Cambodia: flattened by a pancake

Dec distance: 687 km

Sun 21 - Sun 28 Dec 08

From Siem Reap to Kompong Cham and return, Cambodia, 652 km.

Prologue
This is my seventh cycling expedition since I started serious cycling in 2002. After riding in the Laotian mountains last year, I thought I'd ride in a country I'm told is flat as a pancake. Well, Cambodia is generally flat, but it's a pancake that flattened me.

Six firsts
Day 1: Sun 21 Dec, Siem Reap, 55 km. First first: #1 this is my first major expedition where I am solo (friends all pulled out). #2: the first trip I'm doing after my first marathon (two weeks earlier, which puts me at risk of injury). #3: First cycling trip in Cambodia. #4: first expedition where I face a flight delay (as it turns out, the same thing happens on the way home). #5: equipment failure straight out of the box: my cyclo computer can't pick up the wireless signal. This is a critical component for navigation. #6: first time touring on fat tyres (1.95" semi-slicks, in case I come across bad roads like in Laos).

My "literature review" tells me there are bad roads west of Siem Reap, so I do an orientation ride, to know what to expect eg traffic conditions and driving habits. What a sight to behold, if one can see through the clouds of dust thrown up by passing traffic. The road is broken, with what remains of the tar here and there, then dirt road as far as the eye can see.

Night stop: Nokor Phnom Hotel

Cut in half
Day 2: Mon 22 Dec, Kompong Thom, 147 km. 7am. Rush hour madness. Cyclo computer dies in the night. I fiddle with it on the move, to no avail. Will I lose the race against the sun? I resort to looking at milestones (on the other side of the road, on Route 6) for familiar names. For "insurance" (actually, I might end up claiming insurance for this), I draft two cyclists hanging onto a motorcyclist, and progress fully-loaded at over 30 km/h on my fat tyres. I manage to fix my cyclo computer at a rest stop, then find out that the wind cuts my speed to about 15 km/h. Half my desired speed, twice the time on the saddle. I come close to bonking. I eat a granola bar and drop a quarter of it. Ultimately, I spend 10 hours in the saddle, 2.5 hours longer than I'd have liked. Doing an expedition two weeks after my first marathon and no cycling training were unknown unknowns ...

I lunch in a shack, where the waitress-cook-cashier speaks English and gives better service than in many Singapore joints. Dinner is with an American retiree, who is volunteering in Cambodia (HIV public education) and dirt-biking around to see ruins in unexploded ordnance (UXO) country.

Night stop: Stung Sen Royal Garden Hotel

"The longest day"
Day 3: Tue 23 Dec, Kompong Cham, 138 km. Breakfast is a packet of peanuts, about 300 calories. There is a blessing: "may the road rise to meet you." Sounds like a curse for tired cyclists. Cyclo computer fizzles again and I spend 30 minutes fixing it. I draft a sugar-cane laden motorbike-trailer, then an old couple on a motorbike. As the couple overtake a bullock cart, I follow suit. The cow turns its head and could've knocked my head off. Cows are a road hazard, so is bullshit; yesterday, a motorbike flung some at me.

The headwind turns into a cross wind and pushes me sideways. It's bad for me, but the wind helps farmers to sift chaff from their harvest. My left knee starts to hurt; overuse injury. Then my right knee hurts; trauma injury. For the first time on an expedition, I crash. My bad. The bumpy road had bumped my map off the handle bar and I crash as I try to affix it on the move. My rest stops become more frequent and longer. Once in a while, people (kids and adults) say "hello", even those who labour in the fields. This is like cheerleading; it doesn't stop the wind or make my wheels spin faster, but it helps somehow.

Lunch is not the usual steaming instant noodles, but rice and dishes with pesky flies buzzing about. The pineapple with liver is nice and perks me up as I resume cycling. It's nearly my last meal as a truck going the wrong way speeds past me while overtaking another truck. I go off road to stay alive. Maybe that's why my tyre punctures (turns out to be at the valve; perhaps because of the deceleration and/or the jolt). I'm then sandwiched between a motorcyclist and another cyclist going the wrong way. At Skun, where Route 7 begins, I look out for the famous fried spiders. People eat them ... the thought of this puts butterflies in my stomach ...

Riding into a big town after a long ride, with 30 minutes to darkness, is tough. Do I have another 5 or 10 km to go? Where is a hotel? I ask a local, then a foreigner for help. "Turn left, second junction" etc and my head spins. As I head in the general direction, two guys on a motorbike stop, speak English :) I find the swankiest hotel at last. All in all, I've been on the road for 11.5 hours.

The hotelier tells me to leave my conveyance inside the hotel (which is an improvement compared to Day 1, where I'm told to leave the bicycle outside the hotel). But my bike is my teddy bear, I can't sleep unless it's beside me ... Besides negotiating with hotelier, I have one last hurdle: after it hauls my ass all day, now I have to haul my bicycle upstairs.

Night stop: Mekong Hotel

Lay about
Day 4: Wed 24 Dec, Kompong Cham, non-riding day. The Muslim call to prayer sounds around 5 am. I go back to sleep and arise when breakfast is ready. French Indochina is no longer French, but the baguette is here to stay. Bon apetit! I hardly see any plump people around here, except for certain people on TV. Everyone else is wiry or svelte; no need for gym membership. Kids walk or cycle to school. Many adults toil in the fields or in rivers. During dry season, with an almost cloudless sky, the sun beats down.

To give my painful legs a rest, I walk around town instead of cycling today. The typical set up for an Asian town is a town square, with bus terminus, food stalls and wet market nearby. I check out tomorrow's route out of town, to avoid getting lost again. After my walkie, it's back to the hotel for TV (Pax Americana!) and self-massage while waiting for lunch. A typical meal is US$1-2, including free flow of tea and tissue paper, all missing in Singapore.
Rain clouds gather and it starts to drizzle.

Night stop: Mekong Hotel

Stoned

Day 5: Thu 25 Dec, Kompong Thom, 116 km. Two people tell me that Route 71 is an OK road. On the map, it looks preferable to the motorway madness of Route 7. Indeed, 71 is a minor road; it is quiet and picturesque. I go offroad to see a grand temple being built. A cross wind blows but I'm not cross under the cloudy sky amidst the friendly kids and adults who gather (they seem fascinated by my map and pedals) and doggies who happily ignore me when I stop.

My first stop is after a grand 1 hour 45 minutes in the saddle, at a bicycle-friendly shop: easy parking and double serving of noodles without me having to ask for it (all I said say is "mee, moo", which the cook correctly understands as beef noodles).
Back on the road, a lorry overtakes me. I throw "preserve legs, don't chase, don't draft" to the winds. The lorry blocks my view of the road ahead. The score: potholes 3, cyclist 2 (fortunately, the holes I hit aren't huge).

The tarred road ends abruptly. I rattle and bounce along at 13 km/h on loose stones and gullies, picking my line so I can keep up my speed and keep upright. When the earth is hard-packed, my speed goes up to 21 km/h. Nine km later, the road is tarred again. Going offroad is fun, the km and time just pass by because of the intense concentration needed. I don't even feel thirsty, but stop for a Coke to celebrate.

The cross wind continues to blow, as evident from the Cambodian flags that flutter robustly. My right leg starts to hurt. It protests as it was the left leg that got my tender loving care. Lunch is at a big petrol kiosk in Kompong Thmor, where I have an ice cream cone. If it's got melamine in it, I don't care.

I draft a motorbike-trailer. The driver throttles up to 33 km/h but I keep up on my ole Rattle and Squeak. I make good time despite the wind and the upward sloping road. Today's journey lasts less than eight hours and I get to see a bit of town. The tourist info booth is a trinket shop and the market shows what sells, including wires and rat traps. I service my bicycle and oil it after trying to get the dust off my drive train. I also oil the bolt of the seatpost rack and the seatpost itself. One, perhaps both of these, stop the squeaking.

Night stop: Stung Sen Royal Garden Hotel

Trade-offs
Day 6: Fri 26 Dec, Siem Reap, 151 km. I breakfast on bread and water like a prisoner (of my passion) and hit the road at 6 am. My butt starts to hurt. I stop to buy one banana (100 riels, about 2.5 US cents). I realise my elbow hurts too; my arm warmers have been ripping off the scab that formed after I crashed. The song in my head: Supertramp's "Take the Long Way Home".

I overtake a girl whose friend is riding pillion. I hear creaking and it's not coming from my knees. The girl overtakes me, smiling and panting. I let her savour the moment, then I pull away.
As my bicycle rolls, I mull over the trade-offs I am making. #1: I sacrifice sleep to reduce the risk that I lose the race against the sun. #2: my tyres are hard to reduce rolling resistance, but this makes for a harsh ride. #3: I ride around 20 km/h instead of struggling against the wind, to delay the onset of leg pains though this will mean more time in the saddle and more pain in the butt. #4: I stop more frequently and this means a longer journey time, since if my legs are kaput, the journey is kaput (for the first time in the journey, both legs hurt at the same time. I stop to tape up one leg). #5: to save my legs, I said I wouldn't push myself to draft, but a motorbike-trailer passes by. I grab it and instantly let go as my bicycle wobbles. Drafting is dangerous enough ... I keep it up for 45 minutes before the driver stops. I hope I spared my legs more than I hurt them. I'm closer to Siem Reap and treat myself to another Coke.

As it turns out, Siem Reap is just 7 km away but the approach is messy. Traffic comes in all directions including the wrong way. I start to complain, then realise the road users are more chaotic and more skilled (I don't know which is cause which is effect) than those in Singapore. In Cambodia, road users actually see you and take steps (often with a wide margin of safety) to avoid you.

As I stop to check my map and my bearings, a stranger (he's Asian but doesn't look local) tells me my map is out of date, offers help, wishes me a happy new year and walks away. I find a hotel, it turns out to have a queen-size bed and bath robe! It is near an English school and a children's charity. At night, one of them is either having English or singing lessons - happy voices sing Michael Learns to Rock.

Night stop: Five Star Angkor Villa


Victory lap
Day 7: Sat 27 Dec, Siem Reap, 45 km. In the darkness of night, there is ... darkness. A blackout on the upper floor of the hotel. I have (an overpriced) breakfast at another hotel then head south to explore. Some Uniforms wave authoritatively at me and I stop obediently. "Boat, boat", they say (they want me to pay $ for a boat ride on the Tonle Sap, I gather). "No, no," I say. "Bicycle." And I ride away. "There's nothing to see over there," says one Uniform disdainfully. Well, that depends on what one wants to see. Phnom Krom is what I want to see. A village, where I treat myself to a nice cold coconut. This is my victory lap. It drizzles a little but doesn't rain on my parade.

I turn into a village path and it leads to a big hill. Cambodia is flat, but somehow I've managed to find a place where I can go uphill in granny gear and bounce downhill happily on my rigid bike.
No victory lap is complete without adoring fans. Lulled by the hitherto cyclist-friendly doggies I've seen, I pass a row of houses near the war museum and a dark furry missle bounds up, half seriously. I half seriously speed up. The road is a dead end. I have no choice but to turn back. I get set for action and crank it up to get past the beast. This time, I'm serious. It is serious too. I am outnumbered, 1:3; where did the other two come from? I speed past and round the corner. Fortunately, there's no traffic. The beasts stop and I stop for a fizzy drink to calm my frazzled nerves.

No victory lap is complete without getting lost. Momentarily, I can't find the hotel where I left my bike box. The hotel staff, who'd on Day 1 asked me to leave my bicycle outside the hotel, helpfully wheel my bicycle to my room for me. I spend some time watching Cambodian karaoke (there are two channels) on TV to see what they song and dance about. I then go out for walkies; "active rest" and come across a massage joint where I pay US$10 for someone to inflict serious pain above the knees. Pay to suffer pain? Yup, that's what this trip has been about :O

Night stop: Nokor Phnom Hotel

Resilience
Day 8: Sun 28 Dec, non-riding day. I stay in my room to watch a Chinese documentary on the rise of the Russian Empire on TV, then a Korean / BBC production on how North Koreans defect to South Korea: via China, Laos and Thailand (to the South Korean embassy there), in that sequence. The route involves crossing an icy river during winter into China (nude from the waist down so the clothes don't drag you down, which is what happened to one unfortunate woman who lay frozen in death) and bashing through the steamy jungles of Laos at night. Suddenly, I forget what I've gone through in the days past. What was I complaining about?! But I soon forget to count my blessings as, once again, my flight is delayed by almost an hour again. Still, this is a nice airport to cool my heels in.

Epilogue
I'd started out with six people willing to join me for my year-end cycling holiday, but one by one they back out. As it turns out, riding solo is ok. There are people who do this and come back to tell the tale (I suppose those who don't, don't and that may be why we don't hear their stories). Anyway, when cycling in a group, we may ride alone at our own speeds and meet only at rest- and night stops.

The high five of this ride: #1: a blessing from a non-cycling friend before my trip, "May God give you good legs to walk and cycle, safe hostels for you and Iron Horse, kind people and friendly dogs when you are lost and great fun in the journey all day long. Amen!" #2 and #3: my bicycle came home in a box but I didn't (despite being run off the road). #4: no food poisoning. #5: I got to eat and drink pretty much when I needed to.

The low points of the ride (took me a while to come up with five): #1: I crashed (which partly contributed to leg pain). #2: got chased by three dogs all at once. #3, 4 and 5: cross winds, legs (and butt) hurt, didn'ride to Vietnam border.

Regarding Vietnam, I wondered if I should've tried for it. I decided not to, as it is foolish to put the primary mission (ride on my own steam without major hurt) at risk for a secondary mission (hit the km key performance indicator).

Regarding Cambodia, what would've happened if the Vietnamese army hadn't poured across? Surely, more than 1.7 million Cambodians would've died since Year Zero (1975) under the Khmer Rouge, with their saying, "To keep you is no gain, to destroy you is no loss". The Cambodians are remarkably resilient and characteristically cheerful. I came across no sign of what's happened except what's sold in bookshops and video stores. More about the killing fields.

© 2008 Kevin Lee. All rights reserved.

Burning a candle at three ends

Mandai, 35 km. End #1: 24-hour endurance charity ride (8-9 Nov) which I aborted after pain shoots up my leg. End #2: my first marathon run (7 Dec), which I complete though pain shoots up my leg. End #3: my first solo expedition, in Cambodia (starting next week), which I start training for now after a month's break from cycling. The twinge of pain, a week after my longest trip on foot tells me I haven't recovered from my training injury in mid-Oct. That's life. As for work, I work over 1.5 days a day (assuming 1 day = 8 hours). Work hard, play hard? That's work-life balance; unbalance balances unbalance.

A way out

Nov distance: 326 km

Sengkang, 45 km. I heard some bad news a few days ago and passed it on ... The road that was there, it's gone now; a ditch runs across it now. I detour into new territory to find the rest of the old road and the kampung house it used to pass. Mud splashes up my rims and onto my newly-waxed bicycle. The house is gone. All that remains is some wood, broken glass and an abandoned sofa. The people had no choice but move on. What happens when change happens? We can try to change the change (fight). Or avoid it (flight). Or change ourselves: the way we see it, feel it. We choose any of the three or toggle among them if we've calculated wrongly.

From 51 to 15

Round island#10, 1.75x, 222 km. I start out reaching over 51 km/h, trailing a transporter after dropping out of the ANZA peloton that takes the lead in Singapore's first 24 hour charity ride. By nightfall, I'm crawling along at 15 km/h; my iliotibial band (ITB) and calf act up with every pedal stroke. While I'm on my second round, two guys overlap me as they go on their third. At each pit stop, I stretch and rest. A volunteer asks me if I have ITB; she can tell from my stretching (she says it took her two months to get better. I say I have a full marathon in one month). I struggle not just with the cycling but about whether to quit. When is being steadfast, stupid? Near midnight, I call it a day and drop out. I'm so tired ... of bananas and isotonic drinks. I can't even cycle home and radio for help on my sponsored walkie-talkie cum GPS that tracks my mileage.

3 R's of a charity ride: Raise money. Ride. And Regret? Not really. Sure, I ask myself "why am I doing this", when there's pain. But then, I meet interesting people. Like T, whom I met while cycling to the start line. I ask him if he's joining the ride and he decides to on the spot. That means forking out a 3-figure "entrance fee" / donation. And the volunteer who'd signed up herself and a vehicle after hearing about the ride on radio; she didn't have to volunteer but she chose to. And with each ride, I learn something. This ride, I chose to drop out. Children with Down Syndrome, can't drop out; they're born with it. Their mothers don't drop out from caring. Others have stopped caring for a lot less. Those who care for a lifetime, are the real champions.

Two birds, a rock and a hard place

Changi, 59 km. The bird in the hand: annual year-end expedition. Bird #1 in the bush: marathon in Dec. Bird #2: 24-hour endurance charity ride in Nov. Rock: "did not start" (DNS) or "did not finish" (DNF) for Bird #1 which I've been training for most of the year. Hard place: DNS or DNF for Bird #2, where I aim to break my single-day distance record of 225 km, set in Nov 04, by doing a double American century (320 km). A DNS or DNF would be a blot on my record of 100% completion for all four foot races, 11 bicycle races, 6 charity rides and 5 "epic" rides. Tonight's training ride puts things in painful perspective: I've not recovered from my leg injury. Though I'm on slick tyres, I can barely keep up with a roadie going at 38 km/h. My leg hurts; it's only by varying ankle angle, and pulling my pedals rather than pushing down that I get home. Moral of the story: If I want everything, I may end up with nothing. Greed is greatly destructive. After all, sub-prime loans is about getting something from those who don't have enough to give, isn't it? Well, perhaps I could get something ...

ITBS

Oct distance: 156 km

Hougang, 36 km. Whether a glass is half full or half empty, the water level is the same. Does it matter if it is "half full" or or "half empty"? Well, half empty is good if the goal is to empty the glass. It marks progress. Facts are only part of the story. Feelings count too. Pain from iliotibial band syndrome (ITBS) is a fact and a feeling; it's so bad I can barely use stairs. It hurts when I pedal. I rue the experience until I realise I've been doing half marathons runs on my own, with just a water bottle and some sweets. Now, that's sweet. There is progress, there is hope. Easy does it, two weeks more to my 24-hour endurance ride and after that four weeks to my first marathon run.

Circumnavigation

West Coast, 72 km. How apt it is that today's ride is a hard one. The km sweated up till today adds up to 40,094. The circumference of the earth at the equator is 40,075.02 km (I crossed the meridional distance last week). What a week. Work-wise, I feel like Atlas carrying the weight of my little world. And on Fri, I spend the longest time ever as a road runner: 3.5 hours. It would've been shorter had I not have to limp home from Singapore Flyer. Today, I keep up with a roadie. It's been some time since I've cycled so hard: I cover twice my usual distance today than is usual, and at the roadie's speed on my fat tyres.

Softer is harder

Seletar, 48 km. I've not pumped my tyres for a few weeks. They are fat, squishy and slow on the road. It takes hard effort to crank up and I feel the burn when I cycle a steady 30 km/h to train for next month's Enduro (Bike-Aid's 24 hour charity ride). It's a good workout when I want to do hard work in a short time. Off-road, the soft tyres give a rather plush ride, unless the road is so rough, I bounce so much till my hands burn from keeping a firm handle on the bike. I guess some hardship helps to build up rather than tear down ...

Nature's cycles

Sep distance: 155 km

Punggol, 37 km. Why are there seven days in a week? Perhaps because nature's rhythm is made up of seven days. Fifth day after illness strikes, I'm not quite back in form (I run). Sixth day, I'm better (I run), but still not fully there. Seventh day, I'm best (I ride), perhaps because I'm sitting down rather than running. And perhaps, on a bicycle, prettier scenery is within reach. Butterflies flit over the grass. Birds chirp in the trees. Something splashes in the river. I cycle at 1/10 the speed of tonight's F1 cars. At the end of the road, I wonder why the seafood restaurants got cleared off, decades ago. There's still nothing here. People used to live here. They brushed their teeth as the sun rose.

Hot and cold

Punggol, 38 km. Wheels hum. Sun shines. Wind blows. Sky is blue. And so am I. As I cycle and explore, I feel better. Because the sun shines, wind blows and sky blazes blue. People fish along the coast, in sight of the industrial complex across the water. But no fish in sight. When I get home, the water in my water bottles are warm. I later feel cold. And my body aches. Thermometer declares: fever.

Memory tricks

Sengkang, 36 km. Ignored memory: as I leave my house, I notice my gloves are off. I recall I said I'd never ride without my gloves, after I'd crashed and smacked my hands against the ground. Ouch. I ignore the memory; after a few years of cycling with gloves, surely I can do without them today. I crash. Lacerations on my leg. Strain on my wrist (I can't even squeeze my water bottle). Dopey look on my face. Unwanted memory: when you want to forget, but can't. I find this happens most with emotional pain, not physical pain. Forgotten memory: I pass my guru's home, and recall my last visit there, before he emigrated to Oz. Lasting memory: I recall how I cycled in this area at night, for "Rapunzel" moments. Pleasant memory: I finally meet bikeshop man who, since I met him six years ago, is now in his third location, having moved here a month ago. Postscript I usually cycle on Sundays. Why do I ride this Saturday, when traffic is heavier? Because I have a meeting tomorrow. At 7.30 am ...

Simple and quiet

Woodlands, 44 km. I'm so tired, I go to bed. I'm so restless, I go and ride. No sunglasses. No arm warmers. No sunblock. No sunshine. Even if it rains, I will cycle. It's that simple. I look for the quietest roads: Old Upper Thomson and Mandai. I stop at Kranji War Memorial. Part of trying to get closure. I'd have been the only soul there, except for a couple in a car, doing driving practice. I stop at a plaque that details the fall of Singapore. And another in memory of Force Z. The difference between their life and death was about a month, when Japan surrendered after executing them. The sky is somewhat cloudy, but the rain holds. The sun sets. The sky is ablaze. I look back and wonder. All those people who lived and died. All the happy, all the sad. It's the same sunset, isn't it?

Misery is free (in the short run)

Aug distance: 196 km

Tampines, 22 km. Last Sunday, I ran my first half marathon. It's the furthest I've run in my life. Physiological pain follows. That's bearable compared to psychological pain. Sadness is when you need to cry, but tears do not come. When you need to sleep, but lie awake waiting for day break. When you need cycletherapy, but the rain falls. For the first time in my life, I leave home while the rain falls. After checking the weather "nowcast" and making a gamble though the forecast is gloom. I win the gamble. While grey clouds are all over, there are gaps where the sun shines through. Though tears do not wet my eyes, at least I have eyes. Though sleep does not come, at least I have a comfy bed. Though the rain falls, at least I get to cycle. Misery is free. It would've been so easy to stay home and wallow. Lifting yourself out of a funk is costly in the short run but in the long run it may cost less than staying miserable.

Race against the rain

Admiralty Road West, 55 km. I amble on a gamble that it will not rain. I even (unusually) stop for lunch during instead of at the end of the ride. As I cycle home, for a moment, the road is clear. I admire how the trees arch over the road on either side, forming a green canopy. It looks misty in the distance. Then I realise the "mist" is rain that is coming closer. In moments, instead of the sun beating down, it is rain pelting down. I (unusually) stop at a bus stop instead of cursing my way on. Traffic roars and ants crawl past. Some of them look like spiders, with fat bulbous bodies. I marvel how the rain drops remain on my the surface of my new shoes instead of soaking in (this is the first time they are going offroad; they ride well). Within half an hour, the rain peters out. I lose the race against the rain this time, but the loss is not great. Sometimes, things aren't that bad even when they aren't what you expect.

Shut the door

Changi, 64 km. I buckle my shoe. And shut the door. I'm sorry it turned out this way. I tried so hard to keep you going. Just as you kept me going, for every race. And every expedition so far, three times along the length of West Malaysia, in Indonesia, in Thailand and Laos. You were fuss free. Did I take you for granted? After 2007, I saw the cracks. How I tended to you. But the special care was too little, too late. Something happened to you on the inside. You weren't the same anymore. I wish it wasn't so. But since you broke away, what else can I do? I still think about you. You look better and I feel more comfortable with you. But your replacement performs better; I get at least another 2 km/h with her. Remember, you gave up first. So the new pair, with fibre glass, clads my feet, while you lie in the box that you came in. So long. Thanks for the memories.

Replenishment

Admiralty Road West, 55 km. I haul myself out of bed. Usually, a tablespoon of oats is enough to keep me going for my Sunday ride. But not today. I realise my glycogen levels have depleted because of a Friday 1.5 hour run and a Saturday hike plus 1 hour run. Today, I scatter gravel and relish the traction as I pedal round twists and turns, then gorge on nasi bryani to top up my energy. I pass my bike doctor's shop and finds it shuttered. It has moved again, to a third location within six years, this time even further from my home. Policy shifts, people move and places move, which cause mental stress. My response is to move my body three days in a row, which cause physical stress. My body adapts so my mind will too. And just as my body needs rest, my mind needs to take a break too.

Change of challenge

Jul distance: 233 km

Admiralty Road West, 58 km. Some things haven't changed. Attap Valley Road still stinks of garbage. But I see a trail and what a thrilling vista it is. My knobbies scramble on the gravel as the trail twists and turns. Monkeys gape and a squirrel gambols up a tree. I find myself going in the other direction to increase the thrill of going up a steeper slope (instead of coasting down it) and round tighter corners. I realise that a hard ride is fun while a plain vanilla one is boring. Which means hard work can be fun compared to plain sailing ...

Self-talk, self-torment

Mount Faber, 65 km (10 laps). My worn bicycle shoes still serve me well even though they are falling to bits. I bought a new pair, model "M", reluctantly this month. Reluctant, because I want model "RT" model, which is lighter. I buy M because odd sizes are left and new shipments will arrive in Singapore only in Dec. And it didn't seem likely that shops will carry RT since it is esoteric. But yesterday, I see RT. I don't regret buying M now, because it looks more robust than RT. All that buyer's remorse was unnecessary. Sure, RT looked good in the catalogue but believing it is better is to take as certain what is uncertain. Similarly, what is happening now in my life looks bad but who's to say it'll stay bad? Today, I intend to do 5 laps uphill but end up with 10. It helps that a stranger is at the top smiling and nodding each time I pass. And that's what encouragement does.

Going uphill

Mount Faber, 43 km. After a two-hour pounding last night, my knee hurts. But it's not the running that weighs me down. Still, I get up and cycle up Mount Faber; the highest tarred road for cycling in Singapore. I sit on a roadie's tail but the high rotational mass of my knobby tyres and a heavy heart weighs me down. My heart and lungs struggle. This is bearable because I know it won't last. I throttle back and the pain eases. And that's how one copes: see things in perspective. The pain is there, the road is long. But along the road, there is hope, because of hope in things unseen.

Where to go from here?

Jalan Tapisan, 67 km. I awake in a daze but since I can't possibly stay in bed all day I get up and hit the road. As the day wears on, I decide to take what appears to be the easy way out: instead of Old Lim Chu Kang Road, just take the flat and straight "new" road. But there're unseen hindrances: the pong of chicken crap and a strong headwind. You make your bed, you lie in it. You choose your road, you ride on it.

Same road, different journey

Jun distance: 104 km (all time low in a month since 2002)

To Kranji, 68 km. Things may look the same, but a small change may lead to a big difference. Like what a tiny puncture does to a bicycle. Or an empty seat in an organisation. What difference one person makes depends on who the person is. As a mountain biker, I see obstacles along the way - and ways around them. As I approach, I see greater granularity and pick my line. I also see a place where, if there's a dog around, the dog will be. A black shape appears. It does not bark. I do not yell. It does its thing. I do mine. Forewarned is forearmed. It doesn't have a chance. It stops as the distance between us grows. I slow down but keep my eyes peeled in case it or its pals sneak up. Always vigilant, always safe. Even if it takes a tiny chunk of flesh off me, that would be too much.

It's about time

Sembawang Road, 36 km. I'm back on the road after a week's travel and the aftermath of jet lag. A roadie in yellow says "hello" and slips past me. I tail him at 33 km/h. My knobbies hum with joy but my dry chain squeaks in protest. He slips out his phone, which is "hands-free": both hands off the handlebar. We reach a fork in the road and part ways. At Sembawang Park, the police are there. There is a poster of fugitive Mas Selamat. Half the heel of my cycling shoe breaks off. Its first ride was in Oct 03, at a mountain bike race on Penang Hill. Since then, it has been in more races and several expeditions. When things rot away, band-aid can't do much. I was forewarned; inspection had shown cracks. When it comes to fundamentals, catastrophe sometimes creeps up rather than happen suddenly. Surprise despite warning, if one looks away from the signs.

Surprises

May distance: 341 km

Sun-Sun, 24-25 May: Surprises
Tanjung Piai, Johore, Malaysia, 220 km. This is the third time I've cycled to Tanjung Piai, but the first time I've stayed overnight. It's been more than a year ago since I cycled to western Johore. It's a journey of surprises. #1: a new row of shophouses, new roads and junctions. Sometimes, things don't change for a long time, but when they change, they change beyond recognition. #2: riding on knobbies is fun because they hum. I keep up with the "fixies" who can't coast; they pedal even when going downhill. But as time wears on, knobbies wear me out. #3: a bikeshop in Pekan Nanas (turn at the junction with the huge stone pineapple) that has Jamis, Da Bomb and Iron Horse bicycles. #4: an official at Singapore checkpoint who opens up a lane just for us six cyclists (we're among the first Singaporeans in Malaysia after the International Court of Justice rules on 23 May that Pedra Branca flies the crescent and five stars).

Highway to hell or stairway to heaven?

Mandai Road, 44 km. Explorers want to go there because it is there. Economic refugees want to go because where they come from sucks so much, it's worth the risk to get away, to get hope. Escapists just want to forget. But I remember being chased by a pack of dogs here, at Lorong Lada Hitam, years ago. Still, I hope they're no more there. I cycle on, until the road runs out, then I start riding beside a drain until I come across a stream that plunges into the drain. The water flows copiously, I wonder where it comes from. later on, I see a bird that reminds me of a kingfisher. It's hard to photograph it, when the sun is bright and there is no viewfinder. For a while, I escape.

Sweet vibration

Mandai Road, 44 km. I feel the sweet vibration of knobby tyres with my feet on the pedals. I'm rested after 10 hours of sleep and a 2-hour nap. Three roadies pass me and I fail to catch up, but I did catch up on sleep. I thought of struggling to arise but, instead of fighting hard against my body, I let it be. I still get to cycle, albeit in the afternoon after lunch. It is the easy way out, but doing things the hard way doesn't mean it'll be the right way. The hard way may be the easy way to not getting things done. Being deaf to what's going on can be dumb. I test my bicycle, feel another kind of vibration and visit bikeshop man to get it fixed - for free. Today, my wheels roll over the 39,000 km mark.

Asleep, awake

Lor Halwa, 33 km. I'm asleep for 10 hours, awake to eat, then go back to sleep. One news report says it takes a week to recover from a cold. For me, a month is normal. At 3 pm, I start cycling; this late hour must be a personal record. Unlike cycling in the morning, I know that with a late start, the longer I ride, the cooler it gets. Awake, I ride into the land of the dead: Bukit Brown Cemetary. Some graves are meant for 2-3 people. One grave is particularly well-tended; it has to statues of Sikh guards by either side. Others fare less well, being swallowed by the undergrowth. Some must've disappeared, totally unseen, totally forgotten. Outside the cemetary, a man lies beneath a vehicle, working to bring it to life.

Confidence in confidence?

Apr distance: 237 km

Holland Plain, 40 km. A pack of dogs bark at me at Bukit Brown Cemetary but I ride past them as the people around somehow give me confidence that the dogs won't attack. If I were alone, I'd have turned tail at the mere sight of the beasts. Somewhere in Bukit Timah, there is a trail that leads to another land. The trail bends about 45 degrees to the right and tilts about the same angle up. Twice, I assault it and twice I fail. The bend scrubs speed off and the stones uphill stall me. When I'm up there, my confidence falters. If I am faster, I might've picked the right line. Since I'm not confident, I don't ride fast enough and sure enough, I fail. Or is confidence over-rated; such that no matter how much I try, the slope is unassailable? Well, two tries isn't enough, given the low cost of the assault.

Colonial bar

Portsdown Road, 35 km. Wessex. Tangier. And a colonial bar ("Colbar") built over 50 years ago in a place that must've reminded the colonial masters of home. The bar is dismantled after an uproar from patrons when the bar was to be bulldozed to make way for progress, then is redesigned, relocated and rebuilt (with original weathered wood and peeling paint). It retains its original feel on the inside (including black and white photos) but a lot more space (and new building material) on the outside. Now, that's progress. Also making me feel good (despite my nasty sore throat) is the company for today.

Riding in "porridge"

Tampines, 35 km. The part of the trail named "monster mud madness" is part slush, part "porridge". This is historic; I've never seen conditions like this. Or seen an Olympian (Tinker Juarez) upclose. This is Singapore's longest mountain bike race: 100 km of "wheel torture". Somehow I (mostly) keep upright though the rear wheel slides when it loses traction or when it catches on a rock. Other parts of the trail are hard-packed, sometimes rocky, sometimes sandy. My team mate W falls on her face but is ok. I fall once and have a few other near-falls as I let competitors overtake me on single-track. What a day (which follows a sleepless night). It starts with me dropping a contact lens at home, losing a headband on the way to the race (left it on my bike on the car rack) and a back pocket tears such that stuff falls out. What went well: right tyre pressure and good lap times. The race ends with it being stopped because of thunderous rain. First I bake in the sun, then am chilled in the rain. But we have done enough laps to be considered finishers.
Photo courtesy of Freddy Foo

Granularity and opportunity

Tampines, 49 km. Forecast: widespread rain in the afternoon. Nowcast: no rain where I am or where I'm going. The nowcast is updated every 15 minutes. It might rain later, but it isn't raining now. I note where it has been raining. Having gone deep into the data, I seize the opportunity to train on the race track. Aha. The trail last Sunday is different from the one today. Look at those narrow, slick planks! So we don't get splinters when we fall eh? I crash twice; once on the planks and once when my wheel digs into the mud as I corner downhill. Silly me, it's as if I left my brains in the carpark. Two laps, 1 hour 35 minutes (including crash time). I run out of water and have sudden hunger pangs. I'm so tired, I don't even bother to race the clouds. But I get home fairly dry; the only liquid falling on me is mud that falls up from the ground as my tyres churn.

Tired of tyres

Mandai, 35 km. I have three pairs of tyres. Slicks: the brand I use is prone to cuts and punctures (seems endemic to this brand, when I compared notes with world wheelchair racing champ William Tan). Semi-slicks: can't blame it for loss of traction in certain trail conditions. Knobbies: 13 years old and tough, but heavy. The last time I used it - and my Camelbak (which came out literally from cold storage) - was Apr 06 (both work fine despite the 2-year break). Also heavy on my mind: this weekend's race. Usually, I train several times a week for 2-3 months. This race, I barely have two nights to train. I do some urban off-road to build up tenacity and lacerate my arm against a bush. At least, weather and work permit me to cycle tonight.

Neither here nor there

Tampines, 43 km. Indecisiveness is terrible. It's like chasing my own tail - all that effort, go nowhere and get nothing but nausea. The known unknown is: is there going to be a certain marathon? The known known: a 100 km mountain bike race. The unknown unknown: can I take part in the bike race and the marathon (if it takes place) while training only for the marathon, and finish both? To reduce the unknown, I check out the bike race route today. It's not an impossible dream, but it's possible I don't make it. Because I've been training only for the run; I don't have time or energy to train for both. I want the bird in the hand and the one in the bush. I might end up tangled in the bush with bird shit all over me and no birds, or I might be singing like a lark. Foolishness, ambition, foolish ambition ... thin line, thin ice ...

I see it coming

Mar distance: 225 km

Lim Chu Kang Road, 63 km. At Mandai, long lines of cars full of the living pay respects to the dead. Where lines are long, patience is often short. I know someone would try to send me to the other world, despite the melodious chimes of my new Cateye bell. Forewarned, I stop mere cm away from a bad driver. I find a legal trail and keep my eyes peeled for scent-seeking missiles; where I am looks like a place where dogs hang out. I spot one 200 km away. Forewarned, I turn back. One dog, followed by at least two others, scamper out to greet me. I shout at the first one out and pedal away slowly. They do not chase. Just as well, given the "mud-stacle" ahead of me. One the way home, a bendy bus thunders towards me. I brake and my rear wheel skids. The bus turns; there was no chance of it bending me. My mistake. Most of the time, I see things coming. But some people just won't listen and may not even realise there is a cost. And others have to pay.

Dogs and fleas, offroad and mud

To Seletar West Farmway, 38 km. Lie down with dogs, get up with fleas. Unless dogs have no fleas. It is work, to remove fleas from dogs, so that one can get up without itch. Today, I itch, not from fleas, but mud. I read somewhere about acidic mud. I itch so much, it is as if I have been bitten. I don't want the mud to bite aluminium, so I wash my bicycle. Which is work. The hoses I find are guarded by dogs or padlocks. I remember N's advice to use a water bottle, which works fine as I park next to a sink. Why do I do all this work to go offroad, when there is little hope of finding "legal" trails? Perhaps because if I look hard enough, I will find what I find today: the sight of vegetable patch and butterflies. The sound of gurgling water and silence. The thrill of technical cycling on sticks and stones, on single track, and on a hill with a 5-storey drop inches away. And, of course, cycling on sludge so thick, my 1.95-inch tyres look like 3-inch. I'm in this vicinity today for auld lang syne.

Wrong data

Goldhill Avenue, 44 km. For days, the weather forecast from one news medium says it will rain this afternoon. The forecast from the same source this morning says the same. I go about my life without cycling. But it rains not. It is hot. And so I cycle up hills again, going slow and steady to maintain pedalling form. The weather forecast from another news source says it will be photons that fall from the sky, not rain. It is more right than wrong. It finally rains at night, but I got wetter last night from my sweat when I ran to Whampoa and back. Now, I realise that after years of thinking that the weatherman is wrong, perhaps it's not the data that is wrong, but the data source I've been using. Right data comes from the right source. Surely there is only one meterological source in Singapore, so why is the report of the data different? Right data + wrong source = wrong data = wrong opinion + wrong action. The scary thing is, how often people rely on wrong sources.

In search of

Goldhill Avenue, 43 km. Last night was my first-ever two-hour run. Today, I seek out hills at Andrew, Olive, Dyson and Mount Pleasant roads. This is an area with much money and woods. Somehow, I don't feel tired cycling up hills today despite yesterday's feat of two hours of feet pounding the road. Mind and body adjust. That is experience. When life is normal, one seeks extremes to gain breakthrough experience, like riding in Laos. When life is extreme, like that of a refugee or fugitive, extreme experience is par for the course. As I ride in the darkness, I wonder if I will come across the shadowy figure of Mas Selamat, who escaped days ago from a detention centre at Whitley Road - a centre which I see not. As I cycle, I see a police Land Rover filled with people in camouflage uniform.

Avoid darkness

Tampines Trail, 37 km. It looks crazy. For my first ride after I wash my bike, I cycle off-road beneath grey clouds. With the intelligence of a clod of earth, I end up in orange muck. With feet ala Donald Duck. And front brakes caked with clay. A deep trench cuts me off - a trench so deep and wide, it can swallow whole both man and bicycle. It's filled with water too. I find a way across, walking gingerly over a little "dam" of earth. All I wanted to do was see whether I should sign up for "Enduro 100" (100 km off-road race). Back on the proper trail, I don't fall since I avoid darkness like a moth, steering clear of where darkness signals pitfalls as clearly as a lighthouse signals. The 100 km route isn't ready. Nor am I. Think I'll just keep training for marathon. It's cleaner too; I don't need the services of jet spray so strong, the jet keeps the user upright as he leans into it to wash a lorry.

The journey, not just the destination

Feb distance: 339 km

Sat 23 - Sun 24 Feb
Desaru, 104 km. I help N with a cycling class. I'm the "gofer" who helps carry bicycles, bicycle pump, bags, water, even a DVD player. I get a few tips too - not the money kind, but advice from instructor K, and try out a new trick - how to pick up a bottle on the ground while cycling. If one is not careful, one ends up on the ground. This isn't a useful skill in itself, but to do it, one must have the requisite bicycle-handling skills. So, it's not the destination (bottle picking), but the journey (bicycle-handling) that's the essence. If you just want to reach the destination, you haven't arrived. If you want the journey too, you're on the way to the destination. I have other fun on Day 1, cycling off-road (in slippers!) and riding off-road by the main road, going uphill on Day 2. The students seem to have learnt some things from me too (about cycling, not just the existence of "maggi mee goreng"). I learn how to run a marathon from one of them. And enjoy conversations in the van to and from Singapore.

Brown butterfly, yellow spider

Old Birdcage Walk, 51 km. There's a bit of England in Singapore. Even an Oxford Street and Hyde Park. It is a peaceful place, even with (light) aircraft flying overhead. This is, after all, an airport. I also cycle offroad near Jalan Kayu, where I see brown butterflies. Somewhere along the way, I pick up a yellow spider. It must have climbed on board while I was bashing through an abandoned road. How strange life is; usually, butterflies are brightly coloured and spiders dull.

The bright side

Choa Chu Kang, 48 km. I wear my Dainese jersey, which I won last week, for the first time. I'm think what good tyres I have; they roll over broken glass and stones with no fuss. As I corner, my wheel wobbles. Blowout. I apportion blame before the fact is out: a 4 cm nail. No tyre can take that. And no one should shoot first, ask questions later. I look at the bright side: a patch of shade so big, I fix the flat with no sweat. A roadie passing by who asks if I'm ok. And, later on, a road all to myself, as butterflies flit by. Just because bad things have happened earlier doesn't make the lunar new year a lunatic new year. But deep down, I still feel sad.

First time first

Bike Quest 08, 136 km. I'd hesitated to sign up for this all-night race organised by National University of Singapore's Faculty of Arts and Social Science. Starve self of sleep, then go to work the next day. I sign up anyway. As it turns out, all four team members had cycled from Singapore to Kuala Lumpur in 2005. Without prior arrangement, we wear the same jerseys tonight. Our route takes us from East Coast Park to Buangkok, Toa Payoh, Thomson and Bukit Timah. In this adventure race, big and small things count, like a plan and a pen. We think fast, cycle fast. Diversity means we know the different routes well. And are linguistic and numerically adept. There are cramps and raised voices, but we come in top scorers by a wide margin. #1 among 58 teams (half in competitive category). We divide up the spoils. Cash is liquid, but goods (one mountain bike frame as prize for a team of four?) would've to be sold and monetized. This is the first time I'm first in a race. Someone asks if I'm the oldest competitor. Probably.

Overgrown

Jan distance: 236 km

Seletar, 44 km. Seletar Farmway is criss-crossed with roads that go back in time. A time of farms and quiet roads. And at least one road that narrows and peters out as nature claims it back. In the distance is the sound of fast traffic on Tampines Expressway, which is the way to a destination. Whereas the single track I cycle slowly on is the destination. The puddles and 3m tall vegetation that block the way are not obstacles, but the reason for being there. Butterflies flit while leaves whip as I ride.

Light from the dark

Lim Chu Kang, 65 km. I cycle in the night, hoping the dark will shed light on what's happened. January isn't over, yet much has happened: adjust to life in Singapore after two weeks of a different life cycling in Laos, catch up on work, cover for someone's work ... and this is just work life. So I go on a ride that replaces future unknowns with immediate unknowns, general anxiety with specific, simple desperation: "how to get out of here". I end up where bicycles don't usually go. In places just not rideable. I carry my Tank over obstacles and somehow end up in Pasir Ris. Dead end. Somehow I end up in Changi. A path in a Singapore park is more brightly lit than Route 10 or 13 connecting Vientiane to Luang Prabang. Just as Laotians wouldn't say "not fair" that the path is more brightly lit than a major road, should I say life is unfair?

38,000 km

Lim Chu Kang, 65 km. Today, my odometer rolls over the 38,000 mark. It's good when things are working fine, the way they were designed. It's great when I can declare things "expedition proven". It's an art (for me) not to let things niggle, eg, the slight rattling somewhere from my drivetrain, or the somewhat odd position of a jockey wheel.

Falling apart

Kampong Kaki Circuit, 62 km. Having "trained" in Laos, I wanted to break my personal best time on the circuit. But the only thing that breaks is more bits from my cycling shoe, which has taken a pounding since end-2003 and 28,000 km. Another item that took a pounding for four years (and similar distance) is my rear hub, which had grease packed into and tightened yesterday, so that it's no more a woebegone wobbling wheel. A simple shoe isn't made to be fixed, a precision instrument like a hub is, and complex human relations come without manuals.

Laos: south to north, north to south

Wed 19 Dec 07 - Wed 2 Jan 08: Laos
To Luang Prabang, Laos, 907 km.

Prologue

From Nong Khai (Thailand) to Luang Prabang (Laos), 907 km. This is my sixth cycling expedition since I started serious cycling in 2002. It is also the country furthest north I've ever cycled in to date: Laos.

In my previous expeditions, chilling things happened. 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. In 2007, what's chilling is the cold mountain weather and the expected close calls from traffic in the wrong lane around blind corners on mountain roads.

Out of tickets
Day 1: Wed 19 Dec, Singapore - Bangkok, non-cycling day (such days are indicated in this colour). As there are no direct flights from Singapore to Laos, D and I board Thai Air Asia to Bangkok, then buy tickets for the overnight train ride to Nong Khai (the furthest destination north by scheduled train service). We spend six hours waiting for the train to leave since tickets for earlier departures are sold out - which means we have less daylight to cycle in when we reach Laos. On the train we are given a toilet roll with 4-colour cartoons printed on it. The train makes a nice cradle, rocking us to sleep.

Out of water
Day 2: Thu 20 Dec, Nong Khai - Vientiane, 38 km. I sadly bid goodbye to my bicycle box and styrofoam (I see no "left luggage" room, but later find out I could've left the box at the station to collect on the return leg). My hand hurts from hundreds of strokes needed to pump up my deflated tyres. It is a known unknown (given the complexity of this trip, there are many of these) whether cyclists are allowed on the Friendship Bridge. The answer is "yes" (Another known unknown: whether train tickets are available. The answer is "yes', but not for the day or class we want. So we pay for first class.) An unknown unknown was the delay to clear immigration on both sides of the bridge, with buses disgorging passengers and queue jumpers (to deal with the unknowns, I build in several buffer days in the itinerary). There isn't enough daylight left to safely venture beyond Vientiane. We have used up one buffer day. The hotel runs out of water for hours; we're told the entire street is affected.

"Follow the wheel"

Day 3: Fri 21 Dec, Vientiane - Na Nam, 92 km. The road is in the same direction as the map. The towns ahead of us match those on the map. But map says 'toll bridge". Where's the bridge? Where's the tarred road? "Follow the wheel," says D and we cycle on. For the next 20 km, we bounce along the dual-carriageway dirt road after crossing by ferry. The road is so rough, a water bottle flies off. Twice, my bicycle decelerates and slides suddenly as the front wheel hits soft sand and gravel. This is mountain biking, where I have to pick lines carefully. The road suddenly becomes tarred - it's not like a side road that joins the main road at an angle; it's as if we enter a parallel universe that's directionally right but so badly wrong. Though the distance covered matches closely what is on the map, we have taken too long. We use up another buffer day. At Na Nam, we meet a couple from Switzerland. They've cycled from there, 15,000 km ...

Creak, creak, crack?
Day 4: Sat 22 Dec, Na Nam - Vang Vieng, 110 km. Swiss Miss asks if my bicycle is rented. Good thing my bike doesn't understand English. Swiss Gent looks at my bag and asks, "is that it?" I reply, "My ride is short, just 1,000 km, not like yours." My seat post creaks alarmingly and I wonder if it will crack. Also worrying is the black dog that darts out like a heat-seeking missle, a kid who fires a toy gun at me, two guys in uniform who saunter past with rifles pointed at my face, and vehicles overtaking at blind corners and hurtling towards me.

Dining under Mao's gaze
Day 5: Sun 23 Dec, Vang Vieng - Phou Khoun, 107 km. Our routine of breakfast at 6 am is a non-starter. No cooked food seems available. I stuff myself with bananas and hit the road. I know why the description "stupid as a cow" exists: they stand on the road, oblivious. Five dogs fight; I cycle to the other side of the road to avoid collateral damage. I also avoid a "fllght" of kamikazi pigs. Lunch is at a joint set up by Chinese. We dine under a poster of Chairman Mao. After lunch is a "hard" climb of 14.9 km. My mind starts to waver. I focus on breathing and pedalling in good form, because it's too tiring to think about anything else on a road that keeps going uphill. I'm happy to cover in one day what Lonely Planet suggests should be done in two. The happiness is short-lived. There are only two (unclean) guest houses. There is no sink and I resort to desperate measures to remove my contact lenses. There are creepy crawlies, and cocks crow and pigs squeal at night. At least, no bed bugs. What a day. The sun heats up the inside of my bag by day; at night, the temperature plunges to below 20 degrees C.

Race against the sun
Day 6: Mon 24 Dec, Phou Khoun - Luang Prabang, 132 km. It is cold. My made-for-European weather jersey finally feels useful at this 1,400m elevation. It is colder as I hurtle over 40 km/h downhill. There is gravel and many blind corners. Once, I go into a shuddering turn. Seconds before disaster, a car in the wrong lane swerves. This part of the mountains is more barren; there seems to be more cyclists (including a family with two kids) and riflemen than there are villages. It is hard going uphill. D hitches a ride. I cycle on alone; we've been meeting only for meals anyway as we ride at our own pace. Kids run up to greet me with "sabaidee" and high fives. I almost give up, no thanks to a small hill near Luang Prabang. Sometimes, defeat is snatched from the jaws of victory, or vice versa. I cover 132 km in 10 hours (including waiting for 45 minutes and meal times), just winning the race against the sun. I'd hate to cycle in the dark.

10 hours sleep for 10 hours on the road
Day 7: Tue 25 Dec, Luang Prabang, non-cycling day. Clean room, clean sheets. And 10 hours' sleep for 10 hours' ride yesterday. I check out my bicycle. The rear hub is loose, which rattles me. I wander about town ("active rest"), checking out the Mekong and Nam Khan rivers and soaking in the ambience of this UNESCO World Heritage site.

Legend of a prince
Day 8: Wed 26 Dec, Luang Prabang, non-cycling day. At the Royal Palace Museum (formerly home of the king, who died with his family in mysterious circumstances), I read about the legend of a prince. He gives away his kids (after being warned by his wife to look after the kids), then gives away his wife. Yet, he becomes king. I also visit several non-profit organisations, eg Big Brother Mouse (it publishes books for Laotian kids) and UXO Laos (it clears land of UneXploded Ordnance, so that people can walk on - and work on - land without getting blown up. At night, I watch free comedies screened by a Frenchman (Cinema Itinerant Autare du Mekong). The audience, mostly kids, laughs loudly but only one kid laughs when one of the scenes involves a guy being blown up.

M150 and other hazards

Day 9: Thu 27 Dec, Luang Prabang - Kiew Ka Cham, 80 km. Today's ride is the toughest. At 6 am, the street vendors are barely out. Breakfast: bananas. We stop at the last village at the foot of the mountains and eat at the best restaurant: the one with chairs (not stools), music and free flow of tea (which another customer serves me!). In the mountains, most kids are friendly, but one aims his catapult at me. Another (playfully) goes through the motion of slashing my bag with his knife as I pass. That is too much for me and I sprint. Going from north to south up this mountain is harder; there's 20 km of uphill to go (compared to 15 going the other way) and the gradient is steeper too. Glass shards from discarded M150 bottles litter the road. It takes me 7 hours 15 minutes to cover 80 km. The last few km are the hardest. I break out my secret weapon: PowerGel. It's not the energy as such; it is the taste and the treat that keeps me going. Eight cyclists end up in this Kiokajam Guesthouse, none in the other guest house. I'm the only Asian; the rest are mostly European. For bathing, hot water comes from a wood fire. At night, happy Laotian singing resounds in the night.

So we meet again

Day 10: Fri 28 Dec, Kiew Ka Cham - Vang Vieng, 159 km. As we head south, we meet H, a Taiwanese we first met in Vientiane. He'd cycled from Singapore and was on his way to China. He'd spent the night by the road and breakfast for him was peanuts. We also meet T, who was supposed to be with us but had delayed her departure. Someone I didn't see, but who was surely present, was my guardian angel. As I speed down a 10% gradient at up to 61.9 km/h, I narrowly miss a pothole. A lens from my sunglasses also pop out on the road; good thing nothing runs over it - or me as I retrieve it. My eyes start playing tricks; what looks like downhill is actually uphill. Dogs, pigs and people start getting in the way. There are a few close calls on the winding road, with traffic (including me) cutting corners and in the wrong lane. As we lose the race against the sun, insects start colliding against us. Cycling in the night on unlit roads is no fun. But I'm glad we don't stop at Kasi, finally sticking to the original plan to spend daylight in Vientiane.

Harder than it looks
Day 11: Sat 29 Dec, Vang Vieng - Vientiane, 161 km. The landscape starts looking Malaysian, with rolling hills instead of interminable slopes. The ride to Vientiane is harder than it looks. Though the trend is downhill, it is hot and the Route 13 is rough (unlike Route 10 which we took northward). Traffic gets heavier as we near Capital City. I draft whatever I can keep up with, which excludes a lady on a motorbike with two kids clutching bananas instead of her. She's going at over 30 km/h. My head hurts, my toe hurts and other parts in between too, like neck and butt. I have beef for dinner, may have something to do with the cows which scarily got in my way.

Bombed
Day 12: Sun 30 Dec, Vientiane, non-cycling day. Khoua Din Morning Market is an old-style market, with squirming and still (dead) produce, muck and smells. Next stop: Cooperative Orthotic and Prosthetic Enterprise (COPE), which is housed in the National Rehabilitation Centre, which houses facilities for the physically disabled and deaf, and the Association for Aid and Relief Japan. A Japanese man greets me; he says today is a holiday (but he's working). I see a blind girl cross the road, and an amputee. The Lao National Tourism Association writes that over 2m tonnes of ordnance was dropped on Laos - more than was was dropped on Europe during World War 2. That's a plane load of bombs every eight minutes, 24 hours a day, for nine years. Why this happens: Lao National Museum gives an account of it.

Holey box

Day 13: Mon 31 Dec, Vientiane - Nong Khai, 28 km. My mission for the morning: spend thousands of kip. Some people say a fee is payable to leave the country, but no one asks us to pay anything. In Nong Khai, I pay Baht 200 (which is the going rate even in Bangkok) for a box with several holes and tears. One tuk tuk takes us to the train station (in Singapore, we'd have to take a taxi each to transport us and our bicycles). We travel first class with our bicycles in the cabin. As we manhandle the boxes ourselves, we save hundreds of baht - baht which I hadn't "baht-getted" for.

Not bombed
Day 14: Tue 1 Jan, Bangkok, non-cycling day. On new year's day, I sit in Kalawar Church (established 1786) and face the Chao Phraya river. The choir sings Christmas carols in Thai. I thank God for journey mercies. I'm glad that unlike a year ago, there is no news of bombing in the city.

Parting the waters
Day 15: Wed 2 Jan, Bangkok - Singapore, non-cycling day. Airport security is tight. Some liquids get confiscated, but mine are safe after I repack them when I saw the scrutiny going on.

Epilogue
In the prologue, I wrote that nothing happened to me during the ride. That's not so. When I returned, people say I've changed. And I realise, how can I not change, when I've seen families gathering grass by the road to eke out a living as trucks and buses rumble by. When children play with heavy carts and with dirt. When UXO Laos lays off hundreds of people because it cannot afford to pay them, despite the work they do.

© 2007 Kevin Lee. All rights reserved.