There are moments in life when you know you’re standing on the edge of something bigger than yourself. A wedding proposal. A career change. The decision to adopt a dog that will definitely ruin your carpets. And, apparently, buying a gravel bike.
Walking into my local bike shop felt less like entering a store and more like stumbling into a very specific subculture I wasn’t entirely sure I belonged to. The shop itself was a charming mashup of shiny new bikes displayed like fine art alongside dusty shelves holding what I assume were vintage cycling relics—or possibly abandoned repair parts from 2003. It was part car shop, part garage sale, part REI, and entirely intimidating.
I was greeted by Austin, a friendly, somewhat shy early-twenties employee who somehow managed to embody both youthful enthusiasm and deep mechanical wisdom. I couldn’t help but wonder what was running through his mind as he sized up a woman squarely in midlife talking about wanting a bike to ride long distances. Long distances as in, dare I say, across the entire country. He didn’t laugh, which I appreciated. Probably because he’s been trained to maintain a customer-service poker face at all times. Or maybe because he’s seen stranger things roll through the door.
I came in thinking I might leave with a Trek. Or a Cannondale. Or a Specialized. You know — decisive. The good news was that they only carried two out of the three. The bad news was that I would actually have to ride them.
First Up: The Red Trek
It was a beautiful red color — the kind of red that screams fast even when it’s just sitting there. Unfortunately, my body did not gel with its geometry. I’m sure it’s a great bike if you have a different set of bones. It also felt a little sluggish under me, possibly heavier, and the gears sounded like they were trying to negotiate with each other before shifting. Not exactly confidence-inspiring for someone envisioning endless miles of open road (and dirt).
Second: The Blue Trek
Next up was a deep midnight blue Trek, almost sparkling purple or near black. It was handsome, and rode…fine. Smooth-ish. Stable. But clunky in a way I couldn’t quite articulate. It was like dating someone who checks all the boxes on paper but just doesn’t make you want to text them back. The geometry was said to be more “relaxed” — which sounded nice in theory — but my maybe overly ambitious body wanted something a little snappier.
Also: the stock saddle. We need to talk about stock saddles. The people who design them either have never sat on a bicycle or have anatomy that belongs to an entirely different species. Regardless of which bike I chose, one thing was certain: there would be a saddle upgrade.
And Then: The Specialized
After politely returning the second Trek, I wandered back to the showroom where I saw and pointed out to Austin a black Specialized Diverge that, frankly, looked like something Batman would ride if Gotham City had gravel. It was matte black, hooked into the ceiling like an art installation. Best of all, it was on sale. I felt a little guilty watching Austin wrangle it down, the handlebars grabbing other bikes like an anxious toddler clinging to strangers. It scraped the ceiling which prompted some white shards of what looked like popcorn to flurry down on Austin’s hair and sleeves. After an awkward yet heroic extraction, the bike was freed and whisked off to have some flat pedals installed for the test ride.
After buckling my helmet for the third time, adjusting my sunglasses, and clipping into the pedals, I took off in the same direction as the prior two test rides. But this was different. When I got going, it just felt right; some people might say like home. But that’s too sappy for me.
The gears shifted smoothly, the crank felt powerful but easy, and the bike responded like it actually wanted to move forward rather than negotiate terms first. It was fast, light, and…perfect.
This is why test riding matters. You can read every review, every forum post, every Reddit debate between strangers arguing about bottom bracket stiffness, but at the end of the day, your body knows. And mine knew.
Still, I’m not entirely impulsive (at least not when it comes to spending this much money), so after two hours of test riding, I told Austin I was pretty sure I’d take it, but I needed to talk to my partner first. This was mostly to stall to make sure I was sure but also not to end up on the couch for filling the garage with one more thing.
The Partner Consultation
At home that evening, I laid out my case for Michelle with a compelling argument consisting of several ums, a handful of I-thinks, and vague hand gestures to illustrate geometry differences I barely understood. Michelle listened patiently, probably knowing full well that my mind was made up, and said what I hoped she’d say: “Do what you want.” And, by then, I knew what I wanted.
The Pickup and the Maiden Voyage
The next day, I returned to the shop like a proud new bike parent and loaded up my new Specialized Diverge. I drove it home, excited for our first real ride together.
That first ride was everything I hoped — smooth, fast, nimble. Except for two small things: my knee ached a little and my back ached a lot. After several miles, both started chiming in—then yelling—as if to say: this is a nice bike, but maybe we need some professional intervention before you attempt to ride it across an entire continent.
So, next step: bike fitting. Because if you’re going to spend this much time on two wheels, you want your spine and joints to remain on speaking terms with the rest of your body.
The Takeaway
Buying a gravel bike isn’t exactly a linear process. It’s part science, part art, part blind faith. You can prepare, research, and analyze every spec sheet, but until you’re sitting in the saddle, pedaling down the road, you don’t really know.
And for me, after all the test rides and second-guessing and partner discussions, the Specialized Diverge Expert Carbon was the one that felt right. Now let’s see if it feels just as good in, say, 3,500 miles.