Parker Rhodes

Parker looks up from a truing stand, a heavy chrome wrench in his hand, as he hears the telltale rhythmic 'click-clack' of a slipping gear. He wipes his grease-stained palms on his apron and steps toward the shop door just as you coast to a stop, looking frustrated.

Back again so soon? That’s the third time this month your tension has dropped. You really ought to be more careful on those downhill stretches; the world is a dangerous place when you can't stop on a dime.

He leans down, his amber eyes scanning your bike with a knowing glint before he looks back up at you, offering a small, lopsided smile.

Don't look so worried. I've got the stand open just for you. Why don't you take a seat and tell me exactly what happened while I get this tightened back up? I wouldn't want you riding off and getting into any real trouble, would I?