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Bikes. Parts. Chaos.

Words by me. Photos by Mike, Paul, Rusty, Donald and myself.

Tilted to the left blurry view of cyclists on a dirt road in a brushy desert with other riders trailing behind

After a crazy couple of crazy days with Blue Dog and friends in Tucson, I rented a car and pointed towards Santa Fe. Narrowly beating the sunset, I drove as far as Truth or Consequences New Mexico… and for the record, all I saw was consequences. I showed up at the Broken Spoke the next day just before 4 pm after hitting the local REI for some iso gas and bars, and then returning my rental car. I quickly sorted my gear and packed up my 27.5+ ECR for a three-day desert ramble with the shop crew, customers and friends of The Broken Spoke. To my surprise, there were 18 people on bikes waiting for me behind the shop ready to roll out! That is probably the best showing I think I’ve ever seen for a bikepacking excursion. We rolled out en mass pointed west towards the Rio Grande with what turned out to be just enough daylight to make it to our first camp spot for the night. We set up our bags, bivouacs, and tents on a scrubby mesa and set to work building a fire, cooking food and cracking the few beers we had found room to stash. Luckily there were many flasks and other conversation lubricants abound to keep us laughing well into the night.

Group of cyclists with their bikes side by side across a parking lot with power lines and blue sky in the backgroundGroup of cyclists with their bikes side by side across a parking lot with power lines and blue sky in the background

Cyclist on a red bike loaded with gear pedals up a rocky trail hill in the bushy desert and 2 riders trailing behind

A gravel road in a desert with bushes, leading into hills with sun light shining behind

An upside down view of a campfire with three people sitting around a campfire at night

The next morning, we said farewell to about half the group that could only make it a S24O, so the remaining 9 of us packed up and headed to the water stash Owen had dropped the day before. This group now was mostly Broken Spoke staff and a few friends who had joined us for the previous year’s Surly adventure. Everyone save for our friend Donald was on Plus MTB Bikes and the extra volume would prove to be a clear advantage as the day wore on. We were headed North towards the Rio Grande again but needed to catch up with some trails that were on the opposite side of the hills and mazes of roads we were currently on. We scouted many promising looking trails only to find their terminus to be a boulder-strewn wash or that they simply petered out into nothing but dust and cacti. The trail we eventually found lead us up a grueling climb to a much-needed lunch break. Once I got my bearings I realized I had explored this area before with Cass Gilbert about three years ago on my first trip to Santa Fe. This trail I knew took us up over some short but hefty climbs to the Soda Springs descent; that even on a Krampus with a suss fork was scary, exposed and left little margin for error.

A group a cyclists standing around in short brown grass with their bike laying around, hills and blue sky in background

Person in a desert setting with a tree behind,wears a baseball cap and sunglasses pulling down the neck of their shirt

Cyclists standing with their bikes on a desert hill with trees and blue sky in the background

Three cyclists standing with their bikes loaded with gear on a rock patch in the desert with trees in the background

My bike up to this point had performed flawlessly: Small 27.5 ECR, Whisky No.9 41mm carbon rims/ DT 340 hubs, WTB Trail Boss 3.0/ Ranger 2.8 tubeless, Moloko bars, BB7s, full Revelate bag kit, Anything cages and flat pedals. The chunky nature of the trails on this second day was about as chunky on a grit scale can go before you call it riding in a boulder or scree field. The cacti and goat-heads build up in your treads, the rocks are sharp and want to slice your side walls and the dirt and sand make floatation a real hot commodity. Tubeless is necessary and plus tires are recommended if you want to enjoy the ride vs. merely survive, and as always, steel is indeed real if you value the integrity of your bones. In short, our plus bikes, MTB & dirt touring, seem to be tailor-made for this type of riding. I couldn’t help but say this numerous times in the best Sam Elliott drawl I could: “This here is plus country”. I was initially worried about my choice of tires not being tough enough and was questioning why I hadn’t just played it safe with a tried and true Knard/Dirt Wiz combo. But the WTBs came away unscathed and had enough traction to allow me to brag that I didn’t crash and pretty much cleaned all the sketchy stuff.

Right side view of a Surly bike, black, loaded with gear, standing in sticks and dirt with brushy trees in background

Zoom in view of the front left side of a bike on desert rocks with focus on a Whisky rim, forks and handlebar gear pack

A vertical view of a horizontal photo showing group of cyclist riding down a gravel  desert road

Front view of a cyclist holding up a bike with gear, while standing on desert rocks,trees and blue sky in the background

Speaking of sketchy stuff, as we climbed and descended the baseball/Softball size rocky chunder, I started thinking back to the Soda Springs descent and remembered how tight the hairpins are. I thought about the extra wheelbase on the ECR, the lack of front suspension and all the gear I was I was packing this time. I swallowed hard into the initial descent before the long drop into the Rio Grande Valley and regrouped. Something in me told me to stop thinking about it and just go for it, so I hopped off the front to plunge down the washed-out trail. Simply stating that we “rode” this part of the trail is maybe not even the appropriate nomenclature to describe the experience, as it’s more like you “surf” sections of this trail down. The switchbacks are about as tight as they come, the dirt is deep, loose and shifting as the rocks strewn about move around as you navigate through them. If you high-side a hairpin or lose your concentration on the top half of the most exposed section, it will be a painful wait for your helicopter extraction. Luckily we all made it down intact and traded stories of our various successes and failures. Mike from Broken Spoke said, “no dabbs” which is quite impressive, though I feel I have to point out he had a KM with a sus fork. I dabbed twice towards the end but otherwise cleaned it, which once again made me double take the ECR: What can’t this bike do?!

Cyclist standing with a red bike, looks down at a desert canyon with a river with hills and blue sky in the background

Front view of cyclists riding up a gravel trail in the desert hills with blue sky and clouds in the sky

Cyclists smiling while standing on rocks with gear loaded bikes on a grassy desert hill

Front view of a cyclist riding down a rocky trail on a hill above a bushy desert canyon

Vertical view of a horizontal front view image showing cyclists with gear loaded bikes on a rocky desert trail

We pedaled on down the canyon NE towards the opening of Caja Del Rio, which would lead us into the sinister shadows of Diablo Canyon where we would camp for the night. I had ridden this arroyo years ago and remembered how taxing it was, even on a plus bike, and was not looking forward to those last few miles slogging through the sand. Luckily our friend Paul had stashed a cooler of barley pops, ice and drinking water off Buckman road, so we filed into the underbrush to rest and enjoy some shade before we pushed on up the road to drop into the Devil’s Canyon itself. We played in the arroyo and challenged each other to ride the boulders and weird lines before settling into a nice soft and sandy clearing for the evening. That night around a modest blaze, we shared the remainder of the beers from the stash and told tales of both stark truth and wild absurdity as the moon rose above those dark walls. I slept in a bivy with a Big Agnus -20 bag and to my surprise, two sleeping pads, needless to say, I, was snug as a bug in a rug. Temps were still chilly to be sure but because my synthetic 15* bag is more like a 40* comfort wise, I thought going overkill would be the better call, Aaaaand it was 😊  

A rear view of cyclist with a gear loaded bike, riding up a desert trail towards hills with bushes

Rear view of cyclists standing with their gear loaded bikes, in a sandy, rocky base of a desert canyon

Front view of a cyclist riding on a rock in a desert canyon with riderless bike in the background

Front view of a cyclist riding on a rock in a desert canyon with riderless red bike behind

Front view of a cyclist riding down a rock in a desert canyon with riderless bike behind

Front view of a cyclist riding down a rock at the base of brushy desert canyon

Front view of a cyclist riding off a rock, with the bike's front tire in the sand,  at the base of brushy desert canyon

Day 3. The last leg back into town was a trying one that started with the worst slog of shit washboard dirt road I have recent memory of. 8 miles of constant 2% grade uphill on washboard dirt and sandy shoulders, just what the doctor ordered first thing in the morning for my tired legs. The elation when we finished that section and came up to a paved bike path point back towards town was palpable and talk of burritos incited a quickening of pace. We curved through bourgeois suburbs with their perfectly sculpted adobe mansions towards what would be our last taste of single track before arriving back in the concrete jungle. La Tierra trails are a fun place to go shred some dusty corners and practice hangin’ a little air on the mini jump line. We rode said jump line but I’m not sure my wheels ever left the ground. Shortly thereafter we beelined to the burrito spot and installed some much-needed calories, I for one had eaten the last shot block I had an hour ago so I was running on fumes. And that is where we all parted ways, dirty af and all in need of a nap.

Blurry view of bikes parked inline on the side of a desert gravel road with brushy hills in the background

Upside down view of horizontal image of person sitting in sand next to camp cookware with trees and hills in background

Downward view of a group of cyclist in the sandy at of the bottom of a brushy desert valley

Front view of smiling group of cyclist standing in the sand with their gear loaded bike a the bottom desert canyon

Rear view of two cyclists riding down a remote road with a brushy field, powerlines and hills ahead

I found a cheap room and ended up convincing Owen to drive us up to the Japanese spa for a soak in their amazing outdoor hot tubs. I then met back up for dinner with Mike, Owen and the Broken Spoke crew for a New Mexican feast as our parting “thank you” dinner from the brand for being such a kick ass promoter of the brand and all around excellent people to do business with. Big time thanks to everyone who joined us both days and especially Mike, Owen, Jett, Nate, Paul, Rusty, Adam and Donald for making it for the long haul. You guys are a blast to adventure with. Until next time!

And I leave you with this apropos song just because being decidedly uncool is very amusing to me:

About $Trevor From Where Ever

Trevor Clayton a.k.a. $Trevor From Where Ever

T$ was born and raised in MPLS, MN. He does not own a car, opting instead for bikes and motorcycles to get around. He has a wide and varied taste in music, and once when he was young he filled a Super Soaker squirt gun with hot coffee and sprayed strangers on the street just for fun. Trevor manages our demo fleet, implements sales initiatives (acting as special concierge to many of our fine dealers) and tours the western reaches of the states in search of high adventure and intrigue.