Shifted: Mountain Biking with Shimano Di2 Electronic Shifting

Last fall I picked up a 2018 Scott Spark 900 Premium that came stock with Shimano’s XT Di2 electronic shifting.

I’ll cut to the chase. I put about 500 miles onto the bike before switching to mechanical shifting.

The bottom line: I lacked confidence in the system.

Nothing happened, I don’t have an epic fail story to share. I’m not a Di2 hater, I don’t think it’s bad.

The story really was: I couldn’t sleep at night.

This was the wrong bike in my quiver for this technology, in my mind.

Di2 presented too high a risk for failure, too high a cost in price and time for repair, and meanwhile I did not experience a significant enough performance gain given those risks.

I’m not riding some disaster-proof metal tank. I’m on an all-carbon frame, carbon wheels, tubeless tires, etc. Any of these components could fail too in their effort to improve performance and reduce weight, and they too could leave me in a bad spot if they fail and could cost a lot to replace. Yet, they’re all less likely to fail; they may be expensive to replace or they may not but regardless they are all easy to replace; and given all of that they provide enough of a performance advantage that far outweighs whatever their potential failure risks are.

 

Why not this bike?

To be clear, what I was most concerned about happening, never happened.

I tested this bike for its first 500 miles mostly in California, and riding trail systems close to home in Anchorage. The bike only went on one backcountry ride in Alaska with Di2.

That first 400 miles I put on in Cali was a nice honeymoon for this bike, but it’s place in the quiver is as follows: high-mileage weekend backcountry adventure stead, endurance racing bike, and Lower 48 bike vacation bike.

For an important point of reference: I retired my previous bike in this category after 3 seasons with 4,264 miles (GPS logged, not estimated).

During the summer, I will regularly put in 75-125 miles of backcountry trail riding in a single week on this bike.

The emphasis here is on backcountry.

The trails are point-to-points, lack regular trail maintenance, sport heavy brush, and provide no end of opportunities to do things to your bike you just shouldn’t do.

More, Alaska’s summers are short. Heavy winter snows, late springs, fast-growing vegetation, and early fall rains can all conspire to further shorten the riding season.

Missing even one weekend of riding up here may mean not riding a trail at all, all season. You can’t control the environment, so, missing a weekend because of mechanical failure is not an option. Period.

What became very clear to me, was that, this system was going to fail.

No, not because it’s electronic per se, but because drivetrains are the most failure-prone part of any mountain bike.

Derailleurs get ripped off by mishaps with brush and rocks, shifter paddles get snapped off in crashes. It’s just part of life for mountain bikes, no matter where you ride.

While the electronic components of the drivetrain have been thoroughly vetted and tested by pros for a half decade who put their equipment through far more severe conditions than I, the electronics too are certainly bound to fail in some way in their own right.

While one may easily conjure the “electronic failure nightmare” of a severed wire, shorted junction box, fried shifting motor, or dead battery, 15 miles from the trail head, the reality is, the failures of the electronic components present no greater adversity in the immediate situation than any other mechanical failure on any other part of the bike. They do add a few more “fail points” perhaps, but at what likelihood, I can’t say.

It doesn’t matter though, electronic or mechanical, you’re still in the same boat: you’ve got a compromised drive train and have to limp out or start jogging.

I’ve been there, done that, and will certainly have to do it again.

If all I was trying to avoid was a catastrophic mechanical in the backcountry, I’d ride a single speed and blow out my knees instead.

The nightmare of a catastrophic mechanical with Di2, at least in my mind, starts when you get back to civilization.

If you rip off your 11 speed mechanical Shimano derail while out on a ride, or any other part of your mechanical drivetrain for that matter, good news: if you want to ride tomorrow, every shop in North America has the replacement parts, in stock.

It might be from a different groupset, it might be more than you want to pay, but you can buy it and install it yourself in an hour or so.

Got Di2? You are likely in for another kind of slog.

Even living in an outdoorsy and bike-crazy town like Anchorage, there are only a handful of cyclists with electronic drivetrains. So, unless you have the replacement part personally on-hand, you’re very likely out of luck. Most in-town shops will doubtfully carry the spare parts in stock. They can of course order the part for you, but it won’t arrive for a week, and you’ll likely pay full price.

You can go online and order the part yourself and get it shipped overnight or 2^nd-day, but of course you also pay the premium shipping cost.

While you’re online shopping for that replacement part, you will of course note that every Di2 component costs more than $100. The same mechanical component may cost anywhere from $30 to $75.

Also, depending on what the repair is, you may or may not be able to do the replacement yourself. Di2 is not a simple system. If you can’t install the replacement part yourself, you’re likely still going to need to get your bike in the que at the shop.

So, ya, you obviously had a bummer of a ride this weekend due to the drivetrain failure, but there’s also still a good chance your bike will still be out of commission for next weekend.

Whenever you do get it up and running again, you will have likely paid a lot for that repair…a lot more than you would have for the same issue on a mechanical system.

Here’s scenario 2.

I’m on a bike vacation, and, bang-snap! A shift paddle breaks; or the derail gets ripped off.

If I’m near a major metro area, I may actually be OK, perhaps even in better shape than I would be at home, and will find a shop that can replace the Di2 part – again, for a pretty penny, especially when I have to pay a bribe to get my bike worked on ASAP so I can continue my trip.

If I’m in the middle of nowhere -- often where I like to take my MTB vacations -- I can almost assure you, the local bike shop does not have the Di2 part.

I easily foresaw this playing out for me, and then foresaw having to plead with said local shop to unceremoniously rip off the Di2 and replace it with whatever drivetrain they had in stock, paying full price and maybe that bribe too, just so I could finish out the trip. That, or go running and hiking for the rest of the week while my friends all shred.

When I described this scenario/nightmare to a good friend who spends several weeks every year bike vacationing around the US, he said: “Ya, I’d carry an entire spare groupset if I was you.”

No thanks!

So, ya, it did not take too many nights of tossing and turning on these possibilities before I assembled the replacement mechanical shifters and derails online for a grand total cost of $200, or the equivalent of less than 1.75 Di2 components, and had my shop carefully remove the Di2, and re-install the mechanical parts.

I can’t say I ever looked back on that decisions, and since that time, I’ve put 1700+ miles on the bike mostly here in Alaska, as well as Montana, Washington, Idaho, and Wyoming.

 

But, as I said, none of my nightmare scenarios actually happened. I just couldn’t stop thinking about it, and dreading it. I knew failure was imminent, I just did not know how, or when, and I wanted more control over what happened afterward.

From a basic performance standpoint, I liked the way electronic shifting felt. It was fast, smooth, and crisp. I loved that there were no cables to clog with mud and dust, no barrel swivels to adjust, no half shifts and ghost shifts. I liked the synchro shifting for 2x, and being able to simply hold a shifter to get multiple shifts.

I would not hesitate to use electronic shifting on a different bike such as my road bike or hard tail, maybe even a snowbike? Those bikes however, never go far from home, and won’t break my heart if they are out of commission for a week or two.

Electronic makes a lot of sense on bikes in general, and maybe one day it will on this particular bike.

I definitely want to see electronic shifting succeed too. In this day and age of technology, mechanical shifting is archaic. Lousy shifting is something that should be eradicated like an ancient disease.

If electronic does catch on, I think there is a possibility to wholly re-visit the layout and design of the cockpit of modern mountain bikes. What if shifters no longer had to be levers and triggers? How small could they get? How could we redesign dropper and lock out levers, and might those too soon be controlled by teeny motors? Who knows?

I will say that I’m most hopeful for wireless systems such as SRAM’s Eagle eTap. Avoiding an intermediary junction box, wiring harness, and battery, seem like no brainers from a maintenance and re4liability standpoint, though I assume that cost and parts availability issues will remain issues well into the next decade. I guess we will see.

Gear Review: 2016 Scott Solace 20 Disc

2016 Scott Solace 20 Disc

Purchase Date: Spring 2016

Use: Training/Exercise

Short

4/5 stars as a training/mileage road bike with wide breadth. This bike is ideal for the cyclist who puts in a lot of training mileage on pavement, and/or variable mixes of rough pavement and gravel, but puts in their strongest efforts in some other activity besides pavement-based bike racing (mountain biking, running, skiing, etc). This bike is also ideal for the weekend warrior just wants to do long rides peppered with big climbs, potentially on less-traveled roads, but doesn’t care about winning the town-line sprint.

Cyclist seeking a more casual form of adventure riding, touring, or all-gravel adventures may want to look for something a little more touring or off-road specific, and a little less flashy; while cyclist planning to do more than a handful of competitive road racing events where they are striving to get their best results and upgrade points, should stay with a more traditional road bike.

 

Photo: L.M.

The long

The Solace replaced my 5-season old Scott CR1. One of Anchorage’s best kept secrets is its road biking. No, the road biking in Alaska’s biggest metro can’t compete with the rural Northeast, but considering where we live, it’s phenomenal for what it is, and will make any rider stronger.

The CR1 had a more relaxed geometry and gear range compared to a traditional road bike, but it was still far closer to the former than to an exercise or adventure bike.

In the years since I bought the CR1, manufactures have sought expanded their narrow-tire bike lineups to take on more varying surfaces and riding types. In that time, road bikes have also started to adopt some mountain bike technology, including disc brakes, thru axels, and wider tires.

The truth is, for many cyclists both in Alaska and outside, unless you are a dedicated road racer, there is no reason to buy a traditional road bike anymore; there are so many better options.

Five years ago I knew this, and I thought my next road bike would actually be a nice cyclocross bike, set up with a road-worthy drive train and at least two sets of tires, so I would have a bike for many purposes and rides.

On that front, I’d say, if you do only a moderate amount of pavement riding or less, but you do race cyclocross, then you should still just get a CX bike, and buy it a pair of slicks. Even if with a 1x crank, you could still seasonally gear a CX bike for road riding through spring and early summer, and gear it back down for CX in the fall.

If you ride a lot of road though, I’d get a bike for each.

Cross bikes are still designed for racing, and retain more of a drawn out and power-focused geometry, potentially making them less ideal for long hard miles on pavement. Additionally, a good cross bike will have a drive train designed for the rigors of a cyclocross course. As noted, you could switch out chain rings and/or cassettes between seasons if needed, but if you don’t, a CX gear ratio may prove to be too low-range for pavement, unless all you do is hill repeats.

For me, it’s an easy choice: I ride a lot of pavement, I don’t race CX, and only do a occasional entirely gravel rides – which my hard tail mountain bike is just fine for.

For everything else I do, the Solace delivers.

Ride

The Solace features a very similar geometry to the CR1, so “out of the box,” it felt pretty good, though it was actually a tad more relaxed. That only made it easier to ride.

For a rider used to a traditional road bike, however, the bike will probably feel more upright. On the CR1, the upright positioning left me wanting on fast descents. For the Solace, a slacker head tube angle and wider tires alleviates that issue, and the Solace descends much better than the CR1 did in my opinion.

New meets old.

Thru axels

The benefits of thru axels for mountain bikes are just as apparent on the road. Gone are the days of wheels flexing from one side of the bike to the other on hard climbs and corners. It’s almost comical to grab a wheel on a non-thru axel bike and push it from side to side. How is it possible such a weakness was/is just accepted?

Disc brakes

This was perhaps the second biggest reason I was thrilled to pick up a new bike that otherwise plays such a utilitarian role in the stable. Rim brakes are terrible. Mountain bikers have been running disc brakes since the early 2000s.

Arguably, there were some engineering hurdles that needed to be overcome to adapt discs to slender road frames, and I was happy to not be an early adopter on this front. Now, disc brakes are becoming ever more common on road bikes.

For me, I think the most telling factor about having disc brakes on this bike is how little I notice them at all, compared to how much time I spent thinking about braking with rim brakes.

Two downfalls I’ve noticed though: heavy handlebars and chattering levers. The hydraulic levers are a good bit heftier than their mechanical counterparts, putting a lot of swing-weight on the hoods. I don’t notice this too much on the ride, but I certainly notice it wheeling the bike about. What I do notice on the ride: the brake levers chatter on bumpy roads. This is common for Shimano 105 hydraulic levers.

Wide tire clearance

If you live in road bike paradise, a land without traffic, potholes, pavement cracks, loose gravel, or rain, you should totally run 23c road tires at 120PSI.

I had always used 25c tires, which fit rather snugly in both my previous road frames. The Solace comes with 28c tires. I think the fair question to ask is: why did Scott feel the need to limit the tire size on this frame to just 28? Why not give the frame the clearance to run up to 35 and let the user decide? I will be happy to stick with 28c tires for 95% of the riding this bike will do, but it’d be great to have the option to toss on something meatier and take this bike on an all-out nasty gravel ramble. I suspect that bike makers don’t want to undercut their wallet-draining gravel-specific builds.

I would not be surprised to see future evolutions of the Solace or its like expand tire clearance in response to being undercut by other bike makers who respond to consumer demand for a more all-purpose rig.

As far as performance, the wider tires add drag on climbs, and I do feel it. That being said, when I ride this bike, it’s for the workout, so bluntly, I don’t care. Meanwhile, the 28s bite into fast switchback descents and chewed up pavement with amazing confidence. Don’t even get me started on loose gravel over pavement. These tires make it so you don’t even know it’s there.

I was really comfy on 25c tires. Now, very little fazes me. I’ve blasted this bike along single track trails more than once just because I can.

Again, if I was really into racing, these big tires could be a problem, but I can’t see any reason to slim back down. On the other end of the spectrum, if all I was doing was gravel, or I had some epic gravel trip planned, I would probably just ride my hard tail, as endless miles of loose gravel would eventually be pretty harsh.

 

Early season riding in Anchorage can be a mix of sloppy snow and loose gravel.

Drive train

The bike came stock with a Shimano 105 34-50 crank and an 11-32 cassette. I ride a lot of hills, so one would think the 32T ring in the back would be nice, but I switched to a 11-28T cassette. Overall, the gear range was too easy for my goals/preferences (it’s supposed to be hard), and further, I found the jumps between the cogs made for an unsteady cadence.

Weight

By carbon frame road bike standards, this bike will feel hefty. If you are buying this bike though, weight shouldn’t really be in your top deciding criteria. Nonetheless, it is still a carbon frame and rides like one, absorbing chatter and reacting quickly.

My biggest fear

My biggest fear about this bike, is that the industry has really diversified the road bike compared to just 5 years ago, and this has essentially resulted in my ability to purchase a near perfect bike for my needs at a standard cost, right off the shelf.

The bike industry works in mysterious ways though, contracting and expanding line ups and offerings. Only a couple years ago, a bike similar to this was still fetching a premium price due to limited options.

Given how very little separates the Solace from a more traditional road bike, and the limited additional R&D that Scott probably had to put into it, it’s probably unlikely that in another 5 years, the industry will fully contract and only offer traditional bikes, but, again, it’s the bike industry, things are often two steps forward, one step back.

Atomic Backland Boot for Splitboarding Review

Bottom line: My Atomic Backlands broke. The boot couldn’t take it and failed after less than two months of use.

The Backlands, new, tongues removed.

I arrived at using the Backland as my splitboard hardboot (a new foray, and a topic for another post) based mainly on one reason, two of my partners were using them (one of them a skier, one of them also a splitboarder).

Having a partner in crime would be really nice to trade notes with as we both adapted to this big change.

The other major selling point aside from gear redundancy, was the awesome simplicity of the boot: basically all its parts are simple and field replaceable. This is a big selling point in Alaska, where parts availability is consistently in famine condition, and it’s a nice piece of insurance on remote trips where a lot of money has been sunk into getting to a corner of mountains where you don’t want to have a small broken part leaving you tent bound.

Out of the gate, this boot really didn’t disappoint. There was a learning curve to dialing in settings, made a little steeper due to the softboot-hardboot gear transition, but, all things considered, this boot felt at home on a board deck to me very fast.

The uphill performance goes without saying: these boots are meant for uphill travel if nothing else, and they really didn’t disappoint there. End story.

Dialing them in for descending didn’t take long to feel good either though: two runs to be specific.

I think by the third outing and maybe the 8^th run total, I was certain that the big question surrounding soft boot versus hard boot: “how does it ride,” was answered.

Amazing.

My riding felt better than ever, incredibly simple, and confidence inspiring.

The steeper the line or deeper the conditions, the better these boots felt.

They didn’t lack for playfulness either: wind features and tree skiing remained just as fun.

I think a big reason these boots felt so good for boarding was their low-profile cuff. Compared to most ski boots, the Backland has a very trim cuff. With the booster strap and removable tongues pulled, this gave the boots a very progressive flex in ride mode. The only adjustments I made between tour and ski mode was to bump the ankle buckle a notch tighter (an easy feat thanks to the two-setting cable router), and to engage the ski lever.

The boot did have a steep forward lean, but I liked that, as I’m more a fan of stiff and reactive boots.

The only changes I was looking to make with the boot, was to experiment and modify the tongues to “true” half tongues, by cutting them down, basically at the elbow, so that the tongue provided improved lower shell fit, without stiffening the cuff/shin area.

For the record, I tried to use the stock half-tongues unmodified a few times, but couldn’t find a happy place, and felt way better without them.

My major complaints, the liners are terrible: Cold, floppy, and flimsy. I was interested in replacing them eventually.

Additionally, without the tongues, the top of the boot is essentially open, barring a supposed piece of weather-proof fabric. As a result, cold air poured in on nippy days, and promised to let wet spring snow melt through in the coming months.

I hoped to cut the latter issue off at the pass by adding the modified “true” half tongues into the mix once I got around to it.

Never got the chance though.

The first boot to go was my splitboarder partner’s. The black pivot portion of the cuff snapped just behind the rivets. Atomic uses three pieces of plastic to complete the cuff: the stiff, black plastic pivot piece, with two flexier pieces of plastic riveted to the top of the pivot piece to close around the shins. Where the two are attached, the stiffer black plastic thins.

This resulted in failure on my partner’s boots, one catastrophic, the other cracked and would have followed suit. The rivets themselves showed no signs of strain.

My fellow splitboard partner's boot broke where the two plastic types join. First glance appear the rivets pulled out, but look closer and you will see that the black plastic portion of the cuff is thinner, and that is what cracked away. The rivets were still intact doing their job

Two days later, my right boot, (back, driver leg) failed at the pivot itself, right side of the shell.

One thing to note, conditions on the weekend these boots failed were pretty cold - highs in the single digits, sub-zero lows – following a week of even colder temps, and snow conditions were very deep and soft.

My boot broke 2 days later at the cuff pivot

The theory is that a one-two punch of cold temps brittling the material, combined with increased torsional stress in the deep and low density snow, may have pushed the boots past their limits.

On the former point, after finding failure in my boot, I tossed one in a chest freezer for 24 hours, and left the other at room temperature, then opened the cuff on both boots side by side to compare plastic stiffness.

To a T, the cold-soaked boot was extremely difficult to work at the cuff, and the stiff black plastic felt like it could be broken or snapped if it was much colder.

Even taking off the boot puts a lot of stress on the weak connection point between two plastic types.

My boot’s failure was clearly the result of torsional stress and cold temps piling up on a single weak point. Some others have reported using this boot for splitboarding without issue, but, the fact it happened it all would make me weary of recommending it’s use to another boarder. I was glad it happened on a fairly mellow day and not somewhere more high consequence.

So for splitboarders, I’d rule this boot out. Atomic has let out that they will be taking some of the light weight characteristics from the Backlands and moving them over to the Hawx freeride boots for next season. If there was ever a cross-breed of these two boots, essentially a backland shell and a Hawx 100 cuff, I’d consider revisiting the boot.

In the big picture, as a splitboarder, I would look at the weak point on the Backland on other super light boots, e.g, the Procline and the Salomon version we’ll see next year. The torsional stresses we put on puts are different than for skis, and while these lightweight uphill centric boots may be tempting, they might also pose long-term durability questions too.

For skiers, I think replicating these failures in such a short period of time is low risk, if not impossible. That being said, lots of mileage in high stress skiing (e.g., lots of side hilling and side slipping, as well as lots of jump turns, any and all in deep conditions) could eventually produce similar failures, but the timeframe is hard to judge, and would probably depend on a list of variables from amount of use, to skier build, style, and setting preferences.

For someone slamming tons of vert in creamy pow, they may never replicate these failures even after a million vertical feet (I hope they don’t!)

As for what I did next, sold on hard boots, I’ve transitioned to the Dynafit TLT6. That boot has been used extensively by other splitboarders and has a good track record.

Stay tuned.

Cramp'n my style; Are Splitboard crampons worth it?

Ski crampons are an opinionated topic in their own right. International ski mountaineer, Andrew McLean, lists them as un-pack-worthy, and calls them “backcountry crutches,” advising users to “learn to skin.”

After years of hit-or-miss use of ski crampons on splitboards, I’ve tended to side with this argument as well, though I think there are a few noteworthy differences between being a hardbooter and a softbooter, and the application of ski crampons.

In my mind – and I imagine most others – the iconic terrain a ski crampon would be employed in, is probably some wind-hammered, icy ridge, with a lot of exposure, where slipping is just not an option.

In reality, I think the actual image of where ski crampons work best for splitboarders is a boreal rain forest, whose floor is covered by rain-hardened snow, or the gleaming slopes of an Alaskan peak, sometime before noon, in late-March through April, where frozen sun crust blocks the way to the goods up high or the afternoon corn.

Basically, the more iconic, agro, ski mountaineer terrain, that ski crampons would seem like the right tool for, in my opinion, is better attacked with actual crampons. If you have hardboots, they may be sufficient on their own.

To start out, I like to ski big lines, but I like them cold and soft. Define soft as you will. If I can bite a consistent edge in, I’m good; if I need ear plugs and a new life insurance policy, I’ll find something else to do.

I’m for sure not into super agro, technical, or slide for life conditions.

The more I’ve used ski crampons, particularly in more exposed parts of the mountain, the more I found that they lead me to go places I probably shouldn’t, and attempt to take lines I would otherwise avoid.

The advantage to ski crampons is pretty obvious, you can add some teeth to your climbing set-up and keep the decks off your back.

The disadvantage is that they work best on the crappiest of snow surfaces: thick crusts, windslab, ice, et al.

Instead of seeking out softer, and often safer routes, or natural benches and ramps, they encourage the climber to look for what are oft red-flag surfaces, and in-doing so, tend to facilitate climbing steeper routes, because you can.

 

Let’s imagine this iconic, exposed ridge again.

It’s wind blown, hard packed snow and ice.

Skinning is OK, but it’s not awesome, and the ridge is tilting upward for the final pitch to the summit.

On either side, the ridge falls off precipitously, likely overhung with cornices.

Exposed rocks and tundra protrude where the wind has exposed them.

You could slap on those handy-dandy crampons you’ve been hauling the last 4+ hours in your pack.

Ahhh, but now you’re making a zillionion kick turns as the tilt turns up.

Well, that’s fine, but kick turns burn daylight, and on this firm surface, even with your spikes, you open the door to slipping each time you make one. If you slip, you’re probably going off the side.

The ridge is narrow, realistically, more narrow than it looks because of cornice danger.

Maybe you get tired of the relentless kick turns and decide to eke out a little more distance onto that cornice…it’ll probably hold. Maybe you can access a bit of softer snow just off the side of ridge, rolling the dice on the windslab that you know lurks beneath.

You’re also going to have to shift the trajectory of your track for those exposed rocks ahead. Too bad you can’t actually use them as points of relative safety, now they’re basically traffic cones in the way of your route.

For the sake of keeping the decks off your back, you may find yourself cutting a lot of little corners on overall route safety.

On the other hand, maybe it’s time to switch to booter mode. In these conditions, it’s probably a good call to put some crampons on if you use softboots.

You can take the most direct line, dead center up the ridge, well away from those damn cornices or sneaky buried windslabs that lie below the apex of the ridge. Rocks or benches are now potential islands of safety, not hazards to avoid. Each step is secured with metal points, and no acrobatic kick turns are required.

Soon enough, you’re on top.

Before I’d toss the ski crampons out completely though, I think there is a scenario where I have routinely found them helpful. For the most part, in Southcentral Ak, it’s from March on, and it’s dealing with rock hard conditions in the lower elevations and approach slopes.

As the progression of the season ticks on, these slopes start to get baked in the afternoon and evening hours, but are cold and slick in the mornings. Occasionally, I’ve encountered these conditions mid-winter after a melt-down has soaked lower elevation snow and left it hard and re-frozen.

Good skinning technique and route selection can usually get you through this zone: target natural ramps and benches to avoid side-hilling and maximize skin-to-snow surface contact, seek aspects with breakable crusts or any type of soft snow.

That being said, sometimes you just have to skin these hard, slick surfaces head on: read, straight up. Sidehilling produces minimal traction and terrible strain on ankles and knees. This all gets exhausting, fast, and tired legs on hard surfaces will more than likely lead to slipping and falling, or at the very least, a lousy start to the day.

I’ve noticed that in general, skiers tend to struggle less in these conditions. I think a lot of this has to do with the stiffer connection hardboots provide in tour mode. Softboots, paired with the wide decks of splitboards, means side-hill skinning in these firm conditions is less effective and more stressful.

Also, splitboards have a different edge for the uphill and downhill leg, where the uphill, straight edge, provides much better traction than the lower leg.

On numerous occasions in these conditions, I’ve been delighted to whip out the ski crampons and scoot up the hard lower slopes without much ado.

While one could argue that, again, booting might be effective here too, I’d say, probably not.

If you’re climbing, you will likely soon enough get above the supportable surface conditions. This means you should begin to encounter more breakable and soft snow. As this happens, ski crampons might not be as helpful, but they also shouldn’t be a hindrance (unless you have to drop down something sizable), and eventually you can pop them off.

Booting would work on supportable conditions for sure, and more than a few times, I’ve just hiked through icy or thin-covered forests to reach better snow above. As soon as you have any kind of breakable or soft snow, though…have fun booting, its time to get the decks back on.

Spring in AK means climbing through elevations covered in slippery sun crust in the morning. A pair of ski crampons can make this zone and aspect far more tolerable

The last part of all of this is the performance of ski crampons available to splitboarders.
So far, I have to say, I’m really unimpressed, with one exception. I’ve used crampons for Voile, Spark R&D (Mr. Chomps for the Burner), and Karakoram (Split30 system).

Here’s the rundown:

 

Voile: Voile has a smart system that can either be fixed to the split ski for full time traction, or fixed to the binding for improved efficiency while skinning.

Downside: You have to take the bindings off to load or unload the crampons regardless of whether they will be fixed to the bindings or the decks. While the Voile crampons have a lot of tooth so to speak, they are thin, and beveled both forward and back. I have no idea why they would do this. Lastly, they require a separate set of longer pins for connection.

Spark R&D:

Smaller and more compact than Voile, they are also theoretically loadable on the fly.

Downside: They feature a smaller tooth length than the Voiles meaning they provide less bite with the risers up (why would you need teeth if you weren’t climbing?) If you use Voile touring riser blocks, they will barely reach the ground at all. They aren’t actually fixed to the ski or the binding. They rely on a small heal riser on the crampon itself, and the weight of the rider to keep them depressed. As a little guy, I struggled to get any bite with mine on hard surfaces. I’d prefer if they were fixed to either the ski or the binding for a more consistent bite. While they are theoretically loadable on the fly: good luck. If you load them on flat ground that works, but on any tilted terrain, it’s pretty tough. The thing is, the moment you realize you need crampons is rarely at the base of a slope. Given this last point, I wish that Spark would consider doing away with the useless heel riser, and instead mount a small puck so the crampons could be fixed to the binding.

Karakoram: I loved Karakoram’s crampon system. I still miss it. The crampons had ample tooth length even with touring mount risers, were truly attachable on the fly, lightweight, and mounted directly to the binding (read: consistent bite). I never debated whether to bring my Karakoram crampons with me, they always just came with, and I used them often. Admittedly, they also lead me to the conclusion that they might cause for some poor decisions-making on routes.

Downside: If it mattered to you, they couldn’t be fixed directly to the decks. 

Bottomline:

If you’re thinking about ponying up the $100 for a set of splitboard crampons, seriously evaluate how much you think you will use them. How often do you encounter the conditions described herein? What binding system are you using? Are you willing to tolerate some tougher skinning for saving $100?

Splitboard Binding Shoot Out: Voile, Spark R&D, Karakoram

It’s been a little over a year since I switched from the Karakoram Split30 binding system to Spark R&D Burners.
I have no regrets.
Despite the low snow in AK this winter, we were presented with a lot of opportunities to ski some solid lines and do some big tours. The performance of these bindings has been top notch, and has lead me to some conclusions on splitboard binding technology in general.
In 6 seasons of splitboarding (I was on snowshoes my first winter up here) I’ve used Voile conversions for 1, Voile Lightrails for 2, Karakoram Split30s for 2, and Spark R&D Burners for 1.
In that time, I’ve had a number of partners who have used these same systems, as well the Spark R&D Tesla system.
Here are my conclusions:
 
Voile Lightrails and conversions
Voile’s slogan is “Simple, Solid, Backcountry.” That’s what you get with them too. They’re not fancy, they’re not cutting edge, but they came up with the puck and pin system first, and they haven’t done much to change their bindings since.
As far as the conversion bindings go, if you’re on a budget, and already own a pair of regular bindings, this is a good option. Using the conversion kit also means you can use any snowboard binding you want, and are not beholden to a specific splitboard binding company, or the feast/famine nature of parts availability for splitboard bindings.
The downsides are fairly obvious: you have the added weight of the heavy metal mounting plate and additional required mounting hardware, and you ride higher on your deck. Given that most splitboards are already on the stiff side, this last part could really give a board a “twitchy” feel in soft riding conditions.

The first season I splitboarded I had a pair of 2004 Burton Customs mounted to the Voile conversion base plate. Photo J.W.

Note the lift due to the base plates. Photo K.M.

The Lightrails, the original splitboard-specific binding, are a pretty good system for their value. 
One notable nuisance with Voile systems, they rely on a pin that is secured with a latch, and kept attached by a leash. Voile’s leashes don’t seem to last long, and it is possible to release the pins. I threw a pin at least once when I was on Voiles, and know others have too. 
I learned this winter though, while helping another rider out who had lost her Voile pin, that Spark pins can be used on Voiles. This is worth noting for Voile users as the Spark pin system is more secure. Also, any rider using a puck and pin system should ALWAYS carry a spare pin.
The touring interface on Voile is also weak, relying on a thin metal mount that is easily flexed.
In general, Voile makes good, reliable products, and I’ve had good customer service from them. It should be noted that Spark actually relies on some of Voile’s proven design for their own systems. When it comes to pushing the sport forward though, don’t expect much from Voile. I like them, but they are clearly a ski company that makes some splitboards and splitboard parts. If they wanted to be a leader, it wouldn’t take much.



Up on the Lightrails. Photo J.O.

And down. Photo J.W.

 
Karakorams
To see my thoughts on Karakoram’s Split30s, go here (LINK). The company launched a new interface this season. I have not met any other riders employing it so far, so I can’t comment on even second-hand experiences. It looks cool, and like a potential improvement, but I still see some obvious design weaknesses in the ride mode (the touring mode is still the same). I look forward to reading or hearing other’s thoughts.

Putting the Karakorams through their paces navigating a stout rain crust and some whippy terrain. Photo J.O.

 
Spark R&D
I’m using Spark Burners. At this point, here’s what I can say: I don’t see any reason to use any other system.
Yes, the puck and pin is Neanderthal: you grunt and shove them onto the pucks before dropping in, and rely on a simple pin as your connection and axel while touring.
Here’s the thing, I think this system still wallops everything else for overall performance and reliability.
The main advantages I see the Burners having over the Lightrails is that 1. The Burners are a bit more burly than the former, and 2. More importantly, have a stiffer touring connection.
As an aside, and in keeping with my review of the Karakorams, I really appreciate the simplicity of the straps Spark uses (simple T-nuts are used on the inside of the straps to adjust length, as opposed to camlocks used by Voile and Karakoram).
The burly factor is not particularly significant. I think the Lightrails are pretty tough too. 
I do want to take a moment here to comment on one thing in general with splitboard bindings: burlier is better. 
Both Spark and Karakoram have pursued lightweight binding options, though Spark also offers the tougher Burner and Afterburner (for Tesla). I’m not a big guy (145 lbs), but this is snowboarding, not skimo racing. 
By default, snowboarding means more aggressive line choices, more power-edging, and more harsh maneuvering. If you want to cut weight on your set up, get a light deck; get stiff, light boots; get light clothing; but don’t skimp on your bindings. All the aforementioned components have proven reliability and performance in their lighter forms. When it comes to bindings, you’re getting down to basic physics when you cut out material in pursuit of weight savings. 
So, on this front, the Burner is a clear choice for a splitboard binding platform.
As noted in my comments on Voiles, the Spark touring bracket has a much stiffer connection. On advice from touring partner Nathan, I used the LT brackets and pins, which rely on plastic bushings in the touring bracket and an aluminum pin. I’ve put a lot of hours into the brackets and they show very little wear, a definite bonus over the brass bushings and steel pin combo. Eventually, wear will occur, but this is a robust combo that will stay tight for a long time.
I also like the simplicity of the Spark pin system, in that it’s secured beneath the toe strap, and does not require an attached latch, like Voile. The only way this system will release is some type of catastrophic failure.
The question left unanswered, is whether to stick with the conventional pin, or to go for the Tesla interface. 
My observation thus far, is that I can’t find a good reason to go with Tesla. I think the single best part of the Tesla system is that it should provide a stiffer connection in tour mode because the prongs clamp onto the interface. That being said, there are some known issues with the pins wearing down or breaking, particularly in instances where they were routinely torqued on from the side. If the Tesla pins fail in the field, they can be punched out and replaced with a conventional pin (read, you should still keep that spare in the bag), but that’s a difficult repair to make.
Also, the Tesla system uses riser wires mounted on the bottom of the binding itself. Voile dual riser mounts are known for failure, particular with the forward, touring, riser. The trade off, is that the Tesla’s risers are a bit more tricky to actuate, and require dropping both risers on initial deployment; if you want to use your low riser, you have to engage both wires, then flip the big riser back up into the disengaged position. Nathan also noted that he thinks the sizing of the wire height might be slightly different. We haven't had a chance to compare measurements, but he's definitely noticed a performance difference.
The Tesla also affords the opportunity to lock the heel down in tour mode. In all my years of touring, I’ve had very few experiences where I wanted this feature (side-stepping uphill without skins on split-ski exits is about the only one I can think of). That being said, I’m very comfortable split skiing.
In ride mode, I really can’t see any benefit provided by the Tesla. 
Though ancillary to all of this, I actually like having the conventional pins available as de-icing tools in freeze/thaw conditions. The pins work well to quickly scour out snow and ice from the pucks or rails. 

Burners in action. Photo C.G.

 
Bottom line.
I’ve heard from a few people now, and have seen through my own observations, there is a slight ebb and flow occurring, with a few more folks coming back over to the dark side and splitboarding. This may be localized to AK, but regardless, I can’t help but think part of it is because companies like Spark and Karakoram are innovating and trying new designs (simultaneously, the ride quality of the boards has improved). This is great!
For me, I’m waiting to see someone develop a system that provides the same stability and performance in ride mode presently provided by the puck and pin system. Someone is going to nail it here shortly.

Summer Gear Wrap Up

Maxxis Ardent Race Review

I loaded these front and rear on my Santa Cruz Solo for Kenai backcountry riding. These are an ideal middle-of-the-road trail tire: light, sturdy, with medium-sized knobs. They’re a good step up from the Ikons if you need something a bit more meaty, but don’t want to give up too much weight or rolling resistance. These would only make sense as XC race tires for the burliest of courses, and even than I imagine they would still be overkill. For endurance racing or XC/trail riding though, they’re a great do-it-all.

While these tires have some meat, they will demand a little more precision and cadence control when the trails start to get wet. Had this year been drier, my plan was to run swap out the rear AR with an Ikon. Had this turned out to be a wetter year, or for the shoulder seasons, I’d just go with an Ardent.
The only problem I encountered with these was likely an operator error issue. I belched the rear tire one ride and incidentally created a small slit as long as a fingernail is wide, just above the bead. The slit killed the tubeless capability of the tire. I used a patch on the inside of the tire and ran a tube in it for the rest of the season. I blame myself; I think my tire pressure was too low. That being said, my related concern was durability. The lighter nature of the tire made me wonder how it would hold up if our trails featured more rock gardens and shark fins. Maxxis is known for making durable tires, so its probably a non-issue.

 

Maxxis Ikon Review

I had these tires mounted front and rear to Mavic Crossmax on my Scott Scale. Their primary purpose was ripping around the trails in town and XC racing, and they were awesome. I was continually impressed by these treads all season. The smaller knobs didn’t inspire any confidence, but they hooked up reliably, from loose over hard pack to slick roots, to soft sandy corners. Obviously, as with other small knob treads, in wet or loamy conditions, they will start to show their weakness.

In late September I purchased a Yeti SB95 that came with an Ikon 2.2 in the back and an Ardent 2.4 in the front. This was a pretty goofy combo, and after taking it on a couple rides in Anchorage and the Kenai in classic fall riding conditions, the best analogy I could make was a 350-pound guy walking a yip-yap dog…I think it’s clear which tire is which here.
I’m not sure what the logic was there, but it was an unfair assessment of the Ikon’s abilities as a trail tire given the pairing and season. I soon swapped the Ikon with a 2.3 Ardent.
A big plus in my view, was that for a light tire, the Ikons held up great. I was looking for a more reliable, but still light, XC racing tread, after an unsatisfactory performance from the over-prized Schwalbe Rocket Rons last season. By late summer last year, the former tires were literally unraveling with each ride. The Ikons cost slightly less than the Schwalbes and don’t charge a hefty weight penalty. Mine should be good to go next year.

Clothing:

 

Halo Headbands Review

Headbands? Really? Review?

This is one of those, if you ever thought this was a good idea, go invest $25 and stop being a moron…like me.
I should have got on board with these ages ago. I never really liked the idea of riding with a headband as it seemed, stifling.
My most recent helmet, a Bell Volt, the same helmet I’ve bought every other year for the past 6 year, seems to drain a lot of sweat down my forehead. I have no idea what changed, but I finally got tired of having streaky glasses within 20 minutes of riding.
I expected the band’s forehead gasket to simply divert copious sweat down the sides of my face to my temples. Instead, the band wicks the sweat circumferentially around the skull, and helps to act a bit like a radiator. Except for in the hottest conditions, very little sweat actually runs down my face now. I did notice a bit of “stifling” discomfort the first ride or two, but that fades fast.

Gear Review: Santa Cruz 5010

Short Version:

Everyone has their own tolerances on bike tradeoffs. Some of my friends are happy to have a bike that is a more competent gravity rig for the tradeoff of some more XC/trail features; others would consider this sacrilege.

For me, after a season on this bike, I was leaning slightly more to the latter. I ended up changing steeds in late September after simple economics conspired against a continued weight loss plan for the 5010/Solo (carbon wheels and a carbon frame).

My final word: If you decide this is your rig, go light on this bike from the start, and seriously evaluate its use. Santa Cruz bills it as the more XC/trail version of the Bronson. I don’t have experience with the latter, but I think if I was riding more technical trails, I’d just go with a Bronson, and if I wanted a trail bike, I’d look at other options. This leaves a fairly small niche for the Solo to fill, but if it fits, it really won’t disappoint.

The Solo on one of its first rides this season to Gull Rock.

 

Long version:

I spent the summer riding an aluminum, Santa Cruz 5010, AKA Solo (I had a 2013 frame, so, technically, I had a Solo.)

The bike was assembled locally here at Chain Reaction Cycles, and they treated me very well. I went with an XT/XTR 2X gruppo, Fox F-32 CTD 120mm Kashima fork and Fox Kashima Float CTD shock, and a Rock Shox Reverb remote dropper. The shop threw on an XTR 2x crank. It pays to shop local.

 

This bike wants you to ride hard and ride fast. The more you push it, the better it feels. I hammered some descents I’ve ridden for years in ways I never knew I could. The bike has a fairly long wheel base and a semi-slacked head tube, and that gives it a “rides on rails” feel at speed.

I never pushed it through anything super technical since I never took it outside AK, but I have no reason to think the bike would not impress.

One of the things I liked the most out if this bike, it actually made me a better rider on my hard tail. Normally, the transition back and forth between full squish and hard tail is harsh, and takes a few miles and a bad line or two to re-calibrate.

Not with the Solo.

Another big surprise came from the 650b wheel size. I really wasn’t expecting much from the “new” wheel size. Sure, the hyped 29r wheels roll over “anything,” but I expected little improvement on the “roll-ability” from 650b. I was pleasantly surprised that this 5-inch bike rode like it was packing 6 inches.

Did the bike still retain the nimble-ness of a smaller wheel size? Hang on, I’ll get there.

Lastly, ya, Santa Cruz VPP suspension: it’s efficient. That’s all over the Internets though.

 

A slimmed down Solo at Bench Lake.

Here’s what I didn’t like.

Biggest mistake, buy freaking carbon. It’s 2014, not 2004. This is all on me. Robin – “I’ll sell you a carbon anything” – D at Chain Reaction told me to go carbon. He pushed, and I resisted.

The fact of the matter is, some bike manufactures are getting rid of aluminum frames all together. The shift is happening, and it’s happening for a reason. As a friend deep in the industry said to me two years ago when I asked him about the shift to carbon: “they wouldn’t be doing it if it wasn’t working."
That being said, I could not get over my own fears.

None of this has to do with the bike itself, but it did however, heavily influence how I felt about it throughout the season.

This bike felt like a tank from ride 1. I immediately put it on a diet. The stock Maxxis High Roller II tires were swapped for Maxxis Ardent Races. The former were very heavy for tires that are considered trail tires. Unless your trails go predominately downhill, they ride like suction cups.

Next went the dropper post. I can’t say I feel like my riding is getting held back by my saddle height. While droppers are starting to expand their appeal beyond just the gravity scene, it was an easy, top-heavy, pound of weight to get rid of. I found a deal on an OE carbon post and slid it in.

Then came the drive train. Remember that XTR crank? Light, yep; but geared high at 28/40T with an 11-36T cassette. Maybe if I kept my rides under 2 hours on rolling terrain I could manage these ratios, but stretched out on rides that last over 4 or more hours and climb thousands of vertical feet, my legs were over-taxed on long climbs, and often lacked the extra oompf needed for short steeps or technical maneuvers.

The logical option was to swap out the 24/38T XT crank on my Scott Scale 910. Problem: the angle between the Solo’s rear wheel and bottom bracket make it impossible to route the chain to a crank with anything less than a 28T ring without grinding on the bottom of a Shimano XT 2x clamp on front derailleur. The only solutions would have been to stick with the high-geared XTR 2x and go long cage with a pie-plate cassette in the back, or run an XT triple up front (I guess I could have gone straight 1X too). I went with the latter, going in the opposite direction as far as weight savings, but alternatively, giving the bike a wider range of gears. While the trend is decidedly moving toward 1X at the front, for the long and diverse rides this bike does, options are nice. On a plus note, I still moved the XTR crank to my Scott Scale and it was a welcome upgrade.

Nimbleness Question: The bike’s long wheel base, somewhat slacked head tube, and low bottom bracket height all helped to make this one seriously BA bike on the descent, but conspired against it on technical climbs.

This bike felt nimble at speed, but I would not use that term climbing. Crank and bottom bracket strikes were common. The bike threw big wheelies at speed, but they were obnoxious when pointed upward.
I found myself off the bike and pushing a couple very short sections of trail for the first time this season, and I was really displeased by that.

Every full suspension bike is billed these days as being a great climber. Bike builders aren’t necessarily lying, but they are oft speaking only to a bike’s linkage efficiency. Linkage efficiency is only part of the equation though. If you ride up fire roads, and drop gnarly trails, than all the things I just complained about won’t really matter.

I found myself dreading taking the Solo back to the trails in the east. The technical, rooty, rocky, "WTF is a switchback" trails require deft handling and a nimble bike capable of withstanding a lot of abuse going both up and down. On paper, the Solo should have owned those trails, but in reality, I knew I’d be leaving behind orange paint marks on the slick quartz and granite features, not to mention a bit of anger at not being able to ride features I used to crush on an XC bike.

As for Alaska, we certainly don’t have much in the way of gravel road access, nor technical trails.

I guess, where I get a little irked at Santa Cruz directly, is when they call this bike the perfect backcountry steed.

What backcountry has a gravel road for the climb, and what backcountry rig requires that you walk ridable features?

Another tragic experience was the severing of a pivot link axel after about a month of riding. This is not unheard of for Santa Cruz VPP suspension; the Internet will tell you some stories. Santa Cruz was quick to respond to the shop when contacted, and immediately sent replacements, no questions asked. The one disconcerting thing: in an email between myself and a Santa Cruz tech, he described it as a “fluke” and said he had never seen that. When there are multi-page threads dedicated to the subject on forums like MTBR, I guess I’d just leave it at “sorry, replacements on the way, happy trails.” Like said, the issue was responded to promptly, and it never occurred again this summer, so, no complaints, just an observation.

Trance X: The Final Word

Last season was my 2009 Trance X’s final season. For the original review, click HERE.
The mountain bike world has changed quite a bit since this bike’s day, and yet, the Trance as a model is still available today, nearly 10 years after its initial release.
In 2009, my Trance X was at the forefront of some of the things we take for granted today: longer travel air suspension, 15mm quick release axels, and beefier head tubes.
At the same time, it has since been outsized and out geared, and while the Trance was built around a nimble and steep head tube, the industry has generally moved to slacken these angles in many cases.
In some ways, comparing the 2009 Trance X to what’s available now, is a bit unfair to the new generation of 650b and 29-inch Trances offered by Giant.
That being said, here are the bottom lines for me.

• This bike is beefy and built to last. A bunch of riding buddies and I all bought this bike at the same time in 2008 and 2009. While the industry had dialed in efficient linkage systems, they were also finally building frames capable of withstanding more than a couple seasons of abuse.
  We didn’t know this, and almost all of us had resolved to simply get in the habit of replacing our frames after two seasons, given that was the norm up to that point on most XC and trail bike.
  Most of us didn’t have to, and these bikes lived much longer than any of us expected.
  Alaska’s shorter season and generally mild trails let mine live the longest of this generation. The only linkage issues I dealt with I would consider very standard: I changed out of the bushings in the shock. I think I did this procedure twice over 5 years. I never had to do any other linkage replacement.

 

• Good things don’t change. While Giant, along with other bike manufactures, has had to adapt to the 650b and 29-inch wheel revolution, and sell to the burgeoning all mountain/enduro trend,  relatively few changes have been made to this bike since it was initially offered, almost 10 years ago. I understand that the geometry on the Trance 29r had to be modified.
  As it stands, Giant was caught off-guard by the wheel-size revolution, and seems to be unsure of where they are going to go. Their decision to essentially do away with 26-inch, has, and will continue to shape the bike industry in the years to come. Personally, I would steer away from a Trance 29, which may be easy enough as it seems they are moving away from that bike. The bump in wheel size effectively adds an inch of travel, while changing the overall ride. The 650b Trance will be a nice fit; if you want 29-inch wheels, the Anthem is a better pick.

 

• I’d buy it again. I didn’t, I got a Santa Cruz Solo, but my decision was driven more by shop loyalty than anything else. The local Giant dealer here in town has a butt-kicking sales team, and I can’t say enough good things about them, but I had a few negative experiences with two of their wrenches, and have had overwhelmingly positive experiences with the competition.
  As for the offerings, Giant, like most bike manufactures, has latched on hard to the all mountain/enduro trend. The Trance has gone from being a king of trail bikes to the adapted chosen son of this movement in Giant's line up, and now comes kitted with more travel in the front, dropper posts, and the like. Meanwhile, the Anthem has been fitted to appeal to either the hardcore XC racer, or the entry-level rider. It’d be nice to see Giant offer either, or just one, of these rigs in quality trail build(s). With the improved ride quality found in 650b wheel size, I probably would not ride a Trance in Alaska anymore, and to get the bike I wanted, I probably would have purchased an Anthem frame, and built it from the ground up, even if it cost more in the end run. Outside Alaska, a Trance would still be a top pick. 

 

 

The Trance X, new, in the steamy forests on a late spring day in Vermont in 2009 at the end of a cross country road trip.

 

The Trance, rolling steadily into its 5th season on Russian Lakes Trail on a hot day in June 2013.