OVER THE MOUNTAIN: A Bicycling Story
The red Specialized Sirrus was sitting upright, leaning behind and against a desk at curbside a few blocks from my house. I stopped my Honda Civic hatchback, which its back seat already containing some salvaged finds, and made room in the back for the bike even before looking it over. One glance was enough. Toe clips. Aluminum cranks marked 105 – indicating a Shimano 105 component group. Microadjust aluminum seatpost, thin bladed fork with a sloping crown, finely shaped if grimy lugs, the Specialized symbol of the stylized “S” cut into the ends of the seatstays near the top tube and the fork crown. Pump peg on inside of head tube. Downtube, directly mounted (not clamp-on) shimano indexed shifters. Thin rims with Presta valves. Aero brake levers.
In the current Specialized lineup, the Sirrus – or the bicycle currently bearing that name – bears little resemblance to this creature. The current Sirrus is a “comfort” oriented bike, almost like a hybrid, designed with an upright riding position, angled top tube, and mounts for all manner of bags, racks, and other paraphernalia. The red Specialized Sirrus, with its lugged steel frame, was a true road machine. Judging by the components, it was probably mid 1980’s. It not only had the traditional road bike geometry, it had the handling that such a design produces. The total lack of eyelets or drilled mountings on the frame, except for mater bottle cage mounts, confirms this. No place for a rack or fenders. This was a performance machine. My only gripe was the fact that the 105 crankset had Biopace ovalized chainrings, but I wanted to keep the bike as vintage as possible and invest as little funds as possible. A new pair of Shimano 105 cranks, even if they would fit, would be expensive. I would live with the Biopace for now. It took some time to refurbish the Sirrus. The original front tire, though old and balding, holds air. It needed a new rear tire, new chain, and grip tape. It also needed serious cleaning and paint touch-up, as there was grime, and rust, forming at the joints of the lugs. For less than a pack of cigarettes, I obtained a can of red automotive touch up paint. In addition to the rust spots and scattered scratches, I painted the bolt heads of the brake calipers, as after cleaning them and removing the surface rust with fine steel wool, they were too pitted to be left alone. The calipers themselves, clearly marked “105”, I cleaned and polished, so they shined as only vintage aluminum can. Black Cinelli bar tape and two cast-off plastic water bottle cages completed the package, with the only modern touch being a pair of spd clipless pedals removed from a Nishiki I was planning to sell.
By the end of the week, the Sirrus, which had already been ridden around my neighborhood, made the run to Madison, my old hang-out and college town. A nice trip about 20 miles. One or two large hills. It handled great, and I decided not the removed the cranks. But it still had not been tested on a “real” ride.
Then, last weekend, I decided to take the bike for a long run. No particular destination, just to ride. Heading down Mountain Ave, I latched onto a group of three or four roadies on expensive road bikes. They were riding in their small rings so I figured I could keep up on my aged Specialized, and decided to follow them. We rode down Plainfield, up the hill that used to give me grief until only the past year, with no effort, curving with the road as it winds past the site of the old Runnels Hospital, now a massive office complex. Before route 22, we pealed off to the left, heading towards the Watchung Reservation. I found the light, quick Sirrus easy to swing around potholes, storm grates, and gravel patches, and the downtube shifters changed gears flawlessly, the Shimano 105 rear derailieur swinging into position with one distinct “click”. As we headed up the hill, and the hill became a mountain, I kept the bike in the small ring, the 42 toother, using all the rear gears except the smallest one, but staying in the bigger three for most of the climb.
We came out of the Res and turned onto a residential street, sweeping past a nice neighborhood of older homes and trimmed green lawns not yet baking under the sun; partial cloud cover had begun to move into the perfectly blue sky, and helped keep me cool as the Sirrus headed around a bend and up another hill. As I had promised to meet my girl for lunch, I broke away from the group as we headed towards Westfield, and headed back around the circle, taking a route that led me back through the reservation and down a long winding road past Surprise Lake. On the bridle over the marshy shallow end of the lillypad covered water, I leaned the bike against the rail of the bridge, and stopped for a moment to enjoy a smoke and the scenery. I told myself, it is true that one has never experienced his own state until he has seen it by bicycle. I had been riding for years, but though I had traveled through the Res by car, I’d never crossed it on a bike. Now that I did, I can say it is one heck of a nice place to ride. The world is full of such places; we pass them every day, on our way to work, or errands, or University, but we never stop to ride them. And when we do, we find we have a greater appreciation for them – and the machines that take us there.
As I shot down the hill towards New Providence, heading home, I told myself how lucky I was to live in a place where such land was free t be ridden, to live here in America. And find the Specialized. But I also told myself I was lucky -- to be a cyclist.
The Beginning.
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