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 :)

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Up and oval

11-14 Sep, Malaysia (Cameron Highlands, Ipoh), 242 km

Prologue
This is my eighth Bike n Blade. This charity ride is the longest in terms of days (two days to travel to and fro, by bus on 11 and 14 Sep respectively, and two days to ride) and the highest we climb: 1,500m. Everyone's a roadie (including triathletes) except a guy on a recumbent and me on my MTB.

I've a migraine on arrival. I try to sleep it off but fail. I eat a few mouthfuls of dinner, telling myself "three more mouthfuls". I want to keep my food down so I can ride up tomorrow. I want to complete my ride but leave my dinner uncompleted.

This has never happened to me on a charity ride but given this is my x ride. It is reasonable to expect that someday it would happen, just a matter of time. Rather than being unfortunate, I've been fortunate to escape it for so long.

To be continued

Sunday, September 07, 2014

Lap it up

Around my home, 21 km. The ominous black clouds hover above, see? Will the sky open up and the rain pour down? As I'm short of time and don't want to get drenched and fall ill, I do something I've never ever done before in over 60,000 km of cycling.

I cycle around my home, a 2 km loop. There's a little slope, two pedestrian crossings, two traffic lights and some lousy drivers. And if it rains, I don't have to wait it out at some bus stop. I can go home in a jiffy and do other things.

Round and round I go. Easy. Well, it's meant to be a recovery ride since I ran yesterday. It's kinda like a training ride too.

Let's see: one charity ride last week. A 5-hour run yesterday. Another charity ride in a this weekend. And the longest run (so far) of my life the week after that. Whew! Tough?

Not as tough as the puzzling things at work ...

Sunday, August 24, 2014

Sugar, ice and everything nice

Aug distance: 349 km

22-24 Aug, Malaysia (Malacca - Batu Pahat) - Singapore, 281 km

Prologue
This is my third ride to raise funds to buy food for the poor. It's good to meet some old cycling pals, some of whom I met in 2010 for a charity ride in Sarawak. We catch up during lunch as we bus up to Malacca on 22 Aug. In the hotel, I catch up on some work.

Nightstop: Hatten Hotel

Proper concentration
23 Aug Malacca to Batu Pahat, 111 km.

One of my bidons is filled with Gatorade, mixed in what I hope is close to the recommended dose. I've read about running nutrition and apply it to cycling. It's not so good to drink plain water after all, I read. When my stomach feels odd after some bananas, only then do I drink water to dilute my stomach contents. Placebo or not, it works. I don't need to take long breaks; at a rest stop, I'm off after a few minutes.

When I run out, I refill with 100Plus. It's 6% concentration: within the recommended range. The escaping carbonation pops my bidon top. Twice. Tip:  don't top up to the brim.

Lunch is a half hour break, then I'm off. When I pass support car #1, I know I should stop at some point. I do when I see a 7-Eleven. I get a slurpee: sugar, slush, artificial colour and flavour, real nice. "Brain freeze!" I sit on the cool tiled floor then the shop staff passes me a stool. I need the break; with the headwind, I've laboured along at 20 km/h at some parts. I enjoy the aircon and move off when I see the first group pass by, then another.

I lead some cyclists to the hotel, abou 20 of us are there by 1.30 pm. I wait two hours for my bag. Well, at least we beat the rain that poured down later.

Nightstop: Katerina Hotel

Exclusion order
24 Aug Batu Pahat to Singapore, 170 km.
I draft a couple of roadies. It's a long straight road to boredom, and against the wind. One of them, with a BMX helmet, asks: "Why  am I doing this?" I wonder aloud: "Why am I doing this three times?" then talk him. He's a mountain biker who's on a road bike. He tells me that when he grows up, he wants go be like me, because I keep up with roadies while on fat tyres. He asks me why I'm not using slick tyres. I tell him about my downhill rims. He tells me he once bought 2.3" tyres and found it tough going.

And this is getting old. My third Ride for Rations. And, this year, my eighth Bike n Blade.

After lunch, we're grouped together. We're to stick to assigned groups as we near the border. The slower group I prefer to be with stop. They've had enough. I'm told to join the faster group. By this time, after 150 km, I'm knackered. I cycle and struggle hard to keep up. The sweeper slows to keep me company. I know some of the rest resent the slowdown. One yells at a man old enough to be her dad. It's not that he's unable to keep up.

What is this ride about anyway? I thought it's to raise funds for those who've been left behind in society. And if some cyclists fail to keep up, that's out of place (pun intended)? This is the first time on a charity ride where I struggle.

At the traffic lights, I catch up, then wait. One of them has a broken handlebar. Carbon. And yesterday, two cyclists break bones.

At the end of the ride, I thank an organiser for taking on this challenge of organising a charity ride, then put myself on a "exclusion" order: if I forget what I feel now and sign up for another Ride for Rations as a cyclist, exclude my participation.

I might sign up as a crew member though. It's no longer fun to cycle, but it's still a good cause. We'll see.

Sunday, August 17, 2014

Take it easy

Thomson Road, 24 km. After four hours on foot on the road yesterday, I take it easy today. Not that it's easy to take things easy.

What's easy is, for things that are worked on painstakingly over the years, to unravel suddenly, it seems. But in truth, damage is happening, just that it's not necessarily visible. Then, catastrophic failure.

But then, what's destroyed can be rebuilt, yes?

Sunday, August 10, 2014

Amazing grace?

Thomson Road, 24 km. How do I tag this ride? It is training, for a charity ride. It's also a recovery ride, to recover from yesterday's three hour run. And I need to clear my head, forget my woe, for a while anyway.

Amazing but true: what I thought was worse was merely bad. Now, things have got from bad to worse.

Sunday, August 03, 2014

Easy rider

Thomson Road, 20 km. After running hard for two hours yesterday, I take it easy today. I want to keep the ride so short that I don't even bring a water bottle.

Part of the route is my Inner Mongolia training route, but I go slowly so I don't get drenched in sweat. And that's the way it is, the same route, but easier than before.

And so, I can see hardship in a different way. The same terrain, just approach it differently.

Monday, July 28, 2014

Mountain biking

Jul distance: 327 km

Sembawang, 42 km. Road biking suggests cycling on a road. Mountain biking, taken literally, means cycling up and down mountains. Which may or may not have roads. Trails perhaps, definitely off road. Gravel, dirt, grass, river crossings … rough, certainly.

Work's been rough too. Just as off road can be tough, it can also be fun. What's happened is unprecedented, but there are good possibilities too.

My knee hurts. Perhaps it's the ultra marathon training. But there could be a simpler reason - the dirt in my pedals from the Inner Mongolia ride that makes clipping out harder and more painful.

Well, there's a simple solution to work problems; it just takes effort and time. And a certain way of thinking. When I was cycling in Inner Mongolia, the route was long, the hills interminable. But I didn't rue the hills, they're literally part of the territory.

Sunday, July 13, 2014

Strange feeling

Admiralty Road West, 46 km. I'm using a different stem, a gift from H. It is longer and lower. And gives me a twinge in my lower back. So I shift my saddle forward by 2 mm.

Without meaning to, I cycle over 40 km. It's where I've been training.

I'm amazed how these short rides somehow prepared me for a three-day stage race in Inner Mongolia, with short sharp climbs and long gruelling ones too.

Last week, I was in another time, another place. What a strange feeling.

Sunday, July 06, 2014

Mishaps and miracles

Cow to cyclist: "Please don't ride on my food.
Welcome to cycle on my poop,  I left lots for you".
2-7 Jul, Xiwuqi, Xilingol, Inner Mongolia, China, 240 km

Prologue
When my room mate W asks me if I race a lot, I told him I used to but have "retired" from it. I'm here because it is a tour for me. As the race instructions state, "there is cattle (sheep, cows, horses ...) in the grasslands and they occasionally run over our course signs. We count on your sense of adventure and good spirits". What I didn't know was, the adventure begins before my Genghis Khan MTB Adventure.

Surprises
Days 1-2: 2-3 Jul. SIN-PEK. Non-cycling day.
Surprise 1: my flight is delayed by 1 hour! This means I get three hours of sleep instead of four. Surprise 2: at PEK, there are no holes in my bicycle box. Surprise 3: no taxi driver wants me, because of my bicycle box. A guy shows up and offers to help, for a fee. At the Holiday Inn Express Minzuyuan , I get surprise 4: a free room upgrade. I lie down, half asleep and check out hours later. The hotel staff thinks it's impossible to use the subway. As I push my box along the streets on my makeshift contraption of a foldable trolley, a passerby thinks it is a table.

The "penguin" meat, middle.
Click photo to enlarge
At the charter bus pickup point, I see two guys carry their boxes on their shoulders. "How did you get here?" I ask. "Subway," they say. Surprise 5.

I settle down for a 10.5 hour bus ride, and catch up on sleep. Surprise 6: we don't stop for lunch; the bread, milk and "penguin sausage" we're given in the morning is lunch. I soon realise why there is no lunch; the place is barren. There is food for the buses though: petrol stations.

Surprise 7 awaits at the destination Xiwuqi: when I enter my room at Electricity Hotel, part of the door frame comes off with the security chain. My room mate W is inside. Surprise 8: the meal coupons I've paid for are useless at my hotel. The meals are served only at the race hotel. Without prompting, one of the organizer's staff offers a refund.

And so, for the rest of my stay, it's a race to find food and groceries.

Misadventure
Day 3: 4 Jul. Stage 1: 75 km.
Misadventure #1 My pump is kaput. I'd tested it at home but here, it fails under pressure. W lends me

his. His race prep includes leg shaving! He doesn't need to race for food; he drove from PEK and his car is a grocery store, with milk and whey powder for milk shake, bread, apples, electrolyte and carbohydrate powders. He doesn't eat out. His race strategy is to eat little and race light. He comments on my two big water bottles. He doesn't even intend to carry water for tomorow's  43 km race. A German, he works for Volkswagen. I've a food guzzling "engine".

Ceremonial start to the race
At the start point, I seem to be the only one with a rigid bicycle. Though I suppose anyone on a hardtail with a failed suspension would be on a rigid too.

Misadventure #2: a competitor with platform pedals catches my rear tyre valve as we both push our bicycles. He jerks his pedal free. As the race starts, I steer from one trail to another. #3 My wheel catches on a ridge and i crash. I get up to see a competitor's wheel stopped where my frame starts. Whew. "Ride slow," are his parting words.

I find my rear tyre losing traction. I look down, its not wobbling and seems ok. I think it is the loose sand. I ease off on my pedals to reduce the spin out. At the 17 km mark, a passing cyclist says I've a flat. I stop to feel the rear wheel. A slow leak from a broken valve from the freak accident. No wonder the traction loss and slow speed. I wonder whether to inflate it and ride on to the first checkpoint but decide against it. Too much effort, too little assurance it will hold.

As I fix my flat, the sweeper van and ambulance pull up. I ask if I'm last. When the last man overtakes me, I am last. A DNF cyclist lends me his pump, which works far better than mine. I cut my hand somehow. The drop of blood on my spoke glistens in the sun like dew on a spider web. I am unfortunate, but the poor DNF guy who pulled out so early in the race helps me. I also wonder if the guy on KUL-PEK who arrived without his bike got it back in time.

I'm just 17 km into the race. Time to make up for lost time. I overtake someone on slick tyres. As I close the distance from another cyclist, I tap my brake levers to indicate I'm coming. She veers towards the sound. Our shoulders bump but we don't fall. She gasps "ahh". As I pull away, I see she's wearing slippers.

Head for the hills! Into the horizon
To make haste, I hardly slow down to drink from my bottles. Instead, I quaff a bottle of energy drink and gulp a Snickers bar or two at each drinking station. At one, I overhear someone ask for sunblock. I offer her mine. She asks if I like the ride. I shake my head. I don't tell her about my puncture or crash. She looks at me and says, "To encourage you, it's all downhill from here. The worst is behind us. There's just one more hill."

The hill climb is 150m or more. Not high, but steep though the longest climb is 7.5 km. I clock what is probably my downhill personal best: 38.3 km/h.

I also have another near crash. Hurtling and bouncing in the gully, the wheel could hit the ridge. If I cycle on the ridge, the wheel might slip into the gully. Wherever I am, hang on for dear life.

I've overtaken the laggards, including those at the drink stations. Where is everyone? I see a red jersey in the distance. Red Star, my guiding light. I keep an eye on it as he trail winds it's way up and down. When I overtake Red Star, it's just me.

#4 I get lost when the yellow signs that mark the route disappear. I stop at the race hotel, get directions and sprint. Tired, I fail to see the finish line is against traffic flow. I waste more time before I find the way.

W is already back in the room. He has a bad crash, with abrasions. He rested half hour before finishing the race, yet is ahead of me. Like me, he crashed outside of the danger areas, which include "corrugated" trails downhill. This trail is technical in parts. Need to pick a line, for speed and safety.

I'm a kite, fly me
Day 4, 5 Jul. Stage 2, 64 km. The sky brightens at 4 am to what sounds like firecrackers. When the wind blows, my room door shakes. I'm awake.

After yesterday's pounding, I decide to buy a tyre. Bikeshop man goes to the back of the shop and digs out a good tyre for me. "The ones in front are no good," he says. A lady, presumably his wife, says, "You're racing, right?" It is a good tyre, at a good price. I also drop by a shopping mall. The mannequins outnumber the staff who outnumber customers. A couple of staff lie down to sleep.

W decides to rest too after yesterday's crash. As I head out, I hear something loose. Yikes! I tighten headset and front skewer.

At the start line. Dude with aero helmet
At the start line, I'm fifth row from the front, away from newbies and platform pedals that knock into tyre valves. When the race starts, hordes overtake me. Bewildered, I stop to check my tyre. Seems ok.  I keep it on the soft side for offroad. It's the only suspension I have. Though I suppose a hardtail with faulty fork is a rigid bike too.

The ride is uneventful. There are danger signs. When I see them, I sometimes think "you call this dangerous?" Sometimes, danger is not immediately obvious. The most dangerous for today is downhill on rutted ground and a hard right turn after that.

I dismount to shoot this photo. If every shot takes 30 seconds,
what a big time penalty! I shoot about a hundred times
There are some steep climbs. I don't get off; I'm here to cycle not push my bike.

The wind blows across the plain. I feel like a kite, with a cord drawing me to the finish line. But where is it? There is no arch im the distance to shoot for. A policeman points the way.

After that, it's about 20 km back to my hotel. Others stay at the finish line for the official welcome dinner and bonfire.

W stays in the room while I dine on hotpot. I eat enough for two meals. Tomorrow is the longest day.

I also repair my watch strap with Elastoplast; a watch shop doesn't carry that model and won't even try to fix it.

The longest day
Day 5, 5 Jul, Stage 3, 100 km. W leaves at 5 am - in his car. He's going home. I eat poorly, get ready to checkout and get ready to race.

At the start line, I meet A, who had used my sunblock in Stage 1. I tell her about my crash and slow
Muddy Waters. The "Waffen SS" car is behind
leak. "It's your duty to encourage me," she quips. I tighten her seatpost for her  and say "One hour warranty". When the race starts, I see an unzipped saddle bag with energy gel in it and yell at the rider.

Ah, uphill and against the wind. It's so strong, it lifts the drinking station tent.  I am sunbaked like the trail and wind dried. I imagine things: that cyclist with his back to me turns out to be a flat rock, the cyclist holding his bike turns out to be a fence post and support strut, the yellow directional arrow turns out to be yellow flowers.

I also see a jeep in olive green with the words "Waffen SS" and, later, a vehicle on the trail. The people don't get out of the way as I head downhill. One says "be careful", then I see deep ruts in the ground. It could've been a bad crash at that speed. The guys move off. I'm grateful they warned me. I wonder about the other riders.

Sometimes it's like cycling on talcum powder. I know, as I fell while going uphill. "You should've gotten off earlier," said one cyclist. Everyone else there was pushing. This is the only time I push.

I'm grateful for the big knobs on my front tyre. On the "talcum" downhill, I slip and slide but the knobs bite somehow. I wonder what it would be like on semi-slicks.

My shifters don't shift well. I adjust the barrel adjusters. There's also chain suck. No more shifting on demand. I have to shift early and ease off when the chain clanks.

There's a stretch off downhill so fast I use the sides of the furrows as berms when I corner.

The numbers on the km markers go bigger and bigger, past the 60, past the 90 km mark. The last few km make a last ditch effort to drop us. The rider in front of me gets off to push up these last climbs. I keep going.

Back in town, I sprint past the finish line at 44 km/h. Sporadic applause breaks out. It is done. I do my "victory lap" round the town square to warm down and feel this one last time. I made it. Months ago, I'd emailed the organiser to ask what happens if I'm injured or bicycle is damaged; how do I get back in time to catch the bus? The reply was, you have to finish, or else it would be hard to find you.

My watch is on my wrist, I'm on time
My watch, which fortunately has more bandage on it than me, has held up. And I'm on time to get back to the hotel, dismantle my bicycle, have a quick wash in a toilet and in time to catch the overnight bus back to PEK.

I talk to the volunteer on the bus, who tries to contact the bus driver who'd seemed interested to drive me from the bus drop off point to the airport. Well, he doesn't seem interested anymore. B overhears me. "You want to go to the airport? We're going to the airport, we've hired a van. There's room for you." As simple as that, problem solved. I'm at the airport at 4am, in time for a long wait. Somehow, I'm not hungry, not sleepy. I'm just glad I made it, through the race and the mad rush to the airport.

Epilogue
So many things happened on this trip. I'm literally shaken up, racing off road on a rigid bicycle. While training for the race, I was clocking below 20 km/h on the grass, "training" just once a week, usually 2-3 hours per ride. It would be a tall order to cycle 100 km at this pace and still cross the finish line in time to catch my bus, but I went to the race anyway.

At the end of the road: a dark horse who made it
A freak accident and slow leak, being last at one point, then being among the 43% who finish, and somehow, without knowing in advance how, not getting stranded 2x in PEK.  I could've been left stranded with the deadweight of a bicycle box, but for an overheard conversation. Just as I overheard people asking for help and helped, someone overheard and solved a big problem for me, just like that.

Highlights of the internal journey of this trip: to be kind, to see things as neutral (hills are hills), to remember the purpose (I'm here to ride, so ride up all them hills rather than be dismayed at how they stretch into the distance).

Saturday, June 28, 2014

At last

Jun distance: 193 km

Admiralty Road West, 50 km. My new WTB tyre is on its maiden ride. It buzzes loudly compared to my Merida tyre; the latter is lighter, with lower rolling resistance.

I cycle loops, pushing myself hard. Traffic is heavy and I sprint a few times to get away from heavy metal, including a transporter big enough to carry a bulldozer.

Without intending to, I've found a new training route: it's quiet, with no cars even after several rounds. There's a dog which lunged at me, then charged alongside towards an open gate. Fortunately, that was its neighbour's gate, with a fence between it and me.

Back home, I check my bicycle, do some maintenance then box it up. It's only after I'm done that I realised I've not referred to my packing instructions. After several trips (this is the fifth time I've packed this bicycle box), getting a bicycle expedition ready is muscle memory.