Tired of reading opinion pieces about how gravel bikes are just the mountain bikes of old, Sanny sets out to see whether there is a kernel of truth to it or if it’s just a load of old cobblers.
Words & pics: Sanny
It has probably not escaped your notice that old mountain bikes are enjoying something of a renaissance of late. While there has long been a tradition of middle-aged men in sheds tinkering with old frames from half-remembered brands such as Mountain Goat, Boulder Bikes and Funk, usually culminating in a posting on Retrobike.co.uk of some beautifully restored thing of vintage beauty with all original parts as if it had just come out of the bike shop for the very first time, old steel mountain bikes are capturing the zeitgeist. There is a real resurgence in people riding old mountain bikes.
On most rides around my city, I’ll usually see at least one vintage (anything roughly 30 years or older, according to my dear friend Roddy) mountain bike with all or mostly original parts in regular use. This can be anything from the ubiquitous Muddy Fox Courier, a Giant Sierra, or a Claud Butler through to something more rarefied like a Dekerf or my personal ride of choice, a Fat Chance Yo Eddy Team. With this in mind, I decided to put the old trope about gravel bikes and old mountain bikes to the test on a proper ride in the mountains. But where to ride and who to rope in as willing companions on what could prove to be a really bad idea?
Serendipitously, my friend Rob casually mentioned in passing that the charity he works for, The Bikery in Huntly, had been donated a mint condition 1985 Raleigh Maverick ATB. Readers who grew up in the ’80s will either recoil in horror or bask in the warm glow of happy memories at the mention of the Maverick. It was the Nottingham company’s first foray into the world of mountain bikes, or rather all-terrain bikes, due to legal issues over who could use the phrase ‘mountain bike’. The fact that I too had a later burgundy version as my first mounta… sorry, all-terrain bike, meant that we had precisely the right tool for the job. As for the gravel bike, I had just the ticket – a DeAnima DeFer custom steel number. Specifically designed for my needs, it eschews the fashion for 1x drive trains and tyres with minimal tread for mountain bikes, an XTR double chainset and a properly sized cassette at the back. For me, it is practically perfect in every way, but for this to be a valid test, I had to call on my friend Dave to act as our crash test dummy. All in the name of science, of course, which is why I would be monitoring and measuring from the comfort of my Pivot Shuttle SL test ebike. I am nothing if not practical. As for the route, there could be only one – the Burma Road in Aviemore. Travelling into the heart of the Monadhliath Mountains, it has long been regarded as something of a Scottish mountain bike classic. While lacking in technical challenge, with some 3,000 feet of vertical over 40-odd kilometres, it is definitely not a pushover, and if things do go wrong, it can be a long walk back to civilisation. Curiously, it is also a ride that I had never done, thus an obvious omission from my palmares.
That’s a very courageous decision, Minister!
Meeting up at a small woodland car park beside a Scripture Union camp, I pondered whether Rob’s idea of meeting place had in part been driven by a realisation that he would need all the help he could get to make it through the ride or whether he had suddenly discovered religion. As he wheeled out the Maverick, a heavenly choir might not have gone amiss. It was utterly magnificent and save for the degraded foam grips and the Brooks saddle, it looked like new.
“Do you think it has ever been ridden off-road in anger?” I asked.
“Doubt it!” laughed Rob, as I made a beeline to wrestle it from him and ride it.
Jumping on, memories came flooding back – scarily upright, it was a far cry from the long, low and slack of today. Turning in, despite the wide bars, the fork rake and steep head angle made for a twitchy front end. While the comedy long rear chain stays practically crossed time zones, the on-trend short stem made for a wheely demon. Getting out of the saddle to sprint, I immediately sat back down – the Maverick was no race machine. It felt disconcertingly unstable and a far cry from how I remembered it.
Handing it back, we all took turns to ooh and aah over the component choices – drive train by Sachs (long since absorbed into the SRAM empire), Belgian-made Weinmann alloy rims in a bang on trend width, super-short BMX stem, wide bars with a high rise almost identical to the latest and greatest creations and even a dropper post set up in the form of a (S)Hite Rite. Ostensibly a fancy spring, this offered a mammoth 50mm of travel at the flip of your QR seatpost lever. I don’t recall ever having used one before, but despite a reputation for being just a little bit rubbish, Rob had found one in perfect working order on his tool chest of retro gold/auld guff (delete as appropriate). All wrapped around a gunmetal grey ATT 23 (hi tensile steel to you and I) frame and forks, which was yours for £200 back in the day. It was utterly magnificent.
However, always the realist, Rob had come prepared for every possible mechanical contingency and handed me a bag of tools to carry on his behalf. Once I got past the sheer heft of dead weight, I rifled through tools I’d not even seen in years – cone spanners, bottom bracket extractor, chain whip, even a venerable Cool Tool – the original biking multi-tool. Along with a tin filled with what felt like every conceivable nut, bolt and spare part ever made, Rob had brought enough bits to almost build a new bike from scratch.
“You’re not filling me with confidence, Rob!” I quipped.
“Nah, just better to be prepared. It’s a 41-year-old bike. If it goes wrong, I can freewheel back down the mountain,” he said, a broad grin on his face.
Up and running (or pushing)
We had delayed the inevitable for too long, and with the early spring sunshine to our backs, we set about tackling the four-kilometre fire road climb. No sooner had we started than Rob was off and pushing – the initial 20 plus per cent slope being a tad too steep for the combination of dinner plate rings at the front and a rear cassette that looked either small or far away. Well, it was either the gearing or Rob’s innate fear that the torque might snap his chain, resulting in an unfortunate downstairs unmentionables and stem interface. As the initial steepness eased back, Rob was back and riding and even able to chat breezily with Dave as we all made our way ever upwards. One of the great things about this climb is that there is always the option to stop to look back at the emerging scenery as you make your way out of the tree cover of the lower slopes, while ahead lie monotone upland slopes of heather and behind are the truly epic Cairngorms. From our vantage point, resplendent in their winter clothing, the mountains looked truly magnificent. It’s only from afar that you get a true sense of their size and scale. We’ve all travelled extensively there, so it was good to gaze upon them with fresh eyes. It also distracted from the slight boredom that fire road climbs tend to bring. I know they are the bread and butter of gravel riding, but dear Lord, they can be dishwater dull, can’t they? I mean, there is a good reason that this esteemed publication is called Singletrack.
Upwards we went, a group of three walkers in the distance being our quarry to chase. Catching them at the cairn, the high point at over 600 metres, we pondered our next step. “We could make our way over to the summit of Geal-charn Mor over there. It’s only a kilometre or so away. After all, this is a mountain bike ride!” Rob cheerily suggested – the relief of having reached the summit in one piece having probably induced a state of euphoric hysteria. Dave and I looked at each other and in unison pithily intoned with just the merest hint of respectful discordancy, “Nah, feck that!” We were not buying it. We had options. Either go straight down some 5km of at times rocky and loose fire road to the Dulnain River below, or break ground north to the lower top of Geal-charn Beag to join the gently descending estate track that would pop us out at the wonderfully monikered Dalnahaltnach. Pronounce that how you will. With a fierce wind from the south, we opted for the latter. Initially promising, with Rob and Dave making light work of the off-trail traverse, it quickly became an exercise in pushing through spring snow and peat hags with deep pools of water lying in wait to catch out the unwary. Battling with his cantilever brakes acting as snow catchers extraordinaire, Dave declared: “Now I remember why we have disc brakes!” We both discovered that wind and Ass Savers mudguards do not good bedfellows make as they contorted round and kept jamming in our wheels.
Trying not to get blown off
Reaching the top, we hunkered down for a game of Highlander lunch wars; Pie v Scotch Egg, there can be only one. Visibly shaking in the cold, Dave broke cover first to head for the much-anticipated estate track that would take us to somewhere considerably less exposed. Although easy to follow, the frost heave made for a more challenging descent than any of us had anticipated. Being on the ebike, I took turns to follow the guys down. “This is a really engaging ride!” exclaimed Rob in a somewhat higher pitch than I was expecting. “I feel at one with nature. Like, at any moment, I could be a smear on the landscape!” He was not exuding confidence as he whizzed past me. Even with 50mm of dropper action, he cut a somewhat stiff figure.
“These aren’t really brakes. They are more retarding my speed rather than stopping me!” he yelped. “Are these four finger levers the reason I have arthritic white finger? I’m having to brake with the outside of my hand!”
Moving between the old trail and the new estate path, even small drops appeared to take on a difficulty and challenge far in excess of their appearance. There was a lot of oyahing going on. Another pearl of wisdom followed. “Old unindexed thumbshifters really make you appreciate a good gear change. I forgot how much uncertainty there was back then when every gear change was a step into the unknown. I think we’ve gotten soft.”
Leaving Rob to his now delirious ramblings, I caught up with Dave when all I could hear was cursing and some truly creative swearing as I approached him, his hands clamped firmly on the hoods with a strength that would make Spock’s nerve pinch feel like a slight tickle. “These handlebars are just shit. My hands are in entirely the wrong position and I cannot brake properly. This is completely the wrong bike for this ride!” Pinballing between the exposed rocks, he too did not cut a figure in supreme control, at one with this ride.
Crossing a small stream, the gradient eased and balance felt like it had been returned to the Force as we made our way down some particularly pleasant double track. With the odd tree for company, the surrounding scene offered more in the way of scenic pleasure to draw the gaze. The wind having subsided, the warm spring sunshine made a very welcome return. This was more like it. Stopping at an old and long since abandoned cottage, we marvelled at the use of peat for insulation in the roof space. “Not a fire risk in the slightest,” said Rob dryly. “It is right up there with taking a 41-year-old bike over a mountain,” I responded cheerily while Dave creatively cursed with the dawning realisation that he had left his lunch in the car. Comedy is when you fall down a manhole and die; tragedy is when you forget your lunch, as Mel Brooks never said. Not being savages, we offered to share our varied comestibles, but always prepared with an emergency packet of Foxes Crunch biscuits and Kendal Mint Cake, Dave was not entirely without provisions, although quite how big an emergency you need to experience to break out the mint cake, I’m not sure. It feels like a throwback to gentler times, but given that Romney produce over a hundred tonnes of the stuff every year, it still has a market. Chocolate covered though, never the brown uncoated bar – that’s just uncivilised.
Bandit country
Replete, we opted to do an out-and-back along the trails beside the Dulnain River. With obligatory bridge and stream crossings, the landscape was beautiful to ride through. The sun streamed through the various species of trees that peppered the native woodland, while the hills which surrounded us lent the scene a feeling of benevolent calm. At Mon, we happened across an old stone pillar that commemorates a 17th-century archer whose skill with bow and arrow prevented cattle raiders from entering Strathspey. Lovely though that sounds, I suspect he was less Robin Hood and more Jack Reacher, doling out justice in a fairly unequivocal manner with no doubt maximum prejudice. After snapping some pics and completing a loop that took us down by the riverbank, we followed a deliciously quiet backroad that dropped us into the heady fleshpot that Carrbridge isn’t. Sitting by the old bridge, the boys availed themselves of the so near so Spar, while I marvelled at the flood that had taken out the bridge parapet a couple of centuries ago. The headwater must have been at least 20 feet high, so little wonder that they still talk about it in the tourist signage.
Leaving Carrbridge behind, we made our way along a beautiful connector trail through the woods that would eventually take us into the village of Boat of Garten. It’s a nice wee village and features a really rather brilliant pump track, which we availed ourselves of the use thereof. Nothing quite says big kid fun than two middle-aged blokes on entirely the wrong bikes having fun on a pump track. Despite my low expectations of impending face/tarmac interface, they both cruised round with ease, proving that it is definitely not the bike but the attitude that counts. After showing the local kids how it’s done, we dropped in on Dave’s pal Cath whose family have a house in the village. “Scotland are thrashing France at the rugby!” she exclaimed when she appeared at the door. I suspect we all secretly thought that she had been on the sauce, but right enough, a thrashing was being duly delivered. No mechanical disaster and an unlikely Scottish victory in the same day… I really should have bought a lottery ticket.
With four easy miles left, we bade our farewells and rode down the local millionaires row, which took us onto the cycle route over wild moorland, affording magnificent views to the mountains beyond. Or at least it did the last time I rode it. In its place was maturing native woodland that had sprung up in the intervening half-decade. So much for my planned closing shot of Rob and Dave riding into the setting sun, only the mountains for company. Instead, it was trees, trees and more trees. Oh well, best laid plans and all that. Now late in the afternoon, it was heads down for the final spin back. Despite appearances, the Maverick was proving a zippy performer on the smooth tracks and roads back to Lynwig where we had left the cars. The Cheng Shin (you will know them as Maxxis) centre ridge tyres rolled along at a fair old lick despite the years under their belt.
So what did we learn?
Back where we started, we reflected on our adventure over an enormous pack of charcuterie that Dave had left in the car. For him, the gravel bike was a step too far. He had not warmed to the lack of proper suspension and the dropped handlebars, declaring that he intended to ride his own bike the next day to remind himself that riding is meant to be fun. He had enjoyed the adventure, but would have enjoyed it more on his own mountain bike. “Gravel bikes are great for getting up a mountain. Good luck getting back down though!” As for Rob, peeling off his venerable Buffalo wind shirt that had kept him both toasty warm and sweltering, frequently at the same time, aside from the saddle that had proved a tad uncomfortable for his tastes and the brakes, which seemed to operate more in an advisory than practical capacity, it had been quite the fun day out. Both bikes had performed flawlessly, each with its own quirks, but both proved capable of riding the same terrain, albeit with a touch of variation when it came to feeling at one with the machine. None of the myriad of tools and spares which we had taken on the ride had been needed. Man and machine had come through unscathed – well, physically if not perhaps mentally.
Are gravel bikes the new old mountain bike? Are they bollox. They are different, better in some ways and less capable in others. Compared to a modern mountain bike, on technical trails, both will absolutely be found wanting, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be a whole heap of fun. If anything, the experience taught me that bikes are never meant to be museum pieces, frozen in time to serve as a reminder of past glories. They are to be ridden and enjoyed, no matter how new or old they are. While I can admire the work of committed restoration bods rebuilding the dream bikes of their youth they lusted over but could never afford, I do hope they ride them now and again. Inappropriate bikes for inappropriate trails – it’s both the future and the past – if the pioneers of mountain biking hadn’t done it, where would the sport be today? Right, I’m off to find some first-generation XTR for a little project I have planned: #bemoreklunker…
Riders’ bikes
Rob’s bike – 1985 Raleigh Maverick
Despite our collective misgivings, the Maverick was more than up to the task at hand. Although a basic model and substantially less flashy than the Suntour and 531-equipped Pro model that my friend Kenny Page had at school (and which I coveted), it got Rob round the route. Sure, it was overgeared but get round he did and he was even able to stand upright afterwards.
- Frame and fork: Raleigh ATT 23 high tensile steel
- Suspension: Does a wide Brooks saddle count?
- Drivetrain: Sachs Huret – 41 years young and still working
- Brakes: Dia-Compe wide arm cantilever – looked lovely but didn’t really work
- Chainset: Sakae SA 28 38 48 triple – objectively a thing of beauty
- Wheels: Weinmann alloy rims on Maillard hubs – heavy but bombproof
- Handlebars: Unbranded steel bars – heavier than a neutron star, but really comfortable rise and width
- Cassette: Sachs 5 speed – all too high
- Tyres: 1.75 inch Cheng Shin centre ridge tyres – not the grippiest, but very fast rolling, which was great until you wanted to stop
Our thanks go to Rob at The Bikery in Huntly (thebikery.org.uk) for granting us the use of what was an immaculate Raleigh Maverick that had been fully serviced by the team there. A charity bike shop, they offer servicing, repairs, sales of renovated bikes and training. They are always on the lookout for donated bikes to be renovated or salvaged for parts and volunteers who can help do that. Just not rusty heaps that have been left to rot in the bottom of a pond for ten years!
Dave’s bike – 2017 custom DeAnima DeFer
Putting Dave on my gravel bike was probably unfair. Having ridden a Ritchey Swiss Cross for years on mountain bike rides, I would probably have been at a distinct advantage over Dave. But this was science, dammit, and science demands what it demands. Dropped bars definitely take a fair bit of getting used to. Of the two bikes, the DeAnima will always be the sensible choice – lighter, faster, better handling, but sometimes you have to leave common sense and experience by the door and just embrace the daft.
- Frame and fork: Custom drawn Dedacciai Italian steel and 3T carbon fork – utterly gorgeous and a pleasure to ride if you are me. For Dave, not so much.
- Suspension: Redshift Suspension Pro seat post and stem – very comfy unless your name is Dave and Fox suspension has clearly made you soft.
- Drivetrain: Shimano 6800 11-speed – eight years old and still performing flawlessly.
- Brakes: Shimano Ultegra callipers and levers on XT Ice Tech centre lock discs – stop you on a dime reliably every time if you get on with drop bars, which Dave didn’t.
- Chainset: Shimano XTR 980 double – arguably the greatest chainset they have ever produced, both functionally and aesthetically.
- Wheels: Deore XT centerlock on Shimano rims.
- Handlebars: Salsa Cowchipper Alloy 44cm – we’ll just ignore the views of Dave on these, shall we?
- Cassette: Sunrace 11-42 – because who wants fewer gears and a narrow gear range?
- Tyres: Vittoria Barzo and Peyote – fast rolling, grippy and very rarely puncture. Perfect mountain bike tyres for gravel.
