Fat-tire bikes let you plow through the snow

BRECKENRIDGE, Colo. — It looks like the Humvee of bicycles. The burly two-wheeler boasts a broad front fork, hydraulic disc brakes and wide, knobby tires that could tackle a trail with the ferocity of SEAL Team Six. It weighs a hefty 30 pounds and comes painted stealth black. My mission is to pedal this up a snow-packed pathway in the Colorado backcountry outside Breckenridge.

“They’re called fat bikes,” explains Sydney Fox, who with her boyfriend, Nick Truitt, own Breck Bike Guides. “These are fairly new to Colorado, but the Midwest and Alaska have had them for years. The big tires let you float on the snow.”

Fat biking began around a quarter-century ago in two geographically diverse regions: Alaska and New Mexico. Wide tires allowed winter trail riding up north, and desert dune and arroyo riding down south. Hard-core adventurers have since used them to pedal across the Sahara and traverse Antarctica to the South Pole. Fox promises my ride will be far less daunting.

We head down the street and turn up French Gulch Road. Pedaling on the pavement, two interesting characteristics of fat-bike riding become immediately apparent.

First is the steering. With so much rubber in contact with the road, turning seems sluggish. It’s the bicycling equivalent of trying to maneuver my grandfather’s old Chrysler land yacht.

Fox assures me it gets better on snow.

“You won’t feel like the tire is sucking the ground when you turn. On the snow, it’s more like a typical mountain bike.”

Then there’s the vibration. A 5-inch-wide patch of knobs hitting the pavement causes the tires to hum and the bicycle’s seat to vibrate. I feel like I’m riding a two-wheeler version of Magic Fingers.

Unlike summer mountain bikes, our fat bikes lack front derailleurs. Only the rear gears change. Fortunately, with its tiny chain ring up front and a 10-speed sprocket cluster in back, my bike’s geared low enough that I have no trouble pedaling the uphill portions of the roadway.

A few minutes from town, we turn into a trailhead parking lot devoid of cars.

“We’re lucky in Breck,” Fox says. “We have trails that snake all the way up the mountainside, and we have a huge proliferation of them. We can ride single track up and single track back down and never be on the same trail.”

Fortunately, it hasn’t snowed for a week and the pathway’s surface is nicely packed. Powder might be good for skiing, but hit loose, deep snow with a bike and forward progress can come to an abrupt, head-over-handlebars halt.

“Make sure you keep spinning smoothly and consistently,” Fox says. “Try to be as light on the pedals as possible. If your rear tire spins out or you get stuck in a rut, step off and walk up or find a little flat spot to start going again. Sometimes you’ll get off to the side and both tires will just sink. That’s the fun of it.”

We pedal off into the great white beyond. Now free of the pavement, it feels like an icy version of summer mountain biking, but without the rocks. The biggest problem I encounter is that when I pedal uphill in the lowest of low gears, I’m barely going fast enough to stay balanced.

Turns in the trail are well-marked, and we soon enter the forest. We continue over hill and dale, finally stopping near the remains of the Reiling Gold Dredge, a wooden relic from the area’s mineral-rich past.

Fox explains that many bike trails follow trenches dug during the area’s mining heyday.

We turn around and pedal back down to the parking lot. A few cars are parked here now, with other fat-bikers getting ready to head out. We turn back onto the main road and with knobby tires buzzing against the pavement, race back to town. Magic Fingers never felt so good.

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