How Not to Build Phone Apps: The Story of Twelve Gauge Software

This is the story all about how, we failed to become world famous app developers right now.

I was going to drip-feed this article out in sections, but ultimately decided that it works better in one long go. Before we begin, please note:

  1. The word “Spinning” and its ilk, when referencing static exercise bike workouts, are somehow registered trade marks of Mad Dogg Athletics, Inc.
  2. The memories of the best of us fade with the passage of time, so despitte my efforts to recall and plot the precise timeline of events that this article describes there may be one or two small discrepancies in the exact dating.

I am concerned that “Survivor Bias” shapes far too much of what we see and hear in the world of careers and business. I enjoy few things more than reading a good story of failure – something that gives me a good shot of context, something that puts everyone else’s apparent glory into perspective. We all love an underdog, but I have a greater feeling of warmth towards people who were the plucky underdog who failed to achieve greatness, but are happy to celebrate their mistakes. It takes more grit and character to regale people with failure than it does to lecture people on success, and I wish there were more articles out there from people in The Failure Club. “We need to be the change we wish to see in the world,” so where better to start this quiet revolution with one of my own stories of failure. Initially, when first plotting my write-up for this article, I was going to introduce it with a massively sarcastic glimpse of an imaginary end – a beguiling description of a life of success and its trappings, before going on to detail how this came to pass, unfolding an adventure of mobile phone app development, friendships pushed to their breaking point, of failure, and of the eventual hard-won victory – which there wasn’t.

Then I thought – fuck it, why bother. Just tell the damn story. It’s a Hero’s Journey, just without any heroes. There’ll be no victory at the end, but it was still one hell of a journey. This is the story of Twelve Gauge Software.

The tale begins in the summer of 2010, when one day, out-of-the-blue, my friend Dean asked if I “fancied giving this Android app development thing a go?” Both of us were in full time jobs, so any undertaking would be a pure side-project, mainly for the fun and camaraderie, with any profit being a pleasant (but necessary) bonus. At the time Dean worked for a profligate quango (for the benefit of those outside of the UK this is a Quasi-Autonomous Non-Governmental Organisation), and in their spendthrift wisdom they had chosen to bestow upon him an HTC Desire smartphone, for no discernable reason, and it was the acquisition of this device that sparked Dean’s desire to develop something for Android. Upon seeing the phone I too was instantly captivated, and I eagerly agreed to his proposal. The pair of us were completely clueless about Android development, so in the days that followed we set about a-Googling to amass some quick knowledge, and concluded that native Android apps were developed using Java. Who better to rope into this endeavour than our friend Danno – an actual Java developer.

Danno went away and spent a couple of weeks investigating online manuals and forums, acquainting himself with the barebone basics of how to get an Android app up-and-running. Dean and I were confident he’d be able to make sense of what to us was arcane gibberish, as Danno has always been able to muster an Asperger’s poster-boy level of concentration, thus was more than equipped to cope with the fucking obtuse and vague Android documentation. When he reported back to us he was immensely positive, saying that it should be within his capabilities as it’s; “…all about attaching event listeners and…” I forget the rest, as I zoned-out at the phrase “attaching event listeners” as my own comprehension faltered, but the overall timbre of his voice was confident and I knew he understood the words that he himself was saying; that’s good enough for me.

A few weeks later we met up at mine for a brainstorming session: What should our first app be? We paced about my living room, scribbled drawings, and argued about the merits of various suggested avenues. Eventually, out of nothing, I came up with the quirky notion that it would be useful to be able to launch specific apps and actions based on gestures made with the phone – wouldn’t it be great if a certain flick of the wrist and a shake could trigger a false ringtone to allow me to get out of awkward conversations with people who were devouring too much of my time? Perhaps make a phone call based purely on a specific hand fling: speed-dial on steroids? At the time gesture mapping apps had yet to be done to death, and the couple of apps that did something similar to this were frankly appalling. So that was it, decision made; our first app would be a gesture-based app launcher, project codename “Dudley Manlove” (later to be officially retitled “Blindfire”).

That session turned out to be the easy bit, for it was all uphill from then onwards. In Android’s formative days gyroscope support (at both hardware and API levels) was near non-existent, so we spent week-upon-week-upon-week-upon-week wrestling with various ways to map device orientation coordinates. Nothing seemed consistent, so at each weekly dev night we seemed to return to the start, unable to figure out what the hell the numbers we were logging from the phone actually meant. My interpretations of the values would work one week but then fall apart the next, my whiteboard became a mess of rough graphs and number grids, crossings-out and childish sketches of boxes tilting at various angles.

It turned out that we’d been wasting our time; the numbers meant nothing. I wasn’t understating things before; there really was zero support for gyroscope usage in those days, and if we’d studied the Android docs more thoroughly we’d have realised this sooner. Whilst the API promised certain meanings from each of the gyroscope coordinates there were further appendices, stating that these API function signatures were little more than stubs, mere placeholders to be fleshed-out in later Android versions once the baseline level of hardware had risen. With our every attempt to wring something useful out of Android foundering we were beginning to get a little pissed off. Had it not been for the surfacing of a second app idea we might still be fighting the gyroscope to this day.

In September 2010 a work colleague of Dean approached him with an idea for an app. He proposed a simple app that would present the user with exercise routines to imitate spinning classes; static exercise bike workouts at various cadences and peddling speeds, done on a special type of exercise bike specifically designed to support this type of workout. Typically an instructor should lead these sessions, issuing orders and encouragement to a room of accompanying participants, sweating and panting as they struggle to keep up with the level set by this gymnasium obergruppenführer. Dean’s work colleague was coming to the end of a gruelling turn-your-life-around regime, where he’d lost a quite frankly jaw-dropping 16 stone in six months. This was thanks to a carefully restricted diet and spinning classes.

The app would essentially fulfil the role of a personal trainer; the user would mount their phone on the handlebars of the bike and the app would give them visual and audio cues to follow. Our market research showed it to be a promising venture; high demand and low supply – no one had really gotten into this particular app niche yet, but fitness apps as a whole showed solid popularity. The feasibility of building such an app also seemed realistic; a rotating wheel, a label indicating cadence level, a countdown timer, a label saying “stand up” or “sit down” to indicate whether the user should be in or out of the saddle – it all sounded pretty doable.

Project Dudley Manlove was shelved, never getting beyond its proto-R&D feasibility stage, an idea we hoped to return to when the technology caught up with our aspirations – we had wanted to make an app that could turn a phone into a magic wand but had been thwarted, so we admitted defeat and moved onto the new project: Virtual Spinning Instructor, project codename: …I can’t remember…it was another actor from Plan 9 From Outer Space…Tor Johnson, that was it.

With a reasonably-granular design quickly in place we jumped into action in November 2010, but our initial progress was slow, with Danno still prodding and probing his way round the peculiarities of Android’s implementation of Java, and Dean and I finding it tricky to produce a clean UI for the app without it looking like a 5 year old had knocked it together (we eventually discovered that DroidDraw wasn’t the answer). With one group dev night a week for in-person discussion, and initially using the soon-to-be-discontinued Google Wave as an idea collation and chat forum, we each chugged away in our spare time. (NB. I really liked Google Wave, I wish they’d stuck with it a bit longer.)

Weeks passed, and we had several things in place. We had a main screen, with animated rotating cadence wheel, and we were busy coding the logic for the workout routines that would inject life into that screen. There was still a hell of a long way to go, not least because this was the first production code we’d written for Android, and as such we knew that there’d be bits we’d have to tear apart and rebuild to improve performance. Initially we were aiming for something that worked and hung together as a cohesive whole, and we hoped to have version one ready in about six months.

It was lunchtime, Monday 10th January 2011. Dean was contentedly sat at his desk, working on whatever stuff he was doing back then, when he received an email from his work colleague (the formerly-fat one who had come up with the app idea); for some ungodly reason he’d contacted BBC East Midlands local news about his tremendous weight loss exploits, and that he’d been using a new Android spinning app to help him; our app – our as-yet unfinished and nowhere near release-worthy app. The BBC insisted that they send a camera crew to interview him and see the app tomorrow, and he foolishly agreed. Dean emailed me in a state of utter panic: we needed to get a semi-working version of the app ready for the next day, so that they could show it on the news. Fiddlesticks.

That evening Dean and Danno came to mine for a frantic coding session. Despite intense fatigue, by 11.00 p.m. Danno had mustered something that built successfully and was working…well, semi-working: it would crash after about thirty seconds as the workout routine transitioned between stages, but it was good enough for the mere handful of seconds that it would appear in a tiny news segment. Danno was exhausted and went home to binge sleep, so it was now Dean’s and my shift at the keyboard. We stayed at it till midnight, trying numerous ways to make the build installable in dev mode on Dean’s phone (up to this stage we’d still only ever had one Android phone to work with: Dean’s HTC Desire). Eventually we got the APK to install, and we emailed it straight to Dean’s work colleague. At half past midnight he phoned back to confirm that it also worked on his phone, so having done all we could Dean went home and I tried to get some sleep.

As promised, the next day the BBC visited Dean’s formerly-fat work colleague to interview him about his colossal weight shedding. The video segment would later find its way onto the BBC news website, but I couldn’t wait that long to sate my curiosity, so I arranged for several friends and family members to record all local news segments for the next few days to ensure I got it snagged, whenever the BBC deigned to broadcast it.

Upon watching the segment two particular practices within BBC broadcast journalism were apparent. For a start they obviously don’t think that the general public will understand technology-sector job titles beyond the most vague and generic of descriptions, as they grossly misrepresented Dean’s work colleague as an “IT Consultant”, when in fact he was a sysadmin. Secondly, perhaps to their credit, they chose to cut the many attempts he made at shoehorning the name of the app and our development team into the interview, eventually the creation of the software being simplified to a mere “I’ve designed an app”. Alas we would remain creditless.

Proudly showing the news segment to my parents, saying, “That thing there on his phone, the thing with the wheel on it: we made that,” didn’t quite get the impressed response I was hoping for. My father ignored the appearance of our app, his main comment being: “That fella’s got a good pair of dibs and dabs on him.” (Translation: “That man has substantial ears,” a pair of which Dean’s work colleague indeed possessed.)

With the app still nowhere near ready for release the local news segment produced only problems for us, notwithstanding the aneurism-inducing late night rush-job to get a demo working for it. We started receiving emails from people who had seen the news coverage and were wondering where to find the app. The polite answer I gave was: “We’re hoping to have it ready soon, we’re just finessing one or two things,” but the real answer should have been: “I honestly haven’t got a frigging clue – we’re not even nearly ready. I don’t know Java, and I’m still not entirely sure what my purpose on this team is, other than making tea and eating Dean’s Maltesers. Oh and replying to these emails – yea, that’s my thing.”

Slow progress became even slower when, in February 2011, we welcomed the birth of Dean’s first child, further knocking our collective’s productivity. Dean is the first to admit that, whilst enjoying parenthood, he’s never found it to be a walk in the park, and his attendance at weekly dev nights evaporated. Behind the scenes Dean continued to work on the app visuals, which he could easily email over to us (being just XML text files), whilst Danno and I plodded on with the main app logic.

The inquisitive emails from eager prospective users went on for months, but a confirmable release date was still miles off, so I continued to fend off this curiosity as best I could – a unique challenge of trying to quell the fire of interest without putting it out, the old simultaneous dampen-yet-stoke. Our morale peaked and troughed on an almost daily cycle, as the small wins we achieved with breakthroughs in the code got eroded by the catastrophically vague crashbugs that would appear out of nowhere. We got used to Android fighting us all the way, but not once did we ever consider abandoning the project.

In retrospect our workflow could have used a little streamlining. A perfect example of the absurdity was how each of us worked remotely with the codebase. Danno’s day job meant he had tremendous experience with Eclipse, it having been his main IDE for many years, and he hoped both Dean and I would be comfortable working with it too, and to use it to push our changes to the remote BitBucket repository. Alas both Dean and I were (and still are) absolutely petrified of Eclipse, both being more used to Visual Studio’s comparative terseness. The pair of us did most of our tweaks in Notepad++ and saved our code as text files, to manually integrate them when Danno was around to supervise; neither of us wanted the honour of being the first guy to break the build and fuck up Danno’s hard work, because he’d never let us hear the last of it. We were also painfully aware that our Java knowledge extended no further than being familiar with fundamental C-style syntax, so anything beyond typical logic structures required Danno’s assistance. Plus, as Danno refactored everything we did anyway, we knew our unsupervised pushes to the codebase was an infiltration – a stealthy insertion of sub-standard code. We didn’t want to distract Danno; he was shouldering 90% of the development burden, with Dean making a vain attempt to learn some of Java’s quirks and me just trying to wing-it. Despite our disjointed work practices, as summer turned to autumn and autumn to winter in 2011, we were satisfied that we almost had a version one ready to go, after over a year of development.

For some baffling reason we slated the release day for Christmas Eve 2011. Dean wanted to time the release to coincide with New Year, to ride the inevitable demand wave of the populous’s predictable resolution to exercise more and get fit. Unfortunately the first release build didn’t go quite right, so after a quick phone conversation Danno whipped up a revised build and emailed it over to me (managing the publishing and interacting with the Google Android developers’ portal being one of my disparate responsibilities). Thus the actual release day slipped to Christmas Day 2011. We felt good…well, Dean and Danno did – I was in the process of being dumped by the lady I was dating, so I felt shit, but the app being released into the wild brought a little relief.

Indoor Cycling Coach, nee Virtual Spinning Instructor

If only that could be the ending to the story, but we know stories like this never end neatly. Despite zero marketing and little product awareness, within 24 hours we had downloads, purely from people searching on the Google app store, and accompanying these downloads were reviews; many good, many bad. Users started to email us asking for new features, reporting bugfixes and requesting specific device support, and our product backlog started to swell once more. The respite hadn’t lasted long enough; the pressure was back on and we needed to return to the coalface straight away, otherwise the negative reviews would start to pile up and drown us; we couldn’t afford to lose momentum.

So the slog began again in earnest, with Dean working on a revamp of the visuals and some tutorial screens, whilst Danno and I continued to devise and deploy bugfixes and new features. We made it through to April 2012 without further incident, but then we hit a big problem. On the 1st of May we received an email from a US company accusing of us of infringing their trade mark on the word “spinning”, when used in the context of indoor exercise bike workouts:

I’m sending this email to you regarding the app your company has developed called “Virtual Spinning Instructor”.

Our company, Mad Dogg Athletics, Inc. are the creators of Spinning related to indoor cycling ( It is imperative that you contact me immediately regarding the misuse of our Spinning trademark related to the above Android application. I can be reached at REDACTED during the hours of 9:00am and 6:00pm PST (California) or on my cell phone between 6:00pm and 11:00pm – REDACTED. You can also send me an email – REDACTED.

Again, it is imperative that you contact me immediately. Regards, Rhona Attwater, Executive to John Baudhuin CEO, Mad Dogg Athletics, Inc.

Our app, Virtual Spinning Instructor, clearly breached a trade mark which Mad Dogg Athletics had registered in territories spanning the globe, a trade mark that of course none of us even knew existed – or even could exist; we’d always thought that spinning was the generic name of a type of workout, akin to saying “I’m going for a run”. If Mad Dogg Athletics knew about the number of gyms in the UK and Europe called “The Spinning Gym”, “The Spin Centre”, “Spinning Fitness” or names of similar ilk then they’d have a litigation meltdown.

The next day I headed round Danno’s for our dev session, and we got Dean on the phone to discuss our predicament. We had no choice; we had to change the name, and we needed a new one fast. We threw various words, phrases and idioms back and forth, and I drove home with a head foggy with synonyms that might describe the sort of exercise encompassed by “spinning”, but didn’t use that particular word in any way.

Back home, now nearly 10.00 p.m., I fired up my laptop to respond to Rhona at Mad Dogg Athletics:

Hi Rhona,

We’re UK based, so phoning you would have been a bit of a nightmare, so we’ll continue this correspondence via email if that’s ok.

I have to admit we had no idea the word “Spinning” in this context was considered as a trade mark, it appears we have accidentally trodden on your toes somewhat. It looks like we have no alternative but to rename our app. Give us two weeks and we’ll have it rebranded.

Twelve Gauge Software.

Ten minutes later, just as I was about to shutdown, I received a reply:

Actually Drew, shoot me your number and I’ll call you right now.

Following a little bit of trouble communicating my landline number to her, replete with all the necessary prefixes for international dialling, I received her phone call and for fifteen minutes I talked to Rhona, over in California. She was very polite and friendly, though I’m not sure she found the clash of her 100% pure American accent with my thoroughly Nottingham-UK brogue quite as humorous as I did.

It took us less than twenty-four hours to come up with a new name, and with a quick re-jig of the app and publishing profile Virtual Spinning Instructor vanished, to be immediately re-released as Indoor Cycling Coach. In the following weeks we received a few emails from new users, saying that they’d had trouble discovering the app, and suggesting that we “rename it to something with spinning in the title?” I would reply to these people with a brief summary of our problem with use of the word “spinning”, and that we were now using a name with as accurate a description as we were permitted to conjure.

During this period the other incident of note was Danno’s successful attempt to port the app to the stillborn BlackBerry app store. Around this time RIM made a so-late-it’s-not-even-fashionable entrance to the neo-smartphone and tablet market, and tried to lure developers to their platform with the promise of a free BlackBerry PlayBook for anyone who jumped onto their belated bandwagon and released an app. Danno could not resist the lure of a freebie, and he turned out to be one of the few developers on the planet who could actually make sense of the broken tools RIM had produced to port Android apps to the BlackBerry OS. With the app ported, accepted and available on RIM’s app store Danno began to wait for his free new PlayBook to arrive. To this day he’s still waiting, which is probably for the best.

With the bugfixes and tweaks having made the app reliable on 99% of devices we began to look to the future. Our current release was the “LT” or “Lite” version; free to download but bearing a ghastly advert banner at the bottom of each screen, coughing up all manner of unusual marketing materials to our audience’s eyes. From day one the profit model was a square peg in a round hole, as no one with a grain of common sense would want to click on an advert whilst they were sweating away on an exercise bike in the midst of a workout session. Having said this, we had had to implement a pause and resume function within the lite version, not because people were requesting the ability to pause the workout for a few seconds (which I think is a reasonable use-case), but because a few people wanted the ability to pause their workout and return to it later – as in later that day. Whilst these people were clearly fucking morons who didn’t have a clue how a fitness regime should work we added the facility anyway, aware of the potential for negative reviews if we didn’t. Aside from utilitarian functions such as this, we had a list of feature requests and ideas that we had deemed beyond the scope of the lite version, so it seemed the perfect time to begin work on “Premium”.

From our icebox of features we plucked out those that we knew to be in demand and were also simple to implement, such as more exercise routines, Facebook integration, calorie and distance counting, and of course a performance leap with the expulsion of that fucking clumsy advert panel. Danno created a fork of the lite version’s code, and started work on the social network integrations, whilst Dean continued working on visuals and I produced the circuitous logic required for the many new workout routines.

Alas, the endorphin-induced productivity frenzy on our new project was soon knocked, again by Dean’s pedantically efficient spermatozoa; he announced that he now had twin girls on the way. With the babies due in the autumn of 2012 we didn’t have much time before his attendance would drop even further, beneath a tide of dirty nappies and sleep deprivation.

We plugged away, Dean had his twin girls, we continued to work, another year went by, and we progressed to a stage of being 80% done on the premium version – at which point we became stuck. Unable to find the time to commit to serious testing of the product we couldn’t risk pushing it out to the market; we couldn’t be sure that most of the pieces would hang together, and when people would be paying for the privilege we knew we wouldn’t have the grace of: “it’s only a free app, what do you expect?” I continued to receive emails asking about the possibility of adding certain features to the lite version, and I continued to assure people that a premium version would be here soon enough, replete with all manner of special goodness.

As 2014 came round a new version of Android was released that, for no obvious reason, caused a crashbug in the venerable lite version of Indoor Cycling Coach, and through sheer force of will I mustered the motivation to badger Danno into coming up with a patched version, while I stood over his shoulder cheerleading his efforts. With this small hurdle solved we were back to the problem of What To Do About The Bastard Premium Version.

I probed Dean and Danno’s opinions about the possibility of admitting defeat and wrapping things up. To me our options were threefold:

  1. Make one final concerted push to get the premium version out, a death march of huge, friendship-obliterating proportions.
  2. Mothball Twelve Gauge Software, and leave the LT version on the marketplace to do its own thing, allowing it to slowly slide into obscurity.
  3. Flip our assets (both the lite and semi-finished premium versions) to make a little residual cash out of the endeavour, then mothball Twelve Gauge Software.

Dean couldn’t really surrender any time to finalise the premium version, what with now having three kids and all, so from him it was a vote for option 3. Danno was also fine with this, announcing that if we had the energy to muster option 1 we’d need to get cracking very quickly, as in September he too would be having twin girls. I don’t know what they’re putting in the water in Hucknall, but whatever it is – it fucking works.

With this decided I took a few days to do some research, then signed up for Flippa without properly reading through their marketing spiel, and it was only once I’d finished the registration process that I realised that they don’t deal with the sale of Android apps – only websites and iOS stuff at time of writing. So it was over to Apptopia, the only other app flipping platform of any real repute that I could find. The world of app flipping is still in its infancy, and apparently people don’t want fixer-uppers like ours, they want template toolkits to build clones of Flappy Bird, for which they’ll pay handsomely.

And that brings us to the present. Have we learnt anything from all of this? Yes, but I won’t go into that now. I’ll be elucidating my thoughts about the valuable lessons in a later article, but what I will say is that all of this hasn’t knocked my hunger to produce a truly spectacular app; I’m working on one right now. The difference this time is that I’m on my own, without the interlinked dependencies and camaraderie of a team, but at least there’s no threat of sudden onset twins to dampen my spirits.

2017 UPDATE: Flippa finally started offering the facility to sell Android apps, so I closed the Apptopia listing and created an auction on there. We found an acquirer for the app, the transaction went through, and we’re no longer the owners of Indoor Cycling Coach.

Back to Top