The concept for our newly launched Cut List series began when I ran an idea by the editorial team: “This might be a bit controversial, but what are your thoughts on an opinion piece about me being over Dyneema tents?” After some discussion, we expanded the approach and determined that individual roundups of equipment and habits that have fallen out of favor could be interesting. After all, we spend so much time talking about what works well that we rarely give energy to the gear, ideas, or strategies that have fallen by the wayside.

Long-term readers have likely noticed trends and changes among the editorial team and the broader bikepacking community. My bikepacking setups and how I approach bikepacking trips have changed, as anything in life does; we’re always evolving. Some changes come from personal shifts in habits and lifestyle, but outside factors also play a role, such as the environment, technology, and trends. Over the last 10 years or so, I’ve been lucky enough to try a lot of bikes and gear and ride in many places. It feels fitting to look back and reflect on my experiences.

My Cut List includes ideas, equipment, and approaches I once revered but have slowly (or in some cases, suddenly) moved away from. As a reminder, these roundups are purely personal, and I look forward to discussing them further with our readers in the Conversation below.

Dyneema Shelters

Dyneema, or DCF for short, also known as Cuben Fiber, is seen as the Rolls-Royce of tent materials, despite being relatively new in the outdoor gear space. DCF has been around for a while, but the story really began in the 1990s with the development of a new sailcloth material. Outdoor brands and makers, including Dan Durston, Hyperlite, Mountain Laurel Designs, and Zpacks, began experimenting with DCF in the early 2000s. DCF is praised for its strength and tear resistance, 100% waterproofness, and the fact that, unlike nylons or silnylons, it doesn’t stretch or sag in wet weather.

I remember learning about DCF early on and thinking, “Damn, that has to be the best tent material in the world.” I figured it was reserved for the most serious outdoor enthusiasts, and nothing beat it. I lusted after DCF, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. I’ve tested a few DCF tents over the years, and although their weight and durability are always impressive, their pack size isn’t. Most brands say DCF shouldn’t be stuffed, and while there is little actual research available on this, that’s pretty much a non-starter for me. These days, I’m much more interested in silpoly fabrics, which might weigh a little more but can be crammed over and over again without risking damage. I think there’s a time and place for DCF shelters, including backpacking, but when traveling on two wheels, I’m not as allured by them these days.

Non-Solar GPS Devices

This might be a little unfair, because solar-powered GPS devices are fairly new, starting with the Garmin Edge 1040 Solar in 2022, but I can’t imagine going back to a non-solar one. The more electronic gadgets you’ve got, the more batteries you’ll need to keep charged, and I distinctly remember stressing over how many AA batteries I’d need for my Garmin eTrex to make it through many trips. I’ve always taken a “less is more” approach to navigation, and once I find something that works, I stick with it. I thought I had a good thing going with my Garmin 540, until I tried the Coros Dura.

Solar-powered GPS devices reduce the need for lengthy resupply stops, bulky cache batteries, and dynamo systems. They work surprisingly well, or at least the Dura does, and I can usually go several weeks without plugging in as long as I get a few hours of sun each day. A few innovations really changed how I bikepack, and solar-powered GPS devices take a top spot.

Drop Bars with Giant Tires

Everyone has their own unique interpretation of what a bikepacking bike looks like. I remember test riding a Salsa Cutthroat when it was released, and an All-City Gorilla Monsoon a few years later, and I figured that was about as good as a bikepacking bike could get. At the time, I wasn’t mountain biking much, so those feelings were justified.

As my riding style and preferences have evolved, I’ve become less and less interested in drop-bar bikes with big tires. I generally prefer flat bars, and when the tires are 2.4 inches wide, I almost always want the control and stability a flat-bar setup provides. I’ve always been a bit confused by big tires and drop bars, and some recent bike reviews have only confirmed those inklings.

Rigid Seatposts

Some of my first review bikes came with dropper posts, but I usually swapped them for rigid seatposts to make packing easier. At the time, the Porcelain Rocket Mr. Fusion was my go-to seat pack, with its mini rack and removable dry bag, and dropper post bags were just entering the scene.

Dropper post bags evolved quickly, making bikepacking with a dropper post more realistic and, in turn, making singletrack and technical terrain more comfortable to ride. The surge of lightweight rear racks makes a strong case for never using a seat pack again. Today, I consider a dropper post essential on pretty much any bike I ride, even if it’s just to make stopping at traffic lights a little easier. I’ve said this before, but if I had to choose, I’d take a dropper post over front suspension.

Accepting Frustrating Things

I can think of dozens of things I once accepted because that’s the way it is. I’ve accepted that BC Ferries are regularly delayed, that shipping takes longer and costs more, and that flying rarely goes as planned. However, there are a few things in the bike industry I used to accept as the norm, but I’m done doing so.

One example is accepting tiny screw heads for rack and bottle bosses on bike frames. I don’t know when we started thinking 4mm hex screws were okay, but I’m over it and find myself oddly excited by larger-than-average screw heads. Not only is a nice oversized cap head screw easier to use, but it’s also much less likely to strip compared to tiny, low-profile screws. Another one is loud hubs. The industry likes to tell us that loud buzzing rear hubs are cool—they make a statement—but I’m no longer interested in accepting them as the norm. Nothing’s worse than trying to have a conversation with friends while yelling over the sound of your 1,000-point high-engagement hub. Another one is ridiculously expensive bikes. I see no need for $6,000+ bikes, and in most cases, a well-specced, thoughtfully designed $3,000 bike offers the same riding experience. I have more, but to summarize, I’m done simply “accepting.”

Electric Components

Everyone has flaws; mine is my memory. I blame it on too much partying in university, but I think it’s just part of who I am. I lose my wallet twice a week, sometimes for several days, but I’ve learned not to stress about it.

At some point, the bike industry told us electronic components and gadgets are better than their mechanical counterparts. At first, I was excited. Wireless dropper posts are great for swapping between bikes, and modern electronic drivetrains are some of the smoothest out there, but unfortunately, I can’t remember to keep these components charged. Every few months, it disrupts a ride. The batteries generally last a long time, but when I’m jumping between bikes and already looking for my misplaced wallet, I can’t also think ahead to charge my derailleur battery. And don’t even get me started on electronic tire pumps.

Underbiking

When I was just getting into bikepacking, I fully embraced underbiking. For years, I enjoyed rolling up to trailheads on less-than-ideal steeds, getting glances from riders on full-suspension mountain bikes, and getting the side-eye for my big-tired gravel bike. Just last week, someone mentioned I might have a hard time riding some local trails because I was on a hardtail, not a bigger bike. Underbiking is the ultimate “F You!” to the bike industry.

As I’ve ridden more, I’m starting to feel that underbiking isn’t nearly as fun as it once was. Take “gravel” riding in British Columbia, for example. I can’t think of any of the 10+ gravel bikepacking routes I’ve created in the province that I’ve scouted on a gravel bike. Give me wide, flat bars, front suspension, 2.4” tires, and a dropper post. I understand that riding terrain on something less capable encourages a distinctive way of riding, and there’s a certain amount of flow that comes with riding through technical singletrack on a rigid gravel bike, but for anything more than a day ride, I’m sold on overbiking.

Needing to Travel to Find Adventure

For a long time, I prioritized bikepacking trips far from home, and while I still enjoy a trip now and again, it’s not because I lack adventure. A lot of the time, it just means tweaking your perspective on what an adventure is and what it can be. I’m still inspired by riding on Vancouver Island, just a ferry ride from my front door, and I also forgot how fun it is to re-ride routes after several years of avoiding them. Emily and I had a blast retracing our lines on the Powell River Sampler route this fall after scouting it six years ago.

I think there’s something to be said for close-to-home adventures that don’t involve a night out. On a recent cross-country ride, my friend Keenan introduced me to mushroom picking (it somehow took me over six years to do it), opening up a whole new world of pedal-powered adventure I’d like to do more of. The other day, I ran with a new running club in town on some trails just down the road from where I live. Damn, it was beautiful!

Titanium Pots

Titanium pots are sought after for the same reason as titanium bikes: their strength-to-weight ratio is hard to beat. The only hitch is that while titanium bikes offer a unique ride quality, titanium cookware serves no real purpose over other metals. In fact, titanium isn’t great for cooking. Because of its poor thermal conductivity, titanium heats up slowly and creates hot spots where your stove flame hits. Unless you’re exclusively boiling water for simple meals, it’s about the worst pot material you can use. If you ever tried melting snow or cooking a meal in a titanium pot, then you’ve likely experienced this.

For a long time, I was obsessed with piecing together the lightest possible cook kit, which ultimately directed me to titanium pots. After a few burned meals, I’ve concluded I’d be okay using a good aluminum pot from now on. Titanium mug, now that’s a great use of space metal!

Packing “Silly Light”

For years I carried only the essentials. I used a strategy where I carried just clothing I could layer, with no spares. So, in theory, at its coldest, I’d wear everything I packed. No spare camp shorts, no extra riding shirt. I’ve shared one-person tents, tried to sleep on thin foam pads, and frozen my ass off at night in an attempt to save weight. A notable attempt at bikepacking with minimal gear was during the Julian Bikepack Challenge in California in 2018. With nothing more than a 5mm closed-cell foam pad, I shaped the sand underneath me into an ergonomic profile. I didn’t sleep much.

There’s a fine line between packing strategically and just being silly, and I always seemed to cross it. I’ve gotten over the idea that my bikepacking setup might be light and come to terms with riding and pushing a heavy bike. The difference between having a few extra pieces of clothes and not is so small that I can confidently say I’m done with packing silly light. More recently, I’ve been reaching for a wide sleeping pad, a warmer sleeping bag, and twinkly lights to set up at camp. Life’s good.

Rushing Routes

I’ve often felt a sense of urgency while bikepacking. I find myself wanting to follow “the line” perfectly, knock it out quickly, and leave no time for side quests or unexpected interactions. When the riding is good and the views keep coming, it’s addictive, and it’s easy to keep pushing forward. I’m also highly motivated by food that isn’t in my frame bag, so if it means digging deep to reach a resupply point (let’s be real, probably a gas station), I’ll usually do it.

I’ve been purposefully more relaxed on a few recent trips, with shorter distances and opportunities for exploration, and I’ve loved it. Finding the right balance between covering ground and moving efficiently without feeling anxious about making it to the next spot is difficult. Most of my recent trips have been with groups, which naturally slows things down, but I’m eager to bring some of that to solo trips as well.

29 x 3.0″ Tires

At the risk of being canceled, hear me out. The OG Surly Krampus, with its steel frame and 29 x 3.0” tires, was the epitome of bikepacking. It was my gateway drug, and I continue to crave it a decade later. At the time, I really did see 29+ as the go-to wheel size for bikepacking. The idea was simple: 29+ will virtually never let you down.

Over the years, I’ve been naturally weaned off 29 x 3.0” tires to the point that I no longer yearn for them the same as I once did. Maybe it’s simply because there are fewer true 29+ bikes available, and even fewer new models, but I find myself completely satisfied with 2.4” and 2.6” tires, and the occasional 2.8” front tire when the terrain is really soft. Looking forward, I think I’d be fine leaving 29 x 3.0” tires behind for good.

Thanks for checking out my Cut List. I invite any comments, reflections, or questions in the Conversation below!

Further Reading

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