Road Runner: Bags For (Really) Going Places

A certain look has come to define modern bikepacking: matte black, hyper-functional, and almost always leaning a bit too close to tactical. It's not bad, just predictable, and not me. So when I packed for Peru with a full set of Roadrunner Bags, I didn't expect my bags to become one of the first things people noticed. Bright, textured fabrics, oversized silhouettes, and just the right amount of vintage styling—these bags turned heads long before they ever hit the trail.

But aesthetics will only take you so far when pushing through the Andes. The Great Peru Divide is punishing. High altitude, constant climbs, rough gravel, and unpredictable weather. It's one of the most challenging places I've ever ridden, and your gear has to be unshakably reliable. Style is welcome, however, it can't come at the cost of function. This is what impressed me most about the Roadrunner setup: it looked great and worked hard.

Road Runner: Humble Beginnings

Founded in 2009 by Brad Adams in his Long Beach apartment, Road Runner Bags emerged from a passion for cycling and a need for durable, functional gear. What began with a home sewing machine has evolved into a dedicated team of artisans crafting high-quality bags in downtown Los Angeles. Brad's vision was to create products that withstand the rigours of daily use, reflecting the real-world needs of cyclists.

Today, Road Runner continues to prioritize ethical manufacturing and sustainability. The company is committed to producing all products in-house, ensuring quality control and supporting local employment. Their approach emphasizes repairability and longevity, aiming to reduce waste and promote responsible consumption.

The Cockpit Setup

As I rolled out onto the high-altitude dirt of the Peru Divide, I realized I was running a full Road Runner cockpit—a softshell command centre bolted to the front end of my monster-cross bike. The Jumbo Jammer, Bluff Top Tube Bag, fork-mounted Buoy Bags and twin Auto Pilot stem bags gave me a clean, symmetrical setup where everything I needed was within reach. The tonal colour palettes, the hand-crafted detail. It wasn't just the looks, it was a feel.

That said, this was my first time heading into a trip this remote and this rough with a completely new bag setup. I had some reservations about capacity or whether the bags would rub, sag, or soak through. Here's the rundown.

Jumbo Jammer (Handlebar)

This bag defies traditional categorization. It's a front bag—yes—but with its cavernous 26-litre roll-top design and flap closure, it behaved like a daypack strapped to my handlebars. At just under 800g, the Jumbo Jammer it's not featherlight, but it's built to last, and at $240 USD, it earns its place in the buy once, use forever category. This was the bag I reached for when I didn't know where else to put something. A puffy jacket, a bag of bread, or my extra camera lens, it swallowed whatever I threw at it. When I needed more space, the roll-top offered up the flexibility to overstuff it without messing up the shape or the closure. It wasn't a bag that punished you for bad packing decisions—it worked with you.

Plus, it looked damn good doing it. Earthy tones, tough Cordura, and minimal branding gave it a personality that felt more like something you'd see on an old steel touring bike than a Titanium monster. But it never felt outdated, it was well thought out—intentionally analog in a sea of slick tech. I loved the front reflector, a clean horizontal strip stitched into the super-tough Velcro pocket closure. This may be reminiscent of any bag made in the 70s, but it simply works, ready to catch the eye of oncoming traffic or a riding partner looking for you in the mist.

Bluff (Top Tube)

The Bluff Top Tube Bag quickly became one of the most deceptively useful pieces of kit on the trip. With a 1.5-litre capacity and a weight of around 200g, it's easy to underestimate at first, but that volume goes a long way when it's right within reach. I used it to store tools, charging cables, spare batteries, and snacks, all without feeling overstuffed. It also housed a power bank for charging devices in the cockpit, and the handy internal sleeve kept cords and essentials like my lens cloth from floating around loose. For a bag starting at $70 USD, it earns its keep.
It did take some tuning to get the fit dialled and prevent any sway—tightening the straps and adjusting positioning was key—but once it was set, the bag sat cleanly and didn't shift, even on rough descents. The structured sides helped it hold its shape, and the zipper stayed smooth despite trail dust and pressure from my constant over-stuffing. It's not the lightest option out there, but it's a solid, functional piece that feels like it belongs on any serious setup.

Auto-Pilot Bag (Stem)

I ran two Auto-Pilot Stem Bags up front, and honestly, I don't think I'd ride a long trip without them. Each one easily swallowed a full 1 litre Nalgene with room to spare, thanks to their 1.75-litre capacity, and at a reasonable 127g per bag, they packed in serious utility without weighing things down. The drawstring closure kept everything secure with easy access, even when riding one-handed over chunky terrain. Their external pockets were perfect for stuffing used gel wrappers, a microfibre cloth for cleaning my lens, or whatever random bits needed a home. Starting at $70 USD each, they're an easy investment that pays off in daily convenience.

They're not flashy bags, but they worked flawlessly, stayed put, and added real utility to the cockpit without getting in the way. Like the rest of the Road Runner setup, they combine simplicity with just enough considered design to feel dialled in, not overdone. And everyone who saw them was envious of the extra space. These also became super useful as day bags, with a chord attached, it could be slung over my shoulder for day use and easily hold everything you need for those little trips around town.

Buoy Bags (Forks)

These large 7.75-litre fork bags were similarly solid. Attached to the fork via standard fork cages, tipping the scales at about 127g, sturdy without feeling overbuilt. I used them to carry extra food, stove kits, and bulky warm layers. I've had fork bags fail before—ripped seams, water intrusion—but not with the Buoy Bags. The waterproof materials and roll-top closure never let a drop in, even after hours of rain and fog; they live up to their name, and in Peru, that's saying something because you often go from blazing sun to sideways downpour in minutes. A friend even told me he's filled these with water to carry to camp, so they work both ways—no leaks. The website even suggests they can be used to do laundry, by filling them with your dirty clothes and half water with a drop of soap. Splish-splash, my clothes are having a bath.

Boxier than most, they were easier to pack and less prone to sagging or rubbing against the fork legs. The 6-inch diameter easily fits most stoves and pots that bikepackers use. Starting at $70 USD (each), you're getting something built to take abuse, but with a bit of personality, too. They stood out just enough without being garish or loud.

They Say: I've Been Places

What I appreciated most throughout the trip was how these bags reminded me that good design can be expressive without sacrificing practicality. So much outdoor gear leans hard towards the survival image—ultralight, carbon, sealed seams, taped zippers, and all-black everything. Roadrunner gear doesn't do that. It looks like it belongs with you on the adventures you want to remember, not survive. But then it does survive. It holds up. It keeps your stuff dry. It carries more than you expect. It works.

That's what I want from my gear. I don't want it to scream, "I'm fast and efficient." I want it to say, “I've been places.” I want it to blend with dust and light and memory. These bags aged well on my trip—not worn, but lived-in. They developed a new texture. A presence and will hold that for many trips to come.

Let's be clear—these aren't the lightest bags on the market. A full setup with fork bags pushes the total over 1.5kg before you've packed a single thing. But none of that felt like a drawback. These bags aren't trying to win weight-weenie awards—they're built to handle real-world conditions without flinching or fraying. They held up through mud, sun, downpours, long descents, and even a few crashes. Seams stayed tight. Zips never failed. And the classic Cordura only looked better as it broke in. This is gear you can trust trip after trip, the kind you keep in your kit for years because it never gives you a reason not to.

The Takeaway

In a place as raw and wild as Peru, there's no hiding when your gear doesn't measure up. You need a function—simple, reliable, no-fuss utility. But it doesn't hurt when that function also looks good. I mean really good. Road Runner Bags delivered both. They didn't just carry my gear, they carried a mood. A vibe. A way of approaching bikepacking that's less about chasing watts and more about chasing freedom, presence, and maybe a little bit of chaos. I'm here for that.

What surprised me most was the sheer capacity of this entire setup. I always had space and flexibility. I never had to overthink about what went where. The system adapted to my needs, not against them. Everything had its place, eventually. The bags added colour to my otherwise muted, grey Ti frame. More than that, they added character. In the vast, cold, and often anonymous high plains of the Peruvian landscape, they reminded me that good gear can have personality—that matters more than you think when you're deep in it.