I have spent years cycling through the streets of San Francisco and the trails of the Pacific Northwest, and if there is one thing I have learned, it is that nobody wants to look like a Mario Brother Toadstool. We
Let’s be honest for a second. We’ve all been there—standing in front of the mirror, clipped into our favorite cycling kit, only to put on a helmet that makes us look like a lost mushroom. It’s a tragic vibe. But
We have all been there. You are shredding down a pristine piece of singletrack, the air is crisp, and the adrenaline is pumping. Then, you hit that one unexpected boggy patch. Suddenly, your vision is obscured by a brown spray,
Have you ever been flying down a gorgeous singletrack, feeling like a literal god of the trails, only to have a giant glob of wet, gritty mud fly directly into your eye? It’s a classic mountain biking rite of passage,
We have all been there. You are flying down a loamy descent, the tires are gripping like velcro, and then you hit “the patch.” That glorious, sloppy section of wet mud that decides it would rather live on your face
Listen, I have been there. You are flying down a technical descent, the stoke is high, and then—splat. A glob of wet, gritty loam lands right in your eye, or worse, directly in your mouth. Suddenly, that “hero
Let’s be real for a second: there is a certain “cool factor” to finishing a ride covered in head-to-toe mud. It looks like you’ve been through a literal war zone and won. But the novelty wears off pretty fast when
I have spent more hours than I care to admit scrubbing dried mud out of my ears after a particularly “spirited” ride in the Pacific Northwest. If you have ever hit a puddle at 20 miles per hour, you know
If you have ever spent a weekend shredding trails in the Pacific Northwest or tackling a muddy descent in the Appalachians, you know that mud is both a badge of honor and a total nuisance. I have found that nothing
I know the feeling of walking into a garage and immediately tripping over a stray pedal or a tangled mess of handlebars. It is a classic suburban nightmare, right? If you are like me, your bicycle is your pride and
