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, March 25, 2007

The man who would be king

Mar distance: 410 km

To Mount Faber and Holland Village, 66 km. I'm nudged off the podium at the King of the Mountain (KOM) race. I'm fourth, the same as my race number. Still, I'm a pretender to the throne: KOMM (the last "m" being "mtb" since the top three are on road bikes.) Some guys who start later have their times messed up as they're slowed down by buses disgorging tourists. I'm ahead of a guy on a full carbon monocoque road bike including carbon aerobars - and an N95 mask. On the way home, I see a man lying chest down on the grass. He says he's been robbed and lost everything including passport and air ticket. I accompany him to a police station, where he stops crying and becomes more coherent. "God bless you", he says. Yeah, God bless me; with the peat fires at work, I need that. I stop by a bikeshop to look at bags. As today is race day, my wallet is already light.

Friday, March 23, 2007

Dangerous liaisons

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 29 km. There's safe sex, and unsafe sexual practices. Like stopping the car by the roadside with lights off. Then pulling out suddenly. With wanton disregard for a had-a-lousy-week-but-still-training-for-a-race cyclist passing by.

Double irony

To Mount Faber, 41 km. I've right of way across a junction when two ironic things happen. #1: I pass a fatal accident sign. #2: a car whizzes across my path - to head into a place of worship. I want to go to heaven, but not so soon, oh demented driver. Later on, a taxi passes me, too close for comfort (pun intended). As I do my one and only lap up the hill, I wonder about tomorrow's race. I started training a month ago and it's boring. On the way home, a car toots at a cyclist, who raises his finger. One finger is more aerodynamic than raising a fist, I guess.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

How would I know?

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 26 km. I rush to cycle and forget to bring my wallet, which contains my identity card and moolah. If I hurtle through someone's windscreen, I'd be an unidentified flying object. How would I know if that would happen? How would I know if I'd need to hail a cab home? How would I know if my training for this weekend's race would be in vain? How would I know if my work and personal planning for the years and decades would pay off? I don't know. But I know that if I don't do some things, there'd be more things I don't know. I also know there are people who don't have wallets and don't know where their next meal is coming from. Whereas, I know that my wallet is at home. What a difference that makes ...

Sunday, March 18, 2007

No-alarm-clock day

To Mount Faber, 52 km. Weekends are "no alarm clock" days. After working hard to wake me up five days a week, my alarm clock needs a break on weekends. I get out of bed close to 10. Yeah, perfect 10. I don't get a break from training: the usual five laps up and down the hill. A taxi driver honks me and asks me where I got my jersey from. At the end of my ride, just as I'm about home, someone asks me "are there any trails nearby". The enquirer: a young dad who's "just back from Colorado".

Saturday, March 17, 2007

National iconoclast


To National Stadium, 38 km. In a TV documentary, a political commentator points out where his home had been. Now, it is in the shadow of an overhead bridge for motorists. Plants now grow where he grew up. This week, letters appear in the press chiding those who'd decided that the iconic National Library had to go, to make way for motorists on the go, to save them five minutes. Where cavernous halls used to be filled with the atmosphere of learning, there's now a tunnel filled with traffic fumes. Another icon that'll be going down too is the National Stadium, opened by Lee Kuan Yew in 1973. I've puked there and led a contingent there. Watched decades of national days there. It's empty today, yet filled with memories. I walk the concrete one last time, including the spot where Mr Lee must have seen the nation on parade. Wow, the building is coming down but he's still standing ...

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Strange that it's strange

To Mandai Road, 26 km. I get an email today; someone wants to interview me about my life on wheels. How strange, just when I'm getting tired of cycling. Or maybe it's strange I think it's strange. The timing is right after all, if you believe in the Big Guy in the Sky. Anyway, for those tired of running, it's been said that the hardest step is putting on the running shoes. For those tired of cycling, I suppose the equivalent is putting on shoes, gloves, helmet, dragging the bicycle out of the house - then dodging road-borne big boxes of metallic death. Still, I have fun today, drafting (with fat tyres) a motorbike at 42 km/h until the ubiquitous traffic light puts a stop to this.

Sunday, March 11, 2007

Still steel

To Mount Faber, 53 km. I come across a group of roadies by the road as I do my laps up the hill. I stop to chat on my fifth and last lap. I know some of them but the rest are strangers. Which didn't stop them from offering me isotonic drinks and buying me lunch. Most of them are on steel (vs aluminium / carbon / titanium) bicycle, lovingly polished and maintained, gleaming and looking like new. One-inch tubing, with threaded forks and at least one bicycle with friction shifters on the down tube. These bicycles would be at least 20 years old. The riders are older - they'd lived in kampongs. Hence their name: Kampong Kakis. They're among the friendliest roadies I've ever met. Today, I wear my self-dyed arm warmers for the first time. Someone says it looks nice, though to me it looks like some creature died on it and decomposed, leaving splotches (yes, like roadkill!).

Wednesday, March 07, 2007

Meetings

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 27 km. I'm in a meeting this morning when I'm called urgently to attend a second one. I cut short the first meeting and go for the second. Because of the second meeting, there's a third urgent meeting. All of this to get things right and beat the clock. I have lunch at 3pm; a lunch meeting. I have another meeting tonight: the one where the rubber meets the road. I tear around the circuit on my fat squishy tyres till I'm winded.

Sunday, March 04, 2007

Banking on trouble

To Mount Faber, 52 km. This week is like last week. At work, there's still heavy fire. And another banking fiasco. I wait an hour at bank #1, only to be told I should go to bank #2. At the latter, there's another 1,000 places ahead of me (based on queue number). Someone helps me before I become a fossil and says bank #1 is the place to go. Today, I do my five non-stop laps up Mount Faber, like last Sunday. And like last week, I notice the little things. At an Indian restaurant, I'm given a banana leaf big enough for two. The rice served is enough for two too. There's an Indian show on TV, which brings back pleasant memories of India. Today, I could've been maimed / killed twice by overtaking cars but I live to tell the tale. Unlike the little kitten that's splayed on all fours, with blood oozing from it's mouth.