There is a certain perverse beauty in the Roadmaster Mt. Fury, because it's an utterly pure expression of Bicycle-Shaped Objectivity. It could be bought for $48 at Walmart (but it's not offered anymore the last time I checked). You can't ship a shoebox to the Far East for less than that kind of money, let alone a 40ish pound bicycloid. Yet they could acquire all the materials and components, weld it up, paint it, partially assemble it, ship it from China to a US port, truck it to a distribution center, dispatch it to a retail store, finish assembling it and then presumably sell it for a profit, for about the same retail price as ten pounds of bacon. Even the damned souls who work at Walmart could just about buy one with a single day's take-home pay. It's beyond remarkable. It's crossed over into plain weird.
The thing is so cheap that it can't afford to imitate a respectable bike, so it just tries to pass for some kind of bike. And unlike a $199 double boinger, it almost succeeds in being some kind of bike (albeit a really terrible one). The Mt. Fury transcends class and geography, having been taken in by comfortable suburbanites, privileged children, rural peckerwoods, hardbitten inner-city slave commuters, and homeless bums alike. Anybody who simply doesn't understand that a bicycle can't be bought for $50 brand new is almost equally likely to wind up with one. (Or they were, before it went out of production.)
Carl Fogel over at Usenet's rec.bicycles.tech bought one and rode the hell out of it, even though he already owned a real bike. I think he was entranced by the economic magic trick the Mt. Fury represents. But he wrote a series of reports