where even the priciest jackets can fall short.

And it’s for exactly that reason that I generally opt to wear a windproof rather than a waterproof jacket. I came to this conclusion about a decade ago when a load of Gore kit arrived at the office. The only jacket that fitted me comfortably was one of their Windstopper tops. After a few rides in pretty horrific Welsh conditions, I was converted.

Yes, you will eventually get wet, but I’m yet to wear a windproof jacket that’s felt anywhere near as clammy or sweaty as a full-on waterproof top. I figure that if I’m going to get wet regardless, I might as well try to keep my temperature as consistent and comfortable as possible, for as long as I can, rather than melting too quickly. And the windproof element of these jackets really helps in preventing you from getting too chilly during the winter months.

Windproof jackets tend to be a little cheaper than their waterproof equivalents and, as you don’t need to keep re-proofing them, there’s less faff involved with owning one, too. I have an old Vaude jacket from about 10 years ago that’s been worn, hosed off and slung in the washing machine hundreds of times. It lives in my kit bag and, along with the Troy Lee Designs Shuttle jacket, sees more than its fair share of action.

That isn’t to say I don’t use a proper waterproof jacket when I really need to, though. The great jackets do really stand out and, when it’s properly cold and really raining, they’re worth putting on.

Tom Marvin – technical editor

Cut-offs and onesies for the win

Much like Rob, I’m a big fan of the windproof, and rarely bother with a full waterproof jacket – I’m just too sweaty for it to work a lot of the time.

However, I do have a couple of exceptions to my general anti-waterproof rule – cut-offs and onesies.

When you read ‘cut-offs’, you’re probably imagining a pair of rather-too-short denim shorts, fraying at the edges, worn by a cringe-worthy 80s pop star. Fear not, though, as I’m not advocating denim as the ultimate shred-ready outer layer.

A few years ago, at the Eurobike trade show, I spied a jacket, I think made by Vaude, with arms that only extended to just above the elbows. I shrugged it off as some sort of German oddity until earlier this summer.

I was getting ready to race The Merida Ex Enduro and saw that the first stages of day one would be raced in the rain, but that it would clear up later. I wasn’t too stoked on the idea of riding the rest of the day splattered with wet mud, and also knew the wind would be howling on top of Exmoor.

So, I took a worn-out jacket from my wardrobe, and with some kitchen scissors and a T-shirt as a guide, cut the arms off.

Yes, I looked very… quirky. But you know what? My arms got damp yet helped regulate my temperature well, my back stayed dry despite the wind and rain, and my torso was protected from muddy spray. A complete win in my book.

Next up, is the onesie – an item of clothing I’ve eulogised about in the past. When it really is foul outside, and waterproofs are the only option, the onesie comes into its own.

Assuming you’re going to pair your jacket with some waterproof trousers (an infinitely more useful piece of winter MTB clothing, by the way), why not join the two together and avoid the frustration of trousers that sag when plastered in mud, or a jacket that rides up, exposing your lower back to muddy spray?

Yes, they (can) look odd, but trust me – when you go onesie, you don’t go back, especially if your riding involves a lot of uplifts.

While I rarely wear one out pedalling on the trail, during our annual Bike of the Year testing, where a lot of time is spent shuttling up and riding down BikePark Wales, the onesie really does come into its own.

Luke Marshall – technical writer

Vest is best for Luke

I have a few issues with waterproof jackets. Firstly, their name. Secondly, whether waterproof and breathability ratings stand up to much scrutiny.

That rant is for another day but, keeping on topic here, on some rides the weather is so gross I can’t do without a good waterproof. However, in that scenario I will always choose breathability over waterproof ratings and will often ditch the riding jersey underneath and wear a wool baselayer to help keep me warm, even if I am sweaty.

But what alternatives to the waterproof do I also rely on?

If it’s mixed weather, and I can get away with it, I’m a big fan of a gilet and have two that regularly get called into action: a thinner, windproof Gore top, and a thicker, warmer Fox vest.

They’ll both shrug off a shower or two, and I appreciate the freedom of movement and additional ventilation a gilet offers. It’s also easy to layer up underneath a gilet and, if I know I’m going to keep moving and maintain core warmth, I’ll suffer damp arms if the heavens open.

Knowing that Sam Hill is happy to rock a gilet when needed makes me wonder whether, actually, they’re cooler than perhaps otherwise considered.

Or, maybe, I’m now at that age where function takes priority over fashion. But then, I supported the sleeveless jersey/baselayer look pioneered by motocross star James Stewart with his Seven MX brand, and used this year by Richie Rude and the Yeti team in the Enduro World Series. Maybe I’m just a vest guy…

Anyway, moving on… if the ride’s more social, and the weather’s cold and grotty but it’s not pouring with rain, I’ll grab a softshell.

A softshell will shrug off puddle splashes and a light shower, and is more comfortable and breathable than a hardshell waterproof (we’ve got a separate explainer on hardshell vs softshell jackets).

While these alternative options aren’t ‘waterproofs’, I wash all my outerwear in an eco-friendly waterproofing detergent. This helps keep them a little more winter-friendly, even though it’s probably not ideal for my wallet.

Alex Evans – technical editor

It’s all about the money and there ain’t a damn thing funny

I have spent a not-insignificant amount of my life focused on an ever-growing desire to not spend money on unnecessary things, or waste it on illogical, frivolous purchases. This life-wide motivation extends to areas that might cause ‘normal’ people to raise an eyebrow.

Would I rather sit at 60mph in the slow lane on the motorway to save fuel, than travel at the speed limit and arrive earlier? Yes I would, and yes I do.

Do I set the thermostat in my house to 12.5 degrees in the winter to save money on heating costs? Yes, yes I do.

Have I removed certain bulbs from their fittings in the ceiling, because they aren’t essential, and the remaining ones provide enough light, plus I get to save money? Embarrassingly, yes I have.

And in the world of bikes, prior to landing a job in the industry, I’d convinced myself that grip was a state of mind, and that as long as I believed my tyres would stick to the ground, no matter how worn they were, I would be okay.

I would spend hours meticulously cleaning my drivetrain so it didn’t wear as quickly, and wouldn’t need replacing. And, before a time of tubeless tyres, I would patch, re-patch and then patch again punctured inner tubes.

Clearly, I have a deep-rooted ideology that time is less important than money – except when it comes to being comfortable, warm and dry. While my dear co-workers are almost unanimously saying that, in reality, it’s better to regulate temperature than try to keep dry, I’m going to make a case for the waterproof jacket.

Yes, a hardshell waterproof can feel sticky if you wear a short-sleeve top underneath. Yes, you can also overheat when ambient temperatures increase, or you’re burying yourself on a climb.

But if the construction is good enough to block water ingress, and in the same vein they’re sufficiently breathable to mitigate some of the damp building up internally, the latest jackers are, actually, really quite good.

The thing is, if it’s genuinely wet out there, a waterproof is simply the best tool for the job.

I can think of plenty of times when I’ve gone out riding, wearing a showerproof softshell, and having been caught short in a biblical deluge, the waterproofing has been quickly overwhelmed and my underlayers drenched. It’s nigh-on impossible to stay warm or comfortable from there, let alone recover any semblance of being dry.

Now, in the same circumstances, that cold, ride-ruining rain will have a much harder job of penetrating a proper hardshell waterproof and through into your inner layers, where it sets about reducing your core’s temperature.

Yes, you’ll need to keep moving to maintain body heat, but, in my experience, it’s relatively easy to top up your core temperature, even if it has dropped, and is even easier to just maintain it.

So, are hardshell waterproofs worth the cash? Yes, and no.

The performance of a quality jacket, and your wet-weather happiness, hangs on a balance of waterproofing and breathability. It needs to be genuinely waterproof and reasonably breathable, even if it’s never going to be able to dump all of the heat and moisture you’re capable of producing.

The trouble is, finding a jacket that’s both of those things usually involves spending more cash.

DWR treatments can also be quick to wear or fade. Lightweight jackets can easily rip in a crash or snag on a tree. Seams aren’t always sealed. They can smell. Cleaning a jacket in regular washing powder can reduce its performance. Sweat and grease can also damage the fabric.

Spend the proper amount of time washing and taking care of a jacket, and a good waterproof will last a long time. But if you don’t, you’ve essentially got yourself an expensive, permeable heat and sweat blanket, which is no good.

Yes, softshells, gilets and windproof jackets have their place when it comes to staying comfortable in a range of conditions, but I’ve never cursed a waterproof jacket for keeping me dry but too hot in the same way I’ve expressed disgust at a leaky softshell that’s cut short a winter ride because I was wet, cold and uncomfortable.

That’s reason enough for me to say this: spend as much as you can afford on a quality waterproof jacket. Just make sure you turn the heating down and lights off to save the extra money.

Internal cable routing has gone too far.

What started out as a smart, watt-saving, front-end tidying feature for racing bikes, appears to have turned into a must-have for almost every road and gravel bike, at every price point, and I think that’s a problem.

We’ve talked about the positives and negatives of internal cable routing before, but this isn’t about that.

This is less about whether internal cable routing is a good idea full stop and more about where it should feature and what kind of bikes are – or, more specifically, aren’t – improved by it.

How did we get here?

It all began so innocently, around the summer of 2015, when stock was plentiful and bike prices weren’t rising faster than London property values.

Mainstream brands such as Trek and Specialized released groundbreaking aero road bikes like the 2016 Madone and Venge Vias, both of which featured fully integrated cable routing at the front end (no doubt these weren’t the first bikes to do it, but the summer of 2015 was when mainstream brands started to jump on this particular trend).

Being cylindrical in shape, gear and brake cables, and hydraulic hoses, are not aerodynamically optimised. The wind doesn’t like round things, after all.

A simple way to make a bike more slippery, then, is to tuck the cables away into the aero-optimised handlebar and frameset. Who could complain? Other than mechanics, of course, but when did that ever stop anyone.

The market approved and other brands followed suit.

At some point, though, this feature started migrating from aero bikes to climbing bikes, then to endurance bikes, gravel bikes… Now it seems like almost every new drop handlebar bike has fully internal cable routing.

What’s the problem with fully internal cable routing?

The problem, as far as I see it, is that this internal cable routing is becoming pervasive on drop handlebar bikes of all levels, regardless of whether it really adds anything to the bike.

On an aero road bike or a time trial bike, fully hidden cables make more sense. With bikes like those, it’s reasonable to want all the marginal gains you can get, though as I found when recently testing four of the latest aero bikes, some brands still do a better job than others at hiding cables while still keeping the cockpit user-friendly.

Indeed, if you’re not racing, is it worth saving a few watts (we’ll come on to exactly how many a little later) for all the added complexity and reduced serviceability that often comes with fully hidden cables?

And I say this as someone who, as many of you will know, is often chasing small gains.

As ever, it’s a case of balancing that gain against potential downsides.

Look beyond aero bikes, which at least have the excuse of focusing on lower aerodynamic drag, and we’re starting to see potentially complex internal cable routing right down to entry-level bikes.

Take the recently announced 2022 Scott Speedster 50. It’s the cheapest model in the new Speedster range and uses 2×7-speed non-series Shimano gearing, with mechanical disc brakes… and has fully internal cable routing through the frameset.

Fully internal cable routing isn’t appropriate for this kind of bike.

As with any internal cable routing, especially with mechanical gear and brake cables, the cable bends are tighter and there’s less tolerance for poor setup (in terms of cable length and routing).

In turn, this means a higher likelihood of headaches, such as spongy shifting and braking.

Servicing parts like the headset or gear and brake cables also becomes substantially more complex because, in many cases, the whole front end usually needs to be disassembled just to service the headset bearings.

On more expensive bikes, which now often feature electronic groupsets and hydraulic road disc brakes, it’s less of an issue.

Wireless electronic groupsets, be that SRAM’s fully wireless eTap or the wireless shifters on Shimano’s new Dura-Ace R9200 and Ultegra R8100 groupsets, suffer no ill effects from integrated front ends.

And while threading electronic shifting wires through a complicated cockpit and frameset might be difficult to set up initially, it’s a job that generally needs to be done just once (as shifting performance doesn’t degrade due to cable stretch or contamination).

• Road bike groupsets: everything you need to know

Though bleeding them is still a hassle, hydraulic brakes are also less sensitive to tight bends than mechanical gear and brake cables.

While it still makes servicing more complex, owners of such bikes may be more willing to accept this to have a bike that’s closer to the cutting-edge of bike design (however we define that).

Equally, if you can’t adjust your bike fit or service the bike without booking it in at your local shop, the question remains as to whether any tangible benefit is worth it out there in the real world.

“Up to 3 watts in extreme cases”

According to Canyon, “up to 3 watts in extreme cases” is all we’re likely to be getting out of fully concealed cables.

Given most brands have a propensity to use flattering language when it comes to performance claims (because why wouldn’t they?), I doubt the German brand is underselling this gain.

In fact, given Canyon has caveated the wattage claim with “in extreme cases”, it’s probably fair to assume the gain is even smaller under more everyday circumstances.

In time trials or road races, where the margins between winning and losing can be so small, compromising simplicity and serviceability for 3 watts makes some sense in performance terms (especially if you have a professional mechanic looking after your bike).

As someone who waxes chains, pores over rolling resistance charts for the best road tyres, and owns aero socks and multiple power meters, and generally agonises over every last watt, I’d want to save those 3 watts on a race bike, providing I can still service the bike without a degree in mechanical engineering.

Is it a big enough gain to justify complex internal cable routing on bikes designed for general road or gravel riding, though? I don’t think so.

Cleanliness is next to godliness?

Clean cockpits do look fantastic, of course, and bike brands are likely trying to capture a far wider portion of the market, with a feature that grabs headlines on their top-tier bikes.

That’s nothing new in the world of bike tech, and as a less performance-minded aside, internal cable routing also makes mounting bikepacking bags easier, if you’re the kind of fashionable cyclist who does that.

If either of those reasons is enough for you, that’s perfectly okay – every rider, and consumer, rightly has the choice to buy what they want – but having semi-external cable routing on my Giant TCR Advanced Pro 2 Disc long-term review bike hasn’t caused me any concerns this past year, either. I loved that frame so much I’ve bought it.

It might seem like I’m being hypocritical here, as I’ve previously argued vociferously that aero gains can still matter even if you’re not racing.

But while big-ticket changes like aero framesets and deep-section wheels typically bring tangible performance gains, the aero benefits of fully internal cable routing are all but impossible to discern without controlled testing.

Ultimately, on bikes not primarily designed with all-out, no-compromise speed in mind, fully internal cable routing seems like extra hassle for little detectable gain – and it’s a trend I want to stop.

What do you think? Is fully internal cable routing a welcome feature on entry-level bikes or is the added complexity a bad idea? Let us know in the comments below.

A few years ago, Paris-Roubaix was one of the few remaining races that could guarantee a tech feast for bike nerds.

We find ourselves here, in 2021, though, after a weekend packed full of incredible racing, with relatively little to talk about in terms of bike tech.

While Lizzie Deignan soloed to an historic victory in the Paris-Roubaix Femmes aboard a Trek Domane packed with cobble-cushioning tech, the elite men’s podium was made up of riders all aboard their standard aero road bikes, albeit with slightly larger (and, in many cases, tubeless) tyres.

What happened then? Are modern racing bikes simply so good they can be used to win on all terrains? Or are riders and teams just being denied the choice they once had by sponsors exerting ever greater influence over them?

As always, it’s probably a bit of both.

The house always wins

We’ve touched on this before, but the rise of house brands within professional cycling has been happening faster than Julian Alaphilippe attacking on the Sint-Antoniusberg.

WorldTour bikes are now typically dominated by big-ticket sponsors and components from large brands, who have (understandably) become increasingly keen to see their kit used in all races.

While being handy with a black marker pen used to be a crucial skill for the professional mechanics (who often needed to ‘carefully’ disguise the fact non-sponsor correct items were being used), we don’t see so much of that anymore, except on prototype kit.

• 11 clever hacks of WorldTour race mechanics

Given these restraints, most teams and riders are simply left with fewer choices when it comes to kit.

Sponsored by Continental? Well, you can have the Competition tubular or the new GP5000 S TR tubeless tyre. Want to use FMB, Dugast or some other tyres Continental doesn’t make? Tough luck.

• Race tech: Wheel and tyre choices at Paris-Roubaix 2011

Considering where Continental – and, in the women’s race, Pirelli, with Deignan winning on the P Zero TLR tubeless tyre – has focused its development recently, it’s hardly a surprise the new tyre comes out on top of the one that hasn’t seen an update in years.

But the big tyre brands were out in force at this year’s Roubaix races, when the artisans used to have a much greater say. While the absence of Paris-Roubaix for two-and-a-half years saw wide tubeless tyres emerge as a key trend at the 2021 race, that’s left little room for under-the-radar sponsor swaps.

New bikes are also really good

Without wanting to sound like a paid-up cycling industry illuminati devotee, a big part of this trend towards conformity is down simply to the fact that modern race bikes are now pretty amazing machines.

I know many are sick of reading that every new road bike is a zillion watts faster at 50kph, 2kg lighter for the £10,000 frameset, 50 per cent laterally stiffer and yet still twice as vertically compliant as last year’s model, but some of those gains have actually made bikes much better.

Over the years, we’ve seen all manner of wild innovations aimed at gaining an edge on the cobbles. Cyclocross bikes, cantilever brakes and 32-spoke box section alloy wheels all used to be a relatively common sight at Paris-Roubaix, but these things simply aren’t required anymore.

• How Paris-Roubaix bikes have evolved

High-quality carbon fibre is an amazing material, and, when used skilfully, can make a bike aerodynamic, stiff under power and remarkably comfortable all at the same time, especially if you’re running wider tyres.

The Merida Reacto (as used by the winner of the elite men’s race, Sonny Colbrelli), for example, ticks all of those boxes. It’s a bike I was thoroughly impressed with when I tested the Ultegra spec Reacto 6000 version last year.

Equally impressive are two bikes which helped round out the podium, the Ridley Noah Fast (as ridden by Florian Vermeersch) and the Canyon Aeroad (as ridden by Mathieu van der Poel).

All three bikes are fast, comfortable and – in their most bling guises – not too heavy either. They also feature strikingly similar silhouettes and design cues.

With the UCI’s technical regulations being as prescriptive as they are, it’s no wonder so many brands are converging around a similar set of characteristics when it comes to making road racing bikes.

Colbrelli, Van der Poel and Vermeersch would have had a choice of frameset and wheels, as all three of their respective bike and wheel sponsors make endurance (or weight) focused framesets and shallower carbon rims. It’s notable, therefore, all three apparently chose to stick with their aero race bikes.

I wonder, had Deceuninck–Quick-Step, Bora-Hansgrohe and Trek-Segafredo riders had a free choice, how many would have chosen to ride a Specialized Tarmac SL7, Trek Madone or Trek Émonda over the Specialized Roubaix and Trek Domane?

These modern aero road bikes have adopted many of the endurance bike’s defining features, such as disc brakes, wider tyre clearances and carbon wheels optimised for wider tyres, negating any need to switch framesets.

The death knell for tubulars?

Most brands involved in cycling are pushing their latest products with the genuine belief they are better than the old ones.

To revisit the Continental example; while there are obvious financial considerations behind the drive for tubeless tyres to replace tubulars in the pro peloton (tubular tyres are a very niche product now, so there’s little financial incentive to keep developing or producing them), there are also performance advantages to be gained from the switch.

As there’s less material and no glue involved, equivalent tubeless or clincher tyres typically produce less rolling resistance than tubulars.

Clincher tyres have the win in the ease-of-use stakes but, as we already know, when you’ve got a professional sorting out your kit, ease of use is rarely a priority.

Tubeless tyres are less prone to pinch flats, too, and can make better use of tyre sealant and internal liners (something we’ve seen in the mountain biking world for a few years now), to offer improved puncture protection and a run-flat solution. The Lotto-Soudal team of Vermeersch was among those to use tyre inserts at Paris-Roubaix.

Just like aerodynamic bike frames, tubeless or clincher wheels and tyres do tend to be heavier than tubular equivalents. But many more pros are coming round to the fact this matters far less than traditionally thought, especially if the race doesn’t end with a mountain-top finish.

Once the inevitable teething issues were ironed out, then, it was always likely tubeless tyres would eventually have their say in the pro peloton.

The future of Paris-Roubaix bike tech

What does this all mean for the future of Paris-Roubaix bike tech, then?

For better or worse, I think the trends we’ve seen this year are indicative of where things are heading for WorldTour racing bikes in general.

I expect to see more widespread adoption of tubeless tyres and aero kit in all races, and even less use of tubulars and rim brakes. The days of whacky custom bikes, with obscure parts purchased from artisan brands are, I fear, firmly behind us.

It was fun while it lasted.

Writing opinion columns moaning about modern bike aesthetics is an act of pointless retro-grouchery and generally makes the author look like a stubborn dinosaur who just needs to lighten up and embrace change.

Despite thinking this, I’m now going to moan about modern bike aesthetics.

There’s a specific design trait that’s becoming more and more common as bikes become ever-more integrated, with manufacturers putting great effort into streamlining their designs and hiding cables from view: huge, enormous, gigantic, massive stems.

Modern road and gravel bike stems are often simply too damned big, making otherwise sleek and beautiful bikes look oddly top-heavy.

The problem is exacerbated by the huge stacks of spacers manufacturers need to fit to allow riders to adjust their position.

When a new bike pops up at a big race, it’s invariably set up with its stem slammed down on the headset because that’s how the vast majority of pros ride.

Conventional wisdom says that bikes look best this way. The #slamthatstem hashtag on Instagram has been used almost 45,000 times and a blog of the same name ran for years and even offered custom low-profile headset top caps to get you even lower than standard components allowed.

I’d love to pretend otherwise, but road bikes do look fantastic when they’re set up like this.

In the real world, however, most of us (myself included) aren’t best served by having our bar as low as is physically possible. Forcing yourself into an overly aggressive position when your body is the wrong shape, or not flexible enough, is a recipe for injury.

The reality is most of us aren’t built for 40-odd centimetres of saddle-to-bar drop, and we shouldn’t be emulating pros who set their bikes up for maximum performance rather than everyday comfort.

As a result, on a typical mass-produced road or gravel bike, the majority of riders will be running one or more spacers underneath the stem, and I think it behoves bike designers to maintain some level of aesthetic harmony with un-slammed stems.

Some do a much better job than others.

For years, virtually all bikes used fairly standard round headset spacers that roughly matched the diameter of the stem’s steerer clamp. These days, a great many bikes use proprietary spacers, which are often longer than they are wide for aerodynamic reasons. They also add space for internal cables to run through.

Huge spacer stacks and chunky stems combine to create a lot of visual mass at the front of the bike.

Some bikes get away with it – the Cannondale SystemSix Hi-Mod for example has such substantial frame tubes that the whole thing kind of works, with an immense truncated-aerofoil section head tube providing visual balance for the aero Knot stem.

The Trek Madone looks similarly muscular and aggressive with its stem slammed, but with a stack of spacers it starts to look gawky to my eyes.

More affordable versions of the Madone use the same spacer arrangement, but a more conventional stem, and that looks even stranger – like an immensely ripped bodybuilder with an absolutely tiny head.

There are so many examples on the market that it feels almost unfair to pick on individual brands, but the Felt AR’s stem-and-spacer combo (pictured at the top of this article) is particularly massive, while the Giant Propel is another bike whose looks really suffer when the steerer isn’t cut.

Endurance road bikes and gravel bikes are often badly afflicted too, with tall head tubes accentuating the visual impact of towering spacer stacks.

Ridley’s otherwise delightful Kanzo Fast, for example, does not look its best with an untrimmed steerer, and the size large Kanzo Fast we tested looked particularly top-heavy.

We’ll get used to it, won’t we?

Aesthetic norms are ever-evolving and it’s very possible, likely even, that my hot take won’t age well.

I don’t doubt that similar columns to this one were committed to print when comparatively chunky threadless stems began taking over from the slender quills of old.

Designs that look bold and challenging today might be entirely run-of-the-mill in a few years, and then something more radical will come along and we’ll complain about that instead.

As ever, I don’t want to dump on the achievements of bike designers – modern bikes are incredible – but I would say this: please make bikes that look cool and fast when they’re set up for regular riders and not just the pros.

Regular readers may recall that I’m a big fan of the Specialized Roubaix and one of the things I like about that bike – apart from the way it rides – is that it offers a comfy endurance-friendly riding position without looking tall and awkward.

That’s partly down to the headset design, but also the use of riser drop bars, a relatively rare feature.

Can we have more lateral thinking like that, please?

We get a lot of press releases sent to us at BikeRadar and, if we’re being charitable, some of them are more interesting than others.

Here’s a story that ticks the boxes however: the news that Jaguar’s I-PACE electric car has completed an Everesting challenge on a single charge, with Olympic champion Elinor Barker at the wheel.

In case you’ve been living under a rock – or simply don’t find somebody repeatedly riding up and down the same hill all that interesting – Everesting is doing 8,848m of climbing in a single ride, i.e. the equivalent of climbing that big ol’ mountain.

This Jaguar story has it all:

• Appropriation of a very specific niche of competitive cycling
• An elite cyclist (mostly not riding a bike)
• A futuristic electric car which is sort of green I guess, like an ebike?
• A video with some very natural dialogue

Lest you think I’m being a big meanie, I actually like cars and happen to believe the tech behind ones like the I-PACE is really cool – a claimed 292-mile range is not to be sniffed at and nothing about the performance is likely to leave you wanting. I also have nothing but respect for Elinor Barker’s achievements in cycling.

According to Jaguar, the challenge required 16.2 repeats of Great Dun Fell in the Pennines, with the I-PACE covering 124 miles (199.6km) in total, including an 8-mile drive to the start, and finishing with 31 per cent battery remaining, partly thanks to its regenerative braking.

Despite all this, Everesting in a car makes the cycling equivalent look absolutely riveting, and that’s saying something (although even I’ll admit that sometimes the bikes are seriously cool).

I’d like to propose some other cycling activities that could be undertaken in cars. Here are some ideas to kick off:

• Gravel riding: Drive through the woods with big floppy bags tied to your car. Put it on Instagram.
• Enduro: Drive up the hill and then back down again, but wear pyjamas.
• The weekly club 10-mile time trial: Drive your family car up and down the local dual-carriageway, write your time on a clipboard, eat a cake. Rear lights must be fitted, no drafting other cars, weird custom aero mods encouraged. Alienate family and friends via endless discussion of CdA, rolling resistance and watts.
• Sportives: Drive round a signposted route, viciously overtake other drivers who are enjoying themselves. Tell your friends you were “racing” at the weekend.
• Fixed gear: Remove your car’s brakes, drive everywhere in second gear, talk about the zen of driving, get a rear differential tattooed on your calf.
• Hill climbs: Replace every single part of your car with one that’s anodised, 20 per cent lighter, and 250 per cent more expensive. Drive up hill thronged by a shouting crowd, vomit at the top.
• Indoor training: Play Mario Kart.

Which cycling disciplines would you like to see borrowed for automotive marketing purposes? Answers in the comments, please.

The Covid-19 pandemic has disrupted virtually every aspect of our day-to-day lives – and continues to do so.

Cycling is no different and whether it was being forced to ride indoors more than we would like or cancelling a big trip, we have all had to adapt over the past year.

It would be tone-deaf to describe these annoyances as even minor tragedies – in comparison to the havoc and heartbreak wrought by the pandemic, not being able to ride with my gang of go-fast chums is hardly the end of the world.

Nonetheless, as the various vaccines are rolled out and we all learn to live within this much-changed world, we can look back on things we would have once taken for granted and dream about what our future cycling lives may look like.

1. Riding with friends

Though one of my cycling resolutions for last year was to enjoy more “contemplative chamois time”, I ended up spending enough time riding on my tod in 2020 to last me a lifetime.

Lockdown and social distancing made riding with friends illegal, inadvisable or impractical for much of last year.

It’s unnecessary at this point to spell out why this was a bit of a bummer, but from a personal perspective, it also made this winter seem endless.

Solo post-work night rides are far less enjoyable and indulging in the latest tech gossip of the cycling media world is far less fun when done over instant messaging.

Of course, I’m lucky to have a partner who also enjoys cycling (doubly lucky to have one that co-discovered tandem riding with me), and we’ve done some fantastic rides together during this time.

That said, Laura and I also live and work together at home, so I’m sure she’ll be glad to see me boosted oot the door and back playing with my pals on the roads again soon.

I’d much rather we all stay Covid-secure for as long as is required, but still can’t wait to give my riding friends a loving pasting on our favourite climbs when it’s safe to do so.

2. Eggs on toast

My Platonic ideal of the perfect winter ride looks something like this:

We set out early for a ~100km ride with four or five chums, most likely across the water from Bristol to the Wye Valley.

The weather will be bright and sunny, with the temperature hovering around 5ºC. The roads are dry but there is a bit of snow remaining in shady spots.

Midway through the ride, we stop at a cafe for a heaped portion of eggs/beans/cheese on toast and a gallon of coffee.

The ride back takes on a more moderate pace until the last half hour, where chaos ensues and it becomes a full-on sprint for home.

All of this is completed by 2pm and I spend the remainder of the day snoozing on my sunny sofa while listening to the lilting tones of Richard Gordon commentating on Sportsound.

This is the form many of my weekends have taken since moving to Bristol nearly five years ago and the perennial mid-ride winter cafe stop is one of the things I have missed the most.

The cosiness, camaraderie and craic of coming in from the cold weather into a cafe is just unbeatable, and I will be smashing my way over to Tintern as soon as I am able.

3. Sleeping outside

I love cycle touring and I had grand intentions of indulging in a multi-week cycle tour on the tandem with Laura last summer.

That didn’t happen for all of the obvious reasons and my every waking thought has been consumed with the idea of cooking meals in the vestibule of my tent for weeks now.

The simple pleasures of being warm, well-fed and sleeping soundly are all amplified ten-fold when on a tour, and I’m craving that satisfying ache and lean build that multi-day riding brings.

I vow that I will steal every chance I get in 2021 to sleep out of doors – whether it’s a quick bikepacking overnighter, a local bothy smash or a more involved tour, I’ll be there loving every minute spent being consumed by midges.

4. Everything being available all of the time

While I must acknowledge BikeRadar’s privileged position within the cycling industry affords us nearly unparalleled access to kit, the chronic shortage of bikes, components and accessories has even affected this band of sheltered cycling media elites this past year.

Getting hold of test bikes has been a nightmare and, in many cases, brands are selling out of their entire run of 2021 stock before it has even hit shop floors.

All of this means the lead time for components, let alone complete bikes, is running to over 12 months in some cases.

In the UK, at least, Brexit has only compounded the issue and prices have increased significantly since the start of the year.

(For an in-depth look into exactly why bikes have got more expensive and harder to find, check out our investigative feature from last month.)

I have no doubt that the juggernaut of global commerce will kick into action as restrictions ease and next year it’s possible things will be back to normal, but only time will tell.

In the meantime, I’ll be stocking up on chains, brake pads and inner tubes like some kind of maintenance prepper.

5. Riding somewhere that isn’t Bristol

I make around a half-dozen trips home to Scotland each year. While seeing my family and friends is the primary purpose of crossing the border, I also pack in as much riding as possible whenever I visit.

I grew up in Crieff, Perthshire, which as well as boasting some phenomenal riding of its own, is located centrally enough that most of the best bits of the country are reachable within a day’s ride.

I only managed one trip home last year and today I’m still savouring the thrill I had of riding somewhere that wasn’t Bristol.

The highlight of the trip was a daft 420km, two-day bikepacking trip that roughly circumnavigated the Cairngorm massif.

Despite it being over six months since the ride, when revisiting my photos and Strava files, the whole experience felt strangely familiar.

Switching to working from home full-time and fewer stupid ‘expeditions’ like this have meant there has been a dull uniformity to my life in 2020 and into 2021. This has clearly done odd things to my perception of time.

Perhaps because of this, I can recall the ride with weirdly intense clarity.

Spending so much time alone in a remarkable place while doing something hard and savouring every moment – perhaps subconsciously knowing it would be the last chance I had to do a trip like this in 2020 – has transfixed the whole experience in my mind. It really stands as a highlight in what was an otherwise rubbish year for all of us.

Though I love my life here in Bristol and the riding nearby is truly excellent, there is also really nothing quite like exploring the endless superb roads around the country I am lucky enough to call my home.

Of course, if we want to get to a point where it is safe to do any of the above, it is imperative that we all follow local guidance, wear masks where appropriate, be patient and, most importantly of all, be nice to one another. See you on the road soon. 

A thermal mug that fits in your bottle cage is the greatest gift you can give yourself this winter, and I feel like an idiot for not realising this sooner. 

I’ve been riding bikes through the winter for years, supping at a near-frozen bidon of Baltic water and lamenting its glacial output, but never really addressing the problem. 

I did briefly experiment with putting hot tea in an insulated bottle of the kind normally used to keep drinks chilled in summer. However, quaffing Lady Grey from a rubbery nozzle just felt gross, giving me a sense of unease much like the one I get when a well-meaning houseguest serves my morning Twinings in a mug I have mentally designated as coffee-only. You can’t cross the streams, okay? 

Anyway, distributor Moore Large recently sent me some ETC bike lights (the ETC Watchman appears here), and included in the box was a small thermal mug with a flip-up top. 

It’s unclear whether this thing is actually designed for on-bike use and indeed its tapered shape means it rattles in some bottle cages, but I soon fell into a habit of filling it with coffee for chilly rides, and good grief it is wonderful.

I’ve never been a particular fan of winter cafe stops for the simple reason that I don’t like warming down in the middle of a ride. Heading back out on the road after getting too comfortable indoors is a physical trauma my slight frame can do without.

In any case, the UK is in (another) Covid lockdown right now, and that means cafes are very much closed.

With my new mug, I can smugly roll to a halt, smugly extract a chocolate biscuit from my bar bag – I’m a bar bag guy now, too – before washing it down smugly with a delicious filter coffee I smugly made myself at home.

If there’s a downside to this, it’s that I need to urinate approximately seven million times on every ride, but it’s totally worth it for the joy of drinking coffee on the move. 

There’s nothing nicer than pausing for a quiet moment in the forest on a gravel ride, coffee cup in hand. 

Before you comment, I’m aware all of this is blindingly obvious. Who would have thought consuming hot liquids would be pleasant in cold weather? And that the technology exists to transport them by bicycle?

Indeed, the drum-up was part and parcel of the traditional club ride for many years – the cafe stop may even be a relatively new phenomenon – but when I got into riding the custom had all but died out. 

Now that I’m hooked, I’ve decided I need a mug that fits better in cages, so the nice people at 2Pure are sending me an Earthwell Roaster mug, which I’m told is the right size – thanks to Instagram follower and friend of BikeRadar @zetlandcycles for the tip. 

I’m optimistic this stylish vacuum flash will only burnish my gravelista credentials. 

Are you a fan of hot beverage portage? Do you have a favourite mug for the bike? Let me know your thoughts below. 

Emily Chappell is an author, advocate, ultra-endurance cyclist – and BikeRadar’s newest columnist. Having started commuting by bike in London in 2006, she’s worked as a courier, toured across Asia, Iceland and North America, and won the Transcontinental and the Strathpuffer races. Emily specialises (unsurprisingly) in endurance-focused bikes and, as someone who covers big miles all year round, has a nose for durable, hard-wearing kit that can cope with the worst of the British weather, as you’ll find out in the first of Emily’s monthly columns for BikeRadar.

I’ve ridden through enough winters that I tell myself I should know what I’m doing by now. But the worst thing about winter cycling? It finds endless ways to surprise you.

This is partly, I think, because winter just involves so many more variables than summer.

To start, there’s more kit to faff with – when I was a courier, my average job time was significantly increased by having to take off my gloves and remove my lights from my bike every single time I locked it up (I had two lights stolen before I realised it wasn’t worth skipping this step).

The weather’s worse and the roads are often in terrible condition.

The most damage I’ve ever done to a bike was riding along Canada’s Yellowhead Highway during an unseasonal thaw – all of the grit and salt that I’d expected to be frozen into the ice was swimming around in a 900km puddle of slush, which rapidly coated everything.

I regularly found mud running down my back under my clothes. And the bike, after a week of being exfoliated by this unholy mess, sounded like a wounded animal. It hasn’t been the same since.

And winter is hard on the body – a body that in many cases may already be a bit tired from all the riding we did when it was summer.

We’re more likely to get ill. Some winters I manage the Festive 500, or some silly ultra-distance challenge like a four-day LEJOG, but at least half of them I spend fighting off incessant colds.

Something about the coldness and the darkness and the dampness make me far more inclined to curl up with a book than to venture out to get covered in mud yet again.

You might have guessed, from that torrent of whinging, what sort of winter I’m currently having. But I’m still riding. Over the years I’ve figured out what mind games to play with myself in order to keep going.

The main thing I’ve learned, time and time again, is that having the right kit really does make all the difference.

When I cycled through Turkey and Iran in early 2012, the temperature regularly hit minus-25ºC – at the time, the coldest conditions I had ever experienced. And there I was, wearing my road shoes with overshoes and an extra pair of socks, wondering why I felt so miserable and pathetic.

Three years later I cycled through temperatures as low as -40ºC in Alaska, and everything felt much easier. I had learned that squeezing into as many socks as possible makes matters worse – the extra layers reduce your circulation, and there’s less space to trap warm air close to your skin.

Comparing notes with a friend who’s raced in the Yukon Arctic Ultra, we agreed that getting through the coldest challenges is far more about good admin than any notions of personal toughness. It’s about spending the time and money to ensure that you have the appropriate clothing and equipment for the conditions, and – just as crucially – that you make it as easy as possible for yourself to carry out the essential processes of eating, drinking, faffing and moving forward.

(Just last winter I called a friend to rescue me from a ride, because I got lost and my hands were too excruciatingly cold to navigate from my phone. Had I had better gloves, and bothered to use my bike computer, it would have been a different story.)

Find kit that works and stick with it

So now I’m permanently on the look-out for good winter cycling kit – and with the conditions I put it through, I very quickly notice if it’s not good.

One of the regular headaches of winter riding – especially if you’re female – is having to strip off your jacket, gilet and jersey, and hang them from a rusty barbed wire fence as you squat to pee in the corner of a muddy field in the rain. I once even had to be helped out of my clothes by a fellow cyclist because my hands were too frozen to manage the zips.

So Rapha’s new winter bib tights have genuinely changed my life. They do up at the back, meaning that you can squat to pee without removing a single item of clothing – even your gloves because the nifty magnetic clasp requires very little manual dexterity.

Another ongoing winter headache was happily resolved the year when I invested in a SON hub dynamo and Supernova lights. Finally, here was a lighting system that would never run out of battery, and which (since it was permanently fixed to the bike) I couldn’t lose.

I must have gone through dozens of rear lights over the years, and have wearily come to consider them disposable, since I break and lose them constantly.

This winter’s tally? One lost, two broken. And it’s only December as I write this.

I should add that I still use a battery-powered light alongside the dynamo – you can never have too many lights.

Every year I welcome my old friends from the back of the wardrobe – the Swrve Milwaukee jacket has been keeping me warm since 2008, when I struggled through my first winter as a courier. I’ve since worn it (along with Swrve’s excellent softshell trousers and Belgian caps) through winters in Turkey, Iran, Japan, Iceland, Alaska and Canada, and really my only complaint is that it’s too cosy for temperatures much above zero, so doesn’t see as much action in Bristol’s mild climate.

Some things are still a learning curve though, and I’m still looking for the perfect pair of waterproof winter cycling gloves (suggestions below, please).

Once you’ve cracked your kit choice, there’s great comfort in knowing you’ve got it right, and being able to head out into the worst of the weather trusting your kit to see you through it is liberating.

Sometimes you have to confront the truly important issues, and this is one of those times. We need to answer a question that goes to the heart of on-bike fashion: what is the correct way to wear overshoes, the waterproof booties that are an absolute essential for winter road riding?

I think the answer is obvious – they should be worn underneath your tights or leg warmers so water running down your legs is directed onto the outside of your overshoes, rather than the inside.

It’s the same principle as tiling a roof. You start with the lowest row of tiles above the gutter, and the next row up goes on top, overlapping so water doesn’t end up inside your house.

It turns out not everyone subscribes to this completely flawless logic, in fact our recent Twitter poll suggests almost 90 per cent of you disagree with me.

Even some of my close colleagues – who I believed to be thoughtful, rational individuals, and dare I say it, friends – disagree. I need to settle the issue.

Now, I can see why you might naturally default to wearing your overshoes over your tights.

A significant proportion of bib tights seem to be designed on the assumption that this is the norm, with tight ankle cuffs and even foot stirrups making it impossible to place them on the outside.

Also, many overshoes have sections of high-vis or reflectives that will be partially or completely obscured if you rock them tile-style (can we make this phrase a thing?).

For this reason, I prefer tights with ankle zips, and overshoes that aren’t too bulky around the back of the ankle.

When I’m wearing kit that fails on one or other criteria, I’ll grudgingly wear my overshoes on the outside, but I’ll do so knowing that things could be better.

I did this on a ride yesterday in heavy rain and ended up with socks full of water, which just didn’t need to happen.

Am I wrong? Should misguided fashion considerations trump cosy, dry feet?

Vote in our new poll, the only one that counts. I do not acknowledge the results of previous referenda on this topic.

I’m both a technical editor and a scatterbrain. I receive, read and understand a huge number of tech specs, new developments and freshly introduced ‘standards’ on an alarmingly frequent basis. However, when it comes to sourcing new parts for a bike, I constantly end up picking incompatible components.

After a particularly frustrating morning where I was unable to complete any of the three jobs I had planned for various bikes, largely thanks to something not being quite right, I found myself wistfully looking back to my early mountain biking days and remembering those far simpler times.

Bottom bracket choices pretty much came down to either Shimano’s UN55 or UN72 model in a 68mm or 73mm BB shell width – both of which would probably survive a particularly muddy apocalypse. V-brake arms simply bolted on to frame and fork, and 27.2mm seatposts were a given.

When it came to handlebars, I only had to choose between the black or gold Answer Pro Taper (gold, obviously). While headsets were one size and they all fitted in to the same damn shape head tube, and wheels were secured with a simple lever without having to think about how wide they were.

A disclaimer

Before we dive in, let me set one thing straight – I think developments in mountain bike tech (and by extension, road bike tech, because we all know mountain bikers develop the good stuff first…) are generally a very good thing.

I’m not into old bikes, whatsoever. Give me an all-singing, all-dancing modern trail bike every day of the week. But boy, oh boy, do I wish the industry would just stick to one set of standards.

I’d like to ask the bike industry to have a quick look at the word ‘standard’ in the dictionary, and then perhaps consider the following: standards should make our lives easier, not harder.

It can (and, I’m sure those in the comments, will) be argued that a standard isn’t necessarily perfect, but it means we’re all working off the same basis. It means we can walk into a bike shop and walk straight out, without having to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of every different ‘standard’ and how they interplay with every other ‘standard’ out there.

Thus, below is a set of standards I would like to be standard. You may argue that the ‘standard’ should be a different version of the standard, but hey, unless you’re actually a World Cup racing pro, I can almost guarantee that the ‘other’ standard would provide negligible benefit to you.

Bottom bracket shells

Bottom bracket shells should all be 73mm wide and with an English thread.

Why 73mm? Well it’ll work marginally better with Boost spaced wheels (more on that later), and you should be using ISCG05 chainguide mounts if you need them, plus I had to pick between 73mm and 68mm, and wider is better.

Why threaded? Well, that’s obvious.

When replacing a BB, do I want to unthread it or thwack it out of my carbon frame in some sort of neanderthal-like manner because, like most normal human beings, I don’t own a bearing puller (or bearing press for that matter)?

You might argue that press-fit bottom brackets (and their ilk) are ‘technically’ better – and that absolutely can be true if a frame is built with suitable high quality control – but I assure you that your average home mechanic is more likely to possess the motor skills to unthread a BB more successfully than they can whack-out and press-in a PF BB without damaging their pride and joy. They will also likely have the far cheaper tool needed to do so.

Also, anecdotally, threaded BB shells tend to be more reliable, don’t creak and are less prone to poor (read cheap) frame manufacturing tolerances – and no, I’ve never had to face and chase a BB shell in my life, by the way.

Oh, and while we’re at it, there should be ONE standard tool interface on BBs. I have five in my garage, and that still doesn’t cover them all.

In fact, after a recent rant on Instagram, James Huang, formerly of this parish and now at CyclingTips, messaged me and mentioned Abbey Tools has thirteen different BB tools, which doesn’t cover them all either. Madness.

If you too are confused by all the different bottom bracket standards out there and would like to be far better informed, why not brew a (strong) coffee and read our (very) in-depth guide?

Crank connectors

Every crank manufacturer should adopt Shimano’s Hollowtech II system.

Sorry everyone else, but HT II is just better; it’s simple to fit, simple to understand and doesn’t require extreme torque to work. The 24mm spindle is stiff enough (I challenge you to prove me otherwise) and means bigger bearings can be squeezed into the aforementioned threaded BB.

SRAM’s DUB system actually comes close to perfection, but the fact that you often need to put a scaffold pipe on the end of your hex key to remove a DUB crankset relegates it to second position.

Everything else is just a means to delay your riding time and has no discernible benefit in my most humble of opinions.

Axle spacings

From here on in, anything other than 110 × 15mm at the front and 148 × 12mm at the back should be committed to history.

Like it or not, Boost is here to stay, and that’s how it should be. If your wheel isn’t stiff enough and you ‘need’ Super Boost, sorry – just add more spokes or build a wheel with a stiffer rim.

Crank chainlines

Further to this, given that from now on we’re all sticking to 73mm BB shells, threaded BBs, Shimano’s HT II crank system, Boost axle spacing, and 1× drivetrains (I’m not even going to sully this article by mentioning anything other than 1×), can we just make every crank’s chainline identical so we don’t need to get our set-squares and Pythagorus theorems to make sure our gears will actually work?

Certainly, we can drop having multiple crank spindle lengths, which only give us the option of getting it wrong…

As for the axle diameter, yes, 20mm front axles were a good thing, but they failed to become commonplace, so for the sake of simplicity, we’ll stick with 15mm.

Brake mounts

Forks will have 180mm post mounts and frames will be 160mm post mount only.

IS mounts can be relegated to history, and this shocking new fashion of using flat-mount calipers on mountain bikes should be quickly kicked into the long grass, please.

Post mount is simple to use and, with a 180/160mm mix, most XC and trail riders can simply bolt the caliper straight to the frame and fork, with no messing.

If you want more power (and that’s fair…) then +20mm or +40mm adaptors are easy to source, easy to attach and make rotor choice very, very simple: 160 / 180 / 200 / 220 – four sizes only and no 183/203mm sillyness to worry about.

If you’re an XC whippet and are scared a 180mm front rotor is too heavy, train harder and enjoy better brakes.

Brake rotors will, obviously, be six-bolt with T-25 Torx headed bolts, and this is the only place Torx head bolts are allowed on the bike.

• Put down the multi-tool and step away from the bike

Handlebar diameter

Stems and bars should combine with a diameter of 31.8mm.

The original ‘OS’ (Over Size) standard gives the best compromise between weight and stiffness. 25.4mm diameter bars were fine back in the day, but the step up of a few millimetres made a palpable difference to how stout the front end of a bike felt – and in a good way. Nobody wants to steer via the medium of a noodle.

However, you can have too much of a good thing, and if we’re jettisoning all but one standard, 35mm bars have to go. I’ve ridden more 35mm handlebars that are too stiff than I have 31.8mm bars that are too flexible.

A 31.8mm bar can be made stiff enough for anyone, and they can easily be made so you aren’t constantly rattling your teeth out (unlike, it seems, many current 35mm bars).

Sticking with 31.8mm bars will also mean the set of lights I’ve been using for the past couple of years will still fit, so, there we go.

Steerer tubes and headsets

Headsets will be integrated and use angular contact bearings, and frames and forks will all be designed for the most seamless of integration.

When I was 15, my dad went to the US for work, and with a favourable exchange rate I got a Chris King headset (a jewel of a bicycle component) shipped to his hotel for the princely sum of £60. And there was no question as to whether it would fit.

Steerer tubes were 1 1/8in in diameter and head and steerer tubes were a straight bit of pipe.

These days, it’s a minefield. Low profile this, integrated that, Hiddensets, ZS’s, 46/32/49.6 – I dunno.

So complicated is it that companies such as Park Tool have an online ‘Identification System’ to make it easier to work out which might be the right kind, while we at BikeRadar have our own ultimate guide to headsets.

While the tapered steerer tube (1 1/8in top, 1 1/2in bottom) is the go-to now, the 1.5in straight standard (like 20mm axles) never properly took off, so we can forget that. The same goes for the rarely-seen 1 1/4in top, 1 1/2in bottom diameter steerer standard.

I digress.

The simplest system is for a 45-degree angular contact bearing to sit in a pre-formed cup on the top and bottom of the head tube, which can be dropped in and out when it’s being replaced.

Conveniently, that lower angled contact bearing should easily fit on a pre-formed crown race on the fork. Sealing can be taken care of by a well-constructed bearing and you’ll never need to worry about whether the headset, or replacement bearing you’ve bought, is going to fit, and you’ll never have to wrestle a crown-race on or off a fork with an old, rusty screwdriver.

Pedal cleats

All clipless pedals should use Shimano’s (non-multi-release) cleat pattern.

This one is going to upset about half of you clipless riders, I reckon, and there are two significant reasons I decree that Shimano’s cleats become the industry-wide standard.

First, it’s the system I use, and hence it’ll mean I don’t need to replace all my pedals and shoes. And, given I’m dictating this, I get to choose.

Second, while the likes of Crankbrothers‘ pedals are popular and many work equally-well, it is Shimano’s system that has found more widespread use across multiple pedal manufacturers. Ritchey, Nukeproof, SRM and Look, to name a few, use nigh-on identical (and entirely cross-compatible) cleat designs.

It’s true that other systems have their benefits, whether its the cleat float or mud-shedding capabilities etc, however, as I mentioned earlier, this isn’t necessarily a list of the best standards, merely the ones that I have deemed should be used.

Seatpost diameters

Seatpost diameters will all be 34.9mm going forward.

27.2, 30.9, 31.6, 34.9. No, not an international phone number, but a list of all the different seatpost diameters you may have to decipher before you can buy a new dropper post.

I have two issues here:

1. Why are there four? In fact, if you take Eightpins’ integrated dropper (scroll down this throwback story from when droppers were big news for the info on it) there are even more different diameters. Much like the other standards here, some bike industry big-wig has corralled a load of their mates into a room and conspired to thrust yet more ‘standards’ on us.
2. Those numbers don’t even make sense! Much like handlebars (okay, I know I picked 31.8mm over 35mm), these dimensions should be whole numbers – 30.9mm and 31.6m are very similar, and so unless you’ve got a set of calipers to measure the post’s diameter, holding up a ruler to your post could end up with a mis-reading and poor purchasing decision.

So why 34.9mm (or 35mm, as it actually should be), the newest of all the standards and, basically Specialized’s own standard? Well, despite a decade of development (and however many years of office-chair existence), dropper posts are still inexplicably unreliable. As mentioned with the 73mm BB shell width, wider is better.

It allows more space for internals, which means they can be built to tolerance more easily, and means tubes can be stiffer and better, and everything. Basically, wider diameter dropper posts should be more reliable, and given the bike industry’s incapability thus far to build a reliable dropper post, this is a good thing.

Also, I’m not unrealistic here. I know that when my industry standards come in to effect, not everyone is immediately going to go out and buy a bike that complies. You have bits and pieces you like and cherish. I mean, if you’ve dropped nigh-on £700 on a RockShox AXS Reverb dropper you’re not going to replace that, are you?

So, by opting for the widest of the current standards, those of you who want to keep your favourite saddle support can simply shim out the seat tube on your bike and continue using your grossly out of date component.

Saddle rails

Wait, isn’t this something the bike industry has standardised?! Incredibly, it pretty much is (save for varying depths of saddle rail that rarely actually cause problems). However, I still think it’s got it wrong.

We now live in a time where many of us rarely think about repairing everyday items that break.

This is not our fault. Planned obsolescence, a lack of publicly-available service manuals, active efforts from manufacturers to stop owners from being able to repair their things and simply bad design are all enormous barriers that get in the way of encouraging us to fix our stuff.

This is bad for many reasons, but the environmental cost of consigning easily-fixable things to landfill for millennia, only for them to become “future fossils of capitalism” makes me deeply uneasy.

The Right to Repair movement and more clandestine efforts (paywall) are doing noble work to improve the situation, but it will take a huge change at a manufacturer and legislative-level to really make a lasting change.

Bicycles are different.

Bikes are incredibly simple machines that just about everyone can maintain with basic tools.

They are also one of the very few things in modern life that we are encouraged to maintain and repair ourselves.

This is, in part, thanks to a culture of open information-sharing and component standardisation from manufacturers that is almost unparalleled.

This and the (relatively speaking) minor consequences of getting it wrong when fixing a bike provide you with an environment in which you can confidently make mistakes and learn from them, picking up valuable problem-solving skills along the way.

In my case, it is largely thanks to years of fettling my bikes that I have developed the confidence, skills and experience to have a crack at repairing other things.

From a disgusting stand mixer that I found on the street and refurbished, to general household white goods, bike repair has given me a base of knowledge that is applicable in so much of day-to-day life.

Washing machines = bikes… right?

A key example: a few weeks ago, I removed, cleaned and replaced the door gasket on my washing machine.

Now, don’t get me wrong, washing machines and bikes are not the same thing (unless you’re Graeme Obree, haw haw haw).

However, at almost every single stage of fixing the washing machine, I could draw from experience gleaned from maintaining bikes.

To start, the gasket was held in place with two outrageously tight retaining springs – one at the door and one on the drum.

After first donning eye protection (have you ever seen what happens when a tyre lever snaps mid-removal?), I used a pair of Pedro’s tyre levers to gently lift the springs off.

Knowing how to use these without damaging the bead of the gasket is, of course, a skill learned from fitting and removing countless tyres.

Next, after years spent picking dog poo out of tyre treads and sniffing suspicious grease extracted from old bottom brackets, the idea of cleaning the absolutely foul clumps of mould that had grown inside the gasket didn’t faze me at all.

After it was thoroughly disinfected, refitting the gasket began with fitting an inlet from the detergent tray.

This is held in place with a large steel-spring-clamp-thing. This is located in a stupidly difficult-to-access part of the machine, making it nigh-on impossible to grip with pliers.

To make things easier, I clamped it open with a thick zip-tie so I could slide everything back into place without damaging the inlet. This is a trick I learned from servicing freehubs, where a zip-tie can be used to hold the pawls in place when refitting it to the hub.

Next, I had to refit the inaccessible retaining spring on the drum of the machine. As can be done with internally-routed cables, I tried to feed this around the drum with a gear cable (it didn’t work, but was worth trying).

This setback meant I had to remove the front fascia of the machine, held in place with six T20-head screws.

It sounds obvious to an experienced mechanic, but, as anyone who has slipped while removing a pedal only to punch a chainring (ouch!) knows, knowing how to use fastening tools effectively is an acquired skill.

Likewise, being able to size them up at a glance makes jobs like this far less onerous.

The screws on the back of the machine presented no problems, but the final two screws on the foot of the machine were a greater challenge.

They weren’t stainless steel (heavens damn you, Bosch) and, being located in a kitchen, had inevitably rotted away, leaving the heads totally unusable.

So I had to drill the heads of the screws away; something I knew would work having previously drilled out many cleat bolts that had been ground down to mere stumps after hours of vigorous hike-a-bikes.

The bead of the gasket was fairly fragile and floppy but starting with both hands at the six o’clock position and working my away around each side – as I would with any loose-fitting tyre – I was able to get it on without much hassle.

It wasn’t until I refitted the front of the machine that I realised I had forgotten to refit the sensor circuit for the door handle.

Refusing to go through the hassle of removing the front panel again, I squashed my slender cyclist’s arm down the side of the drum and, after a few seconds of manic flapping with my phalanges, I managed to reconnect it.

Would this have been possible if I were a mechanically-inept bodybuilder? I think not.

Jesting aside, I really mean it when I say that fixing bikes improves your dexterity. Indexing gears and setting up brakes is done almost entirely on feel alone and these skills transfer over to tasks such as this.

Finally, the ludicrously tight door seal retaining spring had to be wrestled into place. I wish I had a nice anecdote to call on here but beyond maintenance-refined-creative-swearing and angry stabbing with a tyre lever, there wasn’t much to it.

Okay – you fixed a washing machine. What’s the point?

Despite public perception, the vast majority of bikes on the planet today are based on a surprisingly narrow set of interchangeable standards and readily-available parts, making repairs easy, affordable and accessible to most.

This goes all the way to manufacturer level.

The fact a resource such as Si.Shimano.com even exists is something of a marvel – in what other industry does the biggest manufacturer of components publish such a comprehensive number of manuals and compatibility charts that is accessible to everyone?

There are, of course, exceptions: increasing integration, the proliferation of proprietary parts and the emergence of electronics in bicycles are all cause for concern for long-term ownership prospects.

Thankfully, these developments are mostly limited to high-end bikes, which make up a small portion of the bikes that are actually sold and used across the world.

This accessibility makes bikes the perfect environment for learning repair skills.

I used to manage fix your bike sessions at a bike co-op. The immense satisfaction attendees got from both saving money and learning new skills was absolutely wonderful to witness. They were also almost always surprised by just how easy it can be.

It’s not a stretch to say that, armed with these skills and the confidence learned from fixing bikes, many others would feel able to have a go at repairing other things.

At the very least, it might encourage individuals to make more informed buying decisions, prioritising the repairable over the disposable.

We should fiercely defend and be proud of the repairability of bikes and pass the message on to whoever will listen.

If you’re a parent, encourage your children to learn mechanical skills from a young age.

If you’re new to the world of bike repair, check out BikeRadar’s excellent workshop content and have a crack at fixing your own bike.

You never know, it may just help save the world.

Back in August, Ridley launched a new gravel bike, the Kanzo Fast, with a truly unique selling point in the form of its gearing, which combines a 1× drivetrain with a new 2-speed rear hub. 

It’s a setup that claims to offer the advantages of a front derailleur without the downsides. It’s also weird as hell, and I love it. 

I like strange and original bikes. I’m glad they exist and I think designs that challenge accepted dogma about the right way to do things should be celebrated, even if ultimately the cycling world doesn’t buy into the idea. 

While there’s certainly considerable convergence over certain concepts in bike design – I’m looking at you, dropped seatstays – I don’t buy the idea that all road bikes look the same. If anything, there’s more diversity than ever these days.

Back in the days of steel, road bikes really did all look virtually identical to one another, the odd bit of fancy lugwork notwithstanding. 

These days, advanced construction techniques with varied materials (carbon, aluminium, steel, titanium…), and ever-more impressive drivetrain and suspension tech let designers and engineers exercise their creativity far more – it really is possible to come up with something new. 

To give some examples, I applaud designs such as the Trek Domane and Specialized Roubaix for stretching the limits of what we consider a road bike, by using clever comfort-adding tech.

I thank Cannondale for blurring the line between mountain and gravel bikes with the unique Slate back in 2015, and doing it again with the Topstone Lefty in 2020.

I’m also so glad 3T launched the then-outlandish Exploro in 2016, introducing us to the idea of the aero gravel bike, and then went off-piste again the following year with the 1×-only, fat-tyred Strada aero bike.

Equally, I think it’s glorious that Surly flew in the face of industry trends and launched a bike with 26in wheels this year, that Basso made a ‘semi-suspension’ graveller with a carbon back-end and an aluminium front, that Lauf has seemingly made a success of its slightly wacky leaf-spring suspension forks, and that Canyon is somehow persisting with its frankly ridiculous double-decker handlebar.

On the component front, I was delighted to try out Rotor’s original and bonkers Uno hydraulic shifting groupset, while SRAM really deserves praise for making wireless electronic groupsets viable.

Of course, it’s easy to be blasé about the pitfalls of new tech when you don’t have skin in the game. 

Working in cycling media means I get to try out new things and marvel at weird tech without risking my own coin. 

It’s the early adopters who get burned when new ideas don’t succeed, whether that’s because the design itself turns out to be flawed or the brand goes belly-up and the product is orphaned. 

When I’m covering new bikes and tech, I’m always conscious that I need to put myself in the shoes of the consumer and ask whether it really makes sense. 

Have a bike’s designers made something different because there’s a valid reason for taking a new approach or are they just trying to be different for difference’s sake? 

I am absolutely for technological innovation as long as it’s justified, but it’s fair to say that sometimes it doesn’t quite feel like it is. 

Anyway, I don’t know how good the Ridley Kanzo Fast and its unusual hub are yet, but I’m very glad both exist – cycling would be terribly dull if no one dared to be different.

What are your favourite weird bikes and tech? Let us know in the comments.

I know you’d all prefer to ride indoors, but I’m here to tell you about the benefits of a less obviously appealing riding discipline: outdoor cycling.

Outdoor cycling is much like the indoor experience we all know and love. You work hard, build up a sweat and get a great workout in the company of like-minded individuals.

But it’s also so much more. Indoor cycling may be the purist’s version of the sport and the one that’s more spiritually rewarding, but if you’re prepared to relax your moral stance, outdoor cycling is almost as enjoyable.

Going for your first outdoor bike ride

On a practical level, outdoor riding does require some extra kit. You can leave your smart trainer and iPad at home (don’t forget to put a rear wheel on your bike. Doing so is a mistake you’ll only make two or three times), but you will need extra clothing. 

I also recommend that you wear a helmet because the outside world is hard and unyielding for the most part, unlike your spare room or garage.

To be clear, this is actual physical clothing I’m talking out, which you’ll have to put on your body. It’s not as simple as selecting items from a menu.

The actual experience of outdoor riding will feel quite alien at first. Airflow generated by your movement will do a pretty good job of simulating the effect of a fan, but you won’t be able to control it directly – it’s dependent on your speed and the weather conditions.

On the subject of weather, I’m afraid it’s bad news. Sometimes the conditions won’t be perfect and you’ll have to adjust your outfit to suit. Remember, you must bring all the kit you need for your ride in advance; you can’t just pause the ride and switch things up.

Rider-to-rider communication is straightforward during outdoor rides, you simply speak and the sound is automatically transmitted through the air to those nearby. 

The downside of this is that your fellow riders need to be at roughly the same location as you for the system to function.

The benefits of outdoor cycling

If all of that sounds like a lot of effort, don’t let that you put you off – riding outdoors is a truly immersive experience. 

Three-dimensional visuals are delivered straight to your eyeballs and the soundscape is incredible. 

Bike-specific effects combine seamlessly with ambient noises from nature and traffic, although you’ll have to supply your own music if you need it.

The physical sensations of riding outdoors will shock you with their immediacy, with features such as gradient (where the front of the bike raises and lowers to simulate terrain) and wind included as standard.

You’ll know exactly when you’re climbing a tough hill and you’ll experience the respite of actual coasting during descents. 

It’s really important that you remember to brake because a moving bicycle has real kinetic energy that needs to be dissipated. 

Braking is pretty simple, just pull backwards on the large levers in front of your shifters. Again, this is something you’ll only forget a few times.

Likewise, steering is not an optional upgrade, it’s all part of the fun and an advanced skill that’s great to have in your armoury.

Outdoor cycling isn’t for everyone, I get that. However, we embrace all forms of riding at BikeRadar, no matter how niche, and I really think it’s worth giving it a go even if it’s only as a way to mix up your regular diet of indoor group rides and races.

If this article inspires you to try outdoor cycling, let us know how you got on in the comments below!

Virtual racing has none of the drama that makes real racing enjoyable, and I will never, ever understand why you’d want to watch it.

The rise of esports has been accelerated by the coronavirus crisis, as race organisers desperate to salvage something from the wreckage of their cancelled events have looked to the digital alternative. 

As a result, we’re now seeing virtual cycling touted as an actual spectator sport, and it seems all the major players in the game are looking for a piece of the pie. 

I don’t get it, and I have no interest – and never will – in watching virtual bike racing.

Indoor cycling is having a moment, that much is clear, and of course there’s an obvious reason why. 

At BikeRadar, we’re seeing big traffic numbers on stories about Zwift, smart trainers, Road Grand Tours and other related topics.

Last year, British Cycling held its first ‘eRacing Championships’ and the UCI announced the inaugural esports Cycling World Championships. 

Now it’s 2020 and every major bike race in the near future has been cancelled or postponed.

The Tour de France, for example, is now (perhaps optimistically) scheduled to start on 29 August, while the Tokyo 2020 Olympic Games are now the Tokyo 2021 Olympic Games.

Earlier this month Greg Van Avermaet won a virtual ‘Tour of Flanders’ staged against 12 other riders, all racing from their homes on the BKool platform. You can still watch that race if you missed it.

And right now, a virtual Tour de Suisse (‘Digital Swiss 5’) is taking place on Rouvy. 

But why?

As someone who’s watched a fair bit of pro cycling over the years, I’m not remotely interested in watching anyone, pro or amateur, propelling an avatar through a virtual landscape.

Regular pro cycling is a pretty weird activity at the best of times, but even if you don’t like it, you can’t deny it’s dramatic. 

The visuals of mud, sweat and tears are genuinely compelling and, in the case of major races like the Tour de France, it’s a chance to ogle stunning landscapes and get a slice of a country’s history and architecture. 

You can watch riders conquering impossible gradients, smashing over cobbles and flying down technical mountain descents. 

Tyres get punctured, chains jam, and riders battle rain, wind and snow. They test their technical skills alongside their strength, and mistakes are punished harshly.

The whole spectacle is accompanied by an absurd caravan of motorbikes, cars and helicopters, with directeurs sportifs (it’s so dramatic they had to use a French word) shouting into radios and riders weeping by the roadside.

It’s a mad, irrational, wonderful circus, and virtual cycling offers none of it. Even the more realistic simulations are a pale shadow of the real thing. 

I absolutely recognise the value of Zwift, Road Grand Tours and other similar apps as training tools.

Gamifying the indoor cycling experience was a stroke of brilliance, because fundamentally indoor training isn’t fun. 

It can be satisfying in the way any intense workout is, but riding a stationary bike is never going to compare to the real-world experience of skimming over tarmac or dropping into a favourite trail. 

The added social element of virtual cycling is clever too. Old-school indoor training is an inherently lonely activity, but the likes of Zwift are fully interactive, so you can chat with your friends or opponents as you ride or race.

Some of the BikeRadar team have been using Zwift to ride together before work and that’s fantastic. At a time when in-person social contact isn’t an option, it’s a wholesome, healthy alternative to alcohol-fuelled Zoom pub gatherings.

Going from a useful training tool to something I, as a punter, might actually want to watch from the sidelines is a huge leap, and I simply can’t see why I’d want to make it. 

Are we that desperate to watch humans compete, however artificial the scenario?

I actually have more sympathy for the other kind of esports – i.e. video games as a spectator sport – because games aren’t simply a lesser version of the real world, they’re an art form in their own right and, in some cases, they’re truly immersive and visually rewarding. The same can’t be said of virtual cycling.

Do what makes you happy, but don’t make me watch

These are strange times and I’m fully aware that many people are having a much tougher time than I am, with strict social distancing rules effectively confining them full-time to their homes. 

Indoor cycling is a lifesaver for riders otherwise unable to exercise, but that doesn’t mean I want to watch you or anyone else doing it. 

If I’m simply looking for entertainment, there’s a whole world of wonderful content out there for me, and an endless range of crafts or hobbies I could practice indoors to pass the time. 

Why would I choose to watch a mind-numbing watts-per-kilo throwdown when I could be absorbing actual art, or schooling myself in the mysteries of sourdough and needlecraft, or any number of other arcane pursuits?

In my tech columns I often say something along the lines of “you do you”. 

I’m not here to sprinkle virtual rain on your perfect virtual tarmac and if you’re genuinely excited about watching the pros compete online, I’m very happy for you to do that. I will not be tuning in.

Am I a dinosaur for feeling this way? Will you be telling your kids where you were when Nairo Quintana got the better of Chris Froome on Alpe du Zwift in the 2021 Tour of Watopia? Let me know what you think below.

We need to talk about bottles and bottle cages, the wonderfully simple and straightforward system we’ve all been using to carry liquids on our bikes for as long as we can remember.

Bottles, cages and the mounts they fit onto are one of the few parts of modern bikes that have stayed standard, and I want to keep it that way.

The winds of change blow hard in the bike industry. Old designs are callously consigned to the dustbin and once universal standards regularly fall by the wayside.

• There is more to life than cycling (and that’s okay)
• I drove Skoda’s car for cyclists and it’s downright silly but well intentioned

We’ve seen it time and time again. Quick releases gave way to thru-axles; quill stems to threadless systems; 26in to 29in and then back to 27.5in and then up to 27.5+ and oh wait, actually we still like 29in, really.

Meanwhile freehub bodies have morphed to accommodate ever-larger numbers of cassette sprockets and bottom brackets have creaked their way through a messy series of engineering dead-ends.

It’s not all bad. Shifting components have never been better, brakes have never been more effective and modern bikes are astonishingly capable and, for the performance on offer, they’re remarkably affordable too.

I don’t oppose progress and I will never tire of reminding you that new products don’t magically render the ones you own unusable. 

However, I will fight you (with words) if you try to reinvent the way we carry bottles on our bikes.

Go and look at your bike right now. Assuming it’s not something truly odd, I’m guessing it’s got at least one set of bottle cage bosses spaced about 2.5in (64mm) apart.

Those bosses will accept almost every bottle cage on the market right now, and pretty well any made in recent history.

And those cages will, in turn, accept just about any cycling water bottle in existence.

And you know what? That’s brilliant.

It’s entirely possible that bottles, cages and mounts could be improved incrementally, but the fact is they don’t need to be. 

We don’t need cageless attachments because bottle cages work. Magnets and proprietary interlocking mounts answer a question absolutely no one was asking.

It’s incredibly convenient that I don’t need to do hours of internet research to work out which combination of bottles and cages will fit my specific frame. Contrast this experience with, say, upgrading your cranks or buying a new headset.

It’s a joy that I can fit anything from a £3.99 alloy cage to a £70 titanium one to the same bike, without getting tripped up by arcane standards and mysteriously specific compatibility considerations. 

You can be pretty confident that a 30-year-old steel frame you pull out of a skip will accept the same bottles and cages as a ten-grand carbon race bike bought in 2020. 

I shall say it once more: leave our bottle cages alone.

Last weekend, Nairo Quintana blazed up the notorious 10km climb to Chalet Reynard on Mont Ventoux, to win stage three of the Tour de la Provence and take the overall race lead.

After the stage, chatter across the cycling media was focused almost entirely on the return to form of a rider whose star has waned slightly in recent years. What didn’t warrant a mention, however, was that Quintana rode a bike equipped with disc brakes.

Riding for the second-tier UCI Pro Continental Arkéa–Samsic team, Quintana piloted Canyon’s Ultimate CF SLX Disc frameset, with a Shimano Dura-Ace R9170 Di2 drivetrain and tubular versions of its Dura-Ace R9100 C40 Disc wheels.

Nothing remarkable then, but perhaps that’s the point.

Disc brake bikes might dominate WorldTour bikes in 2020, but it’s easy to forget the controversy that surrounded their introduction to the professional circuit, with concerns over rider safety and increased system weight initially stalling the rate of adoption.

The first UCI road race win on disc brakes by Tom Boonen at the Tour a San Juan in January 2017, aboard a Specialized S-Works Venge ViAS Disc, now seems like a lifetime ago.

And the fact a pure climber can win a race up one of the sport’s most iconic climbs (to Chalet Reynard, at least – the very top of Ventoux is covered in snow) on a disc brake bike without anyone batting an eyelid shows how far road cycling has come in only a few years. Have we finally crossed the Rubicon for braking on road bikes?

Have disc brakes won the battle or the war?

Like any piece of new cycling tech, it’s tempting to argue that this change is merely commercially driven, and that the industry wants us all to believe our rim brake machines are obsolete and should immediately be consigned to the scrap heap, simply so they can extract more of our hard-earned cash from us.

And while there is undoubtedly a certain amount of truth in that (yes, BikeRadar can exclusively reveal that the bike industry wants you to buy more new bikes), in reality it’s hard to argue with the fact that in simple performance terms, hydraulic disc brakes have a number of advantages over cable-actuated rim brakes, especially if you want to use carbon wheels.

Even the weight difference between rim and disc brake systems has been rendered irrelevant. Many brands, Canyon included, now offer production disc brake road bikes that come in well under the UCI’s 6.8kg minimum weight limit for bikes.

Of course, you personally might not need those advantages, but at the cutting edge of the sport the gains are more important, even if some teams and riders haven’t got on board yet.

Cycling is a sport that has a keen and justifiable fondness for tradition, but the tendency for its upper echelons to cling desperately to outdated technology in the face of progress perhaps isn’t its greatest asset.

It’s fun to remember, for example, that the great Sean Kelly doggedly stuck with toe-clips and straps up until 1993, despite Look having introduced its PP65 clipless pedal almost a decade earlier. I don’t know of many cyclists who, with the benefit of hindsight, think he was right to do so.

And this is before we even think about other anachronistic cycling tech such as tubular tyres, presta valves, weight weenie-ism and derailleurs. Just because something new and better exists doesn’t mean we should bin everything we already have, but we also shouldn’t pretend that the old stuff is better just because it’s what we’re used to.

Granted, a Grand Tour general classification win for disc brakes remains elusive at the time of writing – and that’s surely only a matter of time anyway (it would almost certainly have happened already if Team Ineos had a different bike sponsor).

But with disc brake bikes now winning every other kind of road race, surely even the die-hard rim brake fanatics out there will have to admit that discs are now the default option for road bikes.