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 :))

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.