Bike Test And Drop Bar Inquisition
A Loaded Proposition
When it comes to the legitimacy of drop bar mountain bikes, once we get past all the posturing and confirmation bias, skirt around the category blurrification (isn’t this just fatgravel? Chunkybikepacking? Tryhardering? And here you thought that gender fluidity in the 2020s was confusing…) the big question on everyone’s minds is this: Could Sasquatch do a wicked turndown on one?
In the case of Kona’s very odd new bike, the L.B.F, that answer is “probably.” There’s even video evidence. Watching Elliot Smith shred loam is always a treat, and here he shreds it to pieces aboard this new drop-bar oddity. This proves that the L.B.F absolutely can get tucked into a turndown, but it doesn’t really answer the question about whether it should. L.B.F in this case stands for “Legend of Big Fork”. This explains the vibe in the launch video, but it’s hard to call a 100mm travel fork “big” unless you are comparing it to what’s on tap over in the gravel scene. But this isn’t a gravel bike. Or is it?
Genre prevarication aside, this is a new bike from Kona. It sells for 3700 USD, 4000 EUR, or 4300 CAD depending where you are shopping. It is a hardtail, obvs. It is steel, TIG-welded into burly existence from Reynolds 520 cro-moly and featuring fully external cable routing, a bazillion braze-ons, adjustable rear dropouts and a whole mess of tire clearance. It’s got a 100mm travel SID fork. It is modestly spec’d with a special L.B.F-specific SRAM drivetrain composed of Apex and Eagle shifty bits as well as G2 brakes and 180mm rotors. It has drop bars; very, very wide ones.
Note that the spec sheet differs from these pics. I have been using this as my tire testing rig while in Baja, so the stock wheels have been supplanted with the Hunt Trail Wides that were reviewed a few weeks ago, and the tires with the Specialized Eliminator 2.6 rubber from that same review. Also, the stock SRAM Apex Eagle derailleur is sitting in a toolbox in Colorado while I log some hours on a Madrone Jab.
Parts Is Parts
In 2026, drop bar mountain bikes are being shot out of the New Bike Cannon at a surprising rate of fire, so Kona choosing to step into this arena is no real surprise. BUT, Kona being Kona, this one hits a bit differently. Let me elaborate. The current landscape for drop bar bikes with great big tires is a confusing one, but there are some common themes. On one side, you’ve got the overbuilt gravel rigs like the Salsa Fargo: tons of tire clearance, head angles slacker than current road trends, but steeper than modern mountain bikes, wheelbases similarly in-between, and reach numbers that are a solid 100mm shorter than what are found on contemporary off-road bikes. On the other side, there are sleek race weapons like Pivot’s new LES SL Drop bar, or the Pinarello Grevil MX. These have “sharp end of XC” geometry (meaning 68-69ish degree head angles and 470 or so mm of size L reach), and are basically XC bikes with drop bars fitted.
And then there’s this. The platypus of the off-road cycling world.
Kona did some homework here. This is a mountain bike – not a rebadged Unit or Sutra LTD – designed to handle and behave like a modern mountain bike, but a mountain bike with drop bars. This is a critical factor to take into account. What that means is 67-degree head angle, 75-degree seat angle, 430mm reach on our size L tester, a very generous 660mm of stack, chainstays that can be run between 440 and 456mm, and a corresponding 1160-1176mm wheelbase. These numbers are… different. Kona has never been shy about stirring things up, geometry-wise, and while the L.B.F is nowhere near as radical as the Honzo ESD or even the Honzo DL, it does feature a very unique, intentional set of numbers.
Splitting the line between modern XC and trail numbers, but with a shorter, taller front. And braze-ons. Lots and lots of braze-ons.
The Numbers Game
There is a method to this madness. In order to reach a drop-bar riding position that jives with modern trail riding radness aspirations, the front center needs to be shorter and taller than what is currently on tap with the riser bar set. Just slapping a set of drops onto an existing mountain bike might be great for chasing a big belt buckle at Leadville, but it is a recipe for super-sketch descending and strained neck muscles everywhere else. Unless you ride strictly on the tops, don’t shift or use the brakes, and can get your head around about 480mm of grabbable real estate. So what Kona did was design a front end around a honking big pair of drop bars, putting the riders hands in the drops in a relatable biomechanical stance, vis-à-vis the whole modern riding position gestalt. Then they built it on the stout side, with gobs of tire clearance, and added the external cable routing along with all the braze-ons you’ll ever need for fenders and racks and bottles as a nod to solid utilitarian sensibilities. The ethos, if I am reading this right, is somewhere between “bikepacking for people who like to catch air” and “the only bike you’ll need for season 3 of Fallout.”
But does it work? Sure, Sasquatch might be able to do a turndown on the L.B.F, but does he want to?
In my dreams I am taller and more talented…
The Sasquatch Litmus Test
Watching Elliot get rad on the L.B.F reminded me just how un-rad I am. Elliot has been driving this point home ever since he gapped over me at a Kona camp in Squamish back when he was about 15, but still. Sigh. Yes, the L.B.F can be shredded. But, back in the real world where not everyone is rad, give it to a numpty old burnout and send him off to ride sand washes in Mexico for three months and see how they get on.
As it was, we got along famously. There’s a lot to be said about bikes that are easy to ride, and the L.B.F falls right into that bucket. After the initial “drop bars are awesome/drop bars are stupid” mental contortions are faced and dispensed with, it’s just a solid, neutral handling, easy to ride, surprisingly capable bike.
When the terrain lacks radness, the L.B.F is still a mighty fine way to go exploring.
I could complain about how 31lbs is kinda porky for a hardtail, but I really only noticed that when trying to shove the bike uphill through thorny bushes. And heck, that 31 pounds feels solidly built. Willowy, lithe, springy – these are not words that can be used to describe how the L.B.F handles. Solid, planted, stable, sturdy, tough – these more accurately describe the state of things. It has a workingman’s soul.
Steampunk headbadge. I sense a market opportunity in copper danglemugs.
Legend of Big Fork has a better ring to it than Legend of More Travel Than Most Gravel Fork.
This dropout is pretty damn sweet. Not a single squeak or creak in three solid months. As far as every day being ride day, I let the team down by 50%.
Mondo tire clearance, thanks to this yoke.
Bento box mount, two bottle mounts on downtube (one with three nubs for bomber or manything cages), external cable routing braze-ons also double as possible frame bag mounts.
Fenders? Sure! Racks? Yep! Both? Hell to the yes!
I could wish the wheelbase was longer, since I am now used to longer wheelbases, but the L.B.F was so much fun to snake around in tight switchbacks, easily snapping turns with room to spare where I was otherwise trying to pivot the rear or else push the front super wide on corner entry, that I kind of forgot about that. I could argue that, on paper anyway, the chainstays look a little long. But I didn’t really notice that either, and found the L.B.F to be a supremely tractable climber everywhere.
If radness had a shadow, some kind of yin to its yang, a cosmic anti-rad counterbalance, it would be riding in desert arroyos. But here, grinding through the relentless rock and sand puzzles, is where the L.B.F makes an especially masochistic sense. Nothing really to go wrong, massive water storage potential, room for enormous tires, and nice wide handlebars to drape oneself over and have a good cry when it all turns to shit.
Turning to the elephant in the room, I could get deep in the weeds about how drop bars aren’t legit on mountain bikes and that you don’t see rise bars on road bikes and that all this boundary smudging is ruining the sport, but I don’t believe any of that. I found myself – often – being thankful for hand position options after bushwhacking my way back onto a paved road and facing several kilometres of late afternoon convection oven headwind to get home. I also found myself at times feeling some good old-fashioned Shermer’s Neck at the bottom of long descents, and I still cannot really ever feel comfortable riding anything techy on the hoods, but I regularly surprised myself discovering how much I could get away with in the drops. I did not get any better at wheelies or jumps, but I really don’t think the handlebars have anything to do with that. The riding position is great, the handling is fun, the overall demeanour is calm and neutral, and the L.B.F strikes a sweet balance between old school agility and modern stability.
What It Is/Isn’t
At the end of three months, I am no more convinced that mountain bikes need drop bars than I was before I slung a leg over the L.B.F. But I am much less inclined to say drops don’t have a place in mountain biking. This all ties in with a solid quarter year of hand wringing about just what, exactly, this bike is supposed to be, and who it is supposed to be for. Maybe it’s easier to color in what it is not.
It’s not an XC bike. It’s too heavy, not sharp or snappy enough.
It’s not a hardcore hardtail shredder (compared to the Honzo ESD). There’s not enough wheelbase and the front-center isn’t long enough, and those drop bars won’t be fun on turndowns for anyone but Sasquatch or Elliot Smith (have you seen his hands?).
Give this photo some time. Pay particular attention to Elliot’s left hand. Bear in mind his wrist to fingertip length is probably longer than most of our forearms. Skill aside, most humans are not biomechanically capable of this.
It’s not a gravel bike. Not a fast one, anyway. Those tires are big and slow, and settling into those super-wide Ritchey drop bars is about as aerodynamically friendly as a parachute behind a dragster. Buuuut, if you are one of those gravel riders who really wishes your gravel bike actually handled off-road because you spend way too much time rattling down janky and loose trails, you might want to check the L.B.F out. Because, just like most other mountain bikes, it absolutely smokes any gravel bike I have ever ridden when the going gets rough.
It would make an awesome touring bike. Especially if your tours take you well beyond dirt roads, out past the smooth green and blue trails, into the chunky alpine yonder.
It’s a mountain bike. A good one. With drop bars. The question isn’t so much about whether drop bars make sense on mountain bikes, but about how you choose to define mountain biking. As it is, the L.B.F is a great bike for stretching the idea of mountain biking out beyond the built-trail experience, for exploring well off the beaten path, for getting spicy when the need arises, and for packing up and heading into season three of Fallout.