Surly Pug Ops - Fatbike Review

So it's been a while since I posted properly, and a few things have developed since then. Firstly, I am now the proud owner of a Surly Pug Ops fatbike (more on this in a moment), secondly we have booked the flights, and thirdly we now have 3 possible route options which (we hope) will allow for poor conditions, more volcanoes going 'pop' and generally varying levels of fitness.

So, to the bike...

There are a few fatbikes on the market at the moment, and the options are continually increasing as more and more manufacturers see fatbikes as either a profitable bandwagon to jump on, or a legitimate new type of bike for the future. The jury is still out on whether they're a passing fad, as most people aren't really going to be crossing deserted islands or riding in snow and sand. But for those who are, fatbikes are a sensible option. Okay, they may look like the lovechild of a monster truck and a mountain bike, but all of that tyre width provides masses of area to distribute the weight of the bike, and so provide grip and prevent sinking into the soft stuff.

Of the many brands making fatbikes, the likes of Surly and Salsa stand out. Not least because they've been at the forefront of fatbike development since it's inception, but also because they tend to lean towards the rugged trekking/bikepacking end of the spectrum. Whereas more mainstream manufacturers (Specialized, Trek etc) are currently making trail bikes with massive tyres. With over 500km of riding to do, and carrying all of our own kit for 10 days in the wilderness, I care more about rugged reliability than how the thing goes around bermed corners at my local trail centre.

So after an extended period of research, and asking advice from people in the know, I opted for the Surly Pug Ops. It's steel, has mechanical disc brakes, doesn't have the very fattest tyres (3.8" not 4.8") and isn't at all lightweight. What it is, from the minute you look at it, is tough. Really really tough. This is the Grant Mitchell, the Vinnie Jones, the Giant Haystacks of the biking world. It aint going to win any beauty awards, but it sure as hell isn't going to cry if you use bad language at it either.

Obviously I feel madly in love with the Pug the moment I clapped eyes on it, how could you not? But I did have a major reservation; was it going to be really heavy to ride? Was getting those monstrous tyres up to speed going to be too much hard work? After years of painstakingly skimming weight from my other bikes, I looked at the Pug and was expecting pain. Thankfully, it turns out I was completely wrong. Okay, so it's not as nimble as my road bike, or sprightly my XC bike, but it's by no means a slouch, and once up to speed the beastie rolls along beautifully. What's more, the ride is accompanied by a very satisfying rumbling from those gargantuan tyres.

Offroad the Pug is exceptional. What seems like an impossibly small granny ring (22t) paired with 36t rear is the kind of thing which turns the wheel so slowly it initially looks pointless. But the grip on the Pug is so astonishing you find that you can pop it into the lowest gear, and bimble up just about any incline, no matter how muddy or loose. The only barrier to the most insane angles is your sense of balance. In Iceland, loaded up with kit, this is the kind of thing which may separate me from success, and collapsing into a ditch wheezing like a chain-smoker running the Marathon de Sables.

All of that said, the Pug is still a heavy bike. So I need to get stronger to ride it. To do this, I've elected to ride only the Pug between now and the trip to Iceland in July. That means commuting 35km per day through Bristol on it. And this brings me to another point; the reaction the bike brings out in other people. Fatbikes are still sufficiently rare in Bristol that I've yet to see another one. So when you rumble past another commuter you tend to raise a reaction, and 99 times out of a hundred that reaction is positive (or at the very least bewildered). People want to know what it's like to ride, they point and smile, or shout encouragement as I slowly crawl up yet another hill on my way to work. When I stop at the lights, car drivers actually grin at me and say nice things... yeah, I know? Car drivers?! Even my wife wanted to try it, and she tends to view my bike obsession as only marginally preferable to having an affair.

In short, the Pug is an absolute blast to ride and I cannot wait to take it to Iceland for the big challenge. In the meantime, if you see me riding through Bristol (you'll hear me coming before you see me) feel free to beep your horn and/or wave. Everyone else does!

Charity!

I've banged on about this in an earlier blog entry, but I have at last set up my just giving webpage.

So, should you feel inclined, you can help someone who needs help, while chuckling with schadenfreude at my exploits!

Cheers,

Tom

All Change (Again)

When this trip was just another of my weird ideas designed to ward off a mid-life crisis, I offered it up to a few close friends who I know are into mountain biking. As expected, there was a lot of enthusiasm immediately tempered by (perfectly reasonable) realities. It was the usual things most of us are frequently impeded by; kids, money, time off etc. In the end, the only person who could make it work was John. It helped that he doesn't have kids and isn't married (yet). John's only caveat was that he was having a back op and needed time to recover. For my part, I have a ridiculously understanding wife, and I work for a company who allow unpaid leave.

So we excitedly plotted and schemed and came up with the bones of a route. It looked bloody hard, but just about achievable. As you'll know if you've read the rest of the blog, the route took shape and we started looking for sponsors (with a modicum of success). At the same time we brought in Jim to make it a three (or two if John didn't recover sufficiently). It all looked brilliant.

Then we learned about Holurhaun volcano and it's shifting clouds of toxic gas, and it seemed that all of our planning was for nothing. So, we sat back for a little while and we waited.

Irritatingly Holuhraun continued to erupt, and most experts predicted the volcano would continue for months to come. So rather than give up entirely, we found another route. Not quite as difficult, not quite as long, and lacking the same boasting rights, but also not through a huge cloud of deadly poisonous gas. We also decided that the new route didn't need costly fatbikes (making a mockery of the title to this blog). So we adjusted our expectations accordingly, reduced the annual leave requests, re-assessed the finances and accepted the reduced trip. It was still going to be awesome.

Having made all of the concessions and rearranged everything. we now find that Holuhraun has just stopped erupting. In addition, and much more importantly, John isn't getting any better, and so has (for the time being) stepped away from the trip. The former is annoying, but potentially good news; the latter is very bad news indeed.

Really, it's this sort of wild fluctuation in luck which led the Greeks to dream up their impressive collection of Gods and Fates. It must be malevolent interfering Gods; that's the only plausible explanation for this kind of see-sawing madness. Somewhere on high, there are a bunch of toga wearing bearded chaps, giggling away to each other and guffawing about what they can do next to these stupid humans which might be a bit of a laugh. Bastards.

So I've had enough of trying to second guess volcanos, bearded omni-present mythical deities and the recovery times for bizarre injuries. It's impossible, and impossibly frustrating.

Instead, Jim and I are just going to book the flights and wing it. If we cross Iceland via either of the proposed routes, then great. If it's on fatbikes then that's also great. If another volcano goes off, then that's okay, we'll just find another route. One way or another this is going to happen. It's two-fingers up to Zeus and his pals.

Finally, if you're reading this and planning your own trip, I'll offer only one piece of advice: Remain, at all times, completely flexible and amenable to change. Plan too rigidly, and you've had it.

Good News!

Yes that's right... Good News!

Like a particularly well handled yo-yo, or a man with serious bi-polar issues, first we're up, then we're down, and now we're half way up again... Hang on a minute; that was the Grand Old Duke of York wasn't it?

Where was I?

Right, yes.

Good News Everyone! Having taken the advice of a commenter to my previous post "Bad News" (see how these titles work? Clever huh?) we've been eyeballing the maps of Iceland, and it's possible, just possible, that there is a route which does near enough what we want it to. It's not quite so grand as Plan A; lacking the "furthest", "first"* and "stupidest" superlatives, but when you've been thwarted by a volcano, I think it's okay to allow a little slack.

Speaking of The Volcano, it seems the Holurhaun eruption is slowing down somewhat. The area we want to cross is still out of bounds, but the exclusion zone has been reduced and the SO2 emissions are also down. So, while we still can't cross the Spregasundur safely it's good to think that the new route is in less danger of being knocked on the head too. And you never know, the eruption might still end by July.

So the new route looks like it'll start in Akureyri, pass between Langjökull and Hofsjökull on the F35, before veering wildly to the East and joining up with Plan A and heading off to Kötlutangi. It's a rough plan at present, but it's still a north coast to south coast off-road crossing, and that's good enough! 

Now... does this mean I still "need" a Fatbike? 

* It probably wasn't ever going to be a true first. But until Google proves me otherwise, I'll hang onto that very very faint hope!

Bad News

Well, it would seem our trip is going to have to be shelved for the time being. And it may not happen for quite a while.

We have been thwarted, before we even set out, by a volcano. Of all the things to be thwarted by, this at least seems reasonable. But that doesn't stop it from being just a little bit heartbreaking. We've spent so much time and effort researching, planning and excitedly telling anyone who'd listen; to have to postpone is very very sad.

But, who are we to argue with a volcano?

I guess we could have worked this out before now. After all, Holuhraun has been kicking off for over 4 months. But while we knew about the exclusion zone for flooding and lava, it's taken quite a while to learn about the exclusion zone for gas (principally SO2). And even once we'd found that out, it wasn't until late last week that we learned the general guidance suggests going near this thing for extended periods is a bad idea.

Since then we've contacted the Professor for Volcanology at the University of Bristol who offered us the following, fairly sobering, advice:

"...volcanic gases ARE hazardous, as they contain both respirable particulates and high acidity (including HF, HCl and H2SO4). As you know, the gases travel with the wind, and therefore it is not possible to choose a route that will not be impacted. If the eruption is still continuing in July, I could not in good conscience advise you to travel in the highlands near the eruption site..."

We have also encountered the Icelandic Meteo site, which forecasts gas emissions. It's very clear from their website that emission concentrations vary wildly and are pretty unpredictable. But there is a broad pattern, and that pattern seems to suggest we'd be spending a good deal of time cycling into ever increasing concentrations of SO2, until such time as we died (possibly). Plus, given the variance in concentrations on an hour by hour basis, we might go to sleep okay, but wake up in danger. And where we're going there's no quick getaway.

One of their more cheery maps is shown below. Anything orange or above is a potential risk to health. Red or above has a safe exposure of 15mins, less if you're doing anything which requires breathing heavily (like riding a 40kg bike up a hill).  As you can see, we'd be spending about 4-5 days exposed to fairly high concentrations of SO2.

And if we survive that (with only short term health impacts), you don't want to be in the wrong place when it turns into this (these images are 4 hrs apart):

Anything in purple is described as "Very Unhealthy - Everyone may experience severe respiratory symptoms". Nice.

So, like Brave Sir Robin, we've chickened out. And unless Holuhraun stops erupting before May/June, then I'd say this trip probably isn't going ahead in 2015, and that makes me pretty unhappy.

Route Planning and Things - PLUS; we need your help!

Well, it's 2015, Happy New Year! 

Interestingly, in China this is the Year of the Fatbike, no really. It's also the year John and I hope to cycle unsupported North to South across Iceland from Rifstangi to Kötlutangi. 

In my last blog entry I mentioned Dick Phillips and his invaluable help. Well, thanks to the maps he provided and his brilliant knowledge, we've discovered that there are rarely used trails which we can (hopefully) follow, making the plan slightly more achievable. This is good, as the entire first two days will be spent trying to cross 100km of bog, with no official tracks and a high likelihood of getting profoundly lost! 

Of course after that it's a doddle; just another 120km over lava fields and mountains should get us to the crossing of jökulsá á fjöllum. From there it's merely another hundred klicks before crossing the notorious Sprengisandur plateaux, before a quick (about 100km coincidentally) loop around Porisvatn and then the final 100km to Kötlutangi.

Easy peasy lemon squeezy? Or difficult difficult, lemon difficult?

As we get into planning in more detail, we're having to revise our visionary goal a little. So while we still intend to be "unsupported", that doesn't preclude dropping into a filling station for something vaguely fresh as we cross Route 1 and head into the highlands. Equally "offroad" means definitely no metalled roads (ie no tarmac), and wherever possible off vehicle routes. However there will invariably be pinch points at fords, in the Sprengisandur and as we head between the lakes around Porisvatn. So whether we like it or not (unless we break the law) we're going to end up on gravel tracks from time to time. 

Beyond that we're at a bit of a lull. John is waiting for his back to improve so he can get back on his bike, and I'm waiting for John. Then we can get our Fatbikes (which incidentally are highly likely to be Surly Moonlanders). Since all of this is an elaborate wheeze to convince my wife into letting me have just one more bike in the house, I'm feeling mighty impatient! 

In the meantime, I mentioned needing your help. John wants to name our trip, all of my ideas are bad, crude or crude and bad. Any help? 

Cheers, Tom

Dick "Icelandick" Phillips

In an earlier blog post I mentioned a man by the name of Dick Phillips (of the Rough Stuff Fellowship), who in 1959 crossed the Sprengisandur by bike. He and his three colleagues travelled from Stokkseyri to Akureyri.

Thanks to Al Humphries, I managed to get in touch with Dick Phillips and spent a highly entertaining hour talking about his experiences and what we're planning. Dick has spent the past 50+ years organising and running guided tours of Iceland, often to some of the wilder and more remote spots. Between times he's been a font of knowledge for people like me.

Through Dick I've learned about what our proposed route might actually entail. He described the landscape, his own experience of crossing the interior (river fording using shoelaces tied together) and Horace Dell's exploits.

Brilliantly, Dick has amassed a large selection of now out of print maps. Some of these show old routes used by horse-traders and sheep-herders which probably haven't been used by more than the odd person for decades, if not longer. Apparently some of them date back to their use in the 1890's, when the East-Fjords were better populated and the routes linked farms and homes (now all abandoned).

Dick was delighted that we were attempting our route, and even more so that we were shunning the roads and well-trodden trails. However he did suggest that these disused routes might be a good basis for our own path. Apparently they follow the natural lie of the land, they needed to be accessible by horse (so are probably okay for bikes) and they are likely to have cairns in some places. I briefly thought about complaining that this defeated the spirit of being off-road. But decided that this man's experience was considerably more valuable than my pride!

I wont bore you with much of the rest of the conversation, except to say that we both share a love of cartography, in particular of geological mapping. Yes-yes-yes. I'm a geologist. Get over it.

It's also worth noting that Dick sells his maps for about £7 a pop. Which is something like £20 less than Stanfords. He sells them for "the price they should be", with little consideration to maximum profit. So not only is he a fascinating man, but also one who is generous with his time and encouragement. I'm looking forward to speaking to him again once I have the maps spread out in front of me.