Unless you live to ride, or ride to live, you probably don’t need to buy a different bike for every season (and reason). Not so very long ago, a bike was just a bike, and for a long time—longer in Europe than the States, of course—bikes were transportation, first and foremost. They were comparatively costly, too. Few riders could afford more than one. So the average cyclist rode his (or her) only bike everywhere. He cycled along city streets and country lanes, and he didn’t stop riding when the country lanes dwindled down to rutted tracks. When worst came to worst—when, for instance, a cyclist had to ford a stream or climb a steep hill—he just got out of the saddle and walked, carrying his bike when necessary.

That was then. This is now. Today we’re told we need a different bike for every use. City commuters need an “urban bike” to survive the mean streets. Tourists need a “touring bike,” and if they don’t have one, they’re courting disaster. Are you old enough to remember what the world was like before the Internet? Then you probably need a “comfort bike.” Or maybe you like to take the road less traveled by from time to time, leaving the paved highway behind. Then you won’t be able to live without a “mountain bike,” even if the nearest mountain is hundreds of miles from your front door. (You can always drive there on the weekend, right?) Do you ride year-round in places where roads are salted and sanded each time a snowflake falls to earth? Then you need a “winter bike,” too.

In short, if you’re a serious cyclist, you need a bike for each season and every reason.

Or do you? I doubt it. But before I try to make my case, I have to confess that I own three bikes. One is legacy bike, a fragment from my lost youth. I passed it on, and, much later and quite unexpectedly, it came back to me. I don’t ride it often, but I’m glad to have it back. My second bike started life as an aluminum-framed comfort bike, though it doesn’t look much like it did when I bought it. (The hideously uncomfortable “comfort” saddle was the first thing to go.) It was my only bicycle for three years, and I rode it year-round. Now it’s semi-retired, supplanted in its role as maid of all work by a Surly Long Haul Trucker. This, too, is a “legacy bike” of sorts, a relic of the happy days when Surly condescended to do business with cyclists living outside the orbit of a local bike shop. But those happy days are over.

For now, however, the Long Haul Trucker is my bike for all seasons and reasons. Let’s take a look at why it is, bearing in mind that the criteria I list below can be used to judge any machine, even those sold in Walmart and other big-box retailers. Are you a one-bike person? Or would you like to be? Then here are some things to consider when choosing that one bike:

Can I Afford It?  This is the first consideration. It doesn’t do you any good to find the perfect bike, if that bike costs more than you can pay. My comfort bike didn’t offer everything I wanted in a bike, but it was the best bike I could then afford—and it was delivered to my door. At the time I bought it, this mattered a lot. It still does, come to that.

My bottom line on the bottom line? Any bike is better than none. Just buy the best you can. And don’t think you have to restrict yourself to the offerings of bike shops and online outlets. Big-box retailers do sell descent bikes, and there are also bargains to be found at police bike auctions and goodwill stores, particularly for cyclists who don’t mind picking up a wrench. (Do I have to add that any cyclist who wants to get the most from her machine should learn how to care for it? I didn’t think so. Hint: This includes doing as much of the mechanical work as you have time for.)

Does It Fit Me?  It’s possible to worry too much about fit—the human body is really pretty adaptable—but a bike that isn’t comfortable to ride won’t be ridden. Adequate standover clearance is important, particularly for urban riders and cyclists who like to go off-road. You need to be able to slip off the saddle and straddle your bike’s top tube without bruising your pubes, and you don’t want to have to stand on tip-toe while you’re waiting for the light to change. That said, proper reach (I’m using this word to mean the distance from saddle to ‘bars) is probably more vital still. It’s largely a function of top tube length, though saddle position and stem length play a role, too, as does handlebar geometry. In any case, even after I’ve tweaked saddle, stem, and bars, my comfort bike’s frame still has too long a reach. Twenty-mile rides are no problem. After 80 miles or more, however, my neck and back tell me that it’s time to quit. My Trucker, on the other hand, fits me to a T.

Unfortunately, given its importance, it can be hard to know exactly what “proper reach” is. Experience will tell you when you get it right, but experience takes time. Bike shops offer advice on fit to buyers, of course, and some of it is very good. Some of it isn’t, though, even when it comes in the form of a costly, computerized “bike fit analysis.” What do I suggest? Borrow or rent as many bikes as you can and ride them as far as time permits—before you buy. Your body will tell you when it’s happy. Failing that, just make your best guess based on standover height, and then ride the bike of your choice long enough and hard enough to get the experience necessary to judge good fit. By the time you’re ready to put on your second set of tires, you’ll be an expert. And your next bike will fit perfectly.

Material Matters, Doesn’t It?  Up to a point. Aluminum frames are serviceable and (usually) cheap, but I like steel. Good steel soaks up bumps that aluminum simply transmits undamped to your hands and bum, and steel is also infinitely repairable. (If you or someone you know has the right skills, that is.) My one hard-and-fast rule? Unless you’re a racer with a blank-check budget, avoid carbon frames and forks. Cheap carbon bikes don’t enjoy a good reputation, and expensive carbon frames are…well…expensive.

Are Strong Wheels Wheely Important?  They are. Once upon a time, when bikes were seen as transportation, bike wheels had 36 spokes. (The rear wheels often had 40.) Make no mistake: Less is not more here. If you want your bike to take unpaved roads and city potholes in stride, don’t buy a bike without, at minimum, 32-spoke wheels—36-spoke wheels are better, if you can find them. And give serious consideration to wheel size, too. While 700C (ISO 622) wheels are now the standard for road bikes, 26-inch wheels (ISO 559) make more sense for all-season riders, particularly for those of us who plan to leave the beaten path from time to time. Not happy with just two choices? Then you’re in luck. 650B (ISO 584) wheels are now being touted as the perfect compromise between 700Cs and 26-inchers, and maybe they are. But you won’t find tubes for 650B tires in Walmart, and you’ll pay a trendy Wendy premium on every wheel, tire, and tube you buy. Me? I’ll stick with 26-inchers, and I’d suggest that you do the same.

Is There a Place for Everything?  There should be. But let’s face it: For the most part, at least in the States, bikes are marketed as toys, which is probably why a lot of them leave the factory without rivnuts on the frame for water bottle cages or eyelets on the fork ends for rack and fender struts. And while it’s possible to work around this shortcoming, you shouldn’t have to. Fenders, racks, and water bottles are must-have equipment on any hard-working bike, and a good frame will have all the necessary fittings to attach them, right out of the box.

Can You Trust It Over the Long Haul?  Good question. Reliability is the great unknown. The makers of costly bikes—and the retailers who sell them—wil tell you that you get what you pay for, and they’re scathing in their denunciation of the inexpensive “bike-shaped objects” sold by big-box stores. I’m not so quick to condemn. I’ve seen bikes that are the spitting image of my comfort bike on sale in Walmart, and though my comfort bike has more than 15,000 miles on the clock, at least 5,000 of them winter miles, it’s never let me down. On the other hand, Farwell once paid top dollar for a highly touted British club racer from a revered maker that nevertheless arrived with a grossly misaligned frame, which his local bike shop then attempted to pass off as “normal manufacturing variation.” Go figure.

Do you get what you pay for? Sometimes you do. And sometimes you don’t. So ignore the hype and the sales pitches. Trust your judgment, instead. After all, even if you’re mistaken, isn’t it better to make your own mistakes?

How Low Can You Go?  That’s low as in low gearing. We’re not talking politics here. And while would-be racers will want big rings and closely spaced clusters, if you live where you’ll have to climb hills with a load or do battle with Force 7 headwinds, you’ll be very glad you have a low granny gear to keep you riding when push really comes to shove. Twenty inches isn’t too low. Trust me: There are times—too many times!—when you’ll wish it were lower still.

Can You Stop in Time?  You won’t often need to test your brakes’ limits, but when you do, you want them to respond. Since I often haul heavy loads up (and down) steep hills, I prefer linear-pull brakes (aka V-brakes), but the cantilevers on my Trucker are a good second choice. A cautionary note: Disc brakes are showing up on more and more bikes, even in the big-box stores. If properly adjusted, they work very well. But disc brakes make fitting fenders and racks unnecessarily difficult, and they demand constant attention (not to mention some rather specialized tools). So unless you live to tinker, I’d avoid them.

Can You Shift for Yourself?  Of course you can. But can you adjust and maintain your shifters yourself? I can. That’s one of the reasons I like bar-end shifters (aka barcons). They’re a bit fussy to install, but they’ve proven to be wonderfully reliable, and if the indexing suddenly starts giving you trouble—as it will do occasionally—the better bar-end shifters can be switched over to friction mode in an instant. In fact, you can do so even while riding, allowing you to postpone the necessary tweaks till a more convenient time. I’ve had good luck with the low-end twist-grip shifters on my comfort bike, too. Replacing the cable on the side of the road wasn’t much fun, I admit, but proper maintenance would have spareed me this chore. (A lesson learned.) And it’s very good to be able to shift without lifting my hands from the bars, particularly in winter. Twist-grip shifters make this possible.

Of course, you many not have the choice. Most road bikes now sport clever hybrids of shifter and brake called “brifters.” (That’s BRake plus shIFTER, get it?) These make sense for racers, but I’ve never been tempted to fit them myself. Not only do you lack a friction option—leaving you with no fallback in case of trouble—but brifters are notoriously hard to fix when things go wrong. Even professional mechanics in well-equipped shops have trouble working on them. Good luck with any roadside repairs!

Which explains why, wherever possible, I embrace the KISS principle. And come to think of it, that’s really the most important guide in choosing and outfitting and all-rounder, isn’t it? I think so.

OK. What does all this add up to in practice? In my case, it led me to purchase the Long Haul Trucker that rests on a rack not ten steps away from my desk. Surly calls it a touring bike, but it does everything I want a bike to do. In other words, it’s an all-rounder. Sadly, as I’ve already noted, the Surly option wouldn’t be open to me today. What would I choose instead? I don’t know. But I do know what questions I’d ask before buying. And now you do, too.

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Amphibious adventurer and self-styled “Meanderthal” Barney Ward wrote in response to this article, and he has some excellent points to share. I’ll let him speak for himself:

Excellent article. I especially like the good explanation about cheaper bikes. They do actually work, and I see a lot of the Walmart cute bikes being ridden around the neighborhoods here. They get folks out riding cheaply, and are plenty decent for a few blocks to the pier or the community park. For the winter Texans, the cheap bikes are wonderful. At under USD100, they get a bike for the five months they are here, and then they give it to the local charities. Next year they buy another one and repeat. It is a win-win situation.

Last week I looked seriously at a fat-tired bike at Walmart that had seven speeds and a single chain ring. The bike looked pretty usable down here in the wind and rust-inducing environment. The price tag was USD109. You could buy a new one every three years for a lifetime before getting to what I spent on my Surly Long Haul Trucker, though I doubt that it would be as comfortable as the LHT geometry. I also gave consideration to buying a Walmert bike for its wheelset so I had a spare set of wheels for use in the Big Bend.

If, like Barney, you’re thinking of buying an inexpensive bike for the wheelset, don’t forget to check hub sizes. The critical measure is between the inner faces of fork ends. Sheldon Brown’s site has an excellent photo showing how to do it.

You can follow Barney’s peregrinations through some of the wilder corners of the great American Southwest—check out his blog, Old Fat Man Adventures.

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