Review: Thule Bike Rack – T2 XTR 2-Bike Hitch

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Living in the Los Angeles area, you have to deal with a whole lot of bullshit. Everything from the traffic jams, to the local news stations’ overblown fascination with precipitation, to the visibly apparent wealth gap throughout the neighborhoods of this city. All of this is why you get the hell out of LA for some quiet time in open spaces any time the opportunity presents itself.



My girlfriend and I were prepping to set out on a Thursday morning to make the two-and-a-half hour trip to Joshua Tree National Park. We were meeting up with a friend who had been camping and riding there for the past week, so we brought our bikes in the unlikely chance that we’d want to ride in between our booze filled car camping sessions and sporadic day hikes.

When I asked Jim Merithew for a bike rack to review, I assumed he would have sent me something more fitting for the “Dirt” that he seems to think I am. Something on the less expensive end, kind of a “Dirt’s Guide to Crappy Things.” Instead, as it turns out, this review ended up being more of a “Dirt’s guide to Really Fancy Things.”

I doubt the hardcore bike enthusiasts and designers at Thule would have ever envisioned that their $450 Thule T2 2 Bike 916XTR platform hitch rack would be sporting a Trek Multi-Trak hybrid and freakishly ugly Frankenstein fixie. But hey, when your editor gives you a super pricey Thule bike rack, you hit the road and get your bikes out to the desert.

My first impression of the rack could only be summed up in one statement: “Jesus, this thing is heavy,” followed by, “Dammtit, I have to assemble this thing?” So I set up my camera and let it roll as I assembled the rack in the most amateur fashion possible. In under an hour we were ready to go. Well, almost ready.

It turns out that with the added weight of our camping gear, including four days worth of water and wood, in addition to the rack, our suspension had dropped, especially in the rear, probably by a good two inches. This really wasn’t an issue on the road, but since we live in suburban Los Angeles, our driveway inclines could put mountain road grades to shame, and with the ridiculously long length of the hitch mount there was no way to get onto the street without removing the bikes, then the hitch, then reassembling the entire thing once we were clear of the driveway.

As soon as we hit the road the rack was a complete champ. The bikes stayed secure and upright with minimal movement. The hitch was securely locked into the receiver, most likely due to Thule’s threaded locking hitch pin (Thule STL2 Snug-Tite Lock) that was provided. On top of that, unlike all the “Dirt” bike racks I’ve owned in the past, Thule provides retractable locks on the rack itself. This added security really provided a level of comfort for us when we stopped for gas or groceries along the way. Not to mention, it definitely put me at ease when we got up to cruising speed on the highways. My bike may not be the best, but the last thing I wanted to see through my rearview was it getting crushed by some bro’s lifted Tundra as we drove through the IE.

Upon arrival out at “Camp Weird” we learned that the bike rack, being so heavy, works as a really great anchor to lock your bikes to. We wanted to have access to the rear hatch but still be able to have our bikes secured. By locking our bikes together and using the rack as an anchor we had the piece of mind to leave our bikes out but still had access to the car.

We’re now back from the trip and I have to say, I’ve come to terms with the price point because the rack worked so well and gave me total peace of mind. And when I think about it, I realize I was only slightly frustrated by the assembly processes. And don’t worry about the driveway problem I mentioned because I’m guessing most of you live in places where the roadways and infrastructure aren’t the complete nightmare that exists in Southern California. If you buy this thing, you won’t be disappointed.

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Review: Sierra Designs Gnar Lite Down Jacket

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Photo: Kip Malone

Ask any duck and they will tell you, down is simply the warmest, lightest insulation out there. There’s good reason you don’t see many waterfowl rocking Thinsulate.

Ounce for ounce, you can’t beat natural down. It does however, have one ironic weakness; water. Get your down puffy drenched and you will look and feel like a wet cat rather than a beautiful fluffy swan. Down loses most of its insulating power when wet; its loft and fluffiness turning to feather mush. It also absorbs moisture produced during heavy exertion, which means bluebird days can be problematic too.



Enter DriDown. Introduced in 2012, it’s a traditional down treated with a magic formula that makes it hydrophobic. It repels water, sweat and moisture on a molecular level and claims to keep you warm and happy in the wet.

I have been wearing the Sierra Designs Gnar Lite jacket, a lighter puffy filled with 800 fill DriDown for almost a year. It weighs a feathery 12 ounces and works well on its own or under a shell.

Let’s get one thing straight. This is not a rain shell, and if you pretend it is, you will eventually end up wet and sad. That being said, the jacket sheds light rain remarkably well, and you needn’t go scurrying for shelter every time the sky opens up. Moderate showers were no problem for 20 or 30-minute stretches.

After several months of wear I was impressed, but I felt a cold rainy winter trip on a boat in Seattle should really put things to the test. During the trip, it kept me dry on its own in the light rain, and for heaver showers I slipped a shell on top. It rained every day of the trip, and the humidity was never lower than 90%. At night, the Knar Lite hung in a damp boat with all the other layers. After five days it was still warm and cozy, unbothered by all the wet.

I addition to being a stellar performer, it’s also nicely designed. There are thumb loops to keep the sleeves steady, a tapered athletic fit so it works well as a layer, and a hooded version is also available. It’s a great piece of gear that keeps its puffy moniker, even when the going gets wet.

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Photo: Kip Malone

Review: Wahoo RFLKT+ Computer and BeetsBlu Heart Rate Monitor

Wahoo RFLKT+ bike computer.
Wahoo RFLKT+ bike computer. Photo: Max Whittaker

A few months ago, Element.ly co-founder Jim Merithew handed me a handful of new products to review. Some looked awesome, some looked like crap. When I first saw the Wahoo RFLKT+ computer and BeetsBLU heart rate monitor, I firmly slotted them in the latter category. The Wahoo looked a little cheap and I’m not a fan of adding more electronics and screens to my ride. On top of it, both devices connect via Bluetooth, which I’ve spent more time cursing than using successfully in the past.



I don’t typically like computers on my bikes, but I do have a weakness for Strava. I like to track my riding stats and occasionally heckle my riding buddies when I beat them on an especially sweet segment. I use the Strava app on my iPhone and happily stow it out of sight in a pocket or pack until the end of the ride. I’m totally happy with this arrangement on trail rides, but on long road or “adventure” rides, sometimes it’s nice to see some data while riding. Seeing your speed displayed and maintaining it during your pull in a well-oiled paceline or metering out your heart rate and MPH on a long ride so you don’t implode (or miss dinner with your spouse) can be a real life-saver.

The Wahoo RFLKT+ is not a bike computer in the traditional sense. In fact, it’s merely a monitor that displays your Strava data during your ride. I downloaded the Wahoo app, paired the RFLKT+ to my iPhone, and told it what data I wanted it to display. After that, I’d just merely turn it on when I got on the bike and that’s it. It worked flawlessly every time, the tiny battery is still going strong after months of use, and it automatically turns off after ending my ride. It neatly tucks onto the top of my 110mm stem and is way sleeker and less dorky than attaching your smartphone to your cockpit. It shrugged off light rain and sweat without complaint.

The BeetsBLU heart monitor was just as easy to setup and flawless in use as the Wahoo. That’s really the appeal of these two devices. In a world of devices that promise to do a bazillion thing at once, the BeetsBLU and Wahoo each do merely one thing and do it well. My only complaint is that the Wahoo RFLKT+ at $130, is a bit pricier than maybe it should be. But it’s still less than half what a standalone GPS computer would be. The lower priced RFLKT ($100) lacks all the ANT+ connectivity I don’t use, but still has all the key features I love.The BeetsBLU heart rate monitor is a no-brainer at $40.

Beets Blu bluetooth heart rate monitor. Photo: Max Whittaker

Mastering the Art of Being a Master Racer

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The Chronos team gathered in Napa for their early season training camp.

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Dan and Dan, the teams World Champs, got decked out in their stars and stripes skin suits.

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The team, including Tony Reid, at right, hit the backroads of Napa.

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Chris Lyman gives the follow car instructions.

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The team stops to organize for their team photo.

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Riding off into the fog.

“I’m 50 years old and I’m riding around in circles in spandex,” said Tony Reid. “What’s even crazier is we get in our cars and drive three-plus hours, into the middle of nowhere, to do this.”

Reid, who will be 55 in a couple of short months, is the old guy on a bicycle team made up of old guys.

He’s a member of the Elite Master Racing Team out of Northern California known as Chronos.

The team has both the 2014 USA Masters National Time Trial Champion—Dan Bryant—,and the 2014 USA Masters National Criterium Champion—Dan Martin.

Chronos is also kitted out by a great set of sponsors including Gran Fondo Hincapie, Easton Cycling, Boardman Bikes, Amazing Grass, Smith Optics, Fluid, Schwalbe Tires, Cycliq, Untapped and Rocklin Endurance Sports.

To say these guys are fast is a massive understatement. But from Reid’s experience this is true of Masters Racing in general.

“The number of racers in the older groups is much larger than when I started in the 80s,” he said. “The talent pool is much greater, you wouldn’t believe how fast some of these riders are and they’ve been racing the same courses for years.”

Staying in the game going into his mid-fifties Reid has learned a thing or two about the ebb and flow of life, bicycles and racing.

“I can’t ride hard everyday anymore,” said Ried. “It’s a lot harder to lose weight now and a lot easier to gain it.”

Reid is realistic about his chances of seeing the podium these days. He would need to be really lucky—getting into the right break, at the right time, at the right race might help him pull out a victory. But he loves just being in the mix and helping his teammates out.

“There is a dedication,” said Reid. “It takes hours and hours of training to just be pack-fill.”

Reid says the sport has lots of amazing people, but it’s important for anyone thinking about taking up bicycle racing late in life to understand it is neither cheap, nor easy.

“Make sure your wife understands you are going to spend in the thousands of dollars, maybe even the 10s of thousands,” said Reid. “And you will be spending your weekends away from home.”

Reid met his wife at the height of his cycling prowess and they used to travel to all the races together.

Today, as Crystal Ching, his wife, rattles off all the not-so-exciting places he used to drag her (Coalinga, Willows, Fresno, Salinas, Winters, etc.), she says she now stays home and keeps their family-owned business, Nature’s Select, humming along.

“I stopped going when he finally agreed to make me an honest woman,” she said. “I heard the same story weekend after weekend, race after bloody race….(insert name) attacked, (insert name) got dropped, (insert name) was OTB, (insert name) lapped the field, (insert name) got a flat, then (insert name) gave him a wheel, (insert name) then caught back up with the lead group, attacked, and ending up winning the field sprint. Yadda yadda yadda. And after every race they all have the ‘would’ve, could’ve, should’ves.’ AND that the sad part is when they rehash a race from 2005, I actually know what race they’re referring to.”

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Spending Time in Wild Places

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Windshield picture.

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June walking on ice.

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Sign in woods.

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Catherine.

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Keeping score when playing Carcassonne is always a little convoluted, but we keep coming back to it.

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Ibex Ramble wool pants have a way of making every place you wear them feel like home.

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Birk reading.

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Richard Flanagan’s The Narrow Road to the Deep North is beautiful and sad.

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A little before our family invented “Fire Jenga.”

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Wood stove.

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Make the most of the snow you have.

Our first hint that parenthood changes your relationship to the outdoors came before we even had kids, at the beginning of a trip to hike the rocky eastern coast of Lake Superior. After the local maniac whose 4×4 dropped us off there rambled back into the woods, we met a young family setting up for an overnight car-camping adventure there in Gargantua Bay. The parents couldn’t have been much older than we were, but their eyes contained a wisdom, or perhaps just stress, that made them seem like well-outfitted sages. “You remind us of how we used to be,” the mom said.



I think we were flattered or something, but, watching them drag a car’s worth of gear just so that they could make it through an evening in a tent with their two kids, it was probably gratitude we felt, gratitude that we were just us, worried about little more than whether we had timed it right to hit prime blueberry season once we got onto the trail.

Pretty deep into parenthood ourselves now, we have done what we can to raise kids who want to spend time in wild places. It’s not too hard, really; the places themselves do most of the work, but in our part of the midwest, these spots can be tough to find. The only easy camping available here is in state parks, which is wild only in the sense that it is debauched, full of noisy drunks and unattended children learning the wrong kinds of lessons.

So as parents here you have to be willing to drive. And it also helps to go outdoors when it is cold, when the high-density campsites are largely empty. Even better, you can do both. One of our favorites is this place, an off-the-grid CCC cabin at the end of a 2-track in northern Michigan. The nearest neighbors are at least five miles away and are there for the same reason you are, to be alone in the winter quiet.

When there is snow, the only access is via a two-mile ski, pulling a cast-iron pan, board games, and a Bialetti behind you on a sled. This year, the predicted blizzard turned into rain, so we drove and did the thing where you pack everything you can so that the kids don’t get bored, just like the family we met years ago.

And once again, this place worked. Adventure books good for reading aloud, like Swallows & Amazons, go a long way, as does the game Carcassonne. As a parent, though, you have pretty much done your work just by getting your kids into the sparse second-growth forests of Michigan. There are not many places like this in the midwest, but they’re worth finding.


The Wacky, Wonderful Wasatch

Touring with DPS Skis in the Wasatch Mountains in Utah.

Skinning up Grizzly Gulch with Mount Superior in the background. Photo: Jakob Schiller/Element.ly

Touring with DPS Skis in the Wasatch Mountains in Utah.

Backcountry skiers in the Wasatch like to set a steep skin track. The quicker you go, the quicker you come down. Photo: Jakob Schiller/Element.ly

Touring with DPS Skis in the Wasatch Mountains in Utah.

Ripping skins. Time to ski. Photo: Jakob Schiller/Element.ly

Touring with DPS Skis in the Wasatch Mountains in Utah.

It was still soft out there even more than a week after the last storm. Photo: Jakob Schiller/Element.ly

Touring with DPS Skis in the Wasatch Mountains in Utah.

There's lots of terrain to ski in the Wasatch. But also a lot of skiers out to ski that terrain. Photo: Jakob Schiller/Element.ly

Touring with DPS Skis in the Wasatch Mountains in Utah.

Shredding. Photo: Jakob Schiller/Element.ly

Touring with DPS Skis in the Wasatch Mountains in Utah.

Backcountry skiing has a way of making people happy. Photo: Jakob Schiller/Element.ly

Touring with DPS Skis in the Wasatch Mountains in Utah.

The only way to properly end a day of backcountry skiing is with beer. Photo: Jakob Schiller/Element.ly

Before I ever backcountry skied in the Wasatch Mountains outside Salt Lake City I’d heard all the stories. Parking lots filling up in the wee hours of the morning with powder-hungry skiers chasing fresh lines. Super steep skin tracks to help those powder chasers maximize their time before sun rise. And epic, lake effect snow that came down thick and deep.



Now I’ve skied the Wasatch a couple times, and it seems all the stories are true. I have no scientific proof to back this up, but the per-capita ratio of backcountry skiers in SLC seems higher than anywhere else in the country. It’s crowded out there. But you can see why. Access to the Wasatch is as easy at it gets. You can leave downtown SLC and be skinning in about an hour.

I also found out that those skin tracks are indeed steep. Not so steep you can’t make it up, but steeper than other places around the country. A couple weeks ago I headed out with a group of skiers and more than once wondered if my skins were going to stick as I placed ski to snow. The reward, however, is worth it. The faster you climb, the sooner you ski.

Then there’s the snow. Even though it’s been mostly dry in the Wasatch for the past couple weeks, they got enough early season snow to make our recent trip plenty of fun. On north-facing aspects we found stashes of soft powdery goodness.

You can also be sure that sometime soon it’ll start dumping again. It always does.


Searching For Snow, and Turns, in Tahoe

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We stand at the top of the West Bowl asking two nice ski patrollers if the run is open.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s open. Just be careful,” said the one on the right. “Especially at the bottom, it’s all ice.”



“No it’s not” said the one on the left. “In order for it to be ice it needs to blue and you need to be able see yourself in it in.”

This is pretty much how our day went. We waited as long as we could for the good snow to fly in Northern California. But last week Robbie, Karissa and I made a pact—the minute we got back from CES in Las Vegas we were headed for the snow.

At an inhumane hour in the morning we loaded up and hit the road. We were all looking for our first turns of the season. I lucked out, as Robbie offered to drive so I could doze in the passenger seat and dream of knee-deep pow.

We arrived at the Sierra-at-Tahoe parking lot to find nary an auto. Sure it was a week day, but we were still expecting more desperate souls looking for desperate turns.

The “snow” on the backside bowl was definitely blue and we all agreed we saw ourselves, wide-eyed and mouth agape, in the shiny surface. Yet the mediocre conditions didn’t stop us from staying late into the afternoon.

The ride home consisted of stories of the crazy ways we have found our way to the mountain—bus rides and random carpools, flaking friends and Subarus. We would have preferred to tell a tale of endless powder and hot tubbing, but we settled for good friends making turns and pringles.

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Slacklust: A Dirtbag Tour of California

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Editors note: Dan Krauss, one of our contributors, wrote the following piece about a recent climbing trip in California for his sponsor Gregory Packs. We’re re-running the piece with a selection of his photos. He’ll be releasing more photos from the project soon. Please follow him at @dankrauss for updates.

“Man, it’s cold” I thought to myself as I pulled my head out of my sleeping bag. “Is it morning yet?” No, it was still pitch black outside. I did this every hour for the entire night. David’s booming snores filled the pop-up camper on top of the van. Everything inside the tent was wet from freezing condensation. When I finally saw the frosted grass turn orange, peeking out of the tent’s air vent, I begrudgingly got out of my now-ice-covered sleeping bag and pulled on my puffy jacket. My whole body shuddered as I climbed out of the tent and walked the 500 yards to the hot spring.



We had spent the night at the Mammoth hot springs, day seven of our two week trip. It was the first water my body touched that whole week. We were filthy and our skin raw from climbing in Joshua Tree and Bishop with no rest days. When I picked up my towel and swimsuit that morning, they stood up straight, frozen solid. It had apparently reached temps near zero that night, and wouldn’t warm up past 20 degrees for another few hours.

I figured the hot spring would be empty at such an ungodly early hour, but to my surprise found a middle-aged woman sitting in the tub, wearing nothing but a toe ring. She didn’t say much, though I could tell she wasn’t pleased to see me.

I undressed and hopped in, my cares and worries melted away with the icicles in my hair as it made contact with the warm tub of water. The field of yellow was glowing in the sun. Salt deposits gave the appearance of snow on the ground and blades of grass were frozen from the steamy hot spring. I stared back at the Grandfathers, slightly dusted in snow and slipped into a quiet moment of pure bliss.

We live in a world of instant gratification, with the ability to share our achievements instantly, in a wide range of mediums. Every day a new record is broken. It feels like everyone I see is in the rat race to be the best, the fastest, the hardest climber, or break the newest highline record. What happened to just going outside to raise the stoke meter?

I get more inspired by seeing someone cross their first highline, than seeing someone break a new record. That look in their eye when they set that first foot back on solid ground. The wide-eyed, shit-eating grin, half-stoked, and half-terrified. I’m all for pushing the limits of human potential, but that’s not what gets me out there. I relish personal stoke, pushing personal boundaries, competing with yourself and enjoying every second of it.

When I planned this trip, that’s what I wanted the goal to be. Just plain fun. Enjoying the land, the solitude, and the random company that camping provides, swapping stories over a hot fire. We weren’t going to climb the hardest routes or rig the longest lines. We wanted to enjoy the most beautiful places, bask in the diverse landscapes and climates, and explore the only state where you can get a tan on the beach and summit a snowy peak within 24 hours.

Over the two-week trip, we climbed some classic routes in Santa Barbara, highlined under Highway 1 and between a redwood ravine in Big Sur. We spent the most time in Bishop, bouldering at the Buttermilks and The Happies, then switched it up with some multi-pitch trad on Cardinal Pinnacle and sport climbing in Owen’s River Gorge. In Joshua Tree, we opted for one of the out-there lines, strung across the Astro Domes. The last time it had been rigged was almost five years ago, probably due to the fact that this was a 45-minute hike, and most lines in Joshua Tree are five minutes from the car.

Aesthetic was key and the point was bliss. We certainly reached our goal and can say the trip was an absolute success—although we each had our asses handed to us at one point or another.

The team consisted of David Kingston, of Pasadena, Calif., Wilson Cutbirth, of Sedona, AZ., and Heather Larsen, of Golden, CO. Each one of them had their own special set of skills, but they all shared that unassuming, humble personality. Competition wasn’t their goal, only to enjoy their passions at their maximum ability.


Lowepro Photo Sport Sling: The Little Camera Pack That Ate The World

Be the terrain up, down, or flat, the Lowepro Photo Sport AW100 held it's own well.  Photo: Glenn Charles
Regardless of whether the terrain went up, down, or stayed flat, the Lowepro Photo Sport AW100 held it’s own. Photo: Glenn Charles

On bikepacking trips, the goal when setting up your gear is simple: never use a backpack. I hate, HATE, riding with anything on my body. Even singletrack with a simple, minimal camelback drives me nuts. When, a little over a year ago, it became apparent that I’d have no choice but to bring a backpack along on a bikepacking tour of the Lost Coast, I was bummed. There didn’t seem to be any other options because I wanted to bring multiple cameras. One high level digital point and shoot, one 70’s era zone focus film rangefinder, and a Nikon F100 film camera body with two lenses and a flash. There was no way I’d fit all of that into my regular bike bags. A backpack it was.

The Hunt

After looking around, it became apparent that most serious camera backpacks were not ideal for bike touring. Let alone a trip that would have single track. They were all pretty serious, burly affairs or just too small, and generally built in a way that insured they’d flop all over the place. Meh! One of the few viable options was Lowepro’s new Photo Sport line. These packs were designed for outdoor use, looked like they’d hold steady to the body (which is insanely important on a bike), and well designed. In particular the Photo Sport Sling 100 AW and 200 AW caught my eye.



I wanted to be able to have fast access to the Nikon F100, so the 100 AW’s ability to flip around without being taken off was the key deciding point. The biggest reservation was that all the weight would be on one shoulder. That’s not bad for a day or maybe two, but could seriously suck for much longer durations. After trying it on once or twice at Glass Key Photo (BUY LOCAL, YO!) I decided that was the one.

Packing it worked out well. The camera compartment fit the Nikon, two short lenses (28mm, 50mm) and a flash. The Bogen tabletop tripod went in one of the outside pockets. Sixteen rolls of film and a small toiletry kit went into the main storage, leaving it mostly empty. This was something I’d appreciate later.

Up and Down the Lost Coast

Over the next week, the 100AW proved to be exceptionally capable. Shockingly so. It was like Pacman…the little guy with a seemingly bottomless appetite. I could shove a shocking amount of stuff into it. I remember stopping at the little grocery store in Petrolia. It would be the last resupply for a good 24 hours. I got one can of chili, two cups of instant oatmeal, a package of dried fruit, an avocado, a very large cookie, and I want to say maybe an apple, too, if my memory serves, as well as a box of Pop Tarts. The thing weighed what felt like a metric (expletive) ton, but it all fit, and fit well. Not only that, but the 100 AW generally stayed put on the endless big climbs and pot hole filled descents of the Lost Coast. That includes the infamous Mattole Road, which is a right bastard. There were some issues with the weight being taken entirely on one shoulder, as I expected. Yet it wasn’t so much that I wanted to toss the thing off a cliff.

Since then, the Photo Sport 100 AW has taken up another surprising role: the daily commuter. For example, I recently fit a camera body with two lenses, 13” Macbook Pro (and it’s charger), chunky over the head earphones, Monoprice USB mouse (they aren’t small), an envelope with five 8×10 prints, and a small bag with three Christmas presents. At other times it’s held most of that plus several freezer bags of lunch leftovers. And a water bottle. And a rain jacket in the lower loops that hang off the bottom of the bag.

You get the picture.

Photo: Erik Mathy
Photo: Erik Mathy

The Verdict

Everyone loves a final summary in a gear review. In fact, I’d wager many of you skipped everything and came straight to this. Don’t worry, I do it all the time myself. So, what do I think? I dig it. A lot. With a few minor hesitations/quibbles.

On the plus side, it keeps its place on the body well, holds WAY more than you think it should, and keeps your camera gear in a separate, easy to access compartment. I like the outer storage options for things like a water bottle, small tripod and other “stuff.” The action of slinging it around to get to your camera gear is pretty straight forward and works well, but don’t try it while moving on your bike. That’s officially a bad idea. It’s also pretty affordable, all things considered.

On the negative side, the weight distribution entirely on your shoulder can be anything from not too bad to really, really annoying/borderline painful. I find it far better in a riding position, though, than hiking or other activities so your mileage may vary depending on what you do. The rain fly works OK, but don’t count on it for days and days of deluge. You’ve been warned. It’s also easy for small items in the main compartment to slip down past the camera area, getting lost in the process. You’ve got to keep things organized in order to make the most of this bag.

Would I buy it again?

Yes, absolutely. Small, sport minded, multi use, camera bags are really hard to come by. It works far better than you’d expect, as long as you’re ready for it’s quirks.

A surprising carrying capacity allows impromptu camp dinners to happen. Photo: Glenn Charles
A surprising carrying capacity allows impromptu camp dinners to happen. Photo: Glenn Charles

2014’s Best Music

ALBUMS

Having Spotify in your life makes it difficult to sit down with one album long enough to really make friends with it—there’s so much available to you, you’re constantly aware that there might be something else out there you might like even more. But pondering the Spotify Effect deserves its own essay. The point is that these are the ten records that held my attention enough that I wasn’t distracted by the universe of musical possibility.

1. Real Estate—Atlas

This is one of those records that surprises you with its simplicity. I mean, these songs are so basic, lots of noodling around, inverted D chords and other tricks that have been done so many times, but I’ve been killing this record and hacking my way through its progressions on my on guitar for a year and it still feels fresh. Probably the best band I have no interest in seeing live.

2. Ariel Pink—Pom Pom

Ariel was discovered by Animal Collective several years ago now, but he has since far surpassed them in inventiveness and consistency. Songs just fall out of this guy’s pockets. But even though, by now, I know what to expect from an Ariel Pink record, he still makes me feel uncomfortable. I honestly feel wrong laughing at his lyrics sometimes, but that’s what driving around alone is for.

3. God Help the Girl OST

The “twee” is strong with me, so I’ve loved everything Stuart Murdoch and Belle & Sebastian and any other knitting Scotsman has done for a long time and now they’ve done this. I fell asleep a few times during the movie, but always woke up for the songs. It’s just so darn cute. One of the girls in this band plays the girlfriend of that one guy in Game of Thrones.

4. Angel Olsen

Will Oldham is one of my all time indie heroes, and I have a couple of funny stories about him you should ask me about some time. But the point here is that he knows how to pick collaborators and he once had Olsen sing with him on a record and that’s when I fell for her. I almost think the slower you play these songs, the better. If I knew how, I’d download some software and slow all of her songs down so that it would take a year to listen to this record and that’s all I would do for one year and then I’d write a book about it.

5. Courtney Barnett

People all confused Angel and Courtney this year and so I thought it would be funny to put them next to each other here.

6. War on Drugs

I first listened to his last record because I’d heard he was in the same circle with Kurt Vile and I still do kinda think Kurt Vile is better, but this new one is great to have on in the background. It feels like one long song that tries to recreate the feeling of 9:30 to 11:30 pm. That’s how I would describe it.

7. Ty Segall—Manipulator

This guy makes it so easy you think about moving to the left coast and starting your own psych-rock outfit. But then your dog stares at you until you take him for a walk and by the time you get back, you have forgotten all about it.

8. Mac Demarco—Salad Days

Mac Demarco is the worst dressed person in rock, a complete slob, but he doesn’t care so much that it becomes cool. It’s fascinating.

9. The Oh Sees—Drop

This really isn’t the best Oh Sees record at all, but it’s an Oh Sees record.

10. Wunder Wunder—Everything Infinite

I know zero, absolutely nothing, about this band, so that makes them an odd choice for me; I usually need to know if a band is full of losers or not. What’s more, they’re poppy in a way that embarrasses me more than a little. But there are just some fun tunes on here that still sound good to me months later which is like an eternity in pop so you have to give them credit.

Near Misses:

Panda Bear–Mr. Noah
Avey Tare–Slasher Flicks

In saying this, I may be risking my member’s access to the Secret Underground Lair on the Animal Collective forum, but the truth is that A.C. peaked in their live bootlegs from their tour just prior to releasing Merriweather Post Pavilion. So, sadly, we have to stop looking to Avey and Panda as emissaries from a strange future. And these records help establish this unfortunate truth.

Grouper–Ruins

To get her first couple of e.p.s, I had to send $10 in the mail to her house in Portland or some such rainy place and she sent them back in hand-decorated mailers. I still like her, but would like to hear these songs plugged-in rather than acoustic.

Mark Kozelek–Benji

Mark Kozelek peaked during a blizzard in 1995 when I was in Detroit and outside walking to this sweet little Italian restaurant at Woodward and 9 Mile with my girlfriend-now-wife. Stepping over drifts in the car-less night, I started thinking of his song “24” from Down Colorful Hill. That was his peak, that moment, and it was in my head. Sorry if you missed it.