Life Time has announced a major rule change for the 2026 season: banning the use of drop bars on the (mountain) bikes used at the Leadville Trail 100 and Little Sugar races.
The Leadville Trail 100 is the most iconic mountain bike race in the United States, defined by extreme altitude—9,200 feet at its lowest point and 12,424 feet at the summit of Columbine—and a course that rewards sustained power over technical finesse. Because of its long climbs and exposed dirt roads, drop bars have surfaced periodically throughout the race’s history, though for years they remained a fringe choice rather than a winning one. That changed as aerodynamics gained importance in the 2010s, accelerated by Cory Wallace’s 13th place in 2022 and Dylan Johnson’s top-20 in 2023, before Keegan Swenson won on drop bars in 2024 and again in 2025, pushing the setup firmly into the mainstream.
The ban, therefore, comes as a bit of a shake-up.
The new rule is framed as a safety measure, echoing the familiar language of equipment restrictions long used by the Union Cycliste Internationale. But while safety has rightly been top of mind for both event organisers and athletes at Leadville, this policy appears to sidestep the most obvious hazards in favour of one that feels superficial and performative.
Curiously, drop bars appear to still be permitted at the Chequamegon MTB event, despite multiple athletes having voiced concerns about their safety in that race’s tight-pack dynamics, high-speed corners and the differences in height and width between bar styles.
More importantly, the decision shifts responsibility squarely onto the riders rather than making any structural changes to the event itself. Frankly, that approach aligns uncomfortably well with recurring criticisms of the organisation, including limited emergency services for elite fields, a lack of road closures at events like the Big Sugar Classic and two-way traffic through many of Leadville’s fastest and most consequential sections.
Technology bans are cheap and enforceable. It is far less clear that they improve safety outcomes in a meaningful way.
Anecdotally, the number of athletes who have voiced their concern about Leadville's two-way traffic grows every year. This year, especially as live-streamed coverage showed, it is a near-constant concern for the top pros throughout the middle of the race, as there are clear pitfalls around every turn. And while some pros pointed to the proliferation of drop bars among amateurs as part of the safety concerns, it's only an issue because of the two-way traffic in the first place.
Notably, the most consistent argument from professionals against drop bars hasn’t centered on safety, but on equity. Specifically, the resources required to make the switch, which lesser-funded riders simply don't have. Safety concerns, when voiced directly, tend to point elsewhere.
One of the participants in the pro race, Chris Mehlman, perhaps had the most to say on this topic through his Substack. One passage in particular feels even more relevant now:
"Things really went downhill when… we started to go downhill," he wrote. "I was lucky that all of the people I passed on the first narrow, chunky section of the Columbine descent were pros whom I know and trust.
"However, as we got further down, the field became more dense, and to be quite honest, I was not as confident that riders would stick to the right side, especially if they were passing. I do not mean to say that amateur riders are not trustworthy. Rather, I know the riders whom I was passing at the beginning. I don’t know the other people personally."
That, paired with the incident of a bus driving onto the course in the opening mile and persistent bottlenecks throughout the final 50 miles left Mehlman rather underwhelmed with the event. But notably absent from his critical account was any mention of drop bars.
Beyond safety, the new rule stifles the very aspect that gave Leadville cultural relevance beyond the traditional marathon mountain bike niche: innovation and experimentation.
Leadville has spent the past several years gaining momentum, and media relevance, precisely because of its unusual position within the cycling technology landscape. As gravel cycling exploded, the race became a one-of-one testing ground, attracting new audiences and transforming Leadville into a canvas for bike build experimentation that reshaped its identity.
Unquestionably, this experimentation has also spurred innovation that has filtered into consumer products. Perhaps not all replicas of Leadville’s “franken-bikes,” but as ideas refined and adapted for broader use.
All of this being said, if this ban were paired with meaningful action on race’s most pressing safety issues, Life Time might reasonably defend it. Of course, the organisation has every right to police equipment in their event, as they did with aero extensions just a few years ago. But on its own, it is hard to see this policy as a net positive for a series that, free from the restrictions of an overarching governing body, should be serving as a proving ground for creativity, innovation and rider empowerment.
Instead, it feels like an opportunity squandered. One traded away in favour of a policy that is easy to enforce, but far removed from the concerns athletes, pro and amateurs alike, have been asking Life Time to address.
