Our Editors’ Favorite Rides of 2024

Again this year, we’re capping off a packed 12 months by asking our editorial team and several contributing editors to pause and consider their most impactful rides of 2024, whatever that means to them. Spanning everything from quick day spins to multi-month expeditions, we invite you to join us as we look back on the rides that meant the most to us this year. Find our favorites from Peru, Canada, Utah, Switzerland, Colorado, Mexico, and beyond below. We also invite you to share a photo from your top trip of the year in the conversation at the bottom of this post—we’d love to know about the rides you’ll remember from 2024!

Josh Meissner: Les Vosges, France

While neither the longest nor most thrilling trip of my year, the autumn ramble through the Vosges Mountains that I enjoyed with Lucas was a highlight. Emerging from the vortex of the Bespoked show in Dresden, we hopped on a train across Germany. Aboard loaner mountain bikes, we followed the signs of the Traversee du Massif des Vosges route through rolling hills glowing with color. This bikepacking reunion was a long time coming, and it delivered all we had hoped for and more.

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Released from a posting schedule, we breathed crisp autumn air and lived according to the sun. We rode through quaint villages and magical misty forests. We feasted in the valley boulangeries and slept soundly in the mountain huts. New myths and memes were created. It was simply high-quality time. Look forward to more from this glorious autumn ride in 2025.

Sam Rice: Cones and Canyons, Peru

This year, I fulfilled one of my riding dreams: I spent three months in Peru, tracing the Andes Mountains down the country. Peru is host to an endless number of amazing routes that I could recommend, but one that particularly stands out as a favorite for me is the Cones and Canyons route, which starts from my favourite city in Peru: Arequipa.

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After spending six weeks travelling with Tom Norman along the main portion of the Peru Divide, we parted ways in Arequipa. He flew back to Canada, and I climbed out of the city—up a brutal climb to 4,850 metres—to begin my ride through El Valle de los Volcanes (The Valley of Volcanoes), which contains 85+ volcanic cones and endless geologic beauty.

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With smoke still billowing from the volcanoes, I traced the route north, plummeting down two of the deepest canyons in the world (Colca + Cotahuasi), sleeping amongst San Pedro Cacti and climbing high to reveal some of the best landscapes Southern Peru has to offer. It is such a special route, and I can’t wait to share the full report on the site soon.

Cass Gilbert: Crested Butte Overnighter

Choosing a favourite ride is never easy, as each is so unique to its location and those with whom it’s shared. But any ride with my son Sage goes pretty much to the top of my list, so I’m going to pick an overnighter we put together out of Crested Butte, Colorado.

Over the summer, I borrowed a 22-year-old Prius from a friend, and after overloading it with camping gear, bikes, and RC cars, Emma, Sage, and I enjoyed a number of day rides and overnighters. We loved the two short routes that Neil included in his Gunnison Bikepacking Route Network, but our overnighter out of Crested Butte was our favourite, in part because it included a section of singletrack that Sage announced to be, “The best trail I’ve ever ridden!”

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The views towards snowy mountains felt like they were straight out of a Swiss picture postcard, and the verdant meadows we rode through were lush with wildflowers, a few of which we pressed into a journal. In the shadows of craggy peaks, we pedalled our way up and over 3,263-metre Schofield Pass and returned via 401, an old timer’s classic imbued with Coloradan MTB folklore, and now renamed Sage’s Favourite Trail Ever. Often steep and rugged, our loop climbed over 1,000 metres in elevation, every metre of which Sage insisted on riding and not pushing. He carried all his own gear on his basketpacking Surly Bridge Club, yet seemed to float effortlessly down the trails, fast enough at least that I had to work to keep up with him. I’m not sure who was proudest between us!

Evan Christenson: NACCC San Diego

Looking back, I can’t help but feel so incredibly lucky to have gotten to do the things I did this past year. Three months in Europe, five in Morocco, three in Tanzania—picking a favorite is so unfair. But after a year away from home, coming back to San Diego and seeing my family and old friends was so welcome. And then there just happened to be the best bike party I’ve ever been to just down the street. I was physically hungover and existential from my time in Sub-Saharan Africa, and this blitz of bikes rolls into town. Can you imagine?

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In sum, NACCC was complete chaos. A week of non-stop partying and bike riding and racing and shenanigans. Long commutes and hard efforts and late nights made it super exhausting, and all the interviews and conversations and different perspectives boggled my mind. It was an all-in, full-gas type of week. At the end, I looked back and thought of all that we did in a few days and felt so full of life. It was just like good bikepacking in that regard. It was like bikepacking at home, and every night I got to hang out with my sister and girlfriend and recite all the stories. I loved almost every bit of this year, but NACCC was the one that left me the most physically emptied but emotionally satisfied. I love bikes.

Joe Cruz: Zurich to Bormio (Day 4)

We set out this morning with little premonition of the hours of hike-a-bike, the glaciers like sapphires scratching the clouds, the fact that our party of four would be separated into three different groups and wouldn’t reunite until tomorrow, the pedaling in the dark or the bus trip or the lively 11 p.m. dinner in a tiny cobbled square of a town that we didn’t know the name of and hadn’t planned to visit. That was all in the splendid future.

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Backing up, the publication last year of Isola Press’s JOBST BRANDT RIDE BIKE! chronicling Jobst Brandt’s influence on cycling culture had me vowing a summer outing in the same spirit as his, namely a fast and light ride in Europe on dirt and tarmac tracks seeking some of the most Homeric Continental cols. Gotthard, Oberalp, Strela, Scaletta, Albula, Alpisella, Umbrail, Stelvio, Mortirolo. I recruited a couple of steady adventure companions, as well as my brother-in-law, for whom it would be a first bikepacking trip.

By these middle days, we had achieved a happy cadence, sleeping in chalets every night and waking early for an ambitious breakfast to set out on all-day riding. We rode in generous sunshine and sweat through a Swiss fairytale valley, pastel-wrapped silage bales, low notes of cow bells and high notes of sheep jangles. Then a track that was, according to Fred Wright’s Rough Stuff Cycling in the Alps, partly rideable. We discovered that that’s neither true nor false. A walking path, switchbacks, stairsteps, how many Swiss footfalls over the centuries? A mountain biker with dual suspension on a day trip. We just danced deliberately to put 45mm tires between stone and stream and Edelweiss. Then to a glorious pass with a hut where we could sip beer and soup and eavesdrop on mountain walker banter, everyone exhibiting a polite nonchalance at the thoroughly incorrect bicycles leaning against the woodpiles. Finally, a jouncing underbiking tumult down, mad tractionless skittering, the crags oblivious, disappeared protension, our own consciousnesses lost in the going. We arrive the next valley at least four hours behind our most pessimistic schedule.

Johnny had already skirted ’round, then had waited twice as long as seemed wise before pressing on. Pat elected to continue along the route I had sketched from home, even if that would entail going over another big dirt climb with no assurance of success before midnight. Brian and I detoured to La Punt Chamues-ch, where we knew we could catch a bus to rendezvous in Livigno.

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A serene road climb and the inevitable drizzle at the top, racing Brian down the other side, jackets flapping like kites. With little light left, we gamely got on that bus, eager to be dropped off to make quick last-effort work of the Forcola. So we watched bemused as it failed to make the turn that we expected it to—ah, we were on the wrong one—and instead descended 6,000 feet to the valley below. That implied a multi-hour backtrack and would notably add to the 9,000 feet we’d already climbed. We nodded at the wonder of it and knew that the only solution was to drink some wine and have a lovely meal surrounded by Italian families. We’d see our companions on another day.

Emily Heron: Mt. Mahony

When we first moved to the qathet Regional District in the fall of 2020 and decided to tackle Mt. Mahony, it felt like a slog. I wasn’t accustomed to the inevitable big climbs typical of downhill riding, and Miles isn’t a fan of shuttling. Needless to say, it felt like an endless trek up a rough logging road. I quickly learned that the fun part—albeit a bit scarier—was the descent, and it was exciting to get more comfortable on the downhill trails in our new home.

This past year, the qathet Regional Cycling Association (qRCA) has been developing a much-loved trail network on Mt. Mahony. At the heart of it all is the new machine-built climb trail, kʷukʷum. This name, gifted to the qRCA by the Tla’amin Nation, means “going up from the ocean (going up to the woods).” Unlike the demoralizing push up the main road, kʷukʷum winds through lush forests, crosses natural springs, and sometimes ascends above the clouds, offering stunning views toward Vancouver Island. It’s a beautiful and enjoyable trail built for everyone.

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While there have been many standout rides for me this year, both locally and elsewhere, it’s the kʷukʷum climb trail I keep coming back to each week. I’ve ridden it alone, with Miles, with friends and their dogs, on group rides, during women’s rides, and even on a gravel bike now and then. For me, the best rides are often the simplest, and I love the promise of a gentle climb followed by a grin-inducing descent. Here’s to more simple, local rides in 2025.

Lucas Winzenburg: The White Rim

The iconic White Rim Trail in Utah has been high on my list of routes to ride for ages, but it has always found a way of being put off to the next year (and then the next) to the point that I’d accepted it would likely never happen. That all changed early this year when Liz, who was passing through Boulder and had briefly stopped to visit our mutual friend, Justin, made an offhand comment that “anyone was welcome to join” on her upcoming White Rim trip. Permits were booked, and logistics were sorted. All we had to do was show up.

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A few weeks later, several of us crammed into a Subaru Outback and headed west toward Moab. It was finally happening. I joined a beautiful ragtag crew of nearly all new friends for a leisurely three-day, 70-mile bikepacking trip through the wonders of Canyonlands National Park. The trip was a breath of fresh air amid a notably hectic period, and those days spent riding through the canyons and sleeping under starry skies buoyed my spirit well beyond the ride’s end. It was a powerful reminder to say yes to fleeting opportunities before they pass you by. Thanks to Liz, Sam, Justin, Jaron, Celia, Nate, and Matt for letting me join you for a handful of unforgettable days!

Nic Morales: C&O and GAP Trails

Escaping Florida in the summer months is imperative these days if you’re to keep your skin and sanity for the coming years. Due to the high humidity and “wet bulb” effect much of the state now suffers from, it’s almost impossible to ride during daylight hours between June and August. With that in mind, I scheduled a small bikepacking trip using the C&O and GAP Trails to ride from Washington, D.C., to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, in just a few short days. Even during a historic heat dome in D.C., I found the temperatures pretty enjoyable compared to boiling alive in Central Florida. I’m a creature of the sun, and setting off on multiple eight-hour days while riding the greenway trails that dot Maryland, Pennsylvania, Virginia, and West Virginia was an unexpected joy.

The temperatures cooled as I made my way west, and experiencing a true escape from the hustle and bustle of big cities was one of my most cherished experiences this year. Though we’ll have a larger, forthcoming feature diving a bit deeper into the specifics of the route, the C&O and GAP Trails opened my eyes in various ways. Routes that challenge the body are valuable in their own right, but ones that offer greater access through ease of use and accessibility have a value that can’t be undersold. More people riding bikes is something I believe to be a fundamental good, and routes like this one give so many the chance to dip their toes into the world of travel via bike.

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The iconic East Coast greenways and subtle views are hallmarks of what I love about the much-maligned cycling culture on the Atlantic coast of the nation. For anyone looking for an immersive yet relaxing experience of bikepacking through lush, rural greenways, you can’t go wrong with this often-forgotten ride.

Miles Arbour: Koch Creek Pass

I was fortunate to spend significant time in the saddle this year. From Arizona to British Columbia, I packed in hundreds of day rides, dozens of overnighters, and several longer bikepacking trips. While some of my fondest memories are riding with old and new friends, a solo ride from the summer stands out as one of my favorite days on the bike.

Led by my new friend Moe Nadeau, we published our third (and Canada’s first) Bikepacking Route Network this year, so I spent a good chunk of the summer based out of Nelson in British Columbia’s West Kootenay region. Four of us scouted our flagship route, the Kootenay Confluence, and while there were a few segments we weren’t sure about, the connection between the Slocan Valley and the Arrow Lakes had the least amount of intel to work from. We decided to take the most obvious mountain pass, which ended up being incredibly steep and not the most enjoyable. After chatting with some locals, we decided I’d have to go back and scout a less obvious pass that pushed the route further north toward the small town of Burton.

After several weeks of route scouting as a group, I welcomed a solo ride in the mountains. Emily drove me close to where we initially veered off the main road, and then I hopped out with my bike, snacks, and enough water for a few hours of riding, heading deeper into a valley just west of Valhalla Provincial Park. I spent the next few hours cruising along what might be the best gravel climb I’ve experienced. Grades hovered around 6%, the road was in fantastic condition, and when I came across a road worker and asked them if they’d ever heard of someone continuing over the pass into the valley beyond, they reluctantly replied, “Possibly, but I’ve never met anyone who has.”

At what I believed to be the top of the climb, I hit a dead-end logging spur and couldn’t find the connection I intended to follow down into the next valley. For a brief moment, I panicked, wondering if there was enough daylight to ride back or if Emily would have cell service to meet me where she had left me. I anxiously explored a handful of similar dead-end spurs but eventually stumbled upon an overgrown ATV track—the road to Valhalla—almost literally.

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An hour later, I hit pavement and beelined it to the cidery in Burton. There’s something so rewarding about setting out to create a connection and validate murmurs of a trail that might be rideable. Days like these remind me how much work goes into designing a good bikepacking route and how special it is to foster these experiences for others. I can’t wait to go back and share that section of trail with friends someday.

Logan Watts and Virginia Krabill: Ojos de Tehuacan, Mexico

The Tehuacán-Cuicatlán Biosphere Reserve, located in southeastern Mexico within the arid regions of the Sierra Madre del Sur, straddles the states of Puebla and Oaxaca. Cass helped create two distinct loops that explore this area, and we got to take in the northern loop, Ojos de Tehuacán (TCBR Norte), early this year. We were blown away.

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The northern loop starts and ends in the small settlement of Zapotitlán in the state of Puebla. We spent three days riding the loop and spent the entire time mesmerized by a new world of incredible desert flora. Of course, one of the highlights of this route is the amazing organ cacti; the area harbors one of the densest concentrations of columnar cacti in the world and is best appreciated with an initial visit to the Jardín Botánico Helia Bravo. This remarkable garden is named after Helia Bravo, an esteemed botanist and co-founder of the Mexican Cactus Society in 1918, renowned for her extensive botanical research and fieldwork. You can find some of the biggest and most impressive elephant’s foot trees (Beaucarnea recurvata) in the area, too.

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Neil Beltchenko: Rabbit Valley

Life has a way of being wonderfully unpredictable—the highs, the lows, the joy, and the sadness. Over the past few years, I’ve felt it all. But this year brought an overwhelming sense of joy as my partner and I welcomed our daughter into the world. Moments like these are unforgettable; they stay with you, shaping how you see everything.

So, when Lucas asked me to share my favorite ride, I found myself reflecting on how different life feels now compared to earlier this year. While I can’t say I have a single favorite ride in any given year, as each one offers something unique with new roads, trails, and experiences. One particular ride from this spring came to mind, simply for the timing in my life. It wasn’t necessarily the most epic or challenging, but it holds a special place in my heart. A simple overnighter with a good friend. While I was present, I also found my thoughts being consumed with anticipation for our baby girl’s arrival, making this ride all the more meaningful.

The trip took place in an area that has always been special to me: the greater Grand Valley. It’s a place I’ve returned to time and time again for bikepacking adventures with my partner and friends. This time, I was testing the Kona Ouroboros and planned the route around testing the bike’s capabilities. I wanted to put it through its paces on smooth gravel, punchy climbs, fast descents, and eventually, the rugged Kokopelli Trail.

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While that was all fun and good, what made this ride unforgettable was its significance—a snapshot in time, marking my last bikepacking trip before my family grew to four. Now, looking back, it feels like I blinked, and my baby girl is already eight months old. She’s trying to crawl, eating solids, and growing up way too fast. Hey, life, could you slow down a bit, please?

What was your favorite ride of 2024? Drop a note or share a photo in the conversation below!

Further Reading

Make sure to dig into these related articles for more info...