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, 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.