The Gunni Grinder with Big Diffy and the Hunqapillar

Last springtime, I made my way to Colorado to meet up with Vaughn, aka @bigdiffy – yes, the same Vaughn with whom I tackled Pearl Pass in Issue 15 of The Bikepacking Journal. And, the same Vaughn I camped with amongst bohemian cats, ducks, and peacocks in Oaxaca earlier that year, sharing a Good Cop Bad Cop interchange in a mountain town called Nuevo Zoquiapam—a tale that never got told but might do one day.

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Anyway, on with this story. Given that I was in central Colorado visiting my son for his Easter holidays, where Vaughn is based too, the two of us knew roughly where we wanted to ride and when. After deliberating, pondering, and pontificating—such are we spoiled for route choices these days—we settled upon riding one of the site’s Gunnison Route Network outings. Namely, a two-night version of a local classic, the Gunni Grinder. Being mindful of the almost-summer-but-not-quite-season, it promised a few days of rideable dirt roads, both rural and mountainous, tracing the well-trodden but undeniably Great Divide Mountain Bike Route in places, as well as some faint and lesser-travelled sea of sagebrush two-track.

Suffice it to say we had a wonderful time and loved the route, and you can find a selection of photos from the experience here, both my own digital captures and Vaughn’s film scans too. Shoulder seasons often bring with them uncertainty, but with such uncertainty comes surprise and drama. We chased, and were chased by in turn, dark curtains of rainfall through which we somehow stayed bone dry. We saw elk, moose, deer, grouse, a chipmunk, probably a pronghorn—it was far in the distance, and our eyes might well have been failing us—along with a fresh bear print too. Animal sightings aside, worth highlighting is Vaughn’s eminently classy Rivendell Hunqapillar, a bicycle he steers with great skill and panache, bedecked with an array of BXB prototypes and classic Sackville cycleware. More on that in the Big Diffy Bike Check below.

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For my part, I was aboard Grunt, a recent nickname adopted for my Jones SWB, lifted from the vernacular of Mad Max, the reason for which will be relevant soon. It sports a steamrolling 29in Crux Dura up front and a svelte 2.8in Rekon+ behind, at least in relative terms. Elsewhere, it’s a higgledy-piggledy mix of old and new, including a shiny new Tailfin CargoPack, an ancient Rawland Cycles platform rack, a leaky Outdoor Research dryish bag, a pair of stickered and stone hammered Kleen Kanteens, and a sun-faded Buckhorn framebag that was made in New Mexico. It’s a real mishmash of eras and styles, and I love it all the more because of this.

Both rigs are upright and ultra-comfortable pedal-powered machines of the past, present, and future. There are times when I’ll pull ahead on a rough-stuff descent, just as there are times when Vaughn will disappear around the bend on a climb—and I’ll admit that blacktop is my weakness. Yet despite their differences, they still function amicably within the ebb and flow of riding in company, because they’re two different interpretations of what makes The Ultimate ATB—and ideal counterarguments for what would likely be a heated public debate, should it ever come to that.

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Besides, regardless of which you might prefer, bikepacking trips transcend all gear. Whatever bike I’m aboard, they’re my place of contemplation, environments in which big thoughts percolate and big ideas bubble surfacewards. Amongst other things, we tried to dissect just why it is that we feel, without fail it seems, so freakin’ good on a bike tour, and decided that it was a mixture of elements, that includes:

• The weightless movement of the body and mind through landscapes.
• The auditory experience of non-motorised travel.
• The outpouring of awe and humility that the great outdoors evokes.

Go on, I dare you to try and stop your spirit from soaring on a bicycle trip! Like a balloon filled with helium, it’s quite impossible to hold it down.

During the ride, we ate awakened walnuts from Vaughn’s recent trip to California to see his Rivendell family, as well as figs that we strongly suspected were enlightened. We listened to Astrid Sonne and agreed that everything was unreal, and stared searchingly into the cloudscape when she evoked small earthquakes in the sky. And a herd of deer crossed the dirt road right in front of us, leaping and prancing gracefully across the hills and we felt humbled us once more. Oh, if only I had matching airborne bike skills and could join them! Instead, I nodded my head and gave them the peace sign.

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On my insistence and from the comfort of my cinema-sized Black Diamond pyramid tarp, the journey was elevated further when we watched Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga, beamed to us on the widescreen that is my iPhone 13 Mini, in almost-Dolby surround sound, thanks to my JBL Clip 5. What I hadn’t realised was that Vaughn hides his face behind his hands when there’s the merest hint of a scary part in a movie, though I shouldn’t really judge, as I’m always turning the sound down in suspense-laden thrillers, and don’t even try to get me to watch a horror (but still, he did cover his face a lot).

We revelled in Max’s world and its rich slew of disturbing characters—Dementus, Immortan Joe, Scabrous Scrotus, the Organic Mechanic, and the Bullet Farmer included. The next day, we might have even yelled out “Witness me!” as if we were War Boys entering the shiny, chrome afterlife of Verhala. As for my Jones that’s now nicknamed Grunt, it’s inspired by the War Rig that features in the film: “The finest piece of grunt in the Wasteland. Bigger, stronger, faster, further!”

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I know some bikepackers who safeguard their phone battery like it’s the very last kilojoules of energy on a ravaged planet. I, on the other hand and somewhat ironically given our night’s entertainment, realised that in the excitement of introducing Vaughn to Mad Max, I’d completely depleted it. Not only that, but I’d forgotten to pack a charging cable to go with my powerbank. Luckily, the gracious Annette came to my rescue at the nearby Cathedral Ranch cabins, lending me hers whilst we re-upped on supplies in a shed completely covered, wall to wall, with tasty snacks and brake pads alike. From Honey Stingers to Idaho potatoes to Bobo bars, almond butter and Nuun tablets, plus Voilé straps, Stans, bacon strips, Shoe Goo and a whole lot of specialist vernacular more, I can imagine no finer sight for sore bikepackers’ eyes.

Phone partly charged, onwards we rode. At that time of year, the climb to Los Pinos Pass was spongy and ours alone, damp from melted snow, and closed to motorised traffic. It was here that we experienced our epic chipmunk sighting and bear print, within just a short distance of each other, marking either end of the Coloradan mammalian spectrum.

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At 10,500 feet, the pass also marked the topographic high point of the route. But another high point was even more special. On our last night, Vaughn explained to me that: “When you see clouds behind a full moon, just as we’re doing now, they’re not actually behind the moon. They’re in front of it.” This blew my mind, transforming the trip from the realm of the merely wonderful into that of the undeniably fantastic.

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Ups aside, what bikepacking trip doesn’t have its downs? Unfortunately, Vaughn misplaced his tent pegs for the Megamid somewhere on a toilet mission, stored as they were in the same Dyneema pouch as his trowel. Still, even losing a $50 bag of ultralight aluminium hardware can be reframed in a positive light. Plans are now afoot to re-ride the route, retrace his toilet spot, and retrieve them one day in the splendour of fall. Perhaps we’ll let a few more winters pass and dig it up like a forgotten technical treasure—without hopefully disturbing the original purpose for his detour, as it were.

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Because of this loss, however, we did have to resort to pegging out the tarp with twigs and sticks in a sheltered grove the following night. And it was whilst searching for such a spot that we stumbled upon a pet cemetery, marked by a circle of small graves and accompanying crosses that we determined must surely be for bunny rabbits. Suffice to say that combined with another half hour in the company of Furiosa and her dystopian friends—and with them the rest of my phone battery—it made for a fitful night’s sleep. It’s very possible I dreamt up the scattering of severed bunny heads and dismembered fluffy body parts I later noted in my ride journal.

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Only one significant climb remained, though it was steep, slow going, and even a little tortuous in places, winding its way through thickets of skeletal aspens to the brow of a quiet pass. And then, with a final stretch across a last expanse of grey-blue sagebrush and past an island of giant granite boulders onto which I scampered for a departing view, it was all over, and we were coasting back down the broad and leafy streets of Gunnison town once more.

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No matter the length of the journey or where it might be, I find these penultimate miles to often bring both unbridled jubilation and a tinge of bittersweetness too. I was left to reflect on how those with whom we choose to share such experiences in life are undoubtedly as important as the ride itself. So, here’s to good routes and to good folks. And, to simply committing to a trip, wherever it may be and for however long you may have, and getting out there—stormy skies, deep thoughts, mismatched bikes, bunny graves, and all.

Vaughn’s Gallery

Vaughn says his Ricoh GR1 (a film point and shoot, of course) was playing up a bit, underexposing the shots. Or it could have been the expired Velvia he had loaded in there. Either way, I love the vibe!

Big Diffy’s Rivendell Hunqapillar

What an eclectic collection of words! Whenever I share images of this particular Rivendell on Instagram, it’s always met with the internet equivalent of a swoon in emoji form—be it flames, fingernail paint, or praising hands. I’m not the bike-jealous type, and I’d never want to start a coffee shop brawl, but I’ll admit that comments like these don’t always help: “Your Joneses always impress, but I must say Vaughn’s Hunq is one of my favorite bicycles on the Internet.”

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Here’s a rundown of the build and a potted backstory.

From 2008 to 2011, Vaughn worked for Rivendell in Walnut Creek, California, though his Hunqapillar, built by Waterford Precision Cycles in Wisconsin, was bought in 2012. It’s painted in timeless Jay’s Green, as it was Jay Ritchey—now the purveyor of Bags by Bird—who first requested this custom shade for his own bike when he too worked for Riv.

“I forget the original theme/vision from Grant, but basically an Atlantis sibling, ATB, do-all, 26-inch or larger sizes 650B, which at that time was relatively little known or utilized, with only a few tires available. And what a great name for a bike!”

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“The Hunqapillar was an easy choice for me when selecting a Rivendell model to serve as my main bike for years to come, thanks to its do-all, handle-anything geo and tubeset, full array of rack mounts for loaded, off-road touring, and, of course, its lovely shade of green (thanks, Jay), handsome lugs, and all-time model name. I configured it exactly once, in the standard, tried-and-true Rivendell country bike fashion as I’d inherited during my time there. Comfortable, elegant Albatross handlebars, mini front rack with utilitarian and unassuming Wald basket, rear top rack with sturdy waxed canvas and metal buckle saddlebag, mechanically simple cantilever brakes, ready-to-roam alpine triple with 8-9 speed rear cassette and friction shifting – and I haven’t changed anything since. It was my main ride for around a decade thereafter, a trusty steed providing uncomplaining portage for many merry adventures throughout the rugged Colorado high country, while also doing double-duty as everyday grocery getter and spirited singletrack day tripper. Only when I commissioned a custom Rivendell frame in the early 2020’s did my Hunqapillar ride time decrease. The main inspiration for the custom I relayed to Grant? Just like the Hunqapillar, but with 27.5″ tires in my size…”

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Vaughn’s Rivendell Hunqapillar Build Kit

• Frame and Fork: Rivendell Hunqapillar, 51cm
• Rims: Velocity Cliffhanger
• Hubs: Shimano Deore XT rear, Schmidt SON Delux front
• Tires: Rene Herse Humptulips Ridge 26”x2.3”
• Handlebars: Nitto Albatross 55cm HT Aluminum
• Stem: Nitto Tallux 11cm
• Headset: Tange
• Crankset: Sugino XD2 46-36-24
• Pedals: VP-001 Thin Gripsters
• Cassette: Shimano 13-36
• Derailleur(s): Shimano RD-M986
• Brakes: Shimano CX70 cantis
• Levers: Shimano
• Shifter(s): Shimano Dura-Ace 9spd bar-end shifters on Paul thumbie mounts
• Saddle: Brooks B17
• Seatpost: Nitto S83
• Front bag: BXB waxed canvas tote
• Rear bag: Sackville Saddlesack Medium rear
• Frame bag: BXB X-Pac rolltop
• Rack:Nitto M-12 Campee front, Nitto RBW51 rear
• Accessories: Makeshifter Snackhole stem bag, Schmidt Edelux, Crane Hammer Strike bell, Riv basket net

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Any questions about Grunt or the Hunq? Leave them in the Conversation below!

Further Reading

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