Alright, Wheel World, Let's Get Weird: My Hunt for the Abominable Bike
AI Gaming News Author · Rock Paper Shotgun ·
Jeff dives into the chill vibes of *Wheel World*, a ghostly bicycle racer, but finds himself grappling with a parts system that stubbornly refuses to let him build the truly abominable, over-specialised bikes his chaotic heart desires, despite the game's own magical inclinations.
Right, so you know that feeling when you're tinkering with something, maybe a new spell, and you think you’ve got it all mapped out, only for the arcane energies to just… *do their own thing*? Like you wanted to conjure a fire elemental, but you ended up with a sentient toaster that demands butter? Yeah, that’s kinda where I’m at with a game called *Wheel World*.
I’ve been dabbling in *Wheel World* lately, a ghostly bicycle racer that, honestly, is far enough outside my usual chaotic stomping grounds that it feels fresh. It’s got this zen-like quality, perfect for unwinding after a day of accidentally opening portals to the snack dimension. But it’s also just competitive enough that you can snag a win without having to sweat too much, which is a neat trick. And the whole cycling culture thing? Fair dinkum, it’s a whole new lexicon, mate. I obviously know loads about ghosts – been dealing with them since my first pixelated poltergeist hunt – but bikes? Proper new territory.
Now, for all its chill vibes and spectral pedal-power, there’s one aspect that’s been bugging me like a rogue digital sprite: the parts system. This isn't just a minor cog in the machine; it dictates how your haunted two-wheeler performs and, outside of the story, it’s basically the game's primary measure of progression. And here's the rub: I reckon, like Brendy (who, let's be honest, usually nails it), that once you’ve swapped out those rusty starter bits for something decent, there’s barely any incentive to really fine-tune your ride. Why? Because a bog-standard, all-rounder bike can pretty much win *anything*. And given the game’s gentle difficulty curve, it probably will. Bor-ing.
Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not here to demand that *Wheel World* suddenly becomes a Dark Souls on two wheels or, heaven forbid, a hyper-realistic bike simulator where you have to meticulously calculate wind resistance and chain lubrication. No, mate, I’m asking for the opposite. I want the freedom to mess things up! To build a bike so ridiculously specialised, so utterly geared towards one single stat, that it becomes an absolute *menace* – or a hilarious, unholy mess – everywhere else. Just for the japes, you know?
My first grand experiment after rolling the credits was to conjure forth a demon-bike, something so ridiculously fast it would theoretically slingshot me off the planet's curvature and into the sun with a single pedal rotation. But, crucially, it had to be utterly useless in the corners, a complete write-off when it came to grip. Imagine the challenge! One huge, terrifying advantage, balanced by several crippling disadvantages. Learning to tame such a beast would be like forgetting everything you knew about bicycling and becoming one with the machine – no matter how profane. This, I thought, would be the true endgame challenge.
So, I dove into four hours’ worth of unlocks, rummaging through digital cogs and sprockets like a mad wizard searching for the perfect runic inscription. I was ready for chaos. I was ready for disaster. What did I get? A bike that was… quite fast. And a bit un-aerodynamic. It needed earlier braking on tight turns, sure, but it was hardly the physics-defying horror I’d envisioned. I rang its disappointingly mundane bell, challenged another spectral cyclist, and won the race without breaking a sweat, riding pretty much exactly like I had for the previous four hours. What a cosmic fizzle. It was like trying to summon Cthulhu and ending up with a particularly grumpy goldfish.
Undeterred, I cooked up my next perilous over-specialised design: the ultimate grip-mobile. My plan was simple. *Wheel World* usually punishes collisions by pinging you off a tree while your assailant just trundles on. I wanted to subvert that. I dreamed of steamrolling through the pack on an immovable traction powerhouse, swatting away rivals like it was *Burnout 3* on two wheels. Seriously, picture it: the unholy thrum of an unstoppable bike, defying the very laws of spectral physics! I even found a seat with nails sticking out of it – for *extra* grip, obviously. I maxed out the grip stat meter. But sadly, even with a full rebuild, riding the thing still felt underwhelmingly ordinary. I’d shrug off *some* crashes that previously would have sent me skidding, but some competitors could still sideswipe me with enough force to knock my mighty grip-machine off course.
In the end, my quest to construct *Wheel World*’s daftest bike came down to a bunch of cheap sight gags. I stuck a big eye on the rear wheel. The seat became a cupped hand. The drivetrain didn't appear to be connected to anything at all. Ha ha? No, not really. Because even *this* monstrosity served as an adequate race machine, easily splashing another roaming rider at the first ask. Bloody hell.
Look, it’s still a fine game, to be clear. The lack of interest in genuinely mad loadouts does make a certain kind of sense. *Wheel World* clearly takes its inspiration from the freeing, wind-in-your-face sensation of casual riding, rather than the death-defying stunts or record-breaking speed runs. And that’s cool. But here’s the thing, mate: it’s also a fantasy tale where you get boost powers from *magic skulls*. Magic skulls! Tonally, I reckon it’s got *plenty* of room to let me build a spoked rocketship with barely functioning handlebars, something that looks like it escaped from a wizard’s garage sale after a particularly potent mishap. I just want to cast some truly chaotic bike spells, you know? Let me experiment, let me fail spectacularly, let me create something abominable and brilliant. Is that too much to ask?
Tags: Indie Games, Game Design, Player Experience, Customization, Bike Racing
Original article: Rock Paper Shotgun