THE LUNCH RIDE is a long-standing Specialized tradition that occurs every day at 12:15. It's an all-out hammerfest in which a group of 20 or more riders blitz around on loops near Morgan Hill. Staffers ride, shower, wolf down a burrito, and are back at their desks in the space of 90 minutes.

Like any company involved in cutting-edge technology, Specialized has its own advanced R&D department. It has a staff of two, Egger and a Cat 1 road racer named Chris D'Aluisio, who's charged with exploring new concepts. D'Aluisio may ride more than anyone at the company, a fanatic among fanatics.

As loose as his job description sounds, D'Aluisio has produced more than 25 patents, including winners such as shock-absorbing Zertz elastomeric frame inserts and a five-point-star-flange hub. The Epic would feature a set of extremely light carbon cranks he designed, which cut 120 grams (a quarter-pound) from the previous model.

Another key department, marketing, is led by Ben Capron, a 15-year Specialized veteran. Capron, 37, grew up near Mount Tamalpais, in Marin County. In high school he invented the Marinovative mountain-bike brake, which foreshadowed Shimano's break-through V-brakes. After college he worked at a bike store until, like Egger, he was poached by Specialized. He began as a bike tech, went on to manage the brand, and now directs global marketing.

Like many at Specialized, Capron is unwilling to take the world as he finds it. After buying a $3,000 Tempur-Pedic mattress, he had no problem slicing it open with an X-acto so he could stiffen it up with a sheet of plywood. When not riding, he commutes in a 1981 Mercedes that can run on waste vegetable oil.

One day Capron takes me for a drive in the hills west of the Specialized offices. As we motor along, he tells me about Specialized's sponsorship of Quick Step, the Belgian road-racing team. In 2007, after Specialized replaced Time Sport International as team bike sponsor, they presented a new bike, the Tarmac SL2, to the riders. Team sprinter Tom Boonen, a Belgian, told engineers that the back end of the frame was not stiff enough.

To road-bike engineer Luc Callahan, it didn't make sense. According to results of the three primary stiffness tests, it was sufficiently stiff. The crew developed a new test, called Test 14, which proved that Boonen was right. Specialized started designing stiffer chainstays and seatstays, and to Capron the episode was proof that testing has its limits. You also have to just ride the thing and listen to what it's telling you.

Capron and I pull into a dusty parking lot, where a one-eyed terrier ambles about. Riders from Specialized often use Santa Teresa County Park to test bikes, and I can see flashes of red and white Lycra on the hill above. The three main product testers have flown in from all over: off-road triathlete Conrad Stoltz from his home in South Africa; Christoph Sauser from Zurich; and Ned Overend, the first mountain-bike world champion and a Specialized ambassador, from Colorado.

It's February 2008, a sunny winter afternoon, and the three are doing the first major field tests of the 2009 Epic. They ride again and again on a 100-yard stretch of bumps.

Nearby stands their audience: frame designer Talavasek and rear-suspension engineer Anthony Trujillo. They expect vocal criticism, but the riders are pleased with the new Epic. A couple of issues come up, including the clackety-clack of the suspension. Trujillo will spend the next two months quieting it down. Overend says he isn't getting the unwanted "feedback" he's gotten from the 2008 Epic, and Sauser thinks it transfers between up and down fluidly.

"It takes off up the hill like a jet fighter," he says, "but going downhill feels like landing a jumbo jet airplane. I like the stiff platform without any bleed."

Talavasek and Trujillo write down the Delphic utterings of the athletes. Though not terribly technical, their articulations will guide the next frame and suspension designs—propelling the new bike toward production, and toward something that's truly race-worthy.