How this art school hipster bought a Wal-Mart bike

I once owned a book called Bike Snob, which was a gift from a friend who thought I would enjoy it. He was spot on.

At the time, I was going to art school for writing and rode a fixed gear bike with skinny tires and only a front brake—mostly for aesthetic reasons because of course a cable running across the frame for a rear brake just looked dreadful—plus the whole ensemble was topped off with a Brooks B17 leather saddle, made in England.

I had achieved peak hipster with skinny jeans, TOMS, pipe smoking, and a custom -made messenger bag from a small shop in Ohio. I was like maybe six micro brews away from seriously contemplating running in alley cat races or maybe picking up bike polo.

There are many types of cyclists out there, and Bike Snob takes aim at all of them. In a chapter titled "Velo-taxonomy: The various subset of cyclists" the author humorously dissects the oddities of each type. For example, in a section about the "Urban Cyclist" he writes:

Urban Cyclists generally laugh at people who wear brightly colored Lycra,  though they fail to find equal humor in their own color-coordinated bicycles,  boutique clothing, or the fact that riding for more than a few hours in jeans is liable to turn your crotch into a microcosm of the Everglades.

And further:

The Urban Cyclist is one of the very few groups of cyclists among whom cigarette smoking is not only acceptable but considered “cool,” which is sort of like  being really into performance cars but driving around with rags shoved up your  tailpipe.

OK, cool, I guess that's what it feels like to be seen...

I did ride in jeans all the time, in Savannah, Georgia no less, which has a climate that is itself a petri dish, body sweat not required. I did think the guys who congregated outside of Perry Rubber on Saturday mornings in alarmingly bright Lycra were goofy. And I did indulge in an American Spirit (Perique blend, please) from time to time.

I biked everywhere during my first three years of college because I didn't have a car. I learned how to lock out my back wheels for skid stopping and how to do a track stand long enough so I didn't have to take my feet off the pedals at the many red lights and intersections in Savannah. I was riding at least five or six miles on most days, going to class, getting groceries (fitting everything in my spacious messenger bag), taking night rides on the boardwalk down by the Savannah River.

I could anticipate many of the potholes and divots on my ride home based on my pace. I knew the city intimately because I literally felt the road.

I finally got a car during my senior year, but I still biked frequently because I lived near downtown. Then I got a real job where people prefer if you don't smell like BO when you come into the office, so I started driving more and biking less. Later, my wife and I bought a house on the south side, and biking was no longer an option, except a small loop around in the neighborhood or if I loaded the bike up to go downtown. I loved biking, but a new phase of life took over and it just faded into the background. It became something I did as a way to get outside, but it was no longer a part of my daily existence.

I sold my bike in 2018 after nearly five years and hundreds of hours of time in the saddle as we prepared for an out of state move. I kept the Brooks in anticipation of coming back to cycling, time TBD.

Since moving to Missouri, my boss has taken the team out on a few bike rides, one on a stretch of the Katy Trail outside of Columbia, and another on a single-track mountain biking course (more technical). Those trips gave me the cycling bug, and my old love for biking started to spark up again.

Missouri has lots of trails (the Katy Trail is huge), and there are lots of small gravel roads that are great for biking. I may have been an Urban Cyclist, but I saw a new path—one that involved more dirt and knobby tires.

I've wanted to get another bike for years—specifically one for gravel/touring—for years, but the cost of a new bike was a barrier, and I didn't really want a used bike that would turn into a project or a money pit.

I decided to query ye olde Reddit for "best cheap gravel bikes" (probably not the first time I looked that up), and I was surprised that so many people were raving about the Ozark Trail G.1 Explorer—a Wal-Mart bike for just $260. The hipster in me shuddered, but the practical dad in me with a budget to manage was intrigued. The more I read and YouTubed, the more I liked it. So that's what I got for my 35th birthday.

Here's are some of the key specs, along with what tipped the needle for me:

• It's an aluminum frame with a steel fork. Aluminum means relatively light and no rust. Forks can be swapped out. The stock forks have plenty of braze-ons for attachments. It's a solid base.
• Mechanical disc brakes, which can be upgraded to hydraulic brakes for more stopping power if needed. Disc brakes are better than rim brakes because they keep the braking mechanism away from water and dirt. In my research, I discovered that some people prefer mechanical disc brakes over hydraulic because they're easier to maintain.
• The flat bar model has simple brake levers and thumb shifters, which are also easy to upgrade.
• It's an 8x1 drive train, which means having just one derailleur to deal with. Turns out that it's the perfect gear ratio for where and how I want to ride. I'm hardly ever in the very lowest gear or highest gear.

There were also a few helpful Reddit comments:

• One commenter reasoned that going from no bike to having a bike is a serious upgrade. That really resonated with me.
• Another mentioned that it was nice to have a cheap bike to learn how to do their own work on before getting something nicer and spendier. I've done a lot of work on our vehicles, but bike maintenance is new to me.

On a practical note, I haven't biked consistently in years. I wouldn't have the feel to appreciate the craft of a fine bike at this point. Some folks said that the components are cheap, but I'd rather deal with lower-end components that are new than higher-end components on a used bike that haven't been serviced properly. I also considered the fact that even the higher-end brands have their bikes produced offshore. There's a good chance that this bike is being produced in a factory that also makes name brand bikes.

As soon as I got home with the bike, I removed the stock seat and installed my Brooks B17. It felt just as good as it ever did (leather saddles conform perfectly to you), and without turning this into a soppy story it felt like coming full circle at just the right time—like something important to my life and joy has finally clicked back into place.

I've taken three rides around town, and I'm starting to learn street names, just like I did in Savannah. I'm getting a feel for the roads, the nooks and crannies that you never notice or pass through when you're in a car because only a bike can travel there.

When I'm on the bike, I'm not thinking about the brand or whether it has the "best" components. I'm just enjoying the sights, watching out for potholes, and feeling the wind swirl around my face like it did on those hustle rides to my 8am classes. Because I am 35, I'm no longer concerned with appearing suave as I weave in between cars like I'm larping as a bike messenger.

I'm loving being back on two wheels, and that's what matters.