A bit less poetic than previous ranting and ravings, because this thing ain’t poetry in motion.
Opening:
"Without the electrics, this bike is an absolute pig to ride."
That's the truth I kept coming back to, no matter how plush the ride or sleek the display.
A Bicycle First, or Not at All
I hold what some might call a controversial stance: a bicycle should function well as a bicycle, first and foremost. Any electrics added should assist the rider—not cover for poor design. If a bike can't be ridden efficiently under human power alone, then it's not a bicycle in the traditional sense. It's something else.
This bike? Sure, it has pedals. But it demands electric assistance just to feel rideable. Turn off the power and it's like dragging a parachute—not just the 30kg weight, but active resistance to every pedal stroke. Even on flat roads, the bike fights you.
Here's the thing: weight alone isn't the problem. My Rivendell A Homer Hilsen, loaded to the same 30kg for touring, is a fine to ride. That bike flexes with my pedal stroke, planes with the load, actually performs better weighted than empty. I've done 300km Audax rides on it, taken it over gravel and sealed roads for 150km days fully laden. Never once thought of it as a pig.
The Moustache? My legs—legs that have powered through 75+ rides over 200km—can barely get this thing moving unassisted. The frame doesn't work with you; it works against you. It's not built to be pedalled. It's built to be powered.
So let's stop pretending this is a bicycle and judge it for what it really is: an electric vehicle that happens to have pedals. Once I accepted that, everything made more sense. It's essentially a motorcycle where pedal pressure replaces throttle twist - you're requesting power, not creating it. I’m just expecting bicycle physics and getting motorcycle dynamics with a different control interface. The hydraulic brakes aren't overkill—they're essential for controlling 30kg of momentum hurtling down a hill. The suspension isn't excessive—it's compensating for the fact you're not picking lines carefully at human speeds. The integrated everything makes sense when you're commuting.
With power on—specifically in Tour mode or above—this machine transforms completely. That dead weight becomes stable momentum. The rigid frame that punished human effort becomes a rock-solid platform for electric torque. Hills flatten. Headwinds become irrelevant. Load up the panniers and it doesn't even notice.
Handling, Brakes, and Confidence on Mixed Terrain
Let's talk about how it rides with the power on—because that's the only way it makes sense.
First, the brakes: hydraulic discs. I've historically seen them as overkill on a regular bicycle. Rim brakes are fine for most riding. But on a 30kg electric vehicle doing 45km/h downhill with a tailwind? You need hydraulics. One finger on the lever and you can scrub speed without drama. They're quiet, they don't fade, and most importantly, they give you confidence that you can actually stop this beast. No wondering if you've got enough hand strength after two hours of riding. Just squeeze and slow.
The tyres are 66mm wide 650b monsters that grip like they're personally offended by the idea of sliding. You'll run out of nerve before you run out of traction. On sealed roads they rail corners. Off-road they float over the loose stuff.
I found myself trying to ride it like my road bike or Ducati- expecting quick turn-in from subtle inputs. But this thing's geometry is built for stability, not agility. With these wide tyres and what feels like acres of trail, it's stable to the point of stubbornness. You need deliberate bar input to get it turning, but once you've committed, it tracks beautifully.
The suspension surprised me. Front and rear with actual adjustments—sag, rebound, compression damping. My adventure motorcycle has less adjustment. Set it up properly and it's brilliant. Semi-lock it for road work and the floatiness disappears. Open it up for trails, switch to eMTB mode, and suddenly you're monster-trucking over stuff that would have you picking lines carefully on a normal bike.
But the real test came when I loaded the panniers. Most bikes get twitchy with weight on the back. You feel it wagging, following its own line through corners. Not this thing. Add 10kg of crap and it rides exactly the same. That stiff frame that makes it miserable to pedal? Turns out it's perfect for load carrying. No flex, no drama, just point and shoot stability.
Display, Security, and Smarts
The display itself is another tell - proper bicycles don't need dashboards. Your legs and lungs know the effort, your body knows the distance. But here I am checking battery percentage, assist levels, and power output like I'm monitoring engine parameters.
Still, I'll admit the display does its job well. Beyond the basics (speed, distance, time), it shows a live comparison between your power output and what the motor is contributing. That last bit is oddly satisfying — watching your effort scale alongside the machine's, like a quiet co-pilot who actually pulls their weight. It'll even do turn-by-turn navigation if you've loaded a route. Just another reminder this is a vehicle, not a bicycle.
One feature I really appreciate: the display is removable. Take it off and the bike becomes inert. No display, no power. No power, no assist. Which means if you roll up to a café, pop off the display and toss it in your pocket, the worst anyone can do is try to steal a 30kg deadweight. And frankly, if someone does try to ride away on it, you can just fast-walk after them, clip them behind the ear, and say: “Knock it off. Get off my bike, you idiot.”
Simple, elegant deterrence — and one less app-based gimmick to worry about…
…but, of course, there is an app — because there's always an app. You can sync with Strava or Komoot through your phone, customise power delivery, and dig into ride stats later. The ride details can even auto-upload to these ecosystems, taking the whole "open the app and sync" step out of the equation. Which is exactly how it should be — these systems are meant to get out of your way, not become another burden in your day.
Here's where it gets properly infuriating though: want to customise your ride modes beyond the factory presets? That'll be extra. Bosch locks custom modes behind a paywall in their app. You've already dropped serious money on this machine, but if you want to tweak the power delivery curve to match your riding style, time to get the credit card out again. It's like buying a car and having to pay extra to adjust your seat position. The feature is already there in the hardware—they're just holding it hostage.
Assist Modes — From Pig to Turbo
The bike offers multiple assist modes, and I'll be honest about what each one actually means:
OFF – No assist. Pure pig mode. I've covered this.
ECO – Marginally better than OFF. Like putting lipstick on said pig. The motor adds just enough to remind you it exists, but not enough to make the bike rideable. Skip it.
TOUR – This is where the machine wakes up. Push hard and it rewards you with more power than you're putting in. Ease off and it backs off too. That feedback loop actually feels earned—you're still working, but the work makes sense. This is my daily mode.
TOUR+ and SPORT – Listed in the manual but missing on my bike.
eMTB – The trail weapon. Power delivery smooths out, adapts to terrain changes, and serves up torque without demanding much from your legs. Point it at a hill and it just goes. On dirt, this mode is a heap of fun.
TURBO – Maximum assist, minimum effort. Save it for showing off to mates or that one brutal hill on the way home.
There's also Push Assist—a walking-pace mode for moving the bike when you're off it. Handy if you're navigating ramps or tight spaces with the motor off. Remember, this thing is 30kg.
Each mode has its place, but Tour is the sweet spot. It gives back what you put in, just more of it. That's what good assist should do—amplify your effort, not replace it entirely.
Battery, Range & Bosch Ecosystem (Real-World Observations)
This bike runs a dual battery system with 1,125 Wh total capacity. But capacity means nothing—what matters is how far it actually goes.
I tracked every commute: 17km each way, net 100m elevation loss in the morning, gaining it all back in the afternoon. The round trip consistently used between 13% and 20% of battery, but the pattern revealed something interesting.
Morning rides were efficient—dropping elevation with fresh legs, the bike sipped power at around 3% per 10km. But the afternoon return told a different story. Same distance, now climbing that 100m back home with the accumulated fatigue from dealing with a day of managing too many things—consumption jumped to 7% per 10km. That's not just the elevation talking. That's fatigue showing up in the data.
Here's another quirk: starting with a full battery, the round trip might use 13-14%. Do the same commute starting at 60% charge? Now it's pulling 18-20%. Lower voltage means the system works harder for the same result. The range estimator knows this—at 100% it promises 280km, but at 50% remaining it's already backpedalling, showing maybe 120km left. The first half of your battery definitely goes further than the second. Perhaps one day these battery management systems will show us State of Energy instead.
I tested Turbo mode exactly once. 43km, 47% battery gone. That's 11% per 10km, with the range estimate dropping to 91km.
The system charges intelligently—alternating between batteries during use, sequential charging to 80%, then parallel to full. No battery anxiety, no manual switching, it works.
Real-world translation: In Tour mode with my commute profile, expect 150-200km range. Less if you're tired, fighting weather. More if you're fresh and conditions are perfect. The display's range estimate is optimistic when full, pessimistic when depleted, and probably most honest somewhere around 70% charge.
I haven't tested proper range anxiety yet. But I already know any long ride means staying around 20kph average - push past the 25kph assist cutoff and you're dragging that parachute again. Eight hours at forced moderate pace on this thing? I’d rather just cruise on the Rivendell where I can go whatever speed feels right.
Use Case and Integration — A Commuter’s Tank
This isn’t a cyclist’s bike. It’s a commuter’s tool. And to be fair, it’s built for that role. Full fenders, integrated lights, a sturdy rear rack — it’s specced for the real world.
But even practical details can miss the mark. The front guard doesn’t extend low enough to actually protect the frame or the battery from gunk. That’s poor design, especially when the battery is a key visual and structural component. You’re left with road grime splashing up onto what should be a protected zone.
Then there’s the front light. On mine, it was mounted pointing directly through the brake and gear cables — casting a lovely criss-cross of shadows at night. I fixed it, but I shouldn’t have had to.
And let’s talk build. Some screws were over-torqued when I received the bike, including one with a rounded hex socket and another with cross threading. That’s not a minor quibble. On a bike at this price point, you expect better attention to detail.
So yes — it’s a commuter’s tank. Tough, capable, ready to ride rain or shine. But don’t confuse “integrated” with “refined.” Not all the integration has been thought through.
Closing Thoughts
This bike isn’t perfect. It’s heavy, stiff, and completely reliant on its motor to be enjoyable. But it’s also solid, planted, and remarkably capable when used within its intended purpose. With power on and bags loaded, it eats up commutes and weekend gravel rides alike. It doesn’t pretend to be a high-performance machine, and once you stop expecting it to behave like one, it actually makes a lot of sense.
I came into this review expecting to critique a lot — and I have. But I’ve also come to respect what it is.
That’ll do, pig.
