I suppose I can think of three types of upgrades when it comes to bicycle parts. First, there’s good old retail therapy. Yes, you absolutely do deserve a King or Wolf Tooth titanium bottle cage and you’re going to have it forever, so at some point, the upfront cost won’t even matter. Already have one? Okay, how about a fancy stem cap or some colourful brake adapters? They’re investments, not wear items (Hahaha). After that, there are two categories of earned upgrades. The stuff you grow out of and the stuff you wear out. 

When I say “the stuff you grow out of” I mean that in terms of progression. Most of the tens of people who read MEATengines aren’t getting any taller. But at some point for those riding steep and janky terrain bigger brakes and tackier rubber will call out for recognition. 

When I say “the stuff you wear out” that’s probably plainly obvious. Grips, tires, saddles, and pedals tend to take the brunt of even the smoothest rubber-side-down miles. Derailleurs dangle in harm’s way, brake levers are all too often the first point of contact, and let’s not forget how brake rotors are magnetically attracted to any object that will bend them. 

I’m not averse to buying my bike some anodized purple Ti bolts on occasion. And I break more stuff in a year than is probably normal. But my favourite upgrades are the ones I earn by wearing stuff out. Examples? A single-speed cog that’s properly shark-finned, mushroomed, and missing a tooth or two speaks to a lot of miles standing out of the saddle cranking myself up hills. 

Dead tires and worn grips, too. Saddles that are rubbed thin by gritty winter rides. Brake rotors that are worn to the minimum thickness but somehow are still true enough, having been straightened a dozen times. A derailleur that has been smashed so many times that it’s bizarre that it can still wobble up and down the cassette hitting every gear – until it can’t. 

Fresh grips are both the greatest and, generally, the cheapest luxury in the world of earned upgrades. They go from fresh-fresh-fresh to splendidly shabby and degrade deliciously from there until one day they suck. 

That day, of course, never comes at the end of a ride, but rather always at the beginning. I start riding up the trail and realize that sticky-worn has become goopy trash or that one spot that my palm always perfectly connects with is now a crater of discomfort. And once I’ve had the thought, there’s no coming back from it. There’s only anticipation, looking forward to starting the process again with a new-grip day and then however many rides it takes to reach the zone of perfection. 

Earned and re-earned upgrades.