Editor’s Dozen: Josh’s Favorite Gear and More of 2024

Riding bikes in the world, I’ve become aware of a conspicuous gap in my life. Every time I sit down to write lately, I stare at it. Riding bikes more only makes it grow. It’s the gap between writing about travel and bikepacking gear while rapid climate change makes our planet unlivable. It’s the gap between finding home where I am and Palestinians being killed in Gaza. It’s the gap between my cycling self-actualizing and the fact that this privilege is denied to many. I’m stuck. As it should be.

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To me, this speaks to the power the bicycle has on me and affirms why I ride bikes slowly. To soften up. To grow more sensitive and be pierced by both the joys and sorrows of the world. It can be challenging and confusing while the soul expands to hold these tensions. In the meantime, writing about gear is almost a relief. A welcome distraction.

I do enjoy geeking out about stuff and how it’s made. But as someone who’s lucky to ride some of the best bikes and equipment out there, I can tell you that manufactured desire is endless. Marketing and our accumulation culture under capitalism makes sure of that. Yet, in our transcendent moments, it’s all blown away. Some basic gear is required to get rolling, and then you’ll have a blast. Evan described this duality sublimely in his Editor’s Dozen.

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Similar to Evan, I got into bikepacking as a way of refusing unsustainable, impoverished ways of life under capitalism. But pedaling out of my anxious mid-20s, I’ve come around to realize the impossibility, and indeed undesirability, of Into the Wild-style escape. In the furthest reaches of Scandinavia, my Taiwan-made bike carried me over perfect roads while I was nourished by avocados from Peru and navigated by a phone containing cobalt from Congo. I was able to be there due to countless people loving me into that moment. And interest in gear drives traffic to this site, financially sustaining my gear-critical musings. These tensions aren’t contradictions. I cherish my reliable equipment for the spatial and psychic movements it enables, and I deeply appreciate the space for speculative voices held open on BIKEPACKING.com by the staff editors and Bikepacking Collective members.

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The bike—along with the gear we carry—is often described as a vehicle for freedom and autonomy. While I feel this, too, I wonder how much of that is a projection of Western individualism’s core ideals. Because if bikepacking has taught me anything, it’s how completely and utterly dependent I am on complex systems and other people. Supermarkets, roads, the basic kindness of people, support back home. That’s a beautiful and powerful thing to know, not something to be escaped, even if it were possible. We thrive in ecologies that know no bounds. It’s a gift and responsibility.

Shifting from the individual to the collective frame changes everything. I seek mutual encounters, not solo experiences. Instead of asking what an object can do for me, I find myself wondering what this piece of gear does with us, especially with our social relations. What about the gear talk surrounding it? Is it helping us get more intimate with other inhabitants and the landscape or alienating us further? Contrasting our cluttered day-to-day lives, bikepacking can be an embodied mode of inquiry.

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It’s painfully clear that unchecked production and consumption have no long-term future. What might a healthier relationship with technology and individual objects look like? It seems to me that curing the cancer of consumerism and mindless innovation goes hand in hand with cultivating deep reciprocal care for all life on this one planet we share. Putting life, not the accumulation of stuff, at the center. We can find positive examples of this in fiction and history and this community.

In the Dune universe, the resourceful Fremen people thrive on an outwardly desolate desert planet. Yet, using subtly sophisticated technology, they live rich communal and spiritual lives, sustainably harnessing the hidden powers and riches of their world. Dune was certainly inspired by Indigenous communities on our planet, whose advanced agricultural systems were often so seamlessly interwoven with their cosmologies and landscapes that they were barely registered by White settlers. In our troubled times, we look to their ruins for urgent inspiration. Modern movements such as permaculture and Solarpunk pick up some of these old ideas and run with them into the future.

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At its best, I think bikepacking isn’t far off these models. I imagine the Fremen riding fat bikes if they weren’t grappling onto sandworms. Heartwarming, challenging stories from this community provide ample inspiration, though none are more powerful than our own peak encounters. Wind in my face, sleeping in stranger’s homes, the ground holding me up uncomplainingly, I become more social, more animal, more part of this beautiful, hurting world.

As conspicuous gaps stare us down, I think bikes and gear can help us face them. Ideally, they are simply transparent tools that help us grow ever softer and be affirmed in what matters most in life. No more and no less.

Gear repair and DIY

This year, I’ve made an effort to grant my worn gear and fading electronics a new life with simple repairs. I’ve replaced built-in batteries, fixed broken appliances, and learned to patch holes in clothes. Zip ties and gear tape fix many things! I’m under no delusions that my individual actions amount to much in the grand scheme of things, but it’s satisfying and empowering. Pretty much anything can be learned on YouTube. For stuff I’m not up for, I ask friends and cook them a meal.

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It’s been particularly inspiring seeing friends take up TIG welding and hacking together tall bikes from old frames. Cruising the city on them has been a highlight of my year. You can’t buy the magical encounters these homemade machines enable.

Moving closer with the Ricoh GR III

Made in Vietnam / $966.95 at B&H

My most involved repair this year was replacing the lens unit on my Ricoh GR III camera. After five years of hard use and too many accidental drops, I found several broken locating pins, a torn flex cable, and a random loose bolt on the inside. The hardest part about the camera surgery was keeping track of all the little parts and the order they went in.

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With the Ricoh revived, I fell back in love with its crisp and vibrant images. I always found the wide angle challenging to use, but this year it clicked with me. My previously favored 40 mm (equivalent) focal length is just too tight for me these days. It often requires me to step away. The Ricoh’s wide angle keeps me in close, and the compact size doesn’t intrude as much. These days, 35mm mode feels just right for where I want to be. It’s made me curious about the Fujifilm X100V.

Wayfinding

GPS, GPX files, cycling computers—they’re effective, way too effective, at getting me where I think I want to go. And I want to be open to other influences. I want to have the confidence to change my plan and veer from the line without getting beeped at. I want to take serendipitous recommendations and fall into existing infrastructure. I want to ride free like a child and trust the land. All this I find difficult when I’m captured by destination-oriented devices and apps.

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Last year, I disabled GPS on my phone and mostly stopped using my cycling computer for navigation. It was unnerving at first, but I learned I can trust in signs, paths, the landscape, and other people. It’s less efficient than tracking a route with millimeter precision, and that’s the point. With certainty available at our fingertips when we do need it, where’s the harm in drifting a bit? Wayfinding, as I understand it, is very much in the spirit of bikepacking.

Button compass

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In the context of wayfinding, a button compass has proven surprisingly useful, and I have them on all my bikes now. Often, a quick bearing check is all you need to verify your location or infer the turn. The tricky part is finding a place on your bike where the needle isn’t deflected by ferromagnetic bits. Go outside and bring the compass slowly toward the prospective mounting spot to ensure it’s giving an undisturbed reading.

Cumulus Quilt 250

Made in Poland / €309 at Cumulus

For the cost of a couple of days in a hotel, my trusty Cumulus quilt has kept me warm from Finland to Spain over the last six years on more than 300 nights out. The 4°C (40°F) comfort rating seems accurate for me as a warm sleeper, and I’ve taken it down to -6°C (20°F) all bundled up. Packed, it’s merely the size of a pomelo and seriously lightweight. After all these nights, it shows almost no wear apart from the down in the upper baffles going flat. It’s one of the best gear investments I’ve made.

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I recently sent it out for professional cleaning and partial down replacement, and now it lofts almost like new. Take care of your gear, and it will take care of you. Over the summer, I visited the Cumulus team in Gdansk, Poland, and got to meet the folks who designed and made my quilt, which was very cool. Look for my report from inside Cumulus soon.

My Big Forest Frameworks ATB

Made in Germany (by you) / €2,250+ at Big Forest Frameworks

Drifting aboard my ATB in familiar areas in the northeast of Spain and around Berlin this year, it was interesting observing my sensitivities and sensibilities change with flat bars and wide tires. I’m in a different state of mind, choose different paths, and have different encounters. The 2.6″ of comfort is welcome for riding all day on sloppy forest doubletrack in the cold. I’m getting out regularly this winter, which is good for me.

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Riding this rolling collaboration reminds me how much work by many different people went into creating it. And that’s just a single bike. Honestly, there’s little functional difference to something like a Kona Unit X. A stock bike would have saved me tons of headaches and be much cheaper, too. I’d miss the carry handle, though. It’s my favorite feature.

Tailfin Bar Bag (large flat-bar version)

Made in China / $305+ at Tailfin

The one major piece of new gear I tested this year is Tailfin’s Bar Bag, and it’s exceptional. The X-Clamp closure is sublime, and the stretch pockets are delicious. Locked to the handlebars right where I want it, the bag just doesn’t move. My impressions so far are very positive, as it should be at this price tag. Tailfin’s maximalist solution doesn’t take away from the time-tested drybag in a lightweight harness.

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The large flat-bar drybag is huge; I’d generally recommend the small version unless you need all that space. Tailfin’s uniform black usually isn’t my style, but for some reason, it works in this format. What I miss in the system is a small bag for day rides and an accessory mount for dynamo lights.

Wera Bicycle Set 1

Made in Czechia / €40 at Wera

While I’m still very happy with the PB Swiss bike tool I highlighted last year, a friend gifted me this nifty micro ratchet set made by Wera. I’ve taken it on all my longer trips in 2024. As you might expect, the bit extension is handy for certain hard-to-reach bolts, and the fine ratchet is great for rapid rinko rail adventures. The handle could be longer to fit better in hand. I discarded the tire levers, cut the bulky case down, and tailored the bit selection to the bike it lives on.

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At around €40 in Europe, I think it’s good but not great value. It’s far from necessary, but if a ratchet keeps you rolling by making wrenching more fun, that’s money well spent in my book. If I’m any indication, this set makes a good gift for folks who appreciate nice tools.

Outer Shell Dropper Seat Pack

Made in USA / $155 at Outer Shell

To make getting out easy, my overnighter kit lives in a dedicated bin. I simply load it onto the bike, add food, and go. I adore the Outer Shell Dropper Seat Pack for these shorter trips. It’s slim, light, simple to attach, and has a pleasing profile. The 10.5-liter size hits my sweetspot. It fits my sleep clothes, bivy bag, quilt, air mat and pillow. It’s more stable than any other soft-style seat pack I’ve used and seen, which minimizes wear.

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The current and previous iteration have seen me through many dozen overnighters and also other trips over the last six years. Only the rubber coating of the Hypalon shows some expected abrasion. The current version is more durable and features replaceable velcro, which I appreciate.

Alonukis mini cargo cage

Made in Germany / Learn more at Alonukis

One new item that recently snuck into my overnighter bin is this Alonukis mini cargo cage. It’s made by Johannes Wandinger, who impressed us with his thoughtful and well-executed designs at Bespoked in Dresden this fall. His quick-removable mini cage is another hit and aligns with my gear philosophy and aesthetic preferences.

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While mini cages and slotted bolt holes aren’t new, I haven’t come across this useful combination before. It makes repeated mounting and un-mounting much less of a faff. Simply undo the bolts in the frame a few turns, slide the cage over, and tighten. Why don’t more cages have this feature? I use it with nano straps to carry a thermos of hot tea.

ZebraLight H52W Headlamp

Made in China / $79 at ZebraLight

With light pollution everywhere, real darkness is practically a luxury these days. We can see a widespread bias for overexposure also in the emphasis on maximum output in flashlights and headlamps. The low modes get little attention and are mostly too bright for camp usage. ZebraLight is an exception. Their appropriately named “moonlight mode” is perfect for not lighting up the night.

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It’s astonishing how a mere 0.2 lumens are entirely sufficient for most tasks. The eyes adjust, and touch and hearing rise to the challenge. The unlit periphery comes into view. Less is more in this case. You could experiment with adding layers of tape to your headlamp. Let’s remember how to move and be comfortable in the dark; we might be surprised at what we find.

The Rough-Stuff Fellowship Archive books

£32+ at Isola Press

Since I started this piece on a more speculative note, I’ll keep this year’s book recommendation more concrete. If, like me, you frequently find yourself thinking you “need” some new piece of gear or bike, browsing the inspiring Rough-Stuff Fellowship Archive books might be the best antidote besides hopping on your bike yourself.

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Chronicling the adventures of the world’s oldest cycling club, the photos of RSF riders scrambling up peaks and wading through bogs on skinny-tired touring bikes are iconic. Their trailside naps and brews are something to aspire to. It’s interesting how all ages and genders are represented. Legends.

My photo of the year

The camera initially pulled me into the world and led to me writing, but now I often feel the camera gets in the way. The dynamics make me uncomfortable at times, especially in tandem with social media and while traveling. I’m trying to keep the camera down more often instead of documenting everything.

I know I’m on the right path when I check my SD card after a weekend and find just a handful of meaningful snapshots—or maybe none at all. I take it as a sign that I’m participating. Here’s a memorable moment when we got stuck in deep mud on a recent campout. That was a good time.

Further Reading

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