My Full Suspension Fatbike One Night Stand

The start of some serious shenanigans.
The start of some serious shenanigans. Photo: Erik Mathy/

As with all things that get out of hand, it started out with a seemingly innocent communication:

Zack Stender – 12:07:35 PST

Hey Erik,

Sorry for the short notice, but wondering if you want to join us for a ride tonight.

We are going to be ripping around on Salsa fat bikes tonight. Let me know if you are into it. Salsa (Cori) will be dropping the bikes off today sometime soon and I can have them drop one for you. We will be riding from here (7pm) to Ireland’s 32 in the Richmond, drinking and then hitting the park, finishing up at Underdogs in the Sunset where Salsa will pick the bikes up and give us our own bikes back. So you would need to let me know your size and Salsa Fat bike or 29er + preference soon. And if you want them to have your own bike to hand off to you at Underdogs, you will need to drop it off with us. Otherwise you can bus it home from there or whatever.

Cori mentioned that she may reach out to you as well.

I know what you’re thinking. A fatbike pub crawl. In San Francisco. The thought of that is, at best, silly and at worst, asinine.

Erik Mathy – 12:37:29 PST

Sure!! That’d be a hoot!

Probably a large of whatever nobody else wants. I’m easy. ūüėÄ

I, obviously, have a difference in opinion with you, dear reader. Or, as I told Zack, I’m easy when it comes to bikes. Does it have two wheels? Is it neato? Um, OK then, where do I sign up? Well, with the exception of fixies. Nothing personal, but my knees are too told for that crap. Everything ELSE, though, and I am game.

Four fatbikes, all in a row.
Four fatbikes, all in a row. Photo: Erik Mathy/

After arriving at Huckleberry Bikes, I have to admit to being more than a little bit intimidated by the rig they’d assigned me. A Salsa Bucksaw. And not just any Salsa Bucksaw, but the full on, high dollar, carbon fiber, SRAM¬†XO1 Salsa Bucksaw. All 30lbs of it. To put that in perspective, my Salsa Marrakesh¬†touring bike weighs 32lbs. Think about that for a second. Full suspension. 4″ tires. 30lbs.


The crew at prepare to depart. The sheer amount of rubber in this photo is mind boggling.
The crew at Huckleberry Bikes prepare to depart. The sheer amount of rubber in this photo is mind boggling. Photo: Erik Mathy/

Having never ridden a full suspension mountain bike or a fatbike, I literally stared at the Bucksaw without a single clear idea how to use it. I tried to figure¬†out what to avoid, like the dropper seat post (another item I’ve never used in my life), which way was “Up” and “Down” for the shifters, and attempted to¬†not worry about how in the Hell I’d follow a pack of experienced and no doubt talented bike shop guys. While riding in the dark with a fairly weak headlight. To say I’m not always very smart is, at times, an understatement.

We set out and rolled along Market St after dark, the six¬†fatbikes sounding literally like a squadron of WWII fighter planes.¬†You’d be surprised how much noise a pack of 4″ mountain bike tires makes when you’re riding en masse on¬†pavement. We had dudes driving alongside us, hanging out the window taking video with their smartphones.

Shouting over traffic and fatbike tire noise: “Why are you all on fatbikes?!?!?”

Answer: “Because they are a blast. That and…why NOT ride on fatbikes?!?!?!”

Zack, one of the owners of Huckelberry Bikes, leads everyone up the wiggle and into the wilds of Golden Gate Park.
Zack, one of the owners of Huckelberry Bikes, leads everyone up the wiggle and into the wilds of Golden Gate Park. Photo: Erik Mathy/

In short order we were up the wiggle, into Golden Gate Park and following Zack into some dark singletrack before bombing Ireland 32’s to meet up with Cori¬†from Salsa and some of the crew from Roaring Mouse. Shit was shot. Beers were drunk. As soon as the karaoke started, the entire crew bolted. In short order the now nine strong pack of fatbikes was roaring pell mell through Golden Gate Park. We hit pavement, service roads and singletrack and then more of all the above. All of a sudden, my courage increased (and sense of self preservation decreased) by the beer, silky suspension and fat tires,¬†I found myself doing things I’d never, ever done before.

Beered up and hyped up, I did my best to keep up with everyone. Thankfully they occasionally stopped to regroup so I could catch up. Photo: Erik Mathy/
  • A flight and a half of stairs at full speed? BBBBBRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPP!!!! Done.
  • A three foot drop off a concrete wall? BAH-BUMP! Sorted, although admittedly by the skin of my teeth and nowhere near as gracefully as everyone else.
  • Riding through loose sand? It was a bit wishy washy but I managed, with one spill on the way out.
Ocean Beach, fatbikes. Yes, it's a perfect combination.
Ocean Beach, + fatbikes = A perfect combination. Photo: Erik Mathy/

And, just like that, the damn Bucksaw had me right where Salsa no doubt wanted me: In lust and not caring what anyone thought about it. I’d been seduced by a bike that made up for all my deficiencies. As long as I didn’t think too much¬†and¬†kept the front wheel pointed where I wanted it to go, that bike just sorted out the rest. Now, I know, I know…there are folks who hate fatbikes for this. But I won’t be among that number. In reality,¬†I got to see what riders with actual talent could do with rigs like that as I tried to keep up with the guys from Huckleberry and Roaring Mouse. Full speed BMX style rear wheel whips, charging down stairs, gracefully taking big drops at speed, ripping through trees, ¬†riding over big ass roots that would make you lose your teeth on a 29’er? They did that and more.¬†It was impressive, to say the least.

A literal pile of fatbikes is bound to draw some attention.
A literal pile of fatbikes is bound to draw some attention. This was the last stop of the night, where reality sadly kicked back in. Photo: Erik Mathy/

But, as with any one night stand, sobriety re-asserted itself in all too short an order. It was midnight. The last BART train departed soon and I was all the way up in the Outer Richmond. I had to catch that train, get home, chase some sleep and wake up for work the next day. I hurriedly gave the Bucksaw back to Cori, grabbed my Marrakesh, and rode like a madman to the nearest BART station. With two minutes to spare I made it to the platform, dead sober and wondering what in the world just happened. Had I lost my mind?

Yes, yes I did. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat to ride the Salsa Bucksaw again. Until that lucky day comes along, I’ll cherish the memory of my one night stand with a ¬†weirdly sexy, (moderately) svelte, full suspension, 4″ tired fatbike that made me feel like¬†the mountain bike rider that I wish I was.