Drop Bar Hand Positions: an Introduction

Riding a roadbike does not come naturally to everyone, and one particular source of frustration is the drop handlebars. I was frustrated by them too when I first started, and so I hope this illustrated introduction might be of some help. To preface, a couple of things to keep in mind: First, drop bars vary in shape. This post assumes that your bike is fitted with theflat ramp style of bars prevalent today - either the compact type found on most stock road/racing bikes, or the more classic style popular with the twine and shellack crowd (i.e. the Nitto Noodle, Grand Bois Maes, Velo Orange Course). I am also assuming that you are using contemporary"aero" style brake levers, with the brake cables hidden.Note that if you are dealing with a 1970s-80s roadbike (i.e. something like this), the shape of the original handlebars and brake levers will make some of the positions described here impossible. Not everyone agrees on which hand positions are best to use at which times, or even on what the positions are called. This write-up reflects my non-expert personal experiences, informed by local mentours.



Whether you are racing, touring or going on a leisurely ride, what makes drop handlebars special is the variety of hand positions they offer. I consider there to be 5 distinct positions available: The hoods, the hooks, the drops, the tops, and the ramps. Read on for a description of each.






1. The Hoods

The "hoods" position refers to keeping your hands on top of the rubbery brake hoods, wrapped around them firmly. I think it is fair to say that today this is widely considered to be the standard, neutral position for riding with drop bars.When done correctly, it is extremely ergonomic, distributes the cyclist's weight nicely, and affords optimal leverage for cycling at different speeds. It is also a position from which the brake levers are easily accessible. Some cyclists report that the hoods make them lean forward too much. If this is the case, consider changing your handlebar setup - perhaps raising the bars, getting a shorter stem, or getting compact handlebars (with less distance between stem and hoods). On a properly fitted bike the hoods should feel easy and natural to reach.





There is a number of ways to hold your hands on the hoods, and this is how I usually do it. The main thing is to actually grip them and not just rest you hands upon them.






There are also different ways to brake from the hoods, and this is how I prefer to do it. Squeezing the brake lever with only two fingers while leaving the rest wrapped around the bars/hoods themselves ensures that my hands won't fly off the handlebars if I go over a bump.




For those accustomed to upright handlebars, the hoods position on a drop bar bike can feel awkward and disconcerting at first and can require some practice to use comfortably. It took me a couple of weeks before I really "got" the hoods, but once I did it's been true love. It's the position I use the most no matter what kind of riding I do. And if you are planning to take part in formal paceline training rides, chances are they will expect you to use the hoods as the standard position - and may even insist that you do so.






2. The Hooks

While often the position shown here is referred to as the "drops," there are actually two distinct drops positions. To differentiate between them, this one is more specifically known as "the hooks." It involves holding on to the parts of the bars that curve outward, with the cyclist's hands directly behind the brake levers. It is a more aggressive and aerodynamic position that the hoods, which makes it especially useful when cycling downhill and attempting to fight wind/air resistance.






The brake levers should be easily reachable from the hooks position. Braking in this manner is more powerful than from the hoods, because it affords greater leverage. It is important to be aware of this, so as not to accidentally slam the brakes when riding at high speeds.





3. The Drops


To differentiate from the hooks, this is what I will call the "true drops" position. To what extent the two positions are distinct really depends on the style of handlebars used. On some types of contemporary drop bars, the curvature here is so dramatic that the positions are very different - the true drops being parallel to the ground and the hooks perpendicular. On other drop bars the curve is less defined and it's hard to tell where the hooks end and the drops begin. Either way, the crucial distinction for me is that you can reach the brakes from the hooks, but not from this lower section of the drops.




Both the hooks and the lower drops positions are quite aggressive, and for beginners the crouching posture they put you in can feel scary. While at this stage I am more or less fine riding in these positions, even now I am still not as confident as I could be. Riding downhill in close proximity to others, I sometimes chicken out and stay on the hoods, simply bending my elbows a whole lot to get myself low enough over the bars. In a pinch, that tactic will do - but mastering the hooks and drops is ultimately worth it and I continue to work on it.







4. The Tops

And now, the dreaded tops of the bars... My personal opinion is that the "tops" are bad news for beginners and are to be avoided until after you pick up some road cycling skills. Let me explain: Beginners who cannot use drop bars properly tend to hold their hands on the tops, because this reminds them of mountain bike handlebars and allows them to stay more upright than any of the other positions do. It feels safer. However, this is deeply problematic. First, you cannot reach the brakes from the tops. And if you are too scared to use the other positions, will you really be able to brake quickly and effectively when the situation calls for it? Probably not. Furthermore, drop bars are narrower than mountain bike handlebars, and holding the tops places the rider's hands too close to the stem - not the best position for controlling the bike. Nearly every time I see a beginner on a roadbike lose control of their bicycle, they are holding the tops.






That said, the tops do have their function. Some find this position helpful for climbing, as it opens up the chest and facilitates deep breathing. Also, when doing a long ride it's great to simply have it as yet another position for your restless hands. Personally, I almost never use the tops even in these circumstances, because my hands are uncomfortable. But not everyone has this issue.






5. The Ramps

Finally, there is the rather difficult-to-photograph position called the "ramps," and I have also heard it referred to as the "shoulders." Located between the hoods and the tops, it involves holding the corners of the top portion of the handlebars. In this position the rider is more upright than on the hoods, while maintaining more control of the bike and a more ergonomic wrist position than they would on the tops. I hold my hands in this manner mostly on long rides, for short stretches at a time, when I want to do something different or be more upright for a bit.






All these new positions can certainly be overwhelming. As far as a starting point, I suggest learning to use the hoods well first, then transitioning to learning the hooks/drops. If the pictures here are not enough to help you understand the positions and the braking, ask an experienced cyclist to show you in person and imitate them. I did this some time ago, and it was more helpful than any online tutorial I could have read.And for those riding vintage bikes with handlebars like these and having trouble using them, consider updating the bar setup. You cannot use the hoods with that style of handlebars and levers, and I wish someone told me that when I first struggled with vintage roadbikes 3 years ago.




While drop handlebars are easy and intuitive for some, for others it takes practice to get comfortable with the different positions. My suggestion is to not be intimidated and just keep practicing. If you ask me, it's worth it.

Autumn Climbing

A small break of warm and clear weather, after the major storm cycle, let multiple teams summit early this week. A climbing ranger climbed on Saturday morning and reported 'great-for the end of the season-conditions' on the DC. Climbing rangers at Camp Schurman had a similar report about the Emmons/Winthrop route.

End of season operations are underway. Helicopter flights for refilling propane tanks and human waste removal occurred last week over the mountain. Stairs to the half-doors on the public shelter are being put in place and the solar dehydrating toilets at Camp Muir will be closed. The larger ADA compliant vault toilet with a half-door will be opened at Camp Muir for use during the winter.

Be sure to double check registration requirements for the dates of your climb. The transition from summer registration regulations to winter registration regulations has begun. See the regs. link to the right for more info.

Icicle River Gorge Trail ..

Jennifer and I finally got away for a little camping/hiking trip. We drove out to Leavenworth to camp with Matt and his brother Sunday night, and it turned out they had a similar plan for Monday. As Matt put it, "Drive to the end of the road and start walking." I was not aware that Icicle Road was still not fixed, so we headed onward. About five miles from Eight Mile Campground we were met with the road closure.

The road now a river

There was a newer road cut away from the river, but the forest service is not allowing public access by motorized vehicles at this time, so we parked and started walking. The new road is not yet ready for heavy vehicle access and is even susceptable to some flooding early on, where a small bit of rocks and mud is the only thing keeping the river out. It also showed plenty of signs of beavers, which might interfere with the road as well. We hiked on this a bit before it rejoined Icicle Road above the washout. We investigated the upriver side of the washout before proceeding up the road.

The work of beavers

After a while we came to the Chatter Creek trail head. After checking out the board there, (A trail conditions report from August '08 was on it.) we parted ways. Matt and his brother were heading back to Seattle via Washington Pass and Jennifer and I forged on ahead. Just around the corner we found the Chatter Creek Ranger Station. It looked like it was in a state of disrepair, but not too bad considering it has not been used in two years. Just across the road was the start of the Icicle River Gorge Trail. We decided to take it.

Unfortunately, the most dramatic point on the trail is the start where you cross the footbridge over the creek.

View from the bridge

There was some serious whitewater and interesting eroded rock in the constriction under the bridge. We watched a bit before heading up the trail. The trail climbs a short bit to a lookout area above the creek before dropping back down into an area that is more like a Western Washington forest. The ponderosa pines were replaced by western red cedars and the ground cover changed. We started seeing plenty of blooming (and past bloom) trilliums. We hiked on crossing several small bridges and hiking for what seemed like a while. The trail has not been maintained in a few years, but did not have too many logs across it.

Largest trillium I have ever seen

We had started this trip sans packs, and started thinking about getting back as this was a little more than we were thinking about when we left the car. But the trail was nice and we were having a good time. Despite dark clouds in places, we did not get any precipitation while we were out either.

We decided to continue up trail as we expected to be reaching the bridge back across the creek soon. It took longer than we expected, and once we got to a bridge we still appeared to be heading upstream. I quickly ran ahead to make sure we were going the correct way and I was able to see the vehicle bridge at the Rock Island Campground. We were going the correct way. At the campground I checked to see if the water fountains were working, but of course they were not. Since Jennifer and I had not packs, we did not carry any essentials with us including water.

We got back on the trail and headed back toward the car. The trail went quicker on this side of the creek and once again we were in a cedar forest.

Needle carpeted trail

The rest of the hike out was uneventful except for us missing the new road back before locating it. This was a fun hike, and surprisingly populated for a Monday. (We saw two other parties.) Considering the road is closed, it takes a bit of hiking just to get back in there. You could take a mountain bike on the road, but they are not allowed on the trails due to it being a wilderness area. I'd like to explore this area further in the future. It was also nice to get out without a pack on and just go for a walk. Of course, it would have been nice to have some food and water with us, but we survived.

The Forest Service page on the washout

Danny Boy

When we moved to the US in the early '90s, I promptly started junior high school in a small New England town. The first thing I remember about walking into the classroom, was the shock of green cardboard shamrocks strung up all over the walls and a large banner declaring "Erin Go Bragh." (That's not how you spell it, a friend from Cork would later wrinkle her nose. But never mind.) Our teacher was fiercely Irish, as were at least half of the students. Second or third generation mainly, and, truth be told, most of them ethnically mixed. But Irish identities had a way of dominating in those days - when the economic boom had not yet hit the Emerald Isle, when South Boston still had romantic notoriety, and when House of Pain's Jump Around played several times a day on MTV.Most chose to express this identity through visual iconology: shamrocks, leprechauns, bright kelly green, friendship rings, and abundant use of faux-celtic fonts. But soon fate brought the opportunity to also express it musically.



In those days, our school had a rather famousa cappellachoir, led by our passionate and popular music teacher, Mr. McKenna. It wasn't just anyone who could join this elite group. There were limited spots. The annual tryouts involved weeks of preparation from hopefuls and bitter tears from those who did not make it. But those of us who made it... my goodness, we felt special. In the mornings, we went to choir practice instead of home room.We wore beautiful uniforms.We stood side by side, in a tight formation on metal risers. Labeled a strong Soprano, I still remember my place: 3rd row, 5th from the right. Our choir recorded albums. Our choir preformed in competitions and won. Once a year we even travelled to compete in the national finals, inevitably returning with medals.



We were one of the best, Mr. McKenna would tell us, again and again, beaming at our fresh-scrubbed teenage faces, our teary eyes and our chapped lips from hours of singing. And we were one of the best because we worked at it. Because we rehearsed until each piece was perfect. And if it wasn't perfect (his face would turn serious now, almost stormy), we did not perform it. Not at a local Christmas concert, and certainly not at competition. Was that understood by each and every one of us? It was.



The national finals happened in May. Competing choirs would select their performance pieces in September, then spend the entire school year rehearsing them. The year I entered the 8th grade, Mr. McKenna gathered us to announce the competition selection with an air of festivity: For our main piece, we would be singing Danny Boy. As he distributed the sheet music, it was clear that the piece was very, very dear to him.



With tears in his eyes, Mr. McKenna talked about Ireland. How beautiful it was and how special his visit there with his wife and children had been - a place where his great grandfather had once lived and farmed.Later, as we struggled with the song, he talked about visualising the glens and imagining Danny Boy's plight. We tried our best, although most of us did not know what glens were exactly.



It was a beautiful, but complicated piece. Or maybe the arrangement Mr. McKenna had chosen was complicated, his judgment clouded by a reverence for the song's Irishness. Overly nuanced harmonies, notes held too long for our young lungs, sharp transitions from low notes to high. We were a good choir, but we were amateurs. We were a motivated bunch of kids, but we only had so much energy to give, after our classes and homework and turbulent teenage love-lives.



In fairness, we were doing fine with Danny Boy. We were getting there. But for Mr. McKenna's liking, we were not getting there fast enough. So he panicked, and he pushed us. With passionate pep talks and hours of extra rehearsals, he pushed and he pushed. He pushed until the melody of Danny Boy began to sound like nails against a chalkboard to our ears. He pushed until the lyrics lost all meaning and each repetition felt like a seizure-induced loop. He pushed until, instead of inspiring a breakthrough, Mr. McKenna broke our spirits.



Having come down with the flu, I did not join the choir in that year's finals. I did not witness the mass hysteria and weeping after, for the first time in its 12 year history, our choir failed to earn a medal at the competition. I only saw my peers' dejected faces when they returned home empty handed. I only saw the careless wrinkles in their uniforms at our next local performance and the way they slouched on the risers, with Mr. McKenna not bothering to chide us for either transgression.



We never talked about it. But deep down we all connected our choir's fall from grace with this attempt at a perfect rendition of Danny Boy. The piece was simply too personal, too precious for Mr. McKenna; he gave in to the rawness of his emotions and lost perspective. The following year, when I was already in high school, we heard that Mr. McKenna stepped down as music teacher and moved away. We were told he had health problems, and there were whispers of a nervous breakdown. It was not until years later that we learned he divorced his wife of 30 years and married one of his former students (by then a high school graduate, aged 19), which prompted parents to call for his resignation.



I have not thought about any of this in years. But I think about it now, in the mornings, as I lock up my bike in the town center of Limavady, Northern Ireland. There is a contemporary sculpture next to the cafe where I like to work. It is vaguely glen-shaped, in an abstract sort of way, and engraved with the lyrics to Danny Boy. Across the street is the colourful Corner Bar, its walls painted with murals containing more references to the song. And a helpful inscription explains the connection: "It was in Limavady that the famous melody 'Danny Boy' was noted down by Jane Ross from a tune played by a blind street fiddler named Jimmy McCurry." The original name of the melody was actually Londonderry Air, written byEnglishman Frederic Weatherly. But never mind. It's been 20 years since I sang Danny Boy and I still remember the lyrics.

Sunset in Idaho

Two hours after leaving Elko, Nevada I turned off of the Interstate onto US 93, which goes north into Idaho. Construction delays made the drive longer than it normally would have taken, but it was through some interesting scenery. In Twin Falls, I connected with the Interstate again, this time I-86 to Pocatello and then I-15 to Idaho Falls where I decided to take US 26 to the small town of Ririe, Idaho. There I found a nice campground on the north end of the Ririe Reservoir, another river that has been dammed up.

I couldn't hardly believe my good fortune – two beautiful sunsets in as many days! The light sensor of the digital camera can't quite handle the variances in brightness of the sun and the area surrounding it, hence the “halo” effect, which in this case I rather like.

Wild Things

Their hard to see 'cause the little critters don't let me get close to them. Photos were taken through the window. First one is of a Harris Ground Squirrelflattened out on the ground in the shade trying to stay cool in our heat. Second is of one by a pot of flowers. Theselookkind of like a very pale colored chipmunk like is found in the mountains.











A scaled quail coming in for water.




An English house sparrow.











This roadrunner has been coming in ever day at about 2pm. Here he drank, jumped on post and across to another where you can only see his tail. We have had lots of rabbits, and some large rock squirrels, as well as coyotes, and lots of other birds. An owl calls every evening and part of the night.

Black Bear crossing the Pigeon River

I caught this guy swimming across the river just upstream from the mouth today while kayaking on the river. This was the third time I've seen a bear swimming across the river!