f all my hobbies and passions, cycling has been the one constant that’s pulled me through the dark days and bad times. Of course, it’s also caused a few of them. Having only recently got back on the road with a new bike back in January, I had hoped for a brief period of reprieve, but the gods of the road clearly had other plans.
A while back, I noticed a broken spoke on the rear wheel. In over twenty-five years of adult riding, I’d never actually encountered this particular failure. I did my homework, watched a few instructional videos, and set to work in the workshop. Spoke replaced, wheel back on. Job done, right? Of course not—that’d make for a very short, very boring tale.
A few weeks later, the ride started feeling off. The rear brakes were working, but there was a distinct, rhythmic hesitation. Pulling over, I saw the wheel had gone wobblier than a drunk in a tavern. Despite being unable to keep clean contact with the pads, I limped home carefully. Closer inspection confirmed the bad news: another spoke had snapped. Recognising that trueing up a wheel properly takes a master’s touch, I surrendered the rim to a trusted local bike shop. A week later, my iron steed was fully restored, and I slotted the wheel back into the frame, ready to ride. Having spent a full week grounded, I was itching to get back into the saddle. That excitement was short-lived.
Halfway through the morning commute, I heard a sound that made my heart drop—a sharp, unmistakable ping. A quick roadside inspection confirmed the worst: spoke number three had relinquished its life. Being well past the point of no return, I carefully completed the journey to work and limped back home that evening, the wheel once again fighting against the brakes.
Time for a proper tactical review. I began researching the root cause and quickly landed on a possibility: total load capacity. Now, I’m not saying I’ve put on weight, and my gear certainly hasn't grown—if anything, I’m carrying less cargo than usual. But a light-duty 20-spoke setup just isn't built to endure the brutal, cratered battlegrounds that pass for our local roads and cycle paths.
The verdict? Retirement for the old wheel.
In its place, I’ve mounted a heavy-duty, 36-spoke war wagon wheel built to bear the load and absorb whatever punishment the terrain throws at it. Should being the key word. As an eternal pessimist with these mechanical trials, every unfamiliar rattle, ping, or bump in the road still makes my arse twitch.
I’ve logged a couple of test rides so far, and the new wheel is holding strong. Hopefully, the curse is broken—but as always, time will tell.
A Heavy Heart on Two Wheels
It’s impossible to talk about the simple, everyday trials of fixing wheels and tackling local roads without acknowledging the stark, devastating realities of the sport we love.
As many in the cycling community will already know, the tragic news broke last week of the passing of Finlay Tarling. At just 19 years old, the immensely talented Welsh rider was taken from us following a tragic collision while competing in the Volta a Portugal.
Finlay was a fierce competitor, a rising star with a brilliant future ahead, and a warrior on the tarmac—a true rider taken far, far too soon. When a young life is cut short doing what they loved, it puts my mechanical frustrations into sharp perspective.
My battlegrounds on the roads are small and mundane compared to the grand stages of the peloton, but we are all bound together by the same love for the open road and the freedom of two wheels.
To Finlay’s family, his brother Josh, his teammates, and everyone who knew and loved him—my deepest thoughts are with you.
Rest in peace, Finlay. Raise a horn in the Great Hall of Valhalla.
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𝖂𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊, 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖗.
ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ, ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴀʟᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴊᴏɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴜꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ʟɪᴠᴇʟʏ ʙᴜᴛ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴅᴇʙᴀᴛᴇ ɪꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʜᴀʟʟ — ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴏᴅꜱ ᴛʜᴇᴍꜱᴇʟᴠᴇꜱ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ꜱʜᴀʀᴘ ᴍɪɴᴅ.
ʙᴜᴛ ᴍɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴀɴɴᴇʀꜱ: ᴀʙᴜꜱᴇ, ʀᴜᴅᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴘᴀᴍ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ꜱᴡɪꜰᴛʟʏ ᴄᴀꜱᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴅ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴀᴠᴇɴꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪɢɴᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ.
ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴡɪꜱʜ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ, ᴀ ꜱɪᴍᴘʟᴇ ᴇᴍᴏᴊɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴅᴏ — ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴀ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴛ ɴᴏᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇɴᴄʜᴇꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ.
ɴᴏᴡ, ᴡᴀʀᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪꜱʜ.