Cycling is like life. Cycling with no goal is meaningless. What meaning is there cycling in circles? Or living aimlessly? Meaning comes from direction and destination. Join me in my life's journey on a mountain bike :)

Blogging since 2003. Thank you for reading :))

Sunday, December 31, 2006

Into the heart of Thailand

Dec distance: 1,152 km

Mon 25 - Sun 31 Dec
Phuket to Bangkok, 952 km

Prologue
My past three expeditions in as many years took me from Singapore through Malaysia to at most 100 km into Thailand. This year, I head further north, by air - to Phuket, then ride to the heart of Thailand - Bangkok. This time, as was with previous rides, something chilling happens. In 2003, violence rocks my destination days after my ride. In 2004, a tsunami misses me during the ride. In 2005, floods wreak havoc days before my ride begins, causing deaths of some and evacuation of thousands. In 2006, bombs go off hours after I leave Thailand.

Ride overview
DayDateDestinationKmHotel
125 DecKhao Lak
81
Khao Lak Tony Hotel
226 DecRanong
206
Royal Princess Ranong
327 DecChumpon
135
Chumpon Grand Palace
428 DecPrachuap Khirikhan
215
Hadthong Hotel
529 DecPetchaburi
181
Royal Diamond Hotel
630 DecBangkok
134
Bangkok Centre Hotel
731 DecBangkok
0
Total 952

Ride highlights
What I learnt (personal firsts)
1. Packing my bike into a bicycle box. The most useful webpage I find is Box your bike (most of the information there is useful, though I made my own modifications like using styrofoam to prevent the box from being crushed when baggage handlers inevitably place the box on its side instead of the right way up.
2.  Using chamois cream instead of vaseline (thanks, VL)
3. Taking a group photo (including self-portrait) while on the move
4. Drafting a van (look below the bumper, around the side and through the windscreen; when drafting a biker, look between the legs instead of just the rear tyre).

What I'm still figuring out
1. Why, for almost 1,000 km, I've seen only one Siamese cat in Siam
2. Why Thailand is almost litter-free though litter bins are widely unavailable, while Singapore is litter-filled (but for the cleaners) though litter bins are widely available
3. Why there is broken glass on the road (more so than in Singapore or Malaysia)
4. Why hot Milo and and well-known isotonic drinks are practically unavailable. However, some shops sell a local, yellow-coloured isotonic drink that is very sweet
5. Why almost all the hotels we stay in have a "no bikes in room" rule though the rooms are big enough.

A holiday is hard work
Day 1: Mon 25 Dec, Phuket to Khao Lak, 81 km. I spend over two hours yesterday removing bicycle parts, bubble-wrapping them and packing my bike into a bike box. I'm concerned the box might not fit into a taxi, so I walk around a carpark measuring taxis. A box measuring 135.5 x 76 cm (width doesn't matter that much) would fit into the usual Toyota Crown taxi. Today, I wake up at 4 am to catch my first-ever budget air flight. It's hard work unpacking my bike and getting it ready in Phuket. Our bike leader is "Ant" - of the flying ant kind - as he leads the roadies while on a moutain bike wih 1.5 inch tyres and so-so components. It's a bad start for me. My pen doesn't work though I dip it in hot water and steam it at the Singapore airport cafe. My tyre punctures. My waterbottle, veteran of three expeditions, cracks on Day 1. My cable housing cracks in sympathy. My mind is about to crack too as I start too fast and drop faster behind the rest (most of the 11 in the group are on road bikes). I haven't fully recovered from my cold.

Khao Lak is tsunami territory. It commemorates the second anniversary tomorrow, at the site where a two-storey, bungalow-sized police boat was swept hundreds of metres inland. At its swiftest, the tsunami had travelled as fast as a jumbo jet. In its wake, tsunami warning signs dot the landscape. I visit the tsunami museum and see signs of the worldwide outpouring of help offered to the Thais.

Slower than a butterfly in a headwind
Day 2: Tue 26 Dec, to Ranong, 206 km. I'm careful not to cycle too fast at the start and burning out too fast. FT passes me and pulls me along for several km but I give up. It's hard when the rest stops are 50 km apart regardless of terrain. It's no wonder that Thailand rhymes with "highland". I amble along at touring speed; slower than a butterfly in a headwind. The countryside looks like Malaysia, dotted with mosques and coconut trees. The locals are clad in sarongs and tudungs. I entertain myself by blowing my nose while on the move; it's hard to drink with a clogged nose.

I keep cycling alone until flying Ant whizzes by. I latch onto his slipstream desperately. The only reason I keep up is, he's riding up hills on his big chainring, on roads that pass peaks reaching up to 1,400 km. It gets dark. I have a rear blinker. There are no street lights. I keep my front wheel away from his rear wheel and from the side of the road, by cycling on the straight and narrow - the thin white line. Light from the headlights of passing traffic helps. I wonder if I should remove my sunglasses but keep them on as insects and other unidentified flying objects hit my face. If they hit my eye, I'll be blinded. I'm the last one in, 40 minutes after the others had arrived. My body screams silently in pain. My engine is still "running" and I have a sleepless night.

The butt of jokes
Day 3: Wed 27 Dec, to Chumpon, 135 km. The first batch (of slower riders) leaves one hour ahead of the rest. I stay back to soak my aching body in the hotel hot tub, which is filled by hotspring water from the tap, before setting off with the rest. After a near collision when a cyclist in the peloton screams and swerves, my heart pumps harder and I ride solo, at my own pace. The fastest rider, B, is the last to leave town as he has his carbon-soled shoe stitched after it fell apart. Also falling apart is my butt; it is forming a community of butt sores. I am momentarily distracted by the Isthmus of Kra and my first sighting of Myanmar. I lick the salt from my lips, as I take a licking from the terrain. Thais are tough. In Singapore, people ride from, say, Ang Mo Kio town to Pasir Ris town (halfway across the island) and consider it a big deal. In Thailand, the distance from one town to another can be over 100 km, which is more than double the length of Singapore.

At the hotel, some cyclists ask for massage. The masseuses who showed up aren't quite dressed for the job ... I don't have a good time in bed either, because I had a bad dream about the office. But I'm glad I had the nightmare, as it meant I fell asleep!


Night cycling
Day 4: Thu 28 Dec, to Prachuap Khirikhan, 215 km. There's an edict that night cycling is banned. I also have a 5 mm gash on my new tyres. The peloton powers away as I stop to fix my flat. The support vehicle comes along and I hold on to it for dear life as it goes over 40 km/h. When it gets too hairy, I let go. Holding onto a moving vehicle is a personal first but I don't want it to be the last thing I do. As I try to catch up with the peloton, the picturesque seaside is scant consolation. Thailand is so hilly, even the coastal road is over rolling hills. A helpful roadie, EL, sticks around to help me navigate the maze of seaside roads.

I catch up with the pack at a rest stop. To get a headstart, I take a shorter lunch break, to beat the "stragglers go up the van at nightfall" edict. There's 60 km left to go and two hours of daylight left. Stress, stress! VL passes me and I hang on to his slipstream like a stray dog hanging around for scraps. Other than those who went up the support vehicles on their own free will, the rest of us stay on the road; I guess the edict is no more. I'm so hungry, I eat two cereal bars while on the road. I'm glad I've made it so far - on a mountain bike.

Bike surfing
Day 5: Fri 29 Dec, to Petchaburi, 181 km. My butt is blue-black; this hasn't happened before in about 31,000 km of cycling. KB drafts me for a while; we're among the last riders. I ride the slipstream of passing vehicles; this is the bike equivalent of wind surfing. When a motorbike with a sidecar passes me, I abandon bike surfing and draft it. In the process, I provide some family entertainment, as the two adults and child look at me tagging along. Too bad the fun ends only after 10 km.

Cyclists start dropping out today, leaving just me and the fast group. I bring up the rear, with the safety van behind me. My eyes are glazed, so much so I almost ride into a car going against the traffic, heading right for me. While motorbikes going against the flow are common, I didn't expect a car. I nonchalantly steer out of harm's way, too tired to panic. The safety van behind me stops but I fail to realise this. Soon, I'm not sure where I am, having made a few turns on my own. Fortunately, I'm in the right vicinity, just the wrong spot. Success is sometimes closer than it seems! The lead riders leave. I stuff my face then get back in the saddle. The driver lets me draft the van, usually around 32 km/h, non-stop for two hours. It's an exhilarating experience. I also find that putting aloe vera on my butt helps.

The end is here
Day 6: Sat 30 Dec, to Bangkok, 134 km. I have the pleasant company of EL and KB today. At the 60 km mark from Bangkok, most riders go up the vehicle, leaving just four riders including me. Again, I bring up the rear. I draft a van, which now goes at 39 km/h. Sweat, sweat. I hear traffic in Bangkok is bad. Having biked in Singapore and Kuala Lumpur , I want to see how bad Bangkok is. As it turns out, I feel safer than in Singapore. There's a risk of getting lost though, as traffic lights and drivers who cut in can separate riders behind from those in front - unless those in front look after those behind.
Reaching the hotel is an anti-climax. Not that I expect a marching band ... but what greets me is the chore of boxing up my bicycle. I'm the slowest to finish the job. I then head for Chinatown and head for Patpong (where the sight of dancing girls in thongs scares my sandals so much, it breaks a strap) and the night market at Silom (where a street vendor seems to have better negotiation skills than I have, though she says I bargain like a Thai).

Day 7: Sun 31 Dec, Bangkok, 0 km. Non-cycling day. It's a no-alarrm-clock day too but somehow I get up at the same time as in previous days. A few of us head to Chatuchak market, where I practice my negotiation skills again. I ask for a discount, the vendor refuses to budge. I name a price, the vendor asks his boss, who pauses, then nods. Was that a show for my benefit or did I get a fair deal? I guess I'll never know. But I know I'm glad I did this ride.


Epilogue
Bad omens are harbingers of bad things to come - but not always. This ride had many bad omens - "training" of less than 100 km a week, a pen that doesn't write, a "veteran" waterbottle that springs a leak and a tyre puncture at the start of the ride. The ride ends well; I've several saddle sores but I'm otherwise unscathed. Only four of out of 11 make it from start to finish and I'm the only mountain biker among the four.

Now that I've given my bike a holiday, I'm taking a holiday from my bike for a while, until it becomes a pleasure again to sit on it. I'll also take a break from bananas, kuay teow and fried rice, my staple food for the past week. 

Saturday, December 23, 2006

Recovery ride

To Sembawang Road, 38 km. I spend almost all day sleeping, trying to sleep my cold away as the rain falls. It's been raining hard earlier this week, with record rainfall not seen for 75 years. As I cycle in the evening, I see landslides. In a park, I see a broken lamp post and bent railing, caused by an uprooted tree. Water and earth. So soft, yet so deadly. Today is my last ride on Singapore soil for the year. Next week, I should be riding in Thailand.

Sunday, December 17, 2006

"Re-volution"

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 36 km. It pours today, almost all day. Of course it would. I'd waxed my bicycle and this would've been my first ride since then. When it stops raining, I sneak out. Along the road, I see evidence of "re-volution", or regressive evolution. Darwin's theory (it's still a theory, right? It's not been shot down like "the sun revolves round the earth" but it's not survived centuries of scrutiny or martyrdom either) says humans evolved from monkeys. Monkeys don't read. Today, I see humans who, despite years of schooling", also fail to understand signs (some as big as a car) stating "do not feed the monkeys". A driver of a red truck parks on one lane of the two-lane road at a blind corner, so that drivers of overtaking cars have the opportunity to see whether Darwin was right or whether there is a Big Guy in the Sky who made it all.

Sunday, December 10, 2006

Putting the fun back

To Lim Chu Kang Road, 65 km. Cycling has been less fun. Must be all that training, be it for races or long rides with roadies. Today, I cycle at touring speed, taking in the scenery. That puts the fun back into fun, so much so I stop for a break of only a few minutes.

Sunday, December 03, 2006

The other way

To Lim Chu Kang Road, 61 km. There are lots of cyclists going the other way, probably at the end of their ride, while I'm just starting mine. The road is clear of bikers, no one for me to chase after. Gone are the days where I wake up early to join group rides. Sleep is just so sweet ...

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Highlander

Nov distance: 368 km


To Cameron Highlands, 168 km. Cameron Highlands isn't as steep as Genting, but it's 60 km uphill, punctuated with a few flat stretches. I'd tried to train for it, but work meant I was "cross-training" in the form of thinking, typing and writing. This one of my worst rides ever: last among the guys and just about overall last among the seven of us. My mind and my butt go numb as I climb. I eat all my Powergels and stuff the packets into an empty bottle to distract myself. Once, I even stop to walk. Going downhill at 40 km/h on day 3, two dogs a wheel length away lunge at me as I pass. I'm almost last again, as I brake round the hairpin bends. Perhaps I'm cautious as HC had offered me her jacket (so heartwarming!) to stave off the cold. Then, it's another 600 km car ride back to Singapore. With this ride, does it mean I've been up every major hill (Cameron, Fraser, Genting, Mt Ophir, Penang, with the exception of the highest - Gunung Tahan) in West Malaysia?

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Too much of a good thing is bad

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 28 km. I'm back on slicks again, with a new Panaracer Pasela tyre. Having cycled with heavy fat tyres for months, today's ride feels so different. With less effort, acceleration and speed is faster. But I reckon that if I hadn't trained with my fat tyres and heavier shoes, I wouldn't be as speedy. Maybe that's what the saying means: "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger". And maybe I shouldn't complain so much about life as a working stiff ...

Sunday, November 19, 2006

Two is good, three is better

To Mandai Road, 38 km. I barely want to get out of bed today, but I do. However, instead of going off-road, I coast on the road. Until a roadie on a Lightspeed passes me. I hang on for a while but he drops me eventually. At least, I get my speed and heart rate up. Then a couple pass me by, with the guy on a carbon Kuota. I coast along until I feel I can do better, and blast past uphill at 44 km/h, then reach 46 km/h as I catch the draft from a truck. It's hard to train alone. Training - and living - is better with a friend. If no friends are available, helpful strangers will have to do.

Saturday, November 18, 2006

Two weeks, two weak

To Tampines Trail, 53 km. What a difference two weeks makes. The first time I was here, the trail was a fairly smooth ride. Now, it's churned up in places, with mud and muddy water drowning my rims. Up to five cyclists are on the trail even in the noonday sun. The only people I overtake are two girls; everyone else passes me. I want to pass out after the third lap, but keep going non-stop until I finish my quota of five. I head for my favourite coffeeshop but alas, they're not playing Cantopop or anything this time.

Monday, November 13, 2006

Freedom fighter

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 24 km. Just 24 hours ago, I was in another world - Delhi, the land of freedom fighter Mahatma Ghandi. Back in Singapore, it's my off day. I think of going offroad but working day and night (and putting up with the nightly din from the hotel kitchen) over there makes me tired over here. So I snooze, then get back to office to sort out urgent business (and find more urgent business awaiting). It's only in the night that I tear up and down the road. Freedom.

Sunday, November 05, 2006

Happiness is ...

To Tampines Trail, 57 km. Happiness is sitting in the shade, in the breeze, on a verandah in a little known part of Tampines, eating a big $2 meal, in a coffee shop, to the nostalgic sound of Hui cantopop. After going five laps non-stop round four new hills (with a dozen or so hairpin bends going up and downslope) in Tampines without a scratch on me (though I scratch my pedals a few times going over bumps). Knowing that I improve with each lap, from having to dismount in the first two laps to clocking 18 min 30 s in lap #4. Wearing a helmet liner and a thick pair of gloves, all gifts. I have work problems, family problems. I can't control all that happens to me, but I have choice over what I think and feel. And today is one of the happiest days of my life.

Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Weighty matter

Oct distance: 353 km

To Upper Thomson Road, 20 km. Obsessed with weight loss, I visit bikeshop man to cut off a cm or so each from my handlebars and bar ends. So my is a few grams lighter. And more aerodynamic? Not quite. As my hands are now closer, I ride a little higher. That's the law of unintended consequences in operation.

Sunday, October 29, 2006

Direct or inverse relationship?

To Jurong, 98 km. I decide to wake up early today for a group ride with SWCT. There's just four of us and I find out how unfit I am, spinning my wheels chasing after a 55 year old roadie. A fringe benefit of the ride is going to a bikeshop in River Valley - a shop I never knew existed. I am mesmerised by a wheelset that costs about $1,700 per pair. I wonder how much my wheelset weighs. I know that the lower the weight, the higher the cost (inverse relationship). Or, the lower the weight, the lower the bank balance (direct relationship). Tonight, I'm in a BMW convertible. I wonder what it's like to own this set of wheels. I also wonder what type of relationship exists between the wheels and the work that makes the wheels affordable. Well, my wheels don't need COE or parking coupons - and they're fully paid for.

Sunday, October 22, 2006

True impressions


To Changi, 67 km. The PSI reading on TV states 74, but I smell smoke. Turns out to be incense; my nose is  "right"; I did smell smoke, but not all smoke is haze. I hit the trail, making a detour at Tampines to check out the new trail (picture). At Changi, the trial seems to go on and on, and the trees look alike. I'm not sure where I am. I think I hear traffic, but it's just the wind in the trees. If I'd followed blindly, I'd be truly chasing the wind. By dead reckoning, I make my way out. I never thought seeing a lamp post peeking out from the trees could cause such happiness.

Sunday, October 15, 2006

Smell test

To Upper Pierce Reservoir, 28 km. Triangulation is where I use three different ways to verify data to make a decision: is it safe to cycle today? My eyes tell me it's hazy. The PSI reading is in the 70s. I smell no smoke and head for the hills, doing laps. Joggers and monkeys are out in force. It's the right decision. Triangulation is what I use to decide about my work. I do a chart, talk to people and talk to God. Time will tell if I've made a right decision, but my mind - not just my heart - tells me it will be so.

Sunday, October 08, 2006

Daze of haze, ride with haste

To Lim Chu Kang, 72 km. The pollutant standard index (PSI) hit 150 yesterday, a nine-year high. Every year, Indonesia clears land with fire, leaving us burning helplessly with rage. But overnight, the PSI drops to 30. Not believing my nose, I message a friend. "Hammer away, dude," is the reply. I waste no time getting on the road. I find a legal trail at Kranji. One stretch is muddy, but looked easy. It was, after all, only 25 m. But things may look easy until you're caught. Mud envelopes my drivetrain and brakes. I can't even clip my pedal in. I explore another trail and head home, my chain squeaking in protest, in vain. With doctor's orders in mind, I eat lightly. That doesn't stop me playing leap frog with a three-water-bottled, long-limbed white man on a Sycip. At a petrol kiosk, a kind man washes off the gunk for me with a water jet. He wouldn't let me do it and I hope my bearings are spared.

Sunday, October 01, 2006

Technique

To Changi, 68 km. I've been struggling with my contact lenses; they're the most comfortable brand for me among the brands I've tried, but the hardest to remove from their containers. Until I look at the instructions again. It's amazing how looking with an open mind at a few lines on paper can make such a difference. On the road, I feel so lethargic; I cycle so little nowadays. I pass a biker in denim shorts. A "race" starts. He sits on my tail even at 48 km/h downhill. I slow down as I run out of hill. He overtakes. I sit on his tail, going uphill at 41 km/h. I'm glad when he veers away towards Changi Village. I explore the unknown until four dogs bark. I reckon this pack barks but won't bite, but I turn back anyway. At the start of the ride, I'm thinking of how a dog took a chunk of out a biker's calf ...

Saturday, September 23, 2006

Misadventure race

Sep distance: 269

To East Coast Park, Labrador Park, 75 km. I sign up for the NUS Rovers Cyclohunt. NUS Cycling Club Team 1 already has the full complement of four. There aren't enough people to form Team 2, until my friend agrees to join on the eve of the race. Most of the competitors seem to be newbies, which means there's hope of getting the top $300 prize. The clues seemed easy enough, but we spend 45 minutes in vain just on Checkpoint 1. A team member then pulls out there, recalled home because of a "domestic situation". That ends our hope of winning anything. We cycle to half the other checkpoints just for fun, stopping even for supper. I lead the way to the Labrador checkpoint, which the rest haven't been to. They (all roadies) "repay" me by cycling back to the finish line at up to 38 km/h, with me the only one on fat tyres. Thumbs up to the organisers for their imagination ("5 points for a live cockroach, 1 point for a dead one").

Saturday, September 16, 2006

WAT kind of ride

To Changi Village, 121 km. Today is the first time I'm riding with Wheels Are Turning (WAT). It's a leisure ride, but two in the group are more hardcore than I am. One of them has cycled in New Zealand, and is taking part in an offroad race in India this year. The other has done endurance races in the US and France. I ask how is it their bosses allow them so much time to get away to cycle. As it turns out, they are the bosses. Today is also the first time I enjoy riding at East Coast Park, going at a languid pace. The day starts out with heavy cloud cloud and I want crawl back into bed. But since I'm already up, I get up my . I prepare to get soaked in the rain, but I soak up too much UV rays instead and end up sunburned. Funny how life turns out ...

Sunday, September 10, 2006

Having it both ways

To Mandai Road, 51 km. I'm supposed to cycle to Sungei Tengah today but S calls me to warn me of ominous clouds in the west. So I cycle north, stuff the cumulo nimbus clouds. I see an inviting patch in the foilage by the road and plunge in, but the trail peters out. On the way out, thorn-studded foilage slams into my mouth. A small scratch appears on my finger as I push the vegetation away. I'm glad I'm going slow; if not, my lips might've been shredded. That would've made drinking soup difficult. An ant bites me. That's par for the course. I expect this in the jungle. Next time I walk into peril in the concrete jungle, well, I'd expect that too. But today, I ride bike while the sun shines. And in case it rains, I've got my muddy shoes and mud-encrusted . All's well that ends well; I get to cycle and when it pours, it cleans my bike. Today, I have it both ways.

Sunday, September 03, 2006

"Just do good"

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 22 km. "Anyone can get to heaven, just do good", reads the car sticker. But the car is in the wrong lane, turning and putting others at risk. The driver isn't doing good. How good must one be anyway? And good for how long? I look the the barely visible hole in my water bottle. The bottle looks good but it isn't really good, as it leaks. The bottle can't heal itself. I couldn't fix it either though I tried to melt the plastic to cover the hole. To be good, you need someone better than you to help you.

Sunday, August 27, 2006

Red hills

Aug distance: 427 km

Sat 26 - Sun 27 Aug:
To Sungei Rengit, Johore, Malaysia, 116 km. Happiness is outdoors, where the jungle is foilage rather than concrete. Where the light is from the sky rather than the ceiling. Where the sound underfoot is the crunch of the earth rather than carpet pile. The last time I went offroad in Johore was with the Fellowship of the Spins in Feb 03. Almost all the fellows are here, including bike leader LCT. He teaches me to hop. His friends and some newbies are with us. I'm impressed by the mother who takes her two teenagers out for the adventure (though they don't join us offroad). It rains and I remember why I hardly go offroad: i dislike cleaning my bicycle. The irony is, there's water where it's not wanted (it rains) but no water where it's wanted (in the hotel). I'm scared riding in a gulley with little room for mistakes as a lorry passes me. I'm disappointed my rather new, branded waterbottle is holed (by a flying stone?). But I'm happy surging up the red hills, taking pictures of cyclists then overtaking them.

Sunday, August 20, 2006

Big wheels, little wheels

To Changi Village, 67 km. Today is the launch of Green Transport Week and it's my first time joining Togopart's brunch ride. The ride is slow, with over 40 cyclists, some of them newbies. Among the faster riders are those on foldable s and little 20" wheels who clock over 50 km/h downhill. I meet two female "big wheels" (celebrities) today: one a senior parliamentary secretary who poses beside me for a group photo and a charity rider who drafts me. I've wanted to cycle with her and it happens at last. So, today I see smaller wheels that go faster than bigger wheels, and smaller-built persons who have more influence than bigger-built ones. It's not always that size matters. But what's inside always matters.
Photo courtesy of CHDennis

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Serendipity

To Sengkang, 35 km. Some believe good things happen. I believe fortune happens to the prepared. As I cycle today, I go more or less wherever the road takes me and don't know exactly where I am. But I'm directionally right and find the turning I want: to Buangkok. But where a six-lane road used to be is now a dead end. I come across more dead ends before I find my way home. Sure, it's fun to explore. But when you need to be somewhere in a hurry and there are things to do, leaving things to serendipity is such a pity.

Sunday, August 13, 2006

Non-existing existence


To Admiralty Road West, 54 km. How do you prove that something never took place? How do you prove intention, when behaviour patterns are ignored, perception is selective and worse, insults are read when they don't exist? This is so unproductive. Unlike cycling. I hit the road past 11 am, having spent most of the morning and yesterday licking wounds. I'm out of shape but manage to keep up with a Cycleworx rider at 38 km/h on my fat tyres before we part. I spend hours exploring off-the-beaten-track, partly excited, partly fearful of snake bite; that's another wound I'd rather not lick.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Fireworks

To National Stadium, 29 km. While some people are selling their unwanted tickets to the National Day parade, multitudes are gathered around the stadium, on the roadside, on the pedestrian bridge, on the grass. Dressed in red and white (or at least in red), they're there for the duration of the parade though it can't be seen from the outside - except for the fireworks. Together with N and J, we smell the gunpowder, feel the explosions, hear the boom and see the fireworks bloom in the night sky. I pick up some foil that flitters down. That piece of aluminium was extracted from the soil, processed and travelled thousands of miles. In that fleeting moment of glory, it does its job as part of the fireworks, then falls to the ground, to be trampled and swept away.

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Volunteer night (and morn)

To Labrador Park, 53 km. Tonight, there's a barbeque to thank the volunteers who helped at the Kent Ridge race on 23 Jul. The one who did the most cooking: the general manager, who organised the race, the barbeque and now, does the cooking. The food is good - and overwhelming in quantity. The company is varied too; some strangers, some old friends. Just as well it's not my last meal, as a car comes too close when cutting across my lane. The night is not over for me yet, as I cycle to church to handle food and beverage for those praying through the night on the eve of national day. On this day, I think of the men who, well, volunteered in the 1950s to take on the white men and the mantle of national leadership, eventually taking over (and wearing white). Majulah!

Sunday, August 06, 2006

What money can't buy

To Senoko Way, 54 km. A family has a picnic by the river's side (one of the rare ones that doesn't have concrete banks). Some people fish in the Straits of Johore. Three men sit on the kerb, with three bottles in front of them. All for free, as money can't buy a real family, get fish to bite bait or friendship. Or real sleep. I spend much of the weekend plugging my sleep deficit; I start cycling today at 1045! I find some single tracks, but these peter out. And I find that progress has beaten me to more off-the-beaten paths; where I used to be able to cycle are now out of bounds. Still, there are still houses that have gargoyles on their gateposts to look at.

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

Too much, too little

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 19 km. There's too much work when a) I wake up in the night thinking about it and can't fall asleep after that. b) when a bikelog reader asks if I'm overworked as I got a bikelog date wrong. c) when I ask myself if I should cycle tonight since I'm leading a strategy review tomorrow. Well, I can't take it anymore: too little sleep, too little cycling. So I cycle. My pedaling muscles seem connected to my smiling muscles; as I cycle, I can't help but smile. I meander about; just five km out of this highrise jungle, there is cool night air and quiet roads. And it's all free! (OK, I pay taxes but still ...)

Sunday, July 30, 2006

Overgrown undergrowth

Jul distance: 223


To Jalan Ulu Sembawang, 34 km. The undergrowth is so overgrown, it tangles up my feet and my pedals, and winds itself around the casette. Twenty years ago, this used to be a road wide enough for lorries to pass each other. People used to live on either side of the road. Now, it's grass, trees, the occasional flower and lots of nature. Elsewhere along this part of Singapore, I see people in the jungle. One group wears construction helmets and emerges with a pail of durians. There's single track too, but it peters out and grass claims what's left of the road. Also in abundance: rain. I notice that a drizzle dirties my , but a downpour cleans it. Does this apply to storms in my life? Small trouble irritates. Big trouble cleans out what doesn't really matter, making clear what does.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Glad, sad and mad

To Kent Ridge, 51 km. Today is the first official race at Kent Ridge mountain bike trail, which deserves its reputation as the toughest in Singapore. I volunteer as a road marshall; as some riders pass me, they signal how tough it is; one even does a throat-slitting motion. I'm glad to of some use to them, directing mostly friendly pedestrians out of harm's way, including someone on a wheelchair and another old lady who had to be helped uphill (which makes walking single file difficult). Just standing as a road marshall was strain enough on my back. But I try the route when the race is over, just to see how my back takes it. One lap leaves me drenched in sweat but without a scratch; not even where I last fell. I'm sad I'm not in a position to race. I'm mad as I'd thought other cyclists would look out for their own kind, but the greatest alarm is caused by three non-racing bikers who weave uphill and, at one point, stop to run alongside a competitor.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Placid on the outside, raging on the inside

To Upper Thomson Road, 22 km. On the outside, I look like someone on a leisurely ride. On the inside, I'm disturbed. My back hurts; it's been so since 18 Jun after I break the cardinal rule of using new equipment (in this case, my saddle) on an expedition only after it has been extensively road-tested and adjusted. Or perhaps it's psychosomatic: my work is back-breaking. This morning, I wake up at 2 am to write an office email ... And because of work, I decide not to go for an advanced mountain bike clinic this Fri. Which is just as well. Like bikeshop man says today, after adjusting my rear d for the 4th time this year, it costs money to ride.

Saturday, July 08, 2006

A different perspective

To Portsdown Road, 52 km. I got "squashed" at work yesterday. There's so much work, I worked past midnite and still bring work home. Not that anyone knows. I want to sulk at home, but drag myself out on the busy streets where more people are out to knock me down. On a whim, I turn into Little India. Not only is there vehicular traffic, there's foot traffic too. But somehow, I mind it less, since I expected more hazards. A little turn, a different perspective, and the world looks different. It's a different ride tonight too, as I meet some friends on a dinner ride, cruising to Holland Village and Lau Pa Sat for dinner and supper. At the latter, an acrobatic troupe whirls and twirls, achieving amazing feats of balance that cyclists are unable to even dream of.

Sunday, July 02, 2006

Sands of time

To Kent Ridge and East Coast Parkway, 64 km. Cycling makes me younger, which is why I make two newbie mistakes today: one with my clipless pedals (unclip on the right, fall on the left) and the other losing traction on gravel while going uphill. Besides going back in time today, I also make several marks in the sands of time. I'm probably the first person on the Kent Ridge trail, not just on semi-slick tyres but also on a rigid bike. Today is the first time when I'm on a ride where everyone is a race medal winner, with me, the sole guy, having the least wins. I also see a triathlon with my own eyes instead of on TV. And hold a triathlon medal - alas, not mine. If I didn't have bad knees, I'd take part too. Today is also the first time I visit a traditional Chinese medicine clinic, and have acupuncture too, for my bad back. And I cross the 30,000 km mark on a . With all these firsts, a song plays in my head: Madonna's "Like a virgin".

Sunday, June 25, 2006

Rain, man

Jun distance: 635 km

To East Coast Parkway, 65 km. "Rain man" is a movie drama about an idiot savant who's brilliant at some things but not others. "Rain, man" a real life comedy about an idiot in who puts on sunblock and goes cycling even though he knows it'll rain. And rain it does. For over 2.5 hours, we sit, not on our saddles but indoors, waiting for the rain to stop. And when it does, we cycle as slowly as the drizzle. At one point, there are four girls and one guy - me. For a sport where men outnumber women many times, why do the girls outnumber the guys today? Maybe it's because women and being wet go together more naturally. Like in periodic water retention. And for some, water bags.

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Sweat the small stuff

To Countryside Road, 25 km. Today is the first time I'm cycling with proper rim tape (Zefal, no less), instead of using electrical tape or cut-up inner tubes. Whoever says "don't sweat the small stuff" probably isn't a cyclist - less than 1 mm of material separates an inner tube from puncturing by spokes. I'm also back on fat tyres; it gives more workout in less time, and takes more wear and tear than slick tyres. My back hurts; I stop to adjust my saddle, giving it perhaps 1 degree more tilt. If you don't seat the small stuff, you will end up sweating more.

Sunday, June 18, 2006

Gambling with my life at Genting

Fri 16 - Sun 18 Jun:
To Genting Highlands, Pahang, Malaysia, 231 km.

Scary climb, scarier descent
Day 1: Sat 17 Jul, Kuala Lumpur (Selangor) - Genting Highlands (Pahang), 162 km. We ride 40 km/h for 40 km, with "tour director" J and "I have a sore throat, it hurts to drink" RP leading the pack of nine to Genting Highlands.

The road winds 26 km uphill towards the 1,800 m peak. It is hot. My sweat drips onto my top tube. As cars pass, some passengers clap for us. My ears pop as we ride into the clouds. The higher we go, the steeper - and cooler - it gets. Some cyclists stop to put on their windbreakers. I stop to walk twice; my back hurts as I haven't fully adjusted my saddle. I stop to fiddle with it several times.

At the top, I'm relieved and don't bother to cycle up any hotel driveway, though that'd have gained me a more altitude. Going up is tough; going down is downright scary. The wind blows a cloud onto us and visibility drops. The road is wet and so are my rims. My hands hurt from braking. At some corners, I'm going too fast for comfort but daren't brake harder, lest I skid. Talk about gambling with my life ... At some corners, long vehicles jut into my lane as they corner. The scares aren't over yet, not thanks to cycling into Kuala Lumpur in peak hour traffic over one flyover after another.

Metal mother
Day 2: Sun 18 Jul, Kuala Lumpur - Semenyih (Selangor) - Singapore, 64 km. It's Sunday. I want to sleep in. They have their Cervelo and Pinarello, I want my pillow. But I drag myself out of bed as I want to get to know my saddle better. J and RP take turns to lead the pack. J, reputedly a former Malaysian national cyclist, gives a whole new meaning to "hands free" mobile phone usage, as he rides at 44 km/h, talking on the phone with both hands off the handlebar. And I wonder why RP's hair, which extends to her shoulder blades, doesn't flap in the wind.

Cycling with support vehicle drivers who're cyclists is safer. Being cyclists, they wield their cars like a metal mother hen, protecting us from marauding traffic that filters too close into our lane. Cyclist-drivers know how to let you draft them and swerve to avoid potholes so you can do the same. Which doesn't stop me from peering from behind through the vehicle to see the road ahead anyway.

My rear tyre, which has broken rim tape, holds up after SL and N help me patch it up. I'm embarrassed at having to change the inner tube just before the ride starts. After riding down the heights of Semenyih, I clamber up the support vehicle like the others. I don't like being cooped up in metal mother, or foregoing more intimacy with my new saddle, but the thought of getting home earlier and avoiding heavy traffic is more persuasive.

When the car journey ends, I'm glad to get out of the car. Sitting in a car requires stretching, just like when I'm riding hard. And after hearing the same cassette tape for hundreds of km to and from Kuala Lumpur, that's enough. I hop on my bike and ride the 5 km home.

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Simply perfect

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 29 km. For some parts, there's a rule of thumb like "after X km, replace it". I haven't found such a rule for saddles. But after getting two saddle sores from my last ride, I reckon the time has come to replace my saddle. So I say goodbye (and good riddance) to my "handcrafted in Italy" saddle, model TA. It's been a pain in the butt since Nov 03 (more than 19,600 km ago). In its place, another saddle I bought a few days ago. Same brand but model F: an old model, with no gel (I read somewhere that gel can "clump" over time, thus losing its shape), no seams, no fancy design. It's cheaper, lighter, with better power transfer. Ironically, I'd replaced F with TA, thinking TA would be even better than F. How wrong I was!

Sunday, June 11, 2006

Fortune doesn't favour the bold

To Yew Tee, 112 km. Whoever said fortune favours the bold is wrong. Fortune favours the fortunate. At the Yew Tee Challenge adventure race, I draw number 24 for the route. My team mate has a puncture. Our cup to scoop water at one of the "tests" breaks. It rains so hard, I can't write down answers to clues. And it's a nasty route, with clues that leave us clueless. For almost an hour, several teams go round in circles, mislead by what "beside" means. And I learn that leadership is a mix of being firm and flexible. To firmly stay the course when I'm right. To listen when I'm wrong. Problem is, when is who right? I also learn that when people mess up, they sometimes make things right. And sometimes, things right themselves. Like when we're recalled to base in the downpour while some teams aren't. But at the base, another team helps us. Ultimately, the race is not to the swiftest, as I see teams with medal-winners go away losers. My team didn't win either, but we finish the race, with some honour left.

Saturday, June 10, 2006

Strange questions

To Nanyang Ave, 88 km. The rain has stopped. The air is cool. But I'm sweating. Strange. Stranger still are the two questions I get today. When buying a drink at a petrol kiosk, I'm asked if I've bought any petrol - when I'm wearing a helmet and shorts. When I stop at a traffic light, a friendly roadie asks if I've just gone off-road - when I'm on 1.25" slicks. I guess they can't tell the difference. Today, I check out the farms in the west, for tomorrow's "Quest of the West" adventure race. I hope I can tell the difference between the clues and the red herrings.

Sunday, June 04, 2006

Red force vs blue force

To Yew Tee, 85 km. Gripping his aerobars, the roadie with blue and jersey slips in front of me. I, on my red Tank, strain to catch up, then surge past him. He blasts past me as the road tilts upwards. I overtake him. He catches up when I stop at the red lights. And so we play leap frog along the road. I have the last word as we part ways, but I'm more winded than a granny going uphill without granny gears. All I took was just five days off the bike; my butt still hurts but look how my form has dropped. I tour around Yew Tee and its viscinity, a place dotted with heavy vehicle parks, parks and farms. I marvel at the urban planning here, with clusters of playgrounds, shops and places of worship sprinkled throughout the landscape.

Monday, May 29, 2006

No loss of blood, just some loss of face

May distance: 1,240 km

Sat 27 May - Mon 29 May
To Mersing, Johore, Malaysia, 491 km. In this year's Charity Bike n Blade (in aid of St Andrew's Mission Hospital), I ride better than last year but behave more badly. I break away from the peloton and a girl brings tears to my eyes ...

Mid-air refuelling
Day 1: Sat 27 May, Singapore - Mersing (Johore), 171 km. This year's charity ride (the second in as many years) is harder than last year's, as the number of official rest stops has halved to one per day. Today's stop is 66 km away. I run low on water. A support vehicle pulls up on my right and the passenger hands me a bottle, which I uncap and gulp (the fluid, not the cap). I'm already burnt out less than halfway through today's ride, as I'd failed to pace myself. Instead, I chase any roadie that comes along. The funniest sight is of nuclear-powered SY pulling six guys along (the guys are going forward with reverse sexism). I drop out and cycle alone, arriving around 4.30 pm. Instead of being the first mountain biker, I'm second to J. I'm even second to newbie VN. Still, I reckon I'm in the first quartile of 70. The highest "hill" for today is the three stories I have to climb to the hotel room. I avail myself of a massage (my first by a lady). Her kneading brings yelps and tears to my eyes but I feel better later.

Strategy? What strategy?
Day 2: Sun 28 May, Mersing - Desaru (Johore), 153 km. Like yesterday, I'm first off the starting line but the roadies catch up seconds later. But I've learnt not to draft RM when he passes by. The lead peloton (Group 1) surges past as well and I end up with SY for 77 km to the official rest stop. She gives us only 15 minutes break and then we're off moments after Group 1 arrives; they at least had stopped for an impromptu break before this stop.

I'm glad when J calls for a stop but barely had I stretched when I'm asked if i'm ready to ride. Well, just barely, unlike VN (which could stand for "Victory over Numbness". She drafts SY intently. Once in a while, I tell her "look left" when we pass scenic sights. Once, she peeled off the road but recovered magnificently. Inspiring as she was, I just couldn't stay on her tail and end up solo.

The headwind is so strong, I see a bird flying backwards. I also wonder about the roadkill. These creatures move faster than people; why does the former end up minced? I reckon it's because they're low on the ground and can't see the traffic bearing down fast enough to avoid death. Hence, the importance of different perspectives.

Abandoned and despondent, I stop, stretch and eat. The blader's support van stops. The blader's chief, JW, tops up my water and tells me Group 1 is coming. When they overtake me, I hang on to them grimly, like a stray dog looking for a home. Then, on what I think is the last of the interminable hills, I sprint ahead. We reach Desaru at 1 pm (six hours after flag-off), beaten by SY & Co and way behind the first cyclist B (his time: 12.07). This was my goal, to be with Group 1. What the strategy was, I didn't know but made it.

Key performance indicators
Day 3: Mon 29 May, Desaru - Sedili (Johore) - Singapore, 167 km. I'm a bad boy today. When a support car passes, I break away from the peloton to draft the former as it surges ahead. Today is also the first time in my life I've been so hydrated on a long ride. A support car passes Group 1. Out comes a bottle, which gets passed down the line. As the last man, I pick up the least water and the most saliva. When the peloton of roadies crank up the pace, my sweat pours and my Orbea bottle empties fast.

On my right, a support car appears. The water maiden hands out drinks. With her doe eyes and hair blowing in the wind, I guess whether a biker looks at her or the drink depends on how thirsty he is. I hand her my Orbea bottle to fill up and take an isotonic drink from her, which I guzzle. She takes my empty isotonic bottle with her left hand and hands me my Orbea bottle with the other. All this at over 30 km/h, yet I have to sprint to keep up with the pack after my aqua aerobics. When one of the cyclists says we can turn back if we want to, that's what I do. I drop out and ride solo until I meet VN and E. I keep them company, serving occasionally as windbreaker. Back at the hotel, I flash my radio frequency identity (RFID) to show I'm still alive. This is another ride where I've lost no blood.

For the grand finale, we cycle to Tanjong Belungkor for the ferry ride home. As usual, the roadies crank out a mean pace, at over 40 km/h even on the rolling hills. I wonder how long I can keep this up. As a key performance indicator, speed isn't quite appropriate, nor are its component indicators of distance and time. Ultimately, it's how good my heart beats and how bad my heart wants to stay in the pack. When someone has a problem with his pedals, we surge ahead until someone shouts "Come on guys, let's finish this together." At the end of the ride, so many photos are taken, it's as if one is taken for every km we've covered. Still, it's a ride worth remembering, thanks to the organisers and support crew from Avanade, many labouring unseen behind the scenes. Thanks also to the roadies who took pity and let this guy with short legs and small wheels draft them.

Friday, May 26, 2006

Ungrateful and unhappy

To Simei, 18 km. Ripple effect. Knock-on effect. Butterfly effect. Whatever you want to call it, doing (or not doing) one thing leads to another. Things happen when someone makes a decision and doesn't stick to it (not that the situation has changed; only the mind has changed). I miss an important dinner then I cycle to Simei, the site of tomorrow's Charity Bike n Blade flag-off. I arrive when it is "lights off" and wake up my slumbering friends who are trying to get enough sleep as we have to arise at 4.30 am. So, what can I be thankful for? A room all to myself. And I suppose I did get out of the office to go for this charity ride, though I'd to bail out on the Bike-Aid one next month.

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Nice screech

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 18 km. The bus starts pulling out of the bus bay, then screeches to a halt to let me pass. How nice. I'm tired and cycle reluctantly today; I'm on the road only because I've been promised delivery of a new hangar for my rear derailleur several times in the past two weeks. Let's just say that bikeshop man has a supply chain problem ... anyway, I reckon he gives me a discount today for the inconvenience caused.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

The office

To Tanjong Pagar, 32 km. Today is the first day in my life that I've cycled to the office. I do it after work. Turns out to be 10 minutes faster than by train, door to door. On the way home, there are three close calls on the road, the last time involving a lady who goes straight while in a lane for turning. My bicycle feels skittish; I'm back on slicks after being on knobbies since early Mar. It takes some getting used to. And I'm still revelling in this month's race victory; I see the detailed results today. Missed one position by a second. If I'd joined the Weekend Warrior category, I'd have been fifth. And if I was young enough for the Men' Junior, I'd have been 4th!

Sunday, May 21, 2006

Torn in seven places

To Mount Faber, 99 km. I'm cycling so hard, the sweat flows copiously and drips down on my top tube. My knobbies hum, sounding more melodious than my laboured breathing. Today is my last full day of training before next week's Bike N Blade charity ride. I'm wearing my newest - and "holeiest" - bikeshorts. They aren't holy as in "blessed" but they went through a baptism of fire when I crashed in them on 6 May. A seamstress patched them up. They look OK but there's some chafing. This is an expensive sport. I should've picked something more sedate, like chess or knitting, which I can do in a rocking chair. I see some oldies on high-end road bikes. I shudder to think what I'll be like at their age; I hope I too can tear around the roads at that age. In a decade's time or so, I'll get a road bike.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

New togs, old gripes

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 26 km. I've a new helmet on my head. It (the helmet, not the head) is German-made and has a recommended retail price of $400. I've got a new jersey on my back. It's priceless, being intended only for participants of next week's Bike N Blade charity ride. The hardest part of a charity ride is not the ride, but the charity - fundraising. I exceeded the target comfortably, with the lowest and highest donations being $5 and $500 respectively. It seems at least one person raised less than a twentieth of the target, yet got the same sponsored goodies as the rest of us. That's turning the rich-poor divide on its head; those with riches gripe about those without. Ah well, the ride will restore equity. Those who put in more training will literally get ahead. And so I train, tearing around the circuit on my beloved knobbies. The joggers are all over the road again. One of them is in full battle order, sans helmet and rifle.

Sunday, May 14, 2006

Head for the hills

To Mount Faber, 94 km. I wish it'd rain so I can stay snug in bed, but it's just cloudy. I head for another Bike N Blade training ride. I'm the only one on a mountain bike. It's nice to hear the tyres hum. The wind is whistles through my helmet. I'd whistle too but I'm trying to keep up with a guy with a triathlete's build. We stop and wait. Someone has multiple tyre punctures; not just the inner tube, but the tyre itself. I file off sharp points on the rim with a tyre valve. N pumps up the tyre. "It's a good pump", says V. "It's not the pump, it's the pumper," I say. Two and a half laps round Mandai, three laps up Bukit Chandu, one lap up Mount Faber and we call it a day. Some roadies have beehoon goreng, I have mee goreng. As befits our respective tyre widths. I'm glad to have a mountain bike, it's so versatile and robust, eg less prone to punctures.

Friday, May 12, 2006

Beyond an American century, on knobbies

To Kota Tinggi, Johore, Malaysia, 186 km. Triumphant from my race on 7 May, or perhaps brain damaged after hitting my head twice in less than two weeks, I cycle longer than an American century on my knobby tyres (a first in my personal history). Today's training ride for the Bike N Blade charity event sees about 20 riders, mostly roadies. Two mountain bikers, including I, and a triathlete, set the pace. At one point, I'm pulling along five bikerbabes. But in the noonday sun, without lunch, I turn sluggish. It's my turn to draft and I follow a tribabe; someone who's swimming, running or cycling everyday. Back on the causeway, we're stopped. In the rain, to let some VIP comfortably ensconed in a black vehicle pass.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Talk shop six

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 26 km. The last time I was away for more than half a day (excluding weekends and public holidays) was on 3 Jan. Now, it looks like my five days of leave in Jun is going up in smoke. Time for some window shopping therapy. I chat with bikeshop man and he tells me the intricacies of tyre treads. Darn, I could've done better in my 7 May race (see below) for just $50. He offers to give me a ride if I'm joining another race. Woohoo, I've got a race sponsor! When he closes shop, I tear up and down the road, dodging joggers who are to the left, centre and right of the road. If my new bar ends are horns, I could be goring them.

Sunday, May 07, 2006

Three firsts and half-past six


To Tampines Mountain Bike Trail, 64 km. For the first time in my life: I cycle in SACA's Men's Masters. I keep upright in an offroad race (I filled my quota for falling yesterday). I win a medal. Thanks to CC and N for the winning advice. I would've been #6, but for half a bike length. #6 hears me coming; yesterday's crash had disabled my stealth mode. Though I leap ahead, he has too much of a headstart. Still, I shouldn't have won anything. My hand hurts from yesterday's fall, the jolts on the road as I cycle to the race venue remind me so (I wish I'd a support vehicle like my competitors). My bent rear D is a drag. And I didn't sleep well because of pain. When the race starts, it seems everyone surges ahead of me. I feel hungry. Somehow, I overtake 3-4 riders without falling. Some people congratulate me after the race. I struggle to open a bottle of water because of the pain in my hand. Chasing after a medal is like chasing a girl. It takes serious effort, time, money and pain. The difference is, the medal you keep. The girl, you have to work at keeping.

Saturday, May 06, 2006

From whining to winning?

To Tampines Mountain Bike Trail, 34 km. Today is the eve of race day. It's supposed to be an easy ride but it starts to rain. It also looks like the race route has changed; it goes the other way. Along the way, there's a huge forked branch on the trail. It looks like it was placed there for boobies like me. Crash! That familiar sound. I hurt my hand and my butt, tear my shorts (the first time I ever tear my bike clothes, and it has to be my newest pair of shorts) and bend my rear D the third time. Still, it could've been worse. I'll still race tomorrow. A medal awaits, notwithstanding the rear D.

Friday, May 05, 2006

Ups and downs

To Mandai Road, 26 km. I sprint up the uphill stretch beside the reservoir and coast down, doing a few laps. I drop by to see bikeshop man; his shop is still open though it's past 10 pm.

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

Many at Mandai

To Mandai Road, 31 km. Taking N's advice, I tear up the hills and rest on the way down. Some roadies pass me the other way. And going my way is lots of traffic. I wonder why.

Monday, May 01, 2006

Keep your head down

To Bukit Timah and Tampines Mountain Bike Trail, 95 km. The alarm clock rings. I don't want to wake up but there's a clinic today. The doctor: Cycling Dutchman, winner of Mar's SACA race (Men's Sports category). So it's true: he won using slicks (2.35"). I learn from him today. Like, what "keep your head down" means (and look up to the top). The "feel test" for tyre pressure (no need to figure out when marginal utility of increased traction equals marginal cost of increased rolling resistance!). When it's better to dismount and run. When in danger, brake, keep low then fall. After one round with him and some FWNR bikers (like Tiny, who fixes my rear D despite its hanger being bent), we break up. I head for Tampines. I do better with 45 psi tyres. Even at a somewhat relaxed pace, one round takes me 7:38.

Saturday, April 29, 2006

Circle game

To Tampines Mountain Bike Trail, 45 km. Next weekend, they'll know if they've won the parliamentary elections. Next weekend, I'll know if I've won a medal. They've been wondering who contests in which constituency. I've been wondering which category to race in: Weekend Warrior or Men's Masters? Strategic choices, tactical choices. The similarity doesn't end here. All parties at the hustings have circles in their logos. As for me, I cycle on circles and in circles at the trail. For the first time, I cycle five rounds non-stop. On my fifth circuit, a guy blasts past me. I crank up but the gap widens. At least, I get confirmation that I'm on the right track; it's hard to gauge from the 2004 photo of the the last race here. I skid while cornering; somehow my leg lifts, my rear wheel regains traction and I regain balance. My drive train rattles like a kid's toy, while there's mud over the , the chain's rollers are shiny. Where did all the lube go?

Dripping blood, dangling flesh

Apr distance: 691 km

To Tampines Mountain Bike Trail, 58 km. I've gone down this circuit a few times and have had a few close calls. But today is the first time I overtake someone. And the first time I crash. Simulating race conditions, I push myself to the edge and fall off it. Going fast, I overshoot a corner. I right myself. But fall. It's as if the trail edge of gravel gave way. I fall on my face. I lie there, conscious that the seconds are speeding away. Should I give up? I see some lacerations on my leg, the longest one being 7 cm of white flesh and dripping blood. I pull the skin dangling off it and get up. My helmet saves me again. I finish five laps in almost 38 minutes, with a bent rear D (again). How awful. Back in the shade, the guy I overtook says, "It's not worth it." He's right. How many micro-seconds can I save in one corner, vs the minutes and damage that attempt may cost if it goes awry? Risk vs reward: a lesson that's valuable for play and work.

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

Groping in the dark

Ang Mo Kio, 7 km. This might well be my shortest, most intense ride. To make up for the long, intense work day (and night). It's dark. My glasses fog up. I don't know if the black patches are holes or shadows. The grass is wet, the tree roots are treacherous. I slip, pick myself up and ride on. Downhill on the path, my wheels slide and brakes squeal. Am I having fun yet?

Sunday, April 23, 2006

Scattering and scrambling

To Tampines Mountain Bike Trail, 43 km. I'd slept as much as I wanted and skipped today's group rides. I want today to be an easy ride. But when I hit the trail, I want to see if I can go faster than yesterday. And I do, for a while. Around corners, I press down on the pedal inside the turn and power myself out of the bends. As I scatter gravel around me, a jogger gets in the way. Braking in those conditions could be dicey. He scrambles out of the way and I overshoot the bend. "Bike trail!" I yell. When he sees me again round the trail, he ducks away. The radio controlled hobbyists are at it again. Some with airborne machines, others with tiny monster trucks. I try the BMX track too, twice. A ditch has been dug in front of a mound of earth. My wheel digs into one of them, scrubbing off speed. I stall on the mound and ignominously push my up, then dismount before the next ditch.

Saturday, April 22, 2006

Great ache

To Tampines Mountain Bike Trail, 57 km. The last time I was here was in 2003. As if to make up for lost time, I cycle five laps. The terrain is flat, but for the BMX trail which causes my pedals to hit the crest of several mounds of earth. The trail is all mine and I tear around it. Once, I overshoot a bend and end up off the trail. And though the trail is mostly gravel, I somehow end up splattered with mud. The only risk today is from the radio controlled flying machines buzzing around. I drop by to see bikeshop man, who uses a pipe cutter to twist off a few grammes from my seatpost. Back home, my legs ache. Great, just what I need. Really.

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Training is straining

To Old Upper Thomson Rd, 24 km. Besides my tyres, my legs also feel rubbery. After climbing 50 stories yesterday. And after another hard slog at work today, I do sprints on my bike, preparing for a mountain bike race where there're mountain bikes but no mountain. While cycling is fun, training isn't. The best part of tonight's ride is when a group of cyclists pass and we exchange greetings. The next best part is when I decide the training is over.

Sunday, April 16, 2006

Island in the sun

Fri-Sun 14-16 Apr:
To Pulau Tinggi, Johore, Malaysia, 272 km. The weather has been unpredicatable. Will it rain or will the sun shine? The answer: both. With over 20 riders, I cycle in the rain to an island in the sun near Pulau Tioman. I have an unwelcome reminder of how tough the route is, compare bikers with divers, and get bitten in bed.

Unwelcome reminder
Day 1: Fri 14 Apr, Singapore - Pulau Tinggi (Johore), 136 km. I come across five groups of cyclists today, including my group of over 20 bikers. One group has body armour and full face helmets; they load their heavy downhill bikes up a bus. Another group comprises Bikerboey and another long lost friend.

On the road, a guy overtakes me. He's wearing a long-sleeved office shirt with his bikeshorts. Some roadies in yellow overtake me too. I give chase but give up soon. But I manage to ride out from under a rain cloud, drafting behind D and R until I realise D meant he was going to cycle at 28 mp/h instead of km/h.

With my fat semi-slick tyres and loaded (for the first time with my Mountain Dax bag), I'd forgotten how interminable the road to Mersing is. At least, my wet lube is working fine despite the rain; it keeps at bay the hydro-activated hyperactive squeaking hamsters in my drivetrain. And all long journeys come to an end. We board a boat for an hour-long ride to Pulau Tinggi. I think the resort is nice, because of the Cussons soap, until I flip the bedspread over and see lizard shit over the bed sheet. And fungus on the pillow case. And lizard egg shells too. All complimentary, as the rack rate is S$50.

Doing a python
Day 2: Sat 15 Apr, Pulau Tinggi, non-cycling day. One of the pleasures of life is being able to wake up when I want, without a shrieking alarm clock to interrupt my slumber. After a long lazy breakfast, I walk along the beach. It's pretty despite the litter - which includes a light bulb (which dim wit threw it there?) and a broken fluourescent tube. I walk till I run out of beach (no, only one man could walk on water), then join a walk to a marine conservation museum (with English explanations!) and a waterfall. In the jungle, clouds of mosquitoes rise up as if they were bloodsucking men, following the girls.

Having seen the waterfall (which is what I set out to do), I return to a lazy lunch then do a python (eat and sleep) while the rest remain behind to frolic in the water. The power trips, so I sit on the verandah of my hut, where it's cooler outside than inside. Besides us bikers on the island, there are divers too. I notice some similarities between the two. Both groups wear skintight outfits where our build (or lack thereof) shows. Both indulge in expensive, energy- and oxygen intensive physical activity. Both of us cut through fluids (yes, air, like water, is a fluid). And if we run out of air (in tyres or tanks), it's game over. But I think it incongruous that some diving suit clad girls scurried to get out of the drizzle.

Many bugs and one crack
Day 3: Sun 16 Apr, Pulau Tinggi - Singapore, 136 km. I wake up itching and bleeding from the scratching. I guess it finally has to happen: after being in accommodation in every West Malaysian state, I finally sleep in a bed that has bed bugs. Or ticks. Or are they biting lizards? I speed away after breakfast. In fact, we split into various groups. One group goes by van. Others ride home at their own pace; some in groups and three (including me) singly. Along the way, one of my water bottles cracks. Which is a pity, as it's one of a matching pair. And a veteran of three over 1,000 km epic rides. But at least I get home before the rain pours.

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Opposites attract

To Old Upper Thomson Rd, 25 km. Americans say: when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Japanese say: use your opponents' force against them. Well, my fat tyres are heavy, have greater rolling friction and slow me down. But it also means I get a more intense workout in a shorter time. So, opposites can have some attraction; good can come out of bad. And today, I meet the man who'd conned me (see 9 Apr entry). He denies knowing me, though he looks, talks and walks the same. Oh, he's such a cool conman. And a cheap cheat, selling his soul for a few bucks. Well, it's cheap tuition fee for me; for a few bucks, I'm now on guard against bigger conmen.

Sunday, April 09, 2006

Compassionate or conned?

To Mandai Rd, 42 km. The usually deserted road past the columbarium is jammed today, as the live visit the dead. With my semi-slicks, I do one lap along Mandai. My body still aches from yesterday. On the return leg, I spot a roadie and slip past him. He sits on my tail for a while, then blasts past as I strain at 41 km/h. My mind also drifts to the past, to 2003 when I last had my semi-slicks on. Those were they days, when my friends would cycle to Johore for off-road. Now, those days are gone. Also gone is $2.90. I stop when a man at a bus stop calls out. He says his company bus had left without him and he needs to get to work. He asks for $2.90 and I dig it out for him. It could be a con; he sounds slick and if he wanted train fare, why didn't he ask at the station? But it could be for real: why didn't he just take what I'd given him and look for another sucker, rather than take the risk and ask for $0.90 more?

Saturday, April 08, 2006

Stalling and falling

To Bukit Timah Hill, 60 km. My last race on this hill (19 Mar) was the worst race of my life. Today's ride on this hill is the worst ride of my life. At just about every uphill, I stall. I fall twice, once when my front wheel lifts. I realise that falling itself takes energy, because of the struggle to stay upright. One guy blasts past, looks back and asks if I'm OK. Yes, just my ego dented. And I'd started wanting to beat my lap time and wanting to do four laps. I even drink from a Camelbak, for the first time in my life. But My hands hurt just a few minutes on the hill and I'm winded. I pass a couple of bikers and recognise a voice. It's the "Padre" and friends. I haven't seen him since 2004. He invites me to join him. The hill is bad. My ride with him is worse, as I scrabble over tree roots and fallen trunks. I see the mark of chainrings on some. Thunder rumbles. I break away, waiting for the rain to stop. I drop by my favourite mechanic to true my rear wheel. Racing isn't worth it for me; it costs too much. While I can go down the hill slowly, it's too dangerous for my wallet at racing speed.

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

Desperate ride

In Ang Mo Kio, 11 km. The rain falls down. The umbrellas go up. From a drizzle to a downpour, I do my laps. Partly because I pretend to be training, partly because I'm desperate to cycle away / work out my work woes. I miss a turn. I jam my brakes. Wheels lock. Tyres screech. Rider is nonchalant and stays upright. The rain doesn't quite wash away my troubles, but I'm squeeze-my-clothes-and-see-water-gush wet. Of course, I'd cleaned my drivetrain over the weekend. But at least, my casette is behaving itself (it somehow got loose after my last ride, see below, but I got it fixed free of charge last night).

Sunday, April 02, 2006

Down by the river


To Sengkang, 47 km. I'm back in the saddle after a two week break, for my race-sustained wounds (see 19 Mar entry below) to heal. I hit the road after spending the past 10 hours in bed, getting up after the sun is up. It is beautiful down by the river. Too bad about the litter and the boaters making a racket. Further up the river, it is quieter. The only sounds are from the birds, the splash of fishing and the "scrunch" of the earth beneath my wheels. In some parts, there's so much undergrowth, it gets into my cassette. Perhaps that's why it loosens, creaking like an arthritic mouse on a treadmill. My cyclocomputer screen is scratched too. So much for my offroad racing. Today, I test my Mountain Dax Equipment backpack.

Sunday, March 19, 2006

Medic not medal

Mar distance: 527 km


To Bukit Timah Hill, 46 km. Any hope of getting a medal was over after the first few seconds of the race. I'd a good spot at the start line but most of the pack of 16 Weekend Warriors just surge ahead. As I pass the commentator, his remarks about arm warmers gets me hot and bothered as he says naught about my rigid fork. I see someone ahead, lose my nerve and fall, hitting my chin on the handlebar. And after riding over 27,000 km since 2002, I learn something today - the power of the mind. I tell myself I'll go up those slopes and I do, as my rear wheel spins over wet gnarled roots. On the last downhill near the finish line, I relax and something hits me. The ground. The brake lever gets stuck in my shoe. After waving my limbs in the air like a helpless tortoise, I unstrap my shoe and try to cycle, then realise my front wheel is the wrong way round. I cross the finish line with a dangling number plate, and twisted saddle, rear derailleur and ankle. I miss a medal by 4-5 minutes; the guy ahead of me is the last to get a medal. This is my third off-road race, my sixth solo race and the worst race ever. But at least my wounds are treatable by the medic and I get home under my own steam. (Title of this entry inspired by RebelXH)
Photo courtesy of Deemax

Saturday, March 18, 2006

Why oh why

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 26 km. Saturday morning. A time to sleep in and wake up without the alarm clock. I get up, put on sloppy riding togs and ride to remind my body that tomorrow it'd better work hard. Back home, it takes barely 50 minutes to get my bike race ready. The bike is ready but the biker isn't. So, why do I do this? Isn't there enough stress at work, why have stress at play? Risking bloodshed and broken bones. All keyed up, waiting for tomorrow. Just to find out when I've been weighed and measured, whether I'm found wanting. I want my first podium finish for my third off-road race!

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Power cycling

To Bukit Timah Hill, 54 km. Cycling needs power and knowledge is power. So I cycle today to check out Sunday's race route. Problem is, I don't know where exactly the start line is. Today is my worse ride in BT. After overtaking a big guy on the trial, that somehow unnerves me, which almost unbalances me: i) I glance off the side of a trial; ii) stumble over a rock (if I wasn't tethered to my pedals, my tottering would've led to a fall) and iii) stall uphill (after passing two hiker babes who stare at me like I'm from Mars). Even at 4 pm, there are hikers on the trail. I also find out that the clattering on the trail isn't a rock hitting my frame; it is my now-missing pump, which I replace with a Topeak. At the bike shop, I learn about pump design. I'm all pumped up anyway, after three near falls on the hill and three run-ins with trucks onthe road during rush hour.

Sunday, March 12, 2006

From chicken to champion?

To Bukit Timah Hill, 57 km. Yesterday has tired me out. A roadie passes me this morning. Ordinarily, I'd chase. But not today. In fact, I want to chicken out, save my $25 race fee, put on my slick tyres and forget about racing off road. But I'd already asked N to show me the race route today. And my ego is bigger than that hill. Today is the first time I've: a) done the entire loop (instead of parts of it); b) fallen on the hill (after I shout at some hikers; why do they hike here when there are far more places to hike than bike on this island); and c) done the loop solo (I don't want to, but N says I should go a second round after her ride with me. Two riders blast past me and I stop to let a third pass). I pay N the "tuition fee" by buying her lunch. Next week will be the second off road race in my life; the first was in 2004. I'm glad I got a mountain bike to replace my Iron Horse.

Saturday, March 11, 2006

Scared stiff

To Bukit Timah Hill, 82 km. Today is the second time in my life up that 164m hill. But its my first time riding up with clipless pedals. The last time I rode off road was on 21 Aug 04. I almost fly off twice as I stall riding up the first two slopes. Going down, I see a terrifying slope and I gasp. There are more scary downhills. A strand of spider web is on my face but I'm too scared to unclench my hand to brush it off. I don't even take time to clip in as I bounce downwards on my 50 psi tyres and rigid fork. Gravel sprays from under my rear wheel as it loses traction. I get lost. This is my first time cycling solo on the hill, without a guide. Somehow, I emerge without a scratch. My virgin ride up (on 15 May 03), on my Iron Horse, was more pleasant. Today, salt is visible on my black shorts. I feel charred, since I'm cycling in the mid-day sun to get away from the crowd. There are only two bikers. Some hikers stand to attention by the trailside as I rattle by. For a lark, I cycle to Kheam Hock Road. I was told there's off-road trials here, but I don't find it. It's a scenic tarred road though.

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Brute beauty

To Sengkang, 22 km. I have a flat. I don't just mean I live in one, I mean my tyre has gone flat. Usually, I'll fret. But today, I remove my slicks and put on my 11-year old Kenda knobbies (last used in 2004). What an awesome sight. For the first time, my little red Tank has knobbies. It's noticeably heavier and takes more effort to get up to speed. But it gives a better workout. And what a sight to behold, brute beauty instead of the wimpy slicks. On the road, I can't help but smile as my tyres whirr and as I cycle over gravel, holes and kerbs in my way. I inflate my tyres to 50 psi (a first). I even, for the first time, perfect lifting my front wheel off the ground.

Saturday, March 04, 2006

Riding with Extremists

Sat 3 - Sun 4 Mar

To Tanjong Piai, Johore, Malaysia, 240 km. MSH says it's brave of me to lead cyclists I've never met before. She's mistaken. I'm braver, to offer help to someone who had mountain biked in the Himalayas. She makes one post in togoparts.com, I offer advice like a few others. She asks me for help and I agree, thinking she's a newbie. Then the story about her Himalaya ride last year is published last month in The Business Times. Too late for me to back out!

Deprived of sleep and speed
Day 1: Sat 3 Mar, Singapore - Tanjong Piai (Johore), 136 km. The alarm clock chirps at 4 am. But I'm awake even before that. Too much work, little sleep, too little cycling. To fix the riding (or rather, to get my cycling fix), I start riding to Woodlands at 4.45 am to meet four Singapore Management University (SMU) undergraduates for their recce ride to Kukup. It's organised by MSH, president of the SMU's "Extremist" outdoor activities club (cycling chapter) - and the only gal in this ride. I'm the tour guide. I put on my racing shoes to spare myself embarrassment.

It turns out to be a slow ride. One of them is on his first century ride. Another has cramps. Both soldier on. Traffic is heavy. And, after thousands of km over a few years, I meet the most unfriendly driver in Malaysia today, who leans on the car horn when passing us by.

I take the students to Tanjong Piai, the southernmost point of mainland Asia. A friendly official persuades them to enter the nature reserve. And I see that not all progress is good. When I was first there in 2004, I saw a post stuck in the ground with directions and distances of far away countries. And I don't recall seeing any land. Today, the pole is gone. In its place is a huge concrete platform. And, as the platform juts beyond the mangroves, the view of Singapore isn't obscured anymore. Man has extended the the southernmost point artificially.

We stop in Kukup and dine on seafood barbecue. MSH notices someone doesn't touch the prawns and proceeds to peel them. My jaw drops, not because of the prawns but because I did read about the scarcity of prawn-peeling females in Singapore. I retire with a headache. Was it the heat of the sun all day, or the punishing slow pace of just over 20 km/h?

Crap and puke
Day 2: Sun 4 Mar, Kukup (Johore) - Singapore, 104 km. I wake up with a headache. It's another rough nite. Sleeping on a mattress on the floor doesn't bother me. But some light snoring and monosyllabic talking in sleep and roosters crowing, do.

The house we stay in, like others in the area, is built over the sea. The toilet is a hole in the floor. When it's low tide, you can see the crap. Forget about flushing, wait for the tide to come in. The proprietor says tourism now accounts for about 30% of the village economy (a drop from its heyday). The rest comes from fish farming and restaurants.

The sun is up. It is hot. And boring to cycle the straight road out of Kukup. To keep myself going, the music in my head is anime and Scorpions (does that make me an eclectic eccentric?). It gets more interesting when the headwind starts to blow. And the road starts to rise and fall instead of monotonously flat. The best things in life aren't flat. Think durians, dollops of ice cream ...

Looking back over my shoulders (and, for variety, under my armpit) to see if the last rider is cycling is rather dangerous on a narrow road. I sprint, drafting cars and motorbikes, then stop to wait. Nearer Johore Bahru, I behave myself again as the traffic gets heavier. Someone tells me to stop as the last rider can't make it. We stop, we pukes. He'd never gone more than 50 km before, yet this weekend, he does two century rides. I've never had anyone puke on my ride before. He gamely rides on, refusing taxis. That's national character, indicating how the Vietnamese (for he is one) booted out the French and Americans.

Back home, I notice I'd left behind something: a soap bottle that doesn't leak. Drat. That's another first, leaving something behind during a ride (blood and flesh excepted; I've lost those before).

Sunday, February 26, 2006

"Mountain biking" with roadies

Feb distance: 346 km

To West Coast Highway, 85 km. V says a group of mountain bikers are joining us. But they're all on road bikes. As it turns out, they're mountain bikers who've left their mountain bikes at home. Taking their road bikes out on a spin (including one with egg beater pedals), they cycle at a relaxed mountain bike speed. They break off at Lim Chu Kang, leaving three of us to go to the west coast. N asks to go up Bukit Chandu, which I introduced her to on 19 Feb. I lead her a tad further, to the canopy walk, and she beams. We see a chameleon. I ask: "Wanna ride my bike?" It (the lizard, not the bike) takes a running jump off the walkway into the trees. The wind blows, the trees sway and the birds chirp. We tear ourselves away when it starts to drizzle, then chill out later at the Esplanade. Rich cake and beverage. Mmm, best ride of the year so far. I go home with a smile on my face instead of a headache that comes from gritting my teeth to catch roadies.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

When small is big

To Braddell Hill, 20 km. How is it possible to get busier? Emails, papers on my table, people in my face. Urgent, important. Time is of the essence. But somehow, it passes. I hit the road after work, looking for the highest hill nearby to climb. It turns out to be less high than I thought. But it's a quiet place for solace. I stop by a petrol kiosk and treat myself to an ice cream. Ah, small pleasures are a big deal. The radio is playing. It's light classical music. I've not heard it for years, but I like it. The kind of music that plays on Band of Brothers. Not a funeral dirge, but not normal programming either. This afternoon, former senior cabinet minister S Rajaratnam passes away.