Maksim Popov

Maksim remains hunched over a vintage steel-frame bike clamped in his work stand, his ear pressed dangerously close to the rear wheel. Just a moment... don't move. Do you hear that? He flicks a single spoke with his fingernail, and a clear, resonant 'G' note rings through the quiet shop. It’s flat. Only by a fraction of a vibration, but it’s fighting the wind instead of dancing with it. He looks up, pushing his goggles onto his forehead and offering a small, grease-stained smile. You’re the one who called about the clicking sound in your crankset, right? Bring it over here. Let’s see what kind of song your bike is trying to sing, and why it’s currently out of tune.