Clank, rattle, crunch. My high-end speed weapon rumbles across the cobbles like a marimba in meltdown mode. Even mirrored lenses can’t hide the disapproving glares from the group as I investigate the source of the cacophony at the next cortado stop. The culprit is quickly uncovered: it’s the bottle cage. Weighing in at a feathery 25 grams, it’s raced by the pros, praised by power users in online forums and – in a moment of peak bike-nerdery – mounted on my downtube with titanium bolts. A true lightweight icon, perfectly sculpted, aero optimised and… completely outmatched in its cage fight with a 650 ml dual-carb mix bottle. The mounting hole has been hammered out. Frayed carbon fibres stare back at me, waving in the breeze. “Replace me,” they whisper. I feel a pang of guilt. Did I really believe I could get lifelong pro vibes for € 80? A watts-per-kilo upgrade that would launch me from the sofa straight into the Strava top ten? Honestly? Yes. Everything’s up for sale these days – why not speed too?
Money Can’t Buy Me Love
5 watts saved with aero socks, 20 with deep-section wheels, 3 from a waxed chain, 10 with aero tires, another 10 with an aero helmet, 5 from the integrated cockpit and – brace yourself, game changer incoming – 15 full watts thanks to the aero skinsuit. Do I even need to pedal to perform? Why bother training when the Amazon delivery driver holds the key to success? If I’m already pumping out cash, I’d really rather not be sweating as well. Watching Eurosport from the sofa in a tailor-made skinsuit feels fast too, in its own way.
Each upgrade, with its seductive promise to save watts, shifts the focus away from the joy of riding and towards the dopamine rush of buying. Less time in the saddle, more time scrolling through bike shop tabs. But sadly, those pro-level parts often come with strings attached. When a laminated carbon spoke snaps, there’s no team car behind us ready to offer a fresh wheel. And when a bramble punches through your ultralight race tire’s delicate carcass, it’s down to you to peel it off the rim. Puncture protection? That’s for amateurs!
Former road pro David Millar sums it up perfectly: “A lot of the pro racing stuff is almost disposable.” Good thing we’re hardly riding anyway. Today the crew gathers solemnly around the hot-wax heater, sipping protein shakes and debating the merits of cherry juice as a recovery drink. Nobody will ride today, though. It’s too late. No cherry juice – what a pity. On the upside, at least the aero tires will last a little longer.
All or Nothing; Or Maybe Somewhere in Between?
Yes, race bikes have become significantly faster in recent years. But with every single component now hyped as the ultimate game changer, it’s getting harder to see the real innovation under all of the marketing fluff. The titanium axles in your carbon pedals? The TPU inner tubes? The ceramic bearings? Marginal gains aren’t about the either/or. They’re all about the and. And everything matters. Every detail counts, savings accumulate. Once you enter the marginal gains game, you’ve got to commit. That aero helmet’s only worth the watts if your position on the bike is spot on. So, off you go for a bike fit – which, of course, means a new handlebar and stem combo to match. And while you’re at it, those carbon insoles suddenly make a lot of sense too.
But just before finally stepping out into the wild during your spotless functional window, another beast looms on the horizon: nutrition. Once you’ve heard that Pogi and the rest of the peloton are shovelling in 150 grams of carbs an hour, that lonely banana in your jersey pocket starts to look embarrassingly basic. To be fair, few things have such a huge impact on performance as fuelling. The right intake can give you more watts than all the oversized pulley wheels in the world combined.
The trouble is, with all the caffeine gels, energy bars, multi-carb drink mixes, hydration tabs and recovery shakes on offer, it starts to feel like you’re more likely to mess it up than get it right. Which sugars can my body actually absorb? How do I calculate my energy needs? And hang on – what was the deal with creatine again?
If you’re not riding flat-out on the edge of your limits for hours at a time, you can afford to relax a bit. You don’t need to dig into the full functional food toolbox just to go for gelato. For an Alpine gran fondo? Maybe. Wanting everything and doing everything, all the time, is just too much. A bit of faith in your fat metabolism – plus a petrol station or two along the way – will usually get you home. Maybe a little slower, a bit more knackered, slightly less optimised… but definitely a whole lot more chilled.
Coulda, Shoulda, Waxed my Chain – How Marginal Gains Turn Every Ride into a “What If?”
With a good rain jacket in your pack, there’s a sense of calm. Whatever happens, you’ll stay reasonably dry and warm; consumption can be comforting sometimes. The upgrade frenzy? Not so much. The philosophy of marginal gains demands constant optimisation. The status quo is the enemy. Factor proudly slaps Never Status Quo on their bikes. That’s fair enough for a manufacturer – same goes for pro riders. But for us mere mortals? If you’re not mentally adjusting your cleat-position while falling asleep in your altitude tent, you’re already slipping down the ranks. So long, chill mode.
Marginal gains keep us in a constant state of high alert. If it doesn’t make you faster, it has no place. Heading out without checking your tire pressures first? Risky. Finishing a ride without pummelling your fascia with a foam roller? Unthinkable. Because marginal gains have become a status symbol, too. Rocking up to the group ride in short socks? Either you’re Primož Roglič, or you’ve just committed social suicide. Miss nothing, skip no trend, leave no potential untapped.
And so, every ride becomes a game of “what if?”. What if I’d had deeper rims? Would a better fuelling strategy have pushed me further? Could I have smashed that PR with a waxed chain? The here and now is constantly compared to a hypothetical better version. Everything could be better. Everything should be better. And, of course, that includes you.
So, onto the training plan. Or maybe just get a coach? After all, if you’re doing it at all, you might as well do it properly. A chilled loop through the vineyards with friends? Not happening. The plan says intervals. So it’s 20 reps up the 40-second climb behind the industrial estate. Pretty sure Van der Poel does it this way too.
Luckily, it’s Sunday. No one’s back there behind the recycling centre. It’s not pretty, but at least it’s empty. No mates to distract you, no choices to tempt you. After sprint number 17, the legs give in. It’s a bad day. Defeated, you roll home. Maybe a mental coach would help.
Don’t Ride like a Pro
Without progress, cycling would be a pretty dull hobby. It’s the job of brands and pro riders to push that progress forward. But for most of us, obsessing over fractional watt savings or a steadily climbing FTP just doesn’t make much sense. That alone wouldn’t be a problem – not everything in life needs to be logical. The real issue is how narrow the focus becomes, and just how much frustration the marginal gains game can cause.
Most of us don’t have the cash to keep upgrading every part of our bike ecosystem, nor the time – or frankly the physical capacity – to do the same with our nutrition or training. Ride like a pro sounds good on Instagram, but it rarely brings any actual joy. If you reduce cycling to pure performance and constant progress, you’re guaranteed to hit a wall at some point. There is a fair bit of self-delusion in trying to train, live and spend like a pro, only to get hammered by a 13 year old on a mountain-bike.
So maybe it’s time to rethink what “progress” even means. Training, in a broader sense, is just your body adapting to new stimuli. And that new stimulus might be a route that goes completely wrong. It might be a failed fueling strategy, or a ride on a 14 kg vintage bike. It doesn’t always have to be the bike or the rider that improves – sometimes it’s the experience itself that needs to evolve and inspire us all over again.
Oh, and about those ultra-lightweight bottle cage bolts: trying to remove them with a multitool was a total failure. With one twist, the bolt head vanished into the titanium abyss. In the end, I had to attack my capricious carbon diva with a hacksaw, and yank out the bolts using a pipe wrench. So now I’m shopping for a new bottle cage. 25 grams was way too heavy anyway. Surely I can go lighter – and maybe even more aero?
Conclusion
For brands and pros, the status quo is the final boss – and the only way to beat it is through constant optimisation of both rider and machine. Ten grams here, two watts there. Everything has a value. Everything has a price. Every ride, every experience is dissected, broken down and reduced to individual data points. But as everyday riders, we can – and should – resist this logic. Because in the long run, it’s not just endlessly expensive. It’s also painfully dull.
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Words: Nils Hofmeister Photos: Julian Lemme