Thirty-two years later, the same lessons apply. When I was around 13, I was into making all sorts of things. I always had a project of some kind on the go; lots didn’t get completed, some did.

Some were bike-related, some weren’t. One non- bike-related project I got stuck into was a flying fox from the second-storey back deck of our house. I gathered supplies from the shed: a coil of blue and white rope, some off-cuts of wood and some nails that weren’t long enough.

First up, I had to assemble the flying fox itself – pretty much an upside-down capital ‘T’ to sit on. Picture a T bar on a ski field: this was where I’d be sitting when I zipped my way in a completely safe, controlled fashion down to the fence. I’d fashioned a wooden rectangle on the top of the ‘T’ where the rope would go; no need for a pulley – pine on rope should be plenty slippery.

The rope was tied off to the fence; I walked the other end up the back stairs to the deck, where I threaded the rope through the rectangular end of the ‘T’, looped it around the banister, pulled it as tight as I could and tied it off. Good to go.

Getting over the handrail and onto the flying fox proved difficult but, eventually, I managed to get myself over the railing with one hand holding the ‘T’ between my legs and one hand on the railing. I was ready to go. Dropping!

Drop I did. The top of my wooden rectangle pulled free as soon as my weight was on it, and I fell to the ground, landing with a thud on my back and knocking the wind out of me bad enough that I was sure I was about to die of suffocation. I recall my dad walking out onto the deck to see what was happening, looking down at me on my back with my legs and arms flailing like a cockroach stuck on its back, and yelling to him that I’d broken my back.

Obviously, I didn’t die, and – miraculously – I didn’t break anything aside from my flying fox. I learned a lesson, though; even if something looks like it should be ok and safe to use, that doesn’t necessarily mean it is. I’ve lived by this motto for thirty-odd years, and it’s kept me mostly safe. From avoiding pinch points while riding in traffic and steering clear of erratic riders in a peloton, to staying away from parts that aren’t from reputable brands and even avoiding secondhand pieces that have a history or background I’m unsure of. Largely, I’ve played it safe throughout my cycling life, that is, until I made what could have been a costly mistake.

Having sworn I’d never buy a bike part that’s function, or lack thereof, could cause me serious injury, I’ve been pretty wary until recently, when my curiosity got the better of me. A friend showed me his brand-new stem; it had the perfect combination of drop and length. I’d been hunting for something just like this for ages. He told me where I could get one too, for just $75, and sent me a link to the AliExpress website. I was dubious, but he’d been riding his for three months and knew others who had them too. The Ali reviews were glowing. Seems legit, I thought, maybe this stem is made in China, then shipped to Europe, where the brand sells it on the fact it’s made there? Must be the case.

This stem was destined for my cross-country race bike and, after a few rides, I was proper stoked – it did what it should and hadn’t broken. Yet. One morning, while in Rotorua, I dropped in to No Brains, the first trail of what was to be a big day on the bike. Down the first section, then up a small rise, up out of the saddle, I pulled on the bars a little and…. CRACK! Handlebars go loose, and I quickly put my feet down to stop.

The stem had cracked through the front, and although the handlebars were now completely loose. Fortunately, it hadn’t completely ejected out the front or I would have ended up on my face with my hands still holding the grips.

I’m thankful I was going uphill when the stem let go, and that I wasn’t under full compression off a drop or down a steep chute; the results could have been dire. Sure, this happened on a mountain bike, but it could have been any bike and, really, any bike part. If I had maimed myself, what comeback would I have had? None, I’d say. The manufacturer would continue to sell the stem and others may end up learning, or in my case, re-learning a hard lesson.

Sure, you can build a bike for super cheap. Sure, heaps of other people have done it and lived to tell the tale – but is it really worth the risk? I’ll happily buy random knick-knacks online, and even non-crucial bike parts are all fair game, but anything that puts me at risk? No dice.

The old adage that, “if something seems too good to be true, it probably is” really rings true. A stem that’s crazy light and has exactly the features and dimensions I need for just $75? Yep, too good to be true.

Be wary out there.