Dive deep into the philosophy and legacy of a cycling visionary in this exclusive interview.
Grant Petersen is a name synonymous with a distinctive approach to cycling. Long before terms like “bike packing” became mainstream, and even before the resurgence of classic cycling aesthetics, Petersen was championing a different path. First through Bridgestone USA, and since 1994 with Rivendell Bicycle Works, often referred to by enthusiasts as the go-to “Rivendell Bike Shop”, he has advocated for bicycles that prioritize rider enjoyment, everyday practicality, and enduring quality over fleeting trends and technological gimmicks.
In an era where many mainstream bikes are complex and often disposable, Rivendell’s commitment to robust steel frames and straightforward design—principles outlined in Petersen’s influential 2012 book, Just Ride—positions them as true innovators. This philosophy has not only gained a dedicated following but has also subtly influenced broader cycling trends, evident in the increasing popularity of baskets and swept-back handlebars on city bikes.
Beyond just bikes, the operational ethos of Rivendell, the online “rivendell bike shop”, is equally pioneering. Their direct-to-customer sales model, established in the mid-90s, and their early adoption of content marketing through the Rivendell Reader zine, predate current industry practices by years. And for those who know Grant Petersen, it’s also worth noting his profound admiration for Bob Dylan.
Ahead of a well-deserved fishing trip, we had the opportunity to delve into Grant Petersen’s thoughts on the evolution of Rivendell, the philosophy that underpins the “rivendell bike shop”, and the enduring appeal of simplicity in cycling. Whether you’re a seasoned cyclist or simply curious about a different perspective, Petersen’s insights offer valuable food for thought.
Your book Just Ride, published in 2012, seems to have really resonated with people. We see more riders embracing practical bikes, bike camping, and everyday clothing on rides. Having advocated for this approach since the late 80s, does this widespread acceptance feel like a vindication of your vision for the “rivendell bike shop” and cycling in general?
While ‘vindication’ is flattering, the core ideas in Just Ride weren’t groundbreaking. “Just riding,” as I see it, is fundamentally how people have always ridden. My book emerged at a time when racing was dominating the cycling narrative, and that influence persists. My intention wasn’t to dictate how anyone should ride, but to offer an alternative to the pervasive obsession with performance metrics, competitive social rides, and the relentless pursuit of marginal gains, especially for recreational cyclists.
As I mentioned in the book, it’s about “just riding” free from racing’s often-distorting influence on everything from rider attitudes to gear choices. Globally, most people simply “just ride.” However, I am gratified by the book’s positive impact and the many kind messages I’ve received. Perhaps it gently nudged people to reconsider what truly matters in their cycling experience, and maybe even pointed them towards what they might find at a “rivendell bike shop” in spirit, if not literally.
Who was the primary audience for Just Ride? Was it aimed at experienced cyclists or newcomers to the cycling world, perhaps those looking for something different from the mainstream bike shop offerings, something more akin to the “rivendell bike shop” philosophy?
I doubt many of my industry peers read it, though perhaps it could have been beneficial if they had. I believe the book primarily attracted new riders or those disillusioned with the spandex-clad, performance-focused cycling culture. It spoke to people seeking comfort, practicality, and a less workout-centric approach to riding, validating their desire to wear normal clothes and enjoy a relaxed ride. Of course, for someone already riding this way for decades, the book might seem redundant or even slightly offensive. I personally rode like that for 25 years before writing Just Ride.
Interestingly, bike shops weren’t particularly enthusiastic about stocking it. Most bike shops primarily sell repair manuals or sensationalist cycling biographies, not books questioning current trends and racing dogma. However, a home furnishings store carried Just Ride among a select few titles for over a decade, which pleased me greatly. We also sold a steady number at Rivendell, the “rivendell bike shop” itself, around 200 copies annually. It feels like the book is nearing the end of its run, and while I’d love to update it, I’m not sure if that will happen.
Explore the Rivendell Reader – More than just a catalog
Can you recall the initial spark that ignited your passion for bikes? What set you on this path, eventually leading to the creation of Rivendell, the “rivendell bike shop” we know today?
My father owned a car, but wasn’t a ‘car person’, so I wasn’t raised with car obsession. I needed transportation, and bikes were simply the obvious choice. Between 12 and 14, I didn’t own or desire a bike, relying on hitchhiking to high school. Then, on the first Earth Day in 1970, we high school students were encouraged to adopt eco-friendly transportation. My dad asked, “Want a bike?” and I said yes, and he bought me one.
I’ve never yearned for car ownership and have never made a car payment. Our family has a 2003 Prius, which is perfectly functional, but I’ve driven it for less than an hour total in the last three and a half years. I happily accept car rides from my wife and friends when necessary, but for me, cycling is the default. I cycle for enjoyment, commuting, errands—everything. My love for cycling has only deepened over time. Initially, bikes were a means to avoid walking or hitchhiking, but now, I genuinely love riding for its own sake.
Grant Petersen, founder of Rivendell Bike Shop, pictured with a classic bicycle wheel, embodying the timeless appeal of traditional cycling.
You founded Rivendell in 1994, the physical embodiment of what many now consider the ideal “rivendell bike shop” experience, even online. What specific goals did you have in mind when you started the company?
My primary aim was to preserve and promote certain types of bicycles and components that were being marginalized by the mainstream industry. Steel frames, particularly lugged ones, threaded headsets, quill stems, saddlebags, friction shifting—components that were reliable and effective for decades, even centuries, yet were being phased out as “obsolete.” That was, and remains, our mission at the “rivendell bike shop”: to champion enduring functionality over fleeting trends. Looking back, it’s almost surprising we’ve lasted this long.
Rivendell adopted a direct-to-customer sales model in the mid-90s and launched your own magazine well before “branded content” became a marketing buzzword. Was this approach simply a matter of practical business sense for the “rivendell bike shop” concept?
During my time at Bridgestone’s bicycle division from 1984 to 1994, Accounts Receivable was perpetually our largest department. The traditional dealer model involved shipping bikes, extending credit terms, and then chasing payments. Dealers would often order more bikes while still owing significant sums for previous shipments. The largest orders didn’t always equate to prompt payments. I wanted to avoid that entirely. I knew Rivendell, even as an online “rivendell bike shop”, wouldn’t be any dealer’s primary brand, making us a lower payment priority.
“I set out to keep certain kinds of bikes and bike parts alive and relevant—things that will work as well in a century as they did then and do now.”
So, from Rivendell’s inception in late 1994, I decided on a direct-to-rider sales model, dealing directly with customers who are accustomed to paying upfront. Another crucial advantage is unfiltered communication. We can fully explain the nuances and details of our products directly to our customers through our “rivendell bike shop” channels, without dealer interpretations or omissions. Dealers might simplify or misrepresent our bikes, perhaps due to a lack of understanding or concern that our philosophy might undermine their sales of mainstream brands.
For instance, since our bikes are all steel, a dealer heavily invested in carbon and aluminum bikes might dismiss ours as merely “retro.” This overlooks the contemporary and forward-thinking aspects of our design and construction. Selling directly via our “rivendell bike shop” allows us to communicate these values without conflicting with the sales priorities of dealers focused on other brands.
The name Rivendell itself has literary origins, but also pays homage to another brand, doesn’t it? How did this dual influence shape the identity of Rivendell Bike Shop?
Yes, it’s a combination of influences. Tolkien’s Rivendell is certainly part of it—my wife is a huge fan, having read The Lord of the Rings many times. But the more direct inspiration was Rivendell Mountain Works. In the early 70s, Larry Horton founded RMW, creating exceptionally well-designed, non-trendy, and pioneering outdoor gear—packs, clothing, and tents for climbing and mountaineering.
As an avid outdoorsman, I used standard gear from brands like The North Face, but discovering Rivendell Mountain Works was transformative. Their catalog was exceptionally well-written, and I’ve consciously tried to emulate that style in how we present the “rivendell bike shop” and our philosophy.
It’s been noted that old Chouinard Equipment catalogs significantly influenced the style and tone of Rivendell and your writing at Bridgestone. What was it about those catalogs that set them apart and inspired the approach of the “rivendell bike shop”?
I gradually took over the Bridgestone catalogs, and around 1989, Tom Franges, a friend in the industry, sent me an 1890 Eagle Bicycle Company catalog with a note saying, “Now THIS is a catalog.” It was packed with information, including technical details, assuming the reader’s intelligence and interest in design and engineering—in 1890! Since then, I’ve explored numerous bicycle catalogs from the late 1870s onwards. Catalogs of that era were superior in content, presentation, fonts, layouts—everything. Growing up, I read outdoor catalogs, which were decent in the late 60s and mid-70s but have declined significantly since.
The Chouinard catalogs from 1972/73 were particularly influential, especially on the Bridgestone catalogs from 1992-1994, which I’m proud of. But compared to Chouinard’s, they paled in comparison. Yvon Chouinard, a climber and blacksmith, bravely critiqued damaging climbing tools and techniques, even though his company produced some of them. He challenged himself and the climbing community. Much of the catalog writing was by Tom Frost and Doug Robinson—powerful, persuasive, and truly inspiring. As a climber then, holding that catalog felt like holding something magical and precious.
The impact of Chouinard’s approach is evident in Patagonia’s business model—demonstrating how to run a company responsibly and sustainably. While Rivendell, the “rivendell bike shop” and company, may not fully measure up to those standards, our online and print communications are shaped by that Chouinard influence. Yvon Chouinard is to business what Bob Dylan is to songwriting—and my deep admiration for Dylan reflects my respect for Chouinard.
From the beginning, Rivendell, and by extension the “rivendell bike shop”, has intentionally avoided trying to appeal to everyone. Do you believe this focused approach has contributed to its success and distinctive influence? It certainly maintains a very clear, undiluted identity.
On the surface, it may seem that way, and I might have even said that myself. But in reality, no bike company or brand can be everything to everyone. What’s perhaps more accurate is that we consciously do “unpopular” things, aware of that fact, and unconcerned by it. While we might be considered “niche,” everyone at Rivendell believes that mainstream bikes are, in many ways, the unconventional ones.
We aren’t for everyone in terms of style preference. However, functionally, our bikes are incredibly versatile and suitable for almost any rider in almost any situation. In that sense, they are truly “The People’s Bikes.” The price point is a limiting factor, of course, but there are plenty of excellent, affordable bikes available, just as there are inexplicably expensive and complex ones.
Craftsmanship at Rivendell Bike Shop: Detail of cork grips being meticulously twined, showcasing the attention to detail and traditional methods.
What aspect of Rivendell are you most proud of? Looking back, is there a particular frame, detail, or idea that you’re especially pleased to have brought to the cycling world through Rivendell Bike Shop?
Personally, I’m most proud of our team and the company culture we’ve cultivated, particularly our ability to retain people long-term. Several employees have been with us for over 20 years, others over ten, and even newer team members—four to five years—seem committed to staying. There’s a remarkable absence of internal competition or negativity. Everyone works diligently because they see their colleagues doing the same.
We collectively take pride in having kept certain cycling traditions alive that the mainstream industry tried to discard—lugged steel frames, threaded headsets, friction shifting, leather saddles. We’ve helped validate comfortable, high-quality bikes, wider tires, saddlebags, baskets, higher handlebars, platform pedals on performance bikes, and everyday clothing for cycling. We’ve aimed to elevate the status of cycling styles once considered entry-level or less serious.
I hope we’ve contributed to normalizing everyday cycling and reducing the hyper-focus on racing. We sell practical, high-quality gear for daily use. Additionally, we donate over $50,000 annually to individuals and charities in need. For example, we donated to Vincent Snowball, a UK upholsterer, when he was struggling with energy bills—a story I read in the New York Times.
Terms like “retrogrouch” or “Luddite” are often used dismissively against those who don’t embrace every new trend. Instead of being backward-looking, is this stance, embodied by the “rivendell bike shop” approach, actually a form of progress in a different direction?
Whether Ned Ludd was a real individual or a composite figure is debated, much like the historicity of Jesus Christ. But what Ned Ludd, real or fictional, represented was concern for workers’ rights, jobs, and safety during the brutal period of early industrialization that exploited children, damaged the environment, and abused laborers. Today, “Luddite” is a pejorative, hurled at anyone questioning “progress” or technology.
Today, Ned Ludd would be seen as a human rights advocate. But the term “Luddite” is now irrevocably negative, a cheap shot used against anyone questioning unchecked technological advancement or preferring simpler, more direct ways of doing things. It’s an easy label to apply to me or anyone at the “rivendell bike shop” who questions the relentless march of technology.
“It’s fun to stumble until you have enough skill to stumble less—my version of bicycle-riding hell would be riding an autopilot bike that always worked mind-numbingly perfectly.”
In cycling, and in many other areas of life, many people enjoy engaging with simpler tools more than relying on automated, push-button solutions. Over-automation removes a level of engagement and satisfaction.
Of course, context matters. In life-or-death situations, advanced technology is invaluable. I’d certainly prefer an MRI over a medical hunch for diagnosis. But for activities like cycling—and everyone has their own examples—there’s a distinct pleasure in achieving results through skill and effort, where outcomes aren’t guaranteed. It’s rewarding to learn and improve. My idea of cycling hell would be riding a perfectly automated bike that requires no skill or effort.
I recall hearing about a baking kit from the 1950s that failed because it made baking too easy, removing the sense of accomplishment. The company had to make it more challenging to increase its appeal. Are we seeing a similar shift now, with more people seeking crafts, physical challenges like long-distance cycling, and a move away from “easy”? Is this trend noticeable in the US, perhaps influencing the “rivendell bike shop” customer base?
Market trends often move in opposing directions simultaneously. The cutting-edge, technology-driven end of the market grows rapidly because it’s highly marketable. Simultaneously, another segment emerges—people who see through the hype or simply aren’t drawn to it. They react by going in the opposite direction. In the late 90s, with the introduction of 9-speed cassettes, single-speed bikes surged in popularity. Perhaps some single-speed enthusiasts were reacting against the complexity and cost of new multi-speed technology, or simply thumbing their noses at the trend. Mainstream brands eventually capitalized on this by offering upscale single-speed models.
High fashion often showcases extravagant, impractical clothing that sets trends for more accessible fashion lines. Conversely, trends like ripped denim, initially a counter-fashion statement, eventually appear on runways and trickle down to mainstream fashion. Rivendell, and the philosophy of the “rivendell bike shop”, is also part of this dynamic. As bikes become more like cars or computers in their complexity, our commitment to simplicity and classic design deepens. If a bike component seems overly influenced by car or computer technology, I tend to reject it—suspension, hydraulics, disc brakes, electronics, tubeless tires. While functional and appropriate in certain contexts, I don’t believe they inherently improve the cycling experience. This stance may limit our market size, but it defines our identity.
There are different kinds of struggles. Some people pursue the latest gadget to eliminate struggle, viewing shopping as the primary task. They seek the newest 13-speed cassette, self-driving car, or a bike that eliminates physical exertion. Others, however, appreciate the challenge of learning a skill and the satisfaction of effort, even with some sweat involved. This group, while smaller, is potentially less driven by fleeting trends and less likely to seek high-tech solutions for recreational cycling “problems.”
Thinking about this, is the essence of enjoyment and fulfillment in life really about finding the right level of challenge or “struggle”? Is this something that resonates with the philosophy behind Rivendell Bike Shop?
I’ve never explicitly considered it, but yes, that resonates. The satisfaction of moving from difficulty to ease, of mastering a skill, feels inherently human and rewarding. A newborn’s struggle to latch and feed prepares them for a lifetime of challenges and triumphs. However, in a consumer-driven market, it’s easier to monetize a quick fix than the process of skill development—an automatic knife sharpener sells more readily than a whetstone. In cycling, the trend constantly leans towards more technology and less effort. Making each new version “easier” drives consumption and encourages premature replacement.
What constitutes a truly good bike ride for you personally? We often measure recreational activities by time or distance, but how do you define a successful ride, especially one that aligns with the Rivendell Bike Shop ethos?
For me, a perfect ride now involves minimal car traffic, challenging climbs, rolling terrain with pleasant breezes and scenery, and descents that require focus but are mostly rideable. It includes sections that might require walking due to steepness or technical difficulty. Ideally, it’s shared with one or two compatible companions who appreciate nature breaks.
If it’s a longer ride, over four hours, enjoyable food becomes part of it. Photo opportunities are essential, and I’ll bring my OM-1 or Hasselblad loaded with black and white film. My riding partner needs to be patient as I set up shots. The conditions are dry, avoiding mud. Much of it is on narrow, wooded trails at a relaxed pace, six to ten mph. I enjoy this kind of ride about 80 times a year. It’s easy for me to love cycling.
Attention to Detail at Rivendell Bike Shop: A craftsman carefully cutting tape, highlighting the precision and care in every step of the bike building process.
That sounds idyllic. How do you move beyond measuring success by numbers—whether ride distances, social media metrics, or daily earnings—and towards a more qualitative appreciation, something perhaps reflected in the Rivendell Bike Shop approach?
I think you need anchors—role models, meaningful lyrics, something to hold onto amidst pressures to conform. On a bike ride, it helps me to remember: this is voluntary, nothing critical depends on it. Regardless of the time it takes or whether I conquer a challenging climb, my life will continue unchanged. My wife will still love me, my home will be there, I’ll have food and friends. It’s about perspective. That’s how it works for me.
That’s insightful. Thinking of Bob Dylan and Yvon Chouinard, your admired figures, do they serve as these “anchors” for you?
“Love” might be too strong a word, but I deeply admire them both. The Dylan and Chouinard idea as anchors is quite accurate. Even before discovering them, when I was younger, around five to ten, most of my friends got Wham-O slingshots. I wanted one, but my dad refused—not slingshots in general, but Wham-O brand slingshots. He pointed out their chunky, weak design due to the grain not following the contours, predicting breakage. He showed me his own slingshot, made from a tree fork, explaining its superior strength and thinner design because the grain followed the fork’s natural shape. Being taught structural engineering by my dad at that age made a lasting impression. I felt sorry for kids with flimsy Wham-O slingshots, because my dad revealed the elegance of a real fork.
Later, around ten, when I started hunting and fishing, my friends used pumps and automatic shotguns, and spinning reels. My dad said, “We use doubles and fly-fish.” I hadn’t hunted or fly-fished, but I admired my dad, so that became my way. Another example of choosing the less conventional path. Fly casting wasn’t easy at ten, but I learned.
With a double-barrel shotgun, you manually load and unload shells. Automatics and pumps involved, to me, invisible magic. I still don’t understand how they work. I dislike hidden mechanisms in bikes too—hidden headsets, chainring bolts, cables. I prefer to see how things function and have them accessible for repair. I haven’t hunted in decades, but the slingshot, double-gun, and fly rod influences are clear in my cycling preferences. I’ve made many slingshots and still fly-fish.
My Bob Dylan fascination began in 1969, at fifteen. He was never mainstream, yet wrote profound poetry. I never connected with typical popular music, except for some Neil Diamond—preferring his Tap Root Manuscript album to hits like ‘Cherry, Cherry’. Discovering Bob Dylan divided music into Dylan and non-Dylan.
Yvon Chouinard is equally unique. Admiring these figures isn’t claiming to be like them. Dylan and Chouinard are exceptional, masters of their crafts, far surpassing my own achievements.
How does it feel to be regarded as a role model yourself? Many see you as a hero in cycling—is that a strange position to be in?
That’s an unexpected question. People who know me personally—from work, friendships—know the real me and, I think, like me, but don’t idolize me. I acknowledge my contributions but recognize the extensive help I’ve received. I believe I’m often overestimated, which is easy when you don’t know someone personally.
I have average intelligence but I read a lot. I was a mediocre student, but unconcerned. In high school, I barely passed geometry, and now I design bike frames. Starting a family terrified me financially, and I needed work that didn’t require driving. So, I worked incredibly hard, and it’s been surprisingly successful. I don’t seek fame; I want to create something lasting that the Rivendell team can build upon after I’m gone—not in a morbid sense, just… off fishing. Meanwhile, I love my work, have no plans to retire, and feel fortunate, not exceptionally talented.
What currently inspires you? Are there brands or individuals you admire now? Perhaps influences that subtly shape the direction of Rivendell Bike Shop?
Hilleberg and Springbar tents. Gransfors axes. Blue Lug bicycles in Tokyo—they arguably execute the Rivendell philosophy even better than we do. They sell our bikes and others, but their approach, style, creativity, and intelligence are inspiring to me and everyone at Rivendell Bike Shop. I admire Patagonia’s business ethics, though not their mountain bike advertising. I appreciate Ochs und Junior watches, though I wouldn’t spend that much, so I cherish my Mondaine.
In photography, I love Hasselblad cameras—simple, effective, and user-friendly once you overcome the initial learning curve. I admire Ilford film for their dedication to black and white photography. I appreciate the focused approach of the Olympus OM-1 camera. I admire bamboo fly rod makers like Tom Whittle and Henk Verhaar, their distinct styles, and their convictions. In cycling, I deeply admire Richard Sachs’s unwavering principles; he’s a constant inspiration. Our approaches differ, but his integrity strengthens my resolve. He remains uncompromised, and his deep commitment resonates with me.
I admire businesses, products, and individuals who prioritize product quality over growth and popularity. I understand market pressures, but once a company becomes large, market demands can overshadow product focus. Product-driven eventually becomes market-driven, often targeting the broadest audience and lowest common denominator. Filson clothing, for example, now offers pre-softened fabrics and pastel colors. While understandable for market expansion, it departs from their original rugged ethos. I’ve owned Filson items that never broke in and Double Tin Pants that were incredibly stiff—perfectly durable, but perhaps overkill for city wear.
“I like business and products and people that think the product is more important than numbers, growth, popularity, and all that.”
When large companies acquire smaller ones, it’s often to leverage the smaller brand’s cachet to reach new markets, necessitating compromises to appeal to a broader audience. Quality might be sacrificed, styles softened, and eventually, you see things like pre-washed Filson shirts marketed to urban consumers. While revenue increases, the original product integrity can suffer. This pattern repeats across industries. Your interview with Kestin Hare, who appreciated Eddie Bauer’s older clothing, highlights this trend. Eddie Bauer went mainstream and lost its edge.
Abercrombie & Fitch is another example. Mass-market growth often dilutes brand essence for profit, although it does create jobs. Larger scale makes maintaining exceptional quality more challenging.
I worked at REI’s Berkeley store until 1985. In the mid-80s, we started selling Gumby toys, which some of us saw as a concerning sign. It’s about broadening appeal, but more customers isn’t always better. The entry barrier lowers, and you end up with millions driving to nature with disposable plastic gear, awaiting the next “upgraded” plastic version. It’s a functional system, but not necessarily for the best products or experiences.
It’s a difficult cycle to break. To conclude, bicycles are universally loved. What is it about these machines that inspires such devotion, and what makes the offerings at Rivendell Bike Shop so uniquely appealing?
Speaking broadly, bicycles are simple and inherently enjoyable for everyone, across all ages. Who enjoys cycling more—a child or an octogenarian? It’s a tie. And I confidently believe no one in the world loves cycling more than I do. I cycle every possible day, whenever I’m not fishing. I’ve cycled about 98 percent of the days since Earth Day, April 22, 1970.
The word “bicycle” itself is beautiful, both to write and say. I’ve even stopped using “bike,” as it can refer to motorcycles or e-bikes. “Bicycle” is precise and, to me, one of the most delightful words in English, along with “lollipop,” “platypus,” “chamomile,” and “salamander.”
The only people who might not love bicycles are those who don’t ride them or don’t know what they are. Even if people don’t prefer my kind of bicycle, they love their own kind nearly as much as I love mine. And hopefully, they can find something to love at Rivendell Bike Shop, whether online or in spirit.
Explore more about Rivendell and their unique bikes at their online Rivendell Bike Shop. Interview by Sam Waller.
