Singletrack/MTB
Gravel/All-road
Dirt-road Touring
Fat-bike
The Ultimate Shakedown Ride
There are shakedown rides, and then there are shakedown rides. For their Good Night 2025 campout, Cass and Emma take on a local overnighter to test their bikes, bodies, and gear before heading off to the Colombian Andes. In doing so, Cass remembers all the times he’s ridden up and down the Oaxacan classic known as La Reina, and those he’s shared the experience with, be they on vintage mountain bikes, enduro bikes, or titanium dream machines…
PUBLISHED Jan 21, 2026
Whilst Emma and I are undoubtedly lucky enough to live in Oaxaca, we’re also unlucky enough to have, well, what can only be described as monstrous climbs out of our front door in every which direction – at least if we want to head out for anything more than a valley meander. I’m talking about proper big climbs, climbs upwards of 1,800 metres in elevation gain, straight out of the dusty valley floor and up into the misty mountains of the Sierra Norte, with barely any time out!
We do, at least, have quite the assortment of unpaved options to choose from, all of which we’ve ridden, re-ridden, debated, and dissected in granular detail. Without a vehicle to edit out such physical toil, it can be quite the mental hurdle to get over, too, and we’ve finally settled upon one as the path of least resistance into the high mountains that we love so much. This particular climb wends its way through a small community-run eco centre called La Reserva Ecológica San Pablo La Mesita. Whilst it ramps up in places – this is Oaxaca, after all – it’s shaded enough to offer the occasional interlude, which is a game-changer in the dry season when the mercury tops 40°C (more than 100°F). It’s easily reached via a low-traffic route from the city, and it’s well watered along the way. There’s also the chance to chat to Leonardo, the caretaker of this characterful outdoor art space, butterfly farm, and nature reserve, who loves to practise his English after spending a few years living in frigid Wisconsin. Leo is also the taker of tolls, as there’s a small fee to pay to access this protected, community-owned swathe of the Sierra de Juárez, money that goes straight back into the general well-being of the forest.
We’ve ridden up in these mountains innumerable times, and I consider myself familiar with even the subtlest of wrinkles and crinkles in this climb. In fact, we have an miscellany of weekend escapes that start out this way, the general themes being thus: ascend from 1,500 metres (almost 5,000 feet) in the city proper to over 3,100 metres at the top pass (over 10,000 feet), and then either funnel back down again on trails popular with the enduro riders, or cross over to the neighbouring communities of Santa Catarina Ixtepeji and San Andrés Huayapam and descend from there. One particular traverse is processed by a brake-searingly steep section of dirt road known locally as La Reina. “The Queen” is an especially loose and intense affair, and she nose-dives 1,300 metres over 10.5 kilometres, making for a number of precarious pitches where tyres grumble for grip. At one point, the road spirals down so steeply it feels like you’re being sucked down a giant plughole.
This swathe of the Sierra Norte is amongst the most beautiful I know in the whole range – a well-protected and rich, biodiverse forest of old-growth oaks, pines, epiphytes, lichens, orchids, mosses, and Brobdingnagian agaves, the latter being perfect backdrops for bicycle portraits. It’s said that puma pad around its pine-needle floors – there’s a trail named after them – and we’ve spotted mountain foxes up there too. Now that we’ve moved out of the hubub of the city centre, we can even see La Reina from our terrace as we sip coffee in the morning and steel ourselves for the day’s ride, the morning light catching on a distant concrete scratch in the mountainside – a telltale sign that it’s ridiculously steep – taunting us to ride it again. The keen-eyed observer will notice that each outing in this collection of memories has a photo taken on this exact same spot.
Of course, what goes down also goes up, and from time to time, we ride this loop, or a variation on it, in reverse. As a climb, La Reina is, to put it bluntly, brutal. Initially, and at its most exposed to the full might of the sun, it ramps up 500 metres in elevation in less than five kilometres, and then only mellows out briefly. Smother the land in dry-season heat and factor in the full battle weight of a loaded bike, and chances are, you’re pushing. This initial stint has long been a local classic that draws hardy Oaxacan Sunday riders on old-school 29ers, and we’ve even seen it included in a grassroots race series marked by a series of painted white arrows in the dirt, tyre tracks, and the inevitable shuffling footprints. Nowadays, e-MTBers use it too, to access a thrilling, precarious descent called Prohibido which peels off half way up the climb and was used for this year’s final stage in the region’s enduro series. For the few who continue ever upwards, the grade barely lessens, to the point that it’s better to put your head down and simply accept your lot in life, like a bikepacking Sisyphus, without expecting the climb to ever end.
Having been based in Oaxaca for many years now, La Reina, whether ridden up or down, is interlaced with a big dollop of nostalgia for me. Routes that we repeat develop a timeless quality to them, bound by the past, present, and future. What’s been, and what’s to become, a change of seasons, a change of self. Everything is different, and yet the same. I can vividly remember when Emma and I first attempted it, only to be turned back in blazing heat, having left our departure far too late in the morning. We learnt our lesson and tried again soon after, this time making it to an abandoned woodcutter’s hut where we slept for the night, for a lack of any flat spots to pitch our tent. As it turns out, we thought we were nearly there, but no, we still had 500 steep metres of graft the next day, much of which we pushed. Our bikes were hopelessly heavy, and we were overloaded with water and food, having no idea what we might find on the way up.
Since then, I’ve descended La Reina with my son Sage three times, and he just loves it. I mean, it’s such a tyres-scrunching-on-dirt and wind-whistling-through-your-helmet kind of plummet, what kid wouldn’t? Can you imagine riding a 2,000-metre downhill as a child? Instead of an endless summer, it’s an endless descent, or it feels that way halfway through, when we paused to rest fingers and bask in the heat of our glowing disc rotors. “Surely they’re hotter than the sun”, he said.
The first time, Sage was just nine and was borrowing Emma’s bike, complete with three-inch tyres, hydraulic brakes, and a seat post I had to cut down so we could get the saddle low enough for his little legs. Its motorbike-like tyres lent real confidence to its young, fearless rider, and if I stopped to take a photo, it was impossible to catch him. I’d made the mistake of fitting the GPS to his handlebars so he could navigate us through the trails, but of course, the temptation to check its screen, hunch over his handlebars, and pedal ever harder for a record speed was too great! I dare not share how fast he went… but it was enough to give me a knot in my stomach.
Sage adored chicaning through the dense forest, and I heard him yell, “I feel so alive!” These were wonderful words to hear as a bike-loving father sharing a lifelong passion with his son, and I knew exactly what he meant. The satisfaction of making it to the top of a hill when your lungs assure you at the bottom it’s quite impossible, and the exhilaration of easing off the brakes and letting a bicycle carry you faster than your legs could ever do so. That feeling of swooshing through the trees, eyes wide open and teary, transcends age, as we all well know.
Granted, a friend has always driven us to the top of the mountain to camp out and ride trails first. And we’ve brought Huesos, our dog, with us too, who snuggled with us in the tent and woke up Sage in the morning with face nuzzles, his tail karate-chopping anything that lay behind him. By day, Huesos trotted alongside us or hitched a ride in the Farfarer trailer when he couldn’t keep up, barking from his chariot when Sage was out of view. What a sight we must have made! On our last trip together in Oaxaca, I asked Sage what he’d like to do, and he requested we head up to Ixtepeji and descend La Reina once more. After he’d ridden it for a third time, he announced, “This descent never gets old!”
Flip the route round, however, and it becomes a real grunt of an ascent and a proper vein-popper of mountain col. I’ll not mince my words… suffice to say, I always swear I’ll never do it again. But damn those rose-tinted glasses that draw me back! Last year, Emma and I climbed it with Ben when he visited from the UK, and whilst I’d prepped him for what lay ahead, I’m not sure he’d ever imagined such an unabating and unfaltering climb. In case you think poorly of my hosting skills, we only did it because the gentler La Mesita climb was closed due to wildfire risk at the time.
Truth be told, it’s more of a push than a bike ride – pushpacking, perhaps – gaining over 1,700 metres in elevation in little more than a dozen kilometres. After wilting in the midday Oaxacan sun, I believe we averaged just a few kilometres an hour that day. Mostly, my GPS auto paused and assumed we’d come to a complete stop, which is extra demoralising. I’m not sure Ben was expecting such a finale of a biking boot camp for his week-long visit to Oaxaca, but no matter, we kept him caffeinated, and we’re still on speaking terms.
I’ve also climbed La Reina with globetrotting cyclo-tourist Alee Denham in the heart of the rainy season, using it to access a trail network famous amongst Mexico’s enduro riders. Alee was living here at the time and had even invested in a full-suspension Nukeproof to make the most out of the area, far removed from his usual four-pannier, rigid Koga Myata setup. We were just a third of the way up La Reina when rain set in, so on went the ponchos and off the bikes we hopped, pushing and chatting our way up, reaching our campspot barely before dark. Come morning, we hurtled down one of Ixtepeji’s more challenging trails, in and out of the cloud forest, handlebars clipping magueys through which delightful singletrack flows. This descent began with a stunning ridgeline ride, rife with moisture and plantlife, then it spiralled down an increasingly rutted, pedal-grabbing enduro trail, out of cloud cover and into sunshine once more. No wonder it’s a black diamond in its rating. It’s truly intense!
Whilst Alee and I went as light as we could, there was also the time I sweet-talked some passing cicloviajeros into the ascent, as an alternate exit from Oaxaca on their trans-Mexican journeys. I’m forever encouraging passing bikepackers to visit the Sierra de Juárez, especially in February and March, when the city is dusty and baking hot, and the forest offers both respite and the promise of flowering orchids. If there’s a strong and willing group – as was the case with Cat, Tucker, and Miles – I’ll float the idea of climbing La Reina, if only to add the notch of what I tout as the toughest climb in the state to their accomplishments.
Long-distance riders tend to be loaded to the gills, and in sympathy, I was pushing the trailer with Huesos too. It was late March, and what I call Oaxaca’s valley comal sapped our strength, seemingly as hot as the earthenware griddles used to cook the memelas that fuel so many of our rides. Sweat stung my eyes, and Huesos trotted from one scrap of shade to the next, panting and tongue dangling. Onwards we plodded in our own thoughts, heads bowed in quiet contemplation, pushpacking our way ever upwards. Once we’d hit tree line, the temperature thankfully tempered, and a welcoming party of orchids and epiphytes invited us into their lush forest habitat. We even peeled ourselves out of our tents the following morning to hike up to one of the miradors – invariably rickety lookout towers – that poke out of the forest canopy, squeezing onto its platform for coffee outside, aka cafe afuera, with a glorious view. Despite the slog, I do hope the three of them remember this trip as fondly as I do.
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And then, there was even the time I rode it with Chalino on his 26-inch vintage MTB. Sensibly, we’d chosen to climb up into Ixtepeji via San Pablo La Mesita and the butterfly farm – the climb I first referenced. But still, La Reina is always an undertaking, even as a descent. Complete with homemade bags and second-hand gear sourced from town, Chalino’s attire and setup were as bright as the wildflowers around us. I honestly wondered if the rims on his bike would heat up so much that his cheap tyres would burst into flames! Somehow, his MTB of UEO – Mountain Bike of Unknown Exact Origin – survived unscathed, V-brakes and all, which just goes to show how miraculous and wonderful bicycles are, whether they’re new and dreamy titanium or vintage steel that’s decades old.
All of which is a long-winded way of saying this is an epic, straight out-the-front-door little loop, whichever way you choose to tackle it. It’s also the best overnight shakedown test I can imagine, which was just what we needed when we rode it before Christmas, in the lead-up to our impending tour through Colombia. It’s a loop that offers your mind, body, and the gear you carry a thorough and concerted appraisal, like a full physical checkup at your local GP. Namely, an appropriate gear range for climbing. Fully functioning brakes for its whirligig descent. And, the tightness of every single bolt on your bike, given the vagaries of its varied terrain. It’s a ride that will have you down to shorts and a T-shirt in the day and bundled up in all your puffy layers come sundown. It’s such a bold and striking outing that each time I tackle it, the experience is imprinted on my mind, adding to the texture of the memories I’ve collected over these past Oaxacan years. And, being the end of 2025 and the day of the Winter Solstice, this particular occasion made a fine Good Night 2025 overnighter to boot!
La Remolina de la Reina
In the interest of honesty, there’s no sane reason to climb La Reina. But who doesn’t feel that itch to put themselves through the wringer every once in a while? With this caveat in mind, La Remolina de La Reina can be ridden in either direction. The variation detailed here sticks to dirt roads both up and down. If you want to really test your braking, ride clockwise. If you want to really test your gear range, ride anti-clockwise. Either way, you and your steed will be treated to a proper Oaxacan workout. However you choose to ride it, both climbs require a certain mental fortitude and physical fitness. Then again, if you’re headed to Oaxaca for a bikepack trip, you’ve probably already gleaned that this is what the land here requires of you.
A favourite aspect of this particular route is that both the climb and the descent are closed to public access, at least without fees being paid to the respective communities of San Pablo Etla (80 pesos) and San Andrés Huayapam (50 pesos). This means the loop is largely free of vehicular traffic. Chances are, you’ll only see the odd enduro shuttle or local work truck.
Shakedown Rides and Reliability Trials
In the UK, Reliability Trials are non competitive, historic events held during the winter in preparation for summer races ahead, a practice that dates back to the early 20th century, when both roads and equipment could be dubious at best. According to their club rules, riders needed to be “self-sufficient, adept at navigation, able to deal with mechanical problems, and fit enough to complete the course.” No outside help was allowed – you were on your own! You can learn about an ongoing example here.
I like to bring a notebook for our homegrown Reliability Trial so I can jot down anything that comes to mind while it’s fresh – if I was cold at night, if certain gear went unused, or if my bike felt unbalanced, for instance. Given that both our steeds survived and no gear was jettisoned in either direction, here are the setups we’ve settled on for our trip to Colombia, where we’re expecting similar terrain and elevation gains for the routes we plan to ride. A full bike check to follow!
For dirt-road touring, I prefer to front-load my bike to encourage stable handling and reduce the propensity for high-speed death wobbles, especially when payloads are more substantial. Panniers remain my default setup on longer trips overseas where there are more unknowns, as I enjoy having enough surplus space to pack a loaf of bread or even a papaya without too much gear shuffling and head-scratching. I also like to keep everything neatly contained, rather than spread out across a multitude of small peripheral bags, especially when my bicycle is stored away from where I’m sleeping. Speaking of which, all our bags are interchangeable and made by Tailfin, including an older, prototype seatpack on Emma’s bike, which has now become the Aeropack Cargo. We carry replacement hardware along with the usual spares and a handful of all important brake pads to suit our different systems – Avid BB7s for me and Shimano Deores on Emma’s bike. I do love classic BB7s, but I’ve noticed pads are increasingly hard to source, so I’ll be packing no less than four sets. Rigid seatposts replace the dropper posts we normally run on our Jones bikes, in the interests of simplicity and reliability.
I run a durable, affordable, and easy-to-replace Shimano Deore 11-speed drivetrain, and on this shakedown ride, I realised it’s time to retire my Sunrace CSMX8 cassette, after many kilometres of sterling service. The ride also revealed worn bearings on Emma’s rear SRAM hub. Luckily, we have a spare wheelset with a DT 350 – my favourite hub for touring – and after much digging around, I finally found a SRAM XD driver. I’m glad DT Swiss hubs are interchangeable, but if only parts were more cross-compatible in the first place!
Do you have an ultimate shakedown ride, or reliability trial, that you use to test you and your gear before a big bikepacking trip? A go-to mini adventure that helps you make those final decisions for what needs to be packed and what’s better left at home? A climb that reminds you, in no uncertain terms, that every little thing you pack will need to be carried up every single hill? Let us know in the Conversation below!
Further Reading
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