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, February 29, 2004

Seven bridges of Barelang

Feb distance travelled: 504 km

Sat 28 - Sun 29 Feb
To Barelang, Indonesia, 127 km. The primary mission: head south about 80 km along six bridges linking Batam, Rempang, and Galang islands until the road runs out and locate a seventh foot bridge. Secondary mission: ride an American century, ie 160 km to and fro along the route, instead of the usual metric century of 100 km. Mission brief by bike leader TYS: hot and long, hilly ride. Eat and drink all you want, provided you carry it all the way. Form up position: 0700 hours at Harbourfront for ferry to Batam.

The roads at Batam are like those in Malaysia. But some drivers unfortunately are like those in Singapore. Still, there are friendly, helpful strangers. In the big city, it's been said: "Don't talk to strangers." But in Batam, like Malaysia, helpful people appear from nowhere, like the lady who calls our hotel for us to arrange our transfer. And the motorist who honks at me to tell me I've missed my bike pals who've headed along another road. What a nice welcome to biking in Indonesia; it's the first time I'm cycling here. And it's the first time I've done a century ride on my 1.25" slicks.

Mission outcome: primary mission completed.

Secondary mission is a total failure. I'm glad AD is along for the ride. It's when he cramps that I manage to overtake him, since I'm off form. Mitigating factors: starting the ride with barely four hours of sleep. After two weeks of medical leave. The enemies are too strong: blazing sun, roller coaster hills and ... only one "official" rest stop, at the first bridge.

Off the end of the road in the east just before the seventh bridge is a kelong which, as it turns out, serves fish of the day. I'm flat out on a bench while waiting for lunch. After lunch, AD and I abandon the secondary mission and seek evacuation back to the airconditioned comfort and soft pillows of our resort. TYS haggles with three locals on our behalf and we speed back to our hotel by four-wheel drive. The rest of the trip is total relaxation: eat and sleep. Except for AL - he doesn't cycle at all but is working through the weekend at the resort.

Tuesday, February 24, 2004

Red eyes, green eyes

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 21 km. It's been 10 days since I last rode. I've had viral conjunctivitis, also known as pink eyes. My case was so bad, my eyes were red like in a horror movie. And I became green eyed with envy, as I had to miss rides Barelang and Belungkur. Today is my "recovery ride" to "see" if I can do it. First, I sit in front of a fan at full blast to be sure my cornea cells don't fly off, then I set off. I'm off form. Right hamstring hurts though it's a short ride (OK, I tried to chase a roadie and a car ...). I also think about Ho Swee Haw, whom I met at Penang MTB Jamboree 2003. He crashed and died on 21 Feb in Perak. I'm sorry he's gone.

Saturday, February 14, 2004

Six bridges too far

To Harbourfront, 20 km. Barelang. An exotic name across the water at Batam. Six bridges linking Batam, Rempang, and Galang islands. A long ride to-and-fro of 160 km. But these are six bridges too far for me. At Harbourfront, I drop out of the ride at the last minute, no thanks to an eye injury. I thought I'm OK to ride but the ride there screwed up my eyeball. Took a taxi home but got stuck for a while, no thanks to a driver who refuses to pay for parking. He doesn't care about me or the security guards, who also didn't care about my eye. "Wait for the police," they say. A little lady steps up and yells at the driver. She succeeds where the guys fail. "All men are useless," a lady once told me.

Sunday, February 08, 2004

The craftsman

To Permas Jaya, Johore, Malaysia, 80 km. I'm here for the first time, thanks to GPS-in-his-head AF, who knows the new roads, old roads and no-roads-it's-mangrove-swamp-there. At Pelentong, we see a craftsman cooking noodles. He dips noodles in hot water, cold water, hot water, cold water, changing the texture and taste of his creation. On the way here, we are ticked off by a patriotic Malaysian for trampling on the grass at a teeny-weeny park.

Tech note Slicks at over 70 psi feel right. Less rolling resistance, faster acceleration, more road buzz. OK for Singapore roads but harsh in Malaysia. At the causeway, I come across the drain covers that caused grief to the legendary Jan Boonstra.

Wednesday, February 04, 2004

The road with no name

To Sengkang, 33 km. It's a road with no name. It goes up a bridge across an expressway, then it goes on and on until Hougang. Tonight, I break my sprint record on a flat road by going 50.0 km/h (previous record was 49.2 km/h). Tonight, it's just me and GKT. We come across D (on his Merlin) and pals going the other way. Hope to race with D someday on my 1.25" slicks.
Tech note Slicks at 70 psi don't feel all that fast. Still, I'm recovering from my 223 km ride on Mon.

Monday, February 02, 2004

In trouble with LAW

Sun 1 - Mon 2 Feb:
To Kukup, Johore, Malaysia, 223 km. I'm in trouble with LAW. Lost. Alone. Wet from the rain. Three guys (including AD and SY) ride to Kukup. Two decide to take the ferry back. I hit the road - my first solo ride in Malaysia. I study the map - there's a short cut. It turns out to be a "long cut", adding another 14 km to the ride. It could've been worse. I could've got a puncture in the rain. Or not met the Indian motorcyclist who tells me the way to go, then waits at a junction to show me the way. I cycle for three hours, with only one break of 10 minutes. The other four stops are to check directions; I'm lost in a scenic but barren place with no watering hole. As for the rain: water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink. Back in Johore Bahru, a shopkeeper tells me the place has changed a lot, unlike my map.

Kukup is a village on stilts above the sea. Mud skippers as big as your hand and crabs as small as your thumb make tracks on the tidal flats. Riding a century to get there isn't torture. But the karaoke from neighbouring chalets sure is.

Tech note I find another grain of sand in my tyre. I change both tyres to 1.25" slicks so I can cycle harder, faster and longer.
Photo courtesy of AD