Surly Nate vs. Larry: Which Fat Bike Tire Rules the Snow?

Without question, it was love at first sight.
Infatuation? Maybe. But it’s quickly proving to be deeper-lugged.

We hooked up a few times, and I’m pretty stoked with the ride quality. I know it’s moving fast, but I’m already thinking about proposing… well, proposing the idea of bringing another into the relationship.

The Surly Nate is arguably the gnarliest piece of rubber on the market over 3.5 inches wide. But is it worth the extra 100 grams, or am I just being a weight-weenie, stressing over numbers that don’t really matter?

After spotting one at the local shop, I finally mustered up the courage to bring it home—replacing my backwards Larry on the rear of my Pugs. Mounted on my FlatTop 100s, Nate delivers a full 3.8 inches of kung fu grip.

Testing Nate in the Wild

Time to hit the snow. Fairbanks, Alaska local trails.
We’d gotten just enough snow to send the dog mushers reaching for their sleds—but not enough to smooth out the trails across the tussock-filled swamps. Plenty of folks were still running ATVs, which left deep ruts among the six-inch tussocks. Let’s call it what it was: technical snow riding.

It was our first “Girthy Thursday” group ride with Far North Fatbikes. I was leading. We took an ATV trail that dropped steeply down a powerline cut toward a creek. I had no idea if the creek was frozen solid or if there was even a trail on the far side. Adventure mode: ON.

That day’s dusting had my Larry washing out all over the place on the rutted trail—fluffy, unconsolidated sugar in the middle and on both sides. It was a battle to keep the front tire tracking straight in the rut. But not once did the Nate-equipped rear end do anything except scream: don’t touch the brakes—just keep charging. That was a first, even compared to my backward Larry setup.

Flashback: From Skeptic to Believer

At the bottom, we laughed—no way could a SnowCat’d 29er have made that descent.
Back in the day, I used to ride a single-speed 29er with SnowCats and Schwalbe Racing Ralphs and dared anyone to show me a trail where they could ride a fatbike that I couldn’t ride my 29er. I topped out first on every hill and rode with (or past) everyone… until I hit spring sugar snow.

That broke me—almost emotionally.

One spring, we rode a dried-up riverbed in the Alaska Range for 12 miles. It was the most intense and consuming ride of my life. My buddy, on his Pugsley, was just sitting down, calmly pedaling the cobble. I cursed him. His bike—those tires—forced me to build my own fatbike out of pure observation of their capability.

Now that I own one? I’ve never looked back. I slapped road tires on the 29er, and now it’s just a commuter bike.
Biking isn’t fun anymore…
…but fatbiking is.

Nate Climbs Like a Beast

Back to the story. We reached the creek—frozen solid. But there was no trail on the other side, likely too early for ATVs, sleds, or dog teams. So, back up the hill we went. Rideable at first… then likely a push. I’m used to that after racing singlespeed in the White Mountains 100.

Charging uphill, I was trying to keep momentum with my one gear. I made it halfway up before a steep pitch brought me to a hike-a-bike. A few quick steps, one more short push, then back in the saddle. The rest of the climb was a steady grind.

Could I ride the whole thing with my 22×16 gearing?
“Hell, I can ride anything on this bike,” I told myself.

It was like I’d put Velcro skins on the tires—snow was the loops, and Nate was the hooks.

I stood up to pedal, even though I feared I’d spin out and blow the climb. But I punched it anyway—because that’s what single-speeders do.

Next thing I knew, I was at the top. Standing. Spinning. Still moving. I looked back—my friends were pushing. Not once did the Nate spin out. Not once did I feel like I wouldn’t make it due to traction. I probably could’ve sat and spun the whole thing, but I wanted to test the Nate’s true grit.

Powder Day Paradise

Two days later, after a sweet dump of Utah-like powder, I logged 15 miles on Nate. From frozen lakes to loose trails, off-trail powder up to 8 inches deep, hairpin turns on hiking trails, and post-holing snowmachine routes—I rode it all. I stood, sat, cranked hard, and even bushwhacked between trails.

Only once did I lose forward motion—off-trail, climbing a powerline cut. But Nate handled everything else: fluffy snow, rutted ATV tracks, steep snowy embankments, and untouched lakes. My biggest thrill? Watching Nate dig inwhere an Endo or Larry would’ve slipped and spun out.

Nate just didn’t quit. He drove forward like he was still on a groomed trail. Only when I truly pushed the limits—climbing deep powder off-trail—did I finally find where fatbiking ends and gravity wins. After all… they are still bikes.

Bye-Bye Larry?

The only downside of riding with Nate? I now realize how little traction the Larry actually delivers. We all just accepted Larry as the “cool kid,” especially compared to the slick Endo. But with Nate in town, Larry feels like the big fish from a very small pond.

Enter Mr. Surly Nate. The real heavyweight.

Nate’s Game Face

Nate has transformed my winter fatbiking from cautious and squirrely to confident and aggressive. With Nate on the rear, it feels like I’m pushing him forward as he tries to jam Larry into a locker and steal his lunch money.

Put a Nate up front, too? That’s like swapping your team of huskies for a pack of wolverines.
That’s how two Nates look—and ride—on a bike.

Nates are to Larrys what Larrys were to Endomorphs.
What Large Marges were to SnowCats.

Get one—or two—and change how you ride fatbikes.
Say goodbye to sketchy snow slaloms and pucker-inducing descents.
Ride like it’s summer singletrack, even in winter’s worst.

Anyone want to buy two lightly used Larrys?

Sell yours now—before everyone else reads this.