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2 July 2026

What long-distance cycling taught me about being a better developer

And what it changes, concretely, for my clients.

I spend my days with Laravel. But I've also spent weeks in the saddle, crossing Europe all the way to Nordkapp. And oddly enough, the road taught me things about my craft that no documentation ever could. Here are the main ones, and, more importantly, what they mean for you when we work together.

A fully loaded touring bike on a long, empty road heading towards the mountains
Weeks in the saddle: just you, the panniers, and the road

A project is never finished until it's truly finished

In Norway, the climbs lie to you. You think you've reached the top, and the slope kicks up again just past the bend. I came away with a rule I still repeat to myself: never assume the hard part is over until the day is genuinely done.

Development works the same way. The last 10% is exactly where the surprises hide: deployment, edge cases, how the thing behaves once real users get their hands on it. "Almost shipped" means nothing.

What this gives you: I put as much care into acceptance testing and going live as into the build itself. A proper staging environment, checks against real-world cases, support after launch. You're not left on your own the day real traffic shows up.

My touring bike, Norwegian flag on the back, parked in front of a fjord along the Norwegian coast
Norway: where the climbs lie to you, but the views make up for it

Listening to the little grinding noise

On the road, my bike started making a strange noise whenever I pushed hard in the high gears. For two days, I hoped it would sort itself out. It didn't: the chain had stretched dangerously and the chainrings were chipped. I found a workshop just in time, before everything gave out at the worst possible moment.

A project is no different. A slow query, a test that turns flaky, a bug that keeps coming back: those are the grinding noises. Ignored, they eventually break, always at the worst possible moment.

What this gives you: I deal with the early warning signs before they become failures. Preventive maintenance, monitoring, technical debt kept in check. Fewer emergencies, more peace of mind, and an application that ages well.

Saving your energy for the real climb

Before tackling the famous Trollstigen, I took the bus up a first, dizzying ascent. Not out of laziness, but out of strategy. I wanted to save my energy for the real challenge of the day.

Not everything deserves the same effort. Trying to over-optimise everything, everywhere, means arriving exhausted at the foot of the one climb that actually matters.

What this gives you: pragmatism. I focus the budget where it creates value for your business, not on invisible over-engineering. We start with the essentials that work, then build on top. You pay for what counts.

The right pace, held over the long haul

On the climbs, my key was to keep a steady speed, never forcing it. It's not the one who bolts off the line who reaches Nordkapp. It's the one who holds a consistent cadence, day after day.

Development rewards the same discipline. A sustainable, predictable pace always beats heroic sprints followed by a crash.

What this gives you: regular deliveries instead of disappearing into a months-long black box. You watch the project move forward, you keep your hand on the priorities, and you've got a partner for the long haul, not a flash in the pan.

A road sign reading "E69 Nordkapp 13" in the middle of the arctic tundra
13 kilometres to go — consistent cadence, day after day, gets you there

You never ride alone

If there's one thing those kilometres showed me, it's the generosity of the people you meet along the way: a coffee handed to you mid-climb, a mechanic who takes the time, a fellow rider you keep crossing paths with, stage after stage.

I develop solo, but I never work in isolation. The Laravel community, open source, the exchange between peers: that's what keeps my craft alive and up to date. And it's exactly the role I take alongside you: someone moving forward with you, someone you talk to directly, someone who won't leave you stranded on the climb.

Thanks for riding this far with me. If you've got a project in mind, let's talk it over a coffee. My treat, this time.