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 :))

Saturday, December 31, 2005

Rejected? Rebound

Dec distance: 1,265 km

To Paya Lebar Road, 25 km. With my constant shifting problem, it's time to see the man who's got several pieces of paper saying he's qualified to fix bicycles. He says the cure to my rear derailleur problem is a clean drive train. But I can't keep it that clean when I spend days on the road. And a dirty drive train hasn't derailed my old Iron Horse. His reply: different bicycles have their own characteristics. So, this is the curse of the Iron Horse: abandon old faithful, get a new bike and the old one haunts you. Bikeshop man says there's no hardware solution to my shifting problem other than cleaning and greasing, and he can't do it for me today. He shows me free of charge how to remove and clean derailleur cables. Every bit of friction removed counts, he says. It's the same with people ...

Friday, December 30, 2005

Malaysia: long ride straight up the middle

Fri 23 - Fri 30 Dec
To Malaysia and South Thailand, 1,028 km.

Prologue
In 2003, I cycle to Thailand via the east coast of Peninsula Malaysia, and violence rocks my destination days after my ride. In 2004, I cycle up the west coast, and a tsunami misses me during the ride. What do I do after cycling on the right and the left of the peninsula? In 2005, to complete the trilogy, I cycle up the middle of the peninsula, along the Titiwangsa mountain range. Floods wreak havoc days before my ride begins, causing deaths of some and evacuation of thousands.

I start planning for the ride in Apr, planning the route based on distance, scenic value, potential accommodation and night stops. I send out invitations and form a team: VC, DH and RA. Days before the ride, things are in a state of flux. Who's going? When does the ride really start? Answers vary from day to day ... And unlike my past two expeditions, I don't pray in church for blessing. Worried, I SMS a friend on the eve of the ride to pray for me ...

Ride overview
Day Date Destination / Hotel Km

 1 23 Dec Singapore - Kluang / Anika 144

 2 24 Dec Kluang - Segamat / Mandarin 150

 3 25 Dec Segamat - Temerluh / Sakura 173

 4 26 Dec Temerluh - Kuala Lipis / Jelai 127

 5 27 Dec Kuala Lipis - Gua Musang / Fully Inn 124

 6 28 Dec Gua Musang - Kota Bahru / Temenggong 192

 7 29 Dec Kota Bahru - Thailand (day trip) 118

 8 30 Dec Kota Bahru - Singapore  -


Ride highlights
Good
0 punctures
1 scratch only (I still don't know how I got it!)
2 personal records broken: fastest speed (66.4 km/h) and longest distance fully loaded in one day (192 km). And just 2 wet, drizzly days during the north-east monsoon
3 riders on this trip: DH, VC and me
4 wheels (a Lexus) as transport back to Singapore, courtesy of generous golfers P (driver) and W ("inflight entertainment")

No good
Constant shifting problem with rear derailleur
Running nose and occasional cough
Rashes on both thighs (chafing from bike shorts - a first)
Blister on ball of foot (a first), which makes pedalling painful

Total cost: RM392, excluding meals paid by friends. As in the past two epic rides, this ride is self-supported. We carry all our gear - yes, besides the chainrings and sprockets already on the bikes, we carry our own tools, spares, clothes, soap and hope.

Sudden dropout
Day 1: Fri 23 Dec, Singapore - Kluang (Johore), 144 km. 6.45 am. VC and I cycle across the causeway. RA pulled out minutes ago, grounded by mechanical failure while on the road. DH is to join us tomorrow. It's a hilly ride to Kluang via Jalan Skudai and Kulai, with headwinds all the way. It's a barren route with few rest stops, and I ride 2.5 hours before the first break (at McDonalds), followed by another break 2 hours later. Because I expect barren roads all the way, I cycle with a Camelbak equipped with a Platypus (a first, and I've never used a Camelbak bladder). We reach Kluang at about 1 pm. The hotel declines to allow our bicycles into the room but relents after my pidgin Malay persuasion works.


Running nose, swirling water
Day 2: Sat 24 Dec, Kluang - Segamat (Johore), 150 km. Morning glory lines the rain-swept, winding J15 road to Paloh. Swift birds circle overhead. The occasional truck thunders past but the route is otherwise quiet. This is the longer but more scenic route. We cycle for two hours on the hills without break. VC is upfront as usual on his road bike, sweeping back now and then to see how I'm doing on my mountain bike. My nose is running. That makes swirling water (a form of entertainment) in my mouth hard. An excavator thunders past. I slip into its slipstream, get too close for comfort and brake, and the excavator zooms ahead. Also thrilling is the slipstream when a stream of vehicles pass by, dragging me along.

At the hotel, it's the same story - no entry to bicycles. I'm told to leave the bikes outside the hotel! I speak to the boss. The alternative is a storeroom crammed with junk. Well, my best alternative to negotiated agreement is to walk away and look for another place to stay; if there's no bike, there's no me. The hotel staff runs out and relents. I SMS directions to DH, who arrives an hour later after a 211 km ride from Singapore. DH speaks fluent Malay, VC speaks Punjabi and I speak Mandarin and a smattering of a few dialects. Together, we can traverse the length and breadth of the land.

Fast friends
Day 3: Sun 25 Dec, Segamat - Temerloh (Pahang), 173 km. Up at 6 am. On the road at 7, for the usual roti canai (prata) breakfast (and sometimes for lunch too). It's a nice quiet N119 route via Gemas, then on Federal Trunk Road #10. VC and DH have become fast friends after meeting only yesterday. The two roadies ride together while I amble along behind. A frenzied squirrel tries and aborts its attempt at road crossing. A fat white cat sits by the roadside in the shade while I bake in the sun. Two dogs chase a pickup truck along a side road. Two friendly Chinese workers chat with us and wish us well on our journey. We stop to check out a war memorial at Sungei Lui.

There are fresh offerings, in memory of an old problem of being caught between a rock and a hard place: as villagers, to please the communists is to anger the Japanese, and vice versa. So, choose your poison: who do you want to be killed by? My stomach hurts. I crap in a road side shack (a first). Talk about a shitty ride. But at least the shack has a cement floor, it doesn't stink and I have toilet paper :-). We overtake a group of kids who do wheelies to impress us. Fast friends stop 10 km from our night stop to wait for me. They're glad to stop. It's been rough for me too, riding at breakneck speed above 40 km/h on rough roads.

Tall tales and highest speed

Day 4: Mon 26 Dec, Temerloh - Kuala Lipis (Pahang), 127 km. Last night, DH talks me out of a 165 km ride to Kuala Lipis via Bentung and Raub. On the other side of this route is Genting Highlands and Fraser's Hill, so it must be highly hilly. So, today, we cycle down the undulating valley of the Pahang River, though we don't see the water. I pass a flattened civet cat, regal in life, ignonimously contorted in death. Also dead is an iridescent bird, its wings folded for the last time. And groves of coconut trees, leaves brown and clasped around the tree trunks, look like dead spiders with their hairy legs folded round their dessicated bodies. At the outskirts of Jerantut, a coffeeshop owner tells us of a short cut . The route he recommends is supposedly half the distance and doesn't have many hills. That's a tall tale. The gradient is Penang Hill standard, the toughest on our entire ride. VC has to get off and push as his front wheel keeps lifting up.


Going downhill, I break my high speed record; today, I reach 66.4 km/h along road C164 at Kuala Tembeling, breaking my 2003 record of 61.0. A duck and ducklings paddle in the water. My pedalling is problematic. As the sun beats down, my drivetrain is beating me. I press and hold the thumb shifter, hoping to hear not just the click of the shifter but also of the chain shifting. I twist the barrel adjuster while on the move. Now, the chain shifts up but is reluctant to shift down. What a prima donna drivetrain; a bit of grit and it acts up. Fast friends streak ahead while my drivetrain clatters like a clockwork toy. Once in a while, they stop to wait, breaking their momentum. Kuala Lipis, our stop for the night, is the place for my retirement. If it's good enough for pretty Siti Nurhaliza, it's good enough for me. It is a small picturesque town with a river winding through it and a nice clean hotel with HBO cable channel. I wash my drivetrain, fuss over it. And, like every night, I dig grit out of my tyres.

Scariest ride of my life

Day 5: Tue 27 Dec, Kuala Lipis - Gua Musang (Kelantan), 124 km. Like in previous nights, I don't sleep well, waking up 2-3 times. Fast friends are ahead as usual. I lead only when a dog trots behind us at over 20 km/h for what seems like a long time. VC says: "It's a good dog." In my book, any dog that's after cyclists is not good. Seeing the dog, the driver behind us goes "parp parp parp". I crank up till 35 km/h to drop the canine. Today is the scariest ride of my life, but not because of the furry monster. While I've gone downhill before at higher speeds, today's speeds of over 50 km/h is scary as the roads are rough, jarring my hands as I hang on for dear life along the more-winding-than-usual roads. Mountains lie in the hazy blue distance; just behind me is a car. Instead of trying to break my speed record, I'm trying to avoid breaking my bones and dying in a mangled heap of red flesh scattered around my red bike. 

I cycle solo for an interminable time, nursing my rear derailleur along. In the end, I leave the chain on the middle sprocket to rely less on the rear derailleur and work the front shifter more instead.The wind is blowing, the road is winding and the birds are chirping. I reach Bukit Tujuh. Seven hills, but who's counting? I take them as they come. This is a road of thanks, with "terimah kasih" signs dotting the roadside. Federal Trunk Road #8 is long and winding, with traffic like tour buses roaring past. But, unlike on Singapore roads, I don't feel threatened. Other than the occasional car hurtling towards me on the wrong side of the road while overtaking, drivers on Malaysian roads don't put me in fear of grevious hurt. But it is hot, so hot that the heat penetrates the raincover on my seatpost bag, through the bag, through the spectacle case and warms up my glasses when I put them on at the end of the day.

Thank God, I'm using contact lenses so I can wear shades to look cool and feel cool.
We push on towards Gua "Headwinds-all-the-Way" Musang after lunch, which we time to get out of the noonday sun. I ride solo ahead of the rest with a 15 minute headstart so they don't have to wait for me. I'm the first into town and treat myself to an expensive but nice, ice-cold Milo at KFC. Here, I'm sure the ice is safe. We also splurge on the best (and most expensive) hotel in town. All the switches work! But bicycles aren't allowed in the rooms, not even with DH's advanced Malay. We leave them in the hotel office corridor, unlocked. I'm unhappy with this arrangement. 3-star hotel, we pay so much, yet have to do more work to remove our belongings from our bikes and carry them into our rooms. And without the bike, I'm without a clothes rack.

Record breaking distance

Day 6: Wed 28 Dec, Gua Musang - Kota Bahru (Kelantan), 192 km. Once in a while, the sun peeks out to remind us how fortunate we are to have cloud cover. It's just VC and me as DH heads back today by train. We reach Kota Bahru at 6 pm, my longest ride fully loaded, breaking my previous record in Aug of 190 km. Along the way, I see plastic bags full of presumably used baby diapers. There's a skinned animal and a little snake that looks as if it has been etched into the road. A grasshopper perches on my bar end. It refuses to be shaken off even when I hit 54 km/h; it merely aligns its aerodynamic body to the wind. When it starts crawling towards me, I pound my handlebar and shake the green insect off. I almost fall when I zip up my camera bag while on the move.

At one point, my crank goes "clank". The chain has fallen off my chainring, says VC. Hearing this, I shift the chain back on while on the move. The last 15 km is hair raising, and not because of the wind. The potholed roads and cars filtering left and right leave my nerves jangled. VC is happy; this is his first self-supported, fully loaded ride. "The cake is baked, tomorrow (when we ride to the Thai border) is icing on the cake," he says. The water in our hotel is brown at first but later runs clear.

Blasted bunker

Day 7: Thu 29 Dec, Kota Bahru - Tak Bai, Thailand, 118 km. We hit the road at 7 am and at 10.30 I stop my fruitless search for a World War 2 bunker which a guidebook says exists. At least, I manage to find the beach where the Japanese had landed to start their terror in Malaya and Singapore. At least, the kampongs are scenic. And it was an off-road ride for VC. I'm glad I have a mountain bike; it's so versatile for touring. We head for the Thai border next. Never take directions from a guy who points right and says "turn left". Along the way, I take off my shoe and socks to dislodge a stone. It turns out to be a blister. And I have rashes on both thighs where the bike shorts grip. VC and I part at the border, where I chat with the Malaysian immigration officer about safety. "There's been no shooting over there for seven days," he says. I nip across on a ferry, have a look-see and rush back to Bank Kerapu, formerly used by the Japanese Kempeitai and now a war museum. Which explained what happened to the missing bunker: it was eroded by the sea. The replica is at the museum, not on the beach.

Spinning the wheel
Day 8: Fri 30 Dec, Kota Bahru - Singapore. Two bikes and four guys in a car hurtle south, driven by P, who takes the wheel for over 14 hours (including breaks). The route is largely the reverse of Epic #1. Going backwards in time and direction, the route is still as beautiful.

Thursday, December 22, 2005

Road test

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 23 km. Never ever go on an expedition with untested critical equipment. So why do I use a totally different lubricant on my drive train? Today is the first time I'm cycling with it. It sounds and feels good after 20 km. I hope it works after 200 km too. Today, marks my 25,000th km after cycling seriously since 2002. Tomorrow marks the start of my third expedition in as many years: a long ride straight up the middle of Peninsula Malaysia.

Sunday, December 18, 2005

Acid test

To Chuan Hoe Ave, 18 km. Today is probably my shortest ride with contact lenses. I've caught a cold again but test my jury-rigged map holder on my handlebar, in preparation for next week's Epic Expedition #3, my third in three consecutive years. The test succeeds, but I hope the thing stays affixed in sun and rain after hundreds of km. If you can't (or don't want) to avoid or transfer risk, at least mitigate it. Someone who did this well is the Japanese gent named John who's "immortalised" in the Japanese cemetary as the first Japanese resident in Singapore in the 1800s. A man who was shipwrecked, ended up in the US, denied re-entry into isolationist Japan and who made his mark in Singapore.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

Tomorrow, the sun will rise

To Woodlands Ave 1, 42 km. Wow, my guts hurt. But I cycle anyway, to the sports school. I wonder why football is such a favoured game, where the entire team must do well to win. Whereas, in cycling, it takes just one cyclist to bring home the gold, like in gymnastics or some athletic events. As I head home, I pass the home of the founder of the Singapore Women's Cycling Team. And I end up buying a cycling jersey for charity. Strangely enough, that day, I've been thinking of about getting another jersey. And now I've got it. As Tom Hank's character says in Castaway, tomorrow the sun will rise and who knows what the tide will bring?

Sunday, December 11, 2005

A dream and a nightmare

To Lorong Sesuai, 43 km. When life hands you lemons, make lemonade. It rains this morning. Instead of cycling, I'm snoozing to get over two consecutive 12-hour workdays. I feel lethargic as I get up to cycle. After a few false turns, I reach my destination: the old Ford Motor Factory. Here, the British formally surrender to the Japanese and the 3-year nightmare begins for Syonan-to. The bitterness still lives, especially in Korea and China.

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Conspiracy theory

To Admiralty Road East, 34 km. You don't have to look to the US or UK for a conspiracy theory. It is here, in Singapore. Man and beast, they're out to get us cyclists. The kid who darts out in front of me. The two dogs walking a lady (and the beasts bark as I swerve past). The Mercedes driver who blithely cuts across my path at a junction. The taxi driver who reverses against the traffic flow and backs up towards me. Cycling just over 30 km. No. of close calls on the road: four

Sunday, December 04, 2005

Uphill search

To Lorong Sesuai, 53 km. It still stands in infamy and steeped in history as the place where the "title deeds" of one colonial power (the British) where handed to another (the Japanese). The Ford Motor Factory is where the British surrendered and signed over Singapore to the Imperial Japanese Army in 1942. I cycle up and find the memorial to the war dead, but there's no sign of the factory. Nor are there directional signs in the area, though there are ironically signs aplenty to the Ministry of Defence complex, which I'd have thought should be more hush hush. It's harder to find one factory than two elephants, along Mandai Road.

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Cat fight

Nov distance: 376 km

To Seletar Hills, 22 km. With a hiss and a snarl, the two caterwauling cats (one a Siamese) spill onto the road. I yell back and they back off. Cycling among the landed gentry is interesting, to see how the rich and famous live. But, to paraphrase, richness isn't having the most, but being able to be happy with the least.

Sunday, November 27, 2005

Overtaken

To Lim Chu Kang Road, 78 km. Another ride with the Singapore Women's Cycling Team. There are like four times more guys than girls, but I guess that's the way us guys are ... We take the Thomson route. The lead Thomson rider passes me. I surge ahead but flame out soon after reaching 48 km/h. The first peloton overtakes me, some passing real close. The second peloton passes me too; I guess they're going at 39 km/h. It turns out to be a solo ride for me but I don't mind that as it's a good ride. I've been wondering when it's time to oil my chain. The answer is obvious enough; when it squeaks. Wet lube lasts me for over a month but it's hard to clean. Dry lube dries up fast, but is easy to clean. Trade-offs; that's what life is about I guess. But some things are absolutes: chain should be lubricated!

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Stop and go

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 26 km. It's been ten days since I last cycled. On Sunday, I didn't even make it out the door despite waking up at dawn. Someone had told me: "If you have to ask whether you should ride, you shouldn't." So, I went back to bed. The only exercise I got was turning in bed. And that really helped to unclog - not my arteries, but my nose. I felt a lot better on Mon. When you stop, it sometimes helps you to go. Wisdom is knowing when to stop to go. I'm still sniffling a little, but when I sit on my saddle today, a smile flits across my face. For a while, office hard labour is forgotten. On the road, the incursions continue. A car crosses the line literally but veers away in time. As for the three walkers, they ignore me and I cross the line to veer away. Brushes with death on either side.

Sunday, November 13, 2005

Still not easy

To Lim Chu Kang, 77 km. I join Singapore Women's Cycling Team charity training ride for a hospital. Thinking it'll be an easy ride, I have soft tyres. As it turns out, I'm the sole mountain biker among the six who show up. Another roadie overtakes us. In a flash, I'm on his tail. He makes a rapid S-turn while I slow down and he drops me for good. While I stop to wait for the rest of my group, I see the the lead peloton of the Thomson ride shoot by. It's a sight to behold, compared to the middle group who come in twos and threes. I continue chasing roadies who pass by, until I'm winded. And hungry. The charity riders are still fresh and I drop further to the back.

Sunday, November 06, 2005

Easy? Not easy

To Rifle Range Road, 52 km. This morning's ride with Singapore Women's Cycling Team is called off because of rain. I decide to cycle solo anyway. It's supposed to be an easy ride. I venture to the end of Jalan Kampong Chantek and my heart leaps with joy at the sight of hills. And a bit of offroad too. And, for the first time, I find myself on Rifle Range Road. Sloping up and down, curving left and right. Exciting, and I'm not talking about women. I'm glad I cycle all the way to the end instead of turning back. Sometimes, success is just round the corner, if you hang on long enough. The hard ride isn't over yet. Along Lornie Road, a roadie in matching Bianchi togs passes me by. We exchange greetings and I crank away. 44 km/h, but the white man continues to pull away.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

Beautiful village road

To Jalan Kampong Chantek, 49 km. The name means "beautiful village road". Lining the road are triple-story bungalows, with floor-to-ceiling windows, spiralling balustrades, multi-car car porches and swimming pools. One house is so big, it has a sign stating which entrance to use. It is a quiet neighbourhood of landed gentry. One house is abandoned, with a gaping hole in the roof. I check out the former turf club. Now, it's largely the hoi polloi who come here. Then, there were landed gentry too. In life, there are the haves, the have-less and have-nots. It's a troubled ride; only when I come across two groups of roadies do thoughts of my work woes fall behind.

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Long ride around

Deepavali
To Lim Chu Kang Road, 72 km. It's a long ride. Not the distance, but the time taken: 8 hours. The six of us spend a long time sitting and chatting about bicycles, bikers and even what goes into Harvard Business Review. We cycle around Singapore - not round island (which I'd thought it was going to be), but just around. We lunch at Kranji Sanctuary (our first). This is the first time I cycle with MW and I play tour guide part of the way, riding beneath a glorious "Simpson's" sky. At Woodlands, I almost crash thrice. I could've met my Maker, or stare at the ceiling for the rest of my life. Singapore drivers ...

Sunday, October 30, 2005

Bird flew

Oct distance: 533 km

To Lim Chu Kang, 70 km. The plumage would make a cyclist proud: red and iridescent blue. The kingfisher was hanging out with egrets. I admire the egrets; how do they stay so white without detergent? How far have they flown? Where are they going? There's a flock of them, but none of them give me the answer. One of them takes flight - its wings spread out, its legs trailing behind. With one flap of its wings, it glides through the air at 30 km/h. Such majesty, yet, invisible viruses may befall it. The bird banks lazily perpendicular to my direction and it flies out of my life. The good thing about cycling alone is, I can savour such moments at my own pace. I can even wake up at my own time: an alarm-free day. Cycling beneath the little puffy white clouds against the clear blue sky like in "The Simpsons". I stop by a bikeshop; he charges me $5 to tighten my cassette. He spots a problem with my brake pad and fixes that too.

Sunday, October 23, 2005

Little pleasures, big blessings

To Lim Chu Kang, 63 km. There were four rides yesterday. I go for none, but think all weekend about one of them: a double American century. 320 km in less than 24 hours. I'm so drained. I wake up this morning, go back to sleep and cycle only after lunch. At Mandai, as I cycle the long stretch without stop lights, my mind wanders to the long days at work. I cycle into Kranji Sanctuary. A modern-day dinosaur (chameleon?) skittles across the road. Two vintage cars driven by vintage drivers ripple past my space-time continuum. An egret races ahead of me at more than 30 km/h. I blink as my extended wear lenses (first time I'm riding with them) suck the moisture from my eyes. A truck cuts me off. I wave my arm vehemently. Twice. Back home, I munch on a chocolate bar. Life's little pleasures. Life's big blessings.

Sunday, October 16, 2005

Right prediction, wrong prediction


To Mount Faber and Lim Chu Kang, 78 km. When I see the race list, I know who's going to win the NUS Cycling Club King of the Mountain time trial. I'm right. DC, reputedly Singapore's fastest guy on rollerblades, clocks 3 min 58 seconds up Mount Faber. "Doc" Chin clocks 4:09. I come in a second later, third among the nine mountain bikers. A crummy second and I could've been joint second. Still, it's my first ever time trial. I tag along with the gang for breakfast then head west with a handful of them. I think it won't rain, but I'm wrong. It dawns on me that the sky is getting greyer. Soon, it rains buckets. The diagonal rain soaks my soaks as I shelter at a bus stop at Lim Chu Kang. I head out when the rain lightens out, but it pours again. I shelter at Upper Thomson Road, with bikeshop man. He whips out a thick Shimano 2006 catalogue and gives me a critique. It looks like it'll not stop pouring. I sprint in the rain to keep warm; I feel like a goldfish being hosed. I puff my cheeks to blow air out so rain water doesn't get in. When the rain hits my lips, it stings. When it hits my bell, it rings. Somehow, the exertion makes my running nose clear up...
Photo courtesy of WQ Ong

Saturday, October 15, 2005

Old and sick

To Mandai Road, 22 km. I try to shake the sleepiness out of my head. The fastest moving part of my body is my running nose. I trundle out my bicycle on the eve of tomorrow's time trial up "Mount" Faber. All I'm looking for today is two sprints. My first sprint winds me. I'm about to do laps around Old Upper Thomson Road when I see a roadie ahead. Ah, motivation at last. I perk up and draw nearer, keeping a respectful distance away. Turns out to be a girl. Turns out she's going too slowly for me. I overtake and start sprinting, then turn back at the Mandai columbarium. I stop by a bikeshop. Bikeshop man says old folk with cold should use heart monitor, as it can signal heart problems better than feelings. Ah well, my heart is broken, I'd probably lose tomorrow. But then, I could cause an upset instead of being upset.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Same old thing

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 25 km. Week after week, it's the same old thing, going round Old Upper Thomson Road. Boring? Well, breathing is boring but one doesn't stop breathing for that reason. Not that it's easy to breathe today, with my running nose. What's really tedious is hearing specious comments from someone with a big ego. Also irritating is the not-so-smooth feeling as I turn my crank, despite having cleaned the drive train. Still, I get to blast past two roadies tonight though they have more than 100m headstart uphill. Oh yeah! And oh yeah, a few days ago, my bikelog website counter crosses the 10,000 mark. Thank you, readers!

Sunday, October 09, 2005

When the destination is worse than the journey

Sat-Sun 8-9 Oct:
To Bintan, Indonesia, 188 km. This is my first ride in Bintan, though not my first ride in Indonesia. The journey is great, but the destination where I spend the night is memorable for the wrong reasons. It's the low point of the ride, among the many high points including high hills and high fives with kids.

High fives
Day 1: Sat 8 Oct, Singapore - Trikora, Bintan, 107 km. I'm late but not dead, despite having had two motorbikes cut me off at one junction. On board the boat, I see the rain fall. Boat crewman refuses to let me out of the cabin to tend to my baggage. DH speaks to him in fluent Malay and the crewman turns friendly. But the kids enroute are naturally friendly without the need for banter. "Hello mister," they chorus. Some of the almost end up blocking the road with their hands outstretched. They look like they're trying to stop me. Then, it dawns on me what they're up to. I stretch out my hand. High five! Our palms connect and a girl smiles. Having cycled thousands of km in Malaysia, Thailand and Indonesia, this is a first! Also for the first time, I ride with a Camelbak (but I've yet to use the bladder that came with it; a Platypus is good enough for me).

At the Bintan jetty are two statues of Java rhinoceros. On the road, I see two raised horns coming towards me, from a rhinoceros beetle. The route to Trikora is hilly. Reminds me of the road to Mersing, except that the roads here are narrower and more winding. There are doggy dangers too; two of them rush out and run alongside, barking at me but ignoring our guide H. Perhaps they know him well enough; he navigates without map or compass and knows where the watering holes are.

While watering holes seem plentiful, food is less so. After a light lunch, we make do with fresh coconuts by the sea. Where I pick up some nasty sandfly bites. Also nasty is the shack I stay in. It's cheap (S$11 per person per night) and fairly clean. But there are holes in the plank walls and attap roof. And no soap, towel or blanket. I use my drinking water to wash my hands to remove my contact lenses. Dinner is pleasant enough as we ride a few minutes to a Chinese restaurant. After exercising our jaws eating, we exercise them debating God and an object of devotion: bikes.

Bedtime. The sea breeze blows open the door. I get up to latch it and sleep fitfully as dogs bark, cocks crow and motors run. The rough accommodation, which I'm unprepared for, means a rough night for me. The destination is worse than the journey.

Getting to Bintan: from Tanah Merah Ferry Terminal to Bandar Bentan Telant Ferry Terminal. Ferry ticket: about S$40 including S$5 for "cargo" (per bike).

Long wait home
Day 2: Sun 9 Oct, Trikora - Tanjong Pinang, Bintan - Singapore, 81 km My throat gets more sore through the cold, blanketless night. This is one ride I wish would end sooner than later. A light rain falls. When it stops, we start. We cycle over 60 km past lunchtime, subsisting on a light breakfast. Hills, hills, hills. My guardian angel(s) work overtime. Despite the narrow, winding roads, there are no close calls though traffic could've come crashing through the blind corners or over the hilltops. Traffic gets scarier in town as we shoot past junctions without traffic lights, with traffic coming from multiple directions.

The six of us sit for four hours, dining and waiting for the last ferry home. I fall asleep while the rest quaff beer. The ferry ride home is rough for me as my bike suffers rough handling from those in the smokers' corner astern. But no one adds to the first gash on its top tube, which it suffered yesterday.

What I learn: never take chances; pack bubble wrap to protect. And stow my bike perpendicular to the direction of boat travel.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Memory lapse

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 30 km. I do laps tonight. Round and round I go; after three laps, I can barely remember how many rounds I've gone. I will myself to do a fourth lap, then call it a night. The only interesting thing that happens is passing by a pack of cyclists going the other way. But there are a few scares; a pedestrian crosses the road, ignoring me bearing down with lights flashing. Another stands in the shadows, then pops out just as I pass. Ah, the technological challenges of cycling in Singapore. How do I see in the dark without infrared vision? How do I build a force field around me that allows wind in my face, yet protect me from those who seek to bring me down?

Sunday, October 02, 2005

Flower peeling mountain

To Mount Faber, 57 km. In Mandarin, the name of this hill sounds like "flower peeling mountain". But it's no mountain, just a hill. Going up at my own pace is fairly easy; what's hairy is wending around the tour buses disgorging somnambulist passengers. I go two rounds via Morse Road, two via Lower Delta Road and one loop round the top. I cycle home via pleasant Tanglin Road. The serenity is shattered by two people sitting in silence by the road, with a blown-up colour photo of a badly bruised face. A brute of a taxi driver bullies me, but this is more than made up for by many drivers who slow down instead of cutting me off at turns. A blustery wind blows. It rains leaves, twigs and branches, followed by pelting rain. Weatherman says it'll rain today, but I miscalculate; the sky looks dark, but I think it's because of my sunglasses! I pay for my folly by having to dry and oil my drive train. Bleah.

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Across the road

Sep distance: 409 km

To Sengkang, 30 km. It's long and lies across the road, with alternating bands of black and yellow across its body. I slow down when I see it and speed up when I pass it. But it's no speed bump. It's a snake, and a big long one at that! I cycle away from Old Upper Thomson Road with its dark shadows and cars parked in the shadows, towards the wide open spaces of Sengkang. Enroute, the ups and downs of Yio Chu Kang road are like the ups and downs of my life. After feeling down this morning, I feel up after watching Eric Khoo's Be With Me, thanks to the inspiring sight of a blind lady cooking. Tonight, I train for the NUS Cycling Club's so-called "King of the Mountain". Am I setting myself up for disappointment, to pit myself against much younger folk? Maybe it's hubris, maybe it's being curious, but I want to know where I stand. At Sengkang, I pass some stuff over to RebelXH and tell her about the movie to cheer her up. Or maybe it's to remind myself to cheer up.

Saturday, September 24, 2005

Biking or babysitting?


To Changi Village, 90 km. I'm supposed to be racing tonight, but couldn't form a team. So, CC asks me to help in a ride instead. I sign up as I thought it was a charity ride. But it isn't in aid of the needy. Not a good cause, but good grief. On the way to the start point, I'm almost whacked thrice, by an oblivious driver, a pedestrian and passengers getting out of a car. After a barebones briefing and sorting out some confusion, about 70 cyclists in four teams, sheperded by motly crew of SACA and other seasoned cyclists set off on a fitness club's midnight cycling ride. I'm Team B's sweeper. Feels like punishment. Fixing lights and adjusting bikes. Crawling at 10 km/h, looking after someone who's overcoming phobia after a crash. Lead rider tells me to let someone else look after her as I'm needed up front. As it turns out, I look after two girls, going at 12-20 km/h. At rest stops, we're given apples but no 100-plus! Well, the ride has its pluses. The weather is good and so is the company. They're suffering with aches in the butt and hands, but are in good spirits. "You saved us," they chirp at the end of the ride. Yeah, from a near collision with a car and another cyclist.
Photo courtesy of Caron C

Sunday, September 18, 2005

Weather-beaten or beating the weather?

To Lim Chu Kang, 80 km. The weather man is right today. It pours in the morning. Why cycle in the rain when I don't have to? If only life's choices are easier. How can I tell whether to brave a storm or hang around going nowhere? And who knows how long the storm will last? There's no weatherman in life to tell the weather; even if there was, he'd probably be wrong. The only one who's right all the time is the Man Who Makes The Weather. As I start cycling, part of me feels down and just want to curl up in bed. But the other part of me wants to seek out the sun to thaw. Rather than being weather-beaten today, I hit the road in the afternoon to beat the weather on my trusty steed. It's reliable, unlike people. A motorist almost runs me down. I yell aggressively and almost want to wave my fist as the driver brakes in time. But why should I let her ruin my mood? Perhaps my new pair of sunglasses (a gift) makes me look fierce enough. Just like that dog at Kranji that glares balefully at me.

No. of close calls on the road: two..

Friday, September 16, 2005

Little things mean a lot

To Sengkang Ave West, 37 km. I lose a fifth of my team at work. But someone says I'm in a good mood today. Well, I already have some angels on my team and now's the opportunity to rebuild, retool and renew. I also drop by Bike Boutique (before its official opening) and pick up a new pair of bikeshorts for $20. I get off earlier today, just after 7 pm. And I ride with the policegal. I hear her go "wow" at the Seletar "dam". Well, at least I bring a little happiness into her life today.

Sunday, September 11, 2005

Death and life

To Labrador Park and Anderson Bridge, 68 km.

Ride #1 A puffer fish puffs up to look fierce. But it's just puffery. When defeated, it's deflated. The impregnable fortress Singapore too, was defeated. Besides deflating British egos, there was death when the Japanese visited in World War 2. About 70 Togoparts bikers tour Labrador Park, Bukit Chandu and Hong Lim to commemorate the 60th anniversary of the end of Syonan-to, when Japanese colony reverted to British colony. Our guide Arnhem says if the US hadn't nuked Japan, some of us might not be around , as our parents mightn't have survived a longer Japanese occupation.

Ride #2 No one survives AIDS, but that shouldn't mean a living death for those with AIDs. I join a fundraising treasure hunt (a sideshow to Riding for Life's Kuala Lumpur-Singapore ride), with four teams of four cyclists each. We get one of the four checkpoints totally wrong, but all the AIDS questions right. My team is the first back, but we're ranked third, which is fine because third prize is better than first prize. Today's highlights: meeting Togoparts' moderators Arnhem, Wandie and Zishin. Being recognised by a fan with beauty, brawn and brains. Winning a Camelbak (the first time I own one).

Saturday, September 03, 2005

Actual speaks louder than words

Sat 3 Sep:
To Woodlands and Changi, 104 km. The weather report states that tomorrow will be awful for riding. So tonight, for the first time ever, I ride with the Road Riders. The ride brief states we'll cruise at 28-32 km/h with occasional bursts of speed. Actually, 28-32 was the occasional speed. The rest of the time, the four of us cycle at up to 40 km/h, led by a triathlete carrying a backpack who hopes to take part in Ironman one day. We blast by five groups of kids (up to a hundred in all) wearing "Bike Connection" t-shirts and other cyclists pass us in the opposite direction. We burn up the roads but there's smoke also from smoking breaks. I head for home after Changi Coast Road as I'm sleepy even at those speeds. It is already "tomorrow". And the only water coming down is sweat.

Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Choose your poison

Aug distance: 932 km

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 29 km. Three big meetings this week, one involving a multi-million dollar budget and two involving decisions that'll make the news. And more to come next week. All this leaves me breathless. To catch my breath, I go ... cycling. It's counter-intuitive, but much of life is like that. Like the tragedy of the commons. I cycle in a park, where pedestrians and cyclists are supposed to coexist, just like cyclists are supposed to coexist with motorised vehicles on the road. So, which is more lethal: collision with pedestrians or vehicles? But this cyclist looks out for pedestrians and assume they will be unpredictable. Whereas drivers don't care two hoots about riders, though they may deign to toot their horn in irritation. On this ride, two old men say "good evening" to me as I cycle past. Whereas a group of youngsters saunter in front of me though the light has turned against them.

Monday, August 29, 2005

Road kill

To Lim Chu Kang Road, 70 km. There are two Malaysia rides this weekend. I join neither, because of sleep deprivation. The slack ride I'd planned didn't work out as people couldn't make it or pulled out. But there's always the Thomson roadie ride. The Little Shepard Girl chats with me and says I'm brave to show up on my mountain bike. I admire her battle scars and tell her I came to see how many roadies I can pass today.

Sleep deprivation leads to hallucination. I imagine I'm in a warbird. How many road bike silhouettes can I paint below my cockpit "window"? Bringing up the rear, I have at least six confirmed kills as I catch with them at a traffic light. I pass perhaps another six who'd stopped at the Mandai Road petrol kiosk. Then I fly solo until a Trek passes me. I slip behind his slipstream and chalk up another two kills: the Trekkie looks into his victims' eyes and passes them. I pop out at a Choa Chu Kang petrol kiosk as my butt hurts like never before - this isn't follicularitis, it's muscle pain. No pain, no gain and this is my best ride yet with the Thomson roadies, with a max speed of 48.9 km/h. My drivetrain behaves itself, shifting smoothly and quietly. It's my first ride with them on my little flying Tank.

Thursday, August 25, 2005

Shock and awe

To Hyde Park Gate, 26 km. I'd flossed my sprockets, wiped my chain rings, scraped my jockey wheels, and wiped and lubed my new chain. Still, the chain declines to move up sprocket #5. Until I realise I've been turning the barrel adjuster the wrong way. Why am I so distracted? Because, after 18 years, I've found out what's happened to my former true love. She's married, with two kids aged 5 and 8, and a housewife since Oct 04. I know so, because today I saw her sister standing a few metres away in a hawker centre - a few metres that spanned 18 years. The shock to my system is so great, I'll need to reboot my heart. And this after a shock in the office today, when I see that things aren't they're said to be. Just like "Thomson Hills Drive" has no hills.

Saturday, August 20, 2005

Idle chatter

To Changi Coast Road, 68 km. There are slack rides - and idle rides. The former involves riding at a slack pace. The latter involves lots of waiting, chatting and plain idling. We idle at the SAF Yacht Club. Well, not all that idle as I keep an eye on our bicycles outside the premises. The powers that be decree that bicycles are not allowed into the vast expanse of the club. We chat about our mutual friends and our rides. Bikerboey (the last time I rode with her was in Aug 04) tells us about a night ride past a haunted house. It's creepy hearing that story even in broad daylight. Not that there was all that much daylight today. I'm caught in the rain at the start and end of the ride. And buzzed by the usual "drunk" Singapore drivers who are so incapacitated, they are incapable of signalling their intentions.

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

Little jaunt

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 22 km. I hit the road at 9.30 pm. If I can crank out some joy for myself at night after being gouged by a certain someone in the day, why not. My chain skips a little, but I seem to do better anyway since I'm going up the slopes on my big chain ring. Along the narrow winding road, I see an ambulance. Its engine is running, but the lights and siren are off. No bodies around. So why would the engine be running? Ah, the bodies must be inside the ambulance. Emblazoned on the sides of the vehicle: "Comfort Ambulance. For public use."

Saturday, August 13, 2005

Unchained melody

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 22 km. My old, trusty chain lies broken at my feet. I persuade bikeshop man that the chain is the problem. He changes the chain. I seem to be right; the chain shifts smoothly, compared to the old XT chain (HG93) which I've been using since 1 Nov 04. My new chain is LX (HG73), because I'm cheap. I even put up with a little chain skipping, since I don't want to change the cassette. I hope I don't rue my choice of chain; it's cheaper but there are mixed (mostly bad) reviews online. I go for a road test. Ah, silent service from the Hyper Glide. I probably could've gotten a cheaper price elsewhere, but I hope the few extra dollars I paid bought me high class skills.

Friday, August 12, 2005

Black death

Round island#9, 122 km. It's "Seventh Month" of the Chinese calendar. The month the gates of hell open. The month when mortals make offerings to appease the spirits. RebelXH tells me I'll be psychologically affected. I get goosebumps going past Singapore's biggest cemetary. At some stretches of Lim Chu Kang Road, the street lights are out. Two cyclists have died here. I look back to see if anyone is following. When I see white by the roadside, I look askance. I sing Jesus songs. At Kranji, I cycle in the middle of the road. Black death lurks in the shadows. Black shapes wait outside a gate. One shape inside the compound ducks under the gate towards me. It doesn't bark. I can hear it panting for my blood. I outrun it on my faulty drivetrain. All in all, I cycle past 10 dogs scattered throughout Kranji. I taunt those that ignore me. I take a break where a couple watches Hokkien karaoke DVD. On my little red Tank, I break my 2004 round island record. I was hoping to do it in 5, since roadies do it in 4. But I was wary of pushing too hard, lest I injure myself again (see 29 Jul entry).
Apr 2004 record: 6 hours, actual cycling time 5 hr 4 min, ave speed 24.2 km/h.
Aug 2005 record: 5 hr 25 min, actual cycling time 4 hr 49 min, ave speed 25.4 km/h. Includes time spent during four breaks and traffic lights.

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

Rising in the west, setting in the east

Sat 6 - Tue 9 Aug. To Batu Pahat, Mersing and Sungei Rengit, Johore, Malaysia, 545 km. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west, but we rise at Batu Pahat in the west and cross the spine of Johore to set down at Mersing in the east. It is the first time I've done three American century rides in as many days. And fully loaded at that. It is a ride where blood - and beer - flow.

Fully loaded
Day 1: Sat 6 Aug, Singapore - Batu Pahat, 162 km. We plan and hope, but plans can be smashed and hopes dashed. Some have hard power, some have soft power and some, no power. And that's the way life is, at work and at outside work. But I make it for this ride. The seven of us (Bike-Aiders and friend) head across the causeway, past the horrific jam that starts before 7 am. Ours is a multi-religious, multi-ethnic group, with diverse dietary requirements: halal and vegetarian food - and beer - are mandatory. Happy coexistence. I see another group of cyclists (with a Mercedes for a support vehicle). Turns out to include FP and DC. The last time we cycled together was in Apr 2003. This time, they're heading to Batu Pahat and Malaysia. Today is the first time my little red Tank is fully loaded. I think I'm having vertigo, but it turns out the seatpost rack is swaying from side to side. It is also the first time I'm using dry lube for my drive train. It collects gunk, but is easier to wipe off than wet lube. This is the first time I'm using a proper rack top bag instead of my makeshift ones. It's also the first time I try out another makeshift handlebar bag. Both perform superbly. Night stop: Garden Hotel.

Bloody broadside
Day 2: Sun 7 Aug, Batu Pahat - Mersing, 153 km. We start cycling just after 6 am. Lights twinkle like stars, but at waist height; if you lie down, bikelights would like like stars on the horizon. This is the first time I cross the spine of Johore. As the sun rises, my Tiger Balm turns liquid. My drive train squeaks like ecstatic mice, especially when I shift to the big chain ring. Not that I really need to; there are hills all the way from start to finish along federal trunk road #50. I wonder how I'd have fared on my Iron Horse. "Captain and Tenniel" surge ahead on their Kona bikes. They move together, with identical cranks, forks and socks. Both are swift on their sandals. Captain cycles with his backpack all day, all four days. It may have saved him from a bloodier experience when the "brigadier" side swipes him. Both are 57, born on the same month. The Captain tumbles, suffering abrasions. His saddlebag is sheared off. Drafting just behind, I evade a similar bloody fate. IA, who rides a superlight Cannondale road bike, whips out a well-stocked first aid kit.

During lunch, two locals chat with us. They advise us to get off the road by nightfall, when hunters lay branches on the roads and waylay passing traffic. They also warn us about cows (the four-legged variety) on the road and lightning strikes. During debrief, the "major" conducts a military-style "inquiry" into the bloody mishap. To compensate for the blood flow, beer flows. Night stop: Mersing Inn. Same hotel, same room even, as my first 1,000 km expedition. Except that then, the TV was working better. I clean and lube my drive train.

Hot and getting old

Day 3: Mon 8 Aug, Mersing - Sungei Rengit, 190 km. We set off before 6 am. I bring up the rear. IA's rear light is dazzling. Good thing I'm wearing my shades. Rising from the mist are the ghostly shape of trees, desperately seeking light. Passing drivers dim their lights as they pass us. In Singapore, this would be exceptional. As the day wears on, the route gets old. I'm geographically challenged, but I recognise places - this is the route of the Charity Bike N Blade in Mar 2005. A sign says Johore Bahru is only 60 km away, I'm tempted to go home. The sun burns and the day wears on. Captain and I make use of a woman - Tenniel. We draft her unabashedly. As I draft him and we sway like drunken sailors, I have a few near-collisions. After two hours of solid cycling uphill against the wind, we stop by the roadside to catch our breath and wait for the others. H asks: "Where are we?" IA replies: "Hell."

This ride ranks among the top 5 toughest rides I've been on. Three American century rides in as many days, fully loaded. Never before have I travelled so far in one day fully loaded; my previous single-day record was 186 km, from Taiping to Butterworth. Today's ride has us riding up interminable hills against the incessant wind. I take turns with the major to break the wind, going at 21-22 km/h. Our intent goes awry and we break up. As the major says, it's hard to ride slow. I cycle solo part of the way. A troop of monkeys cross the road; their chattering sounds like my drive train. A few mangled cats dot the road. My butt hurts, it would've been worse if I hadn't alternated my shorts to vary the pressure points. I learn today to stand ever so slightly on my pedals and still pedal over bumps on the road.

It is hot. "Getting old, getting old," goes the chant in my head. I don't want to ride this route again. But before I know it, I'm in "the zone". The heat doesn't matter; the wind is in my face. My drive train falls silent. A schoolgirl stands at a bus stop, sheltering from the sweltering heat. I smile at her. She smiles sweetly beneath her tudung and nods.

Lunch is at Sedili Kechil, where the "inn keeper" gives us excellent service. The table groans with food. We groan in turn, appetites satiated.

We reach our destination around 7 pm; first time I've seen rush hour traffic in this quiet little place. Night stop: Tai Hoe Hotel. I check my drivetrain again; the problem now seems to be with sprocket #5. But my seatpost and handlebar height are right. And the different brand of contact lenses surpass my expectations; no discomfort for 14 hours, contrary to the negative reviews from two contact lens practitioners.

No rush, no fuss
Day 4: Tue 9 Aug, Sungei Rengit - Singapore, 40 km. One snores, the other tosses and the third is sleep-deprived. I rise to a lazy morning. Sungei Rengit is sans city madness. No rush, no fuss. A driver waits without honking as we saunter past. At a shop, the proprietor smiles as I watch him and his Indonesian worker make Chinese pastries, stuffing each with goodness, compressing the fillings rather than skimping. The brigadier sits down and soaks in the atmosphere.

In line with the laid-back setting, today's ride should be a relaxed one. I'm mistaken. Some of us city folk cycle furiously above 30 km/h towards the jetty. The left pannier bag drops off one bike. Had it been the right one, I would've rushed right into it. Enroute, I meet not mishap, but some alumni from Charity Bike N Blade and the NUS centennial ride. At the jetty, a long line of Indonesians await entry into Malaysia. As they wait to start work, we head home too, to work the next day. At the Singapore arrival hall, a policeman takes my bike from me. The way he props it against the wall suggest he's a cyclist too. He returns my bicycle to me, remembering which bike is mine. Another policeman slides the exit door wider so we can egress. How thoughtful. How friendly. How Malaysian.

And thus ends another puncture-free ride. Thanks to the brigadier who organised the ride and navigates over 500 km without needing map or compass. And only one wrong turn.

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

Shifty business

To Upper Thomson Road, 28 km. The night is cool and misty. The altocumulus clouds hang in the night sky, catching the lights of this brightly-lit island. The jungle is silhouetted against the night sky, while the reservoir water is black and placid. I blunder upon a couple on the road and they bark at me, mocking the sign stating that all dogs must be leashed. It's their owners who should leashed. Sheesh. Anyway, I have shifty business on my mind: will my cleaned and lubed chain behave itself on the sprockets? They do. So the kung fu master (see 31 Jul entry) was right. The problems is with the bicycle frame, not the drive train. After all, I've used the same filthy drive train for thousands of km on my old frame without fuss. The downpour in Johore (see 19-24 Jul entry) must've clogged up the works, exacerbating the shifting. As in life, performance depends whether your stuff is well-soiled or well-oiled.

Sunday, July 31, 2005

Time with the master

Jul distance: 962 km

To Upper Thomson Road, 25 km. When there's an intractable problem, I visit the "kung fu" master. My chain and sprockets aren't getting along after my rear derailleur "drowned" during a downpour on my way to Kuala Lumpur. The bikeshop man in Seremban, Malaysia, says my rear d is no longer springy. Kung fu master disagrees. He says the rear d cable has a steep angle in it - poor design of lug position on the frame. He tries to swap the cable positions, oils the cable, fiddles with the barrels and teaches me how to do the same. Other solutions: get a riser bar, or grip shift. It's puzzling why the problem arises only after the drowing. Perhaps a dirty chain has aggravated the problem. Master charges me $3. The man in Seremban had charged me RM3. Which what that what costs $1 in Singapore may cost RM1 in Malaysia - eg food, beverage and groceries.

Friday, July 29, 2005

Limping home

To Changi and Lim Chu Kang, 108 km. Broken bone, broken heart and broken spirit are bad, but broken record is good. Since I'm reasonably fit (having come back a few days ago after riding to Kuala Lumpur) and I have a rather new toy (my little red Tank), I try to break my 6-hour round island (120 km) record. I start cycling furiously at 35 km/h and above. Changi Coast Road is alive with cyclists. "Yes, brother," one calls out to me. My left hamstring hurts. I stop at Kallang to stretch, my first break after cycling two hours. It is too late. The pain gets worse. At the rate I was going halfway through the ride, I could've completed my ride in five hours. After Jurong, I abandon my quest, as my speed drops below 25 km/h - too slow for record breaking. Adjusting saddle height no longer made a difference. And I'd thought that after cycling 400 km to Kuala Lumpur, I'd gotten my seat height just right. I "limp" home, sometimes pedalling with one leg. Still, it's a momentous occasion. My Tank has covered 1,000 km within a month.

Sunday, July 24, 2005

Century ride

Tue 19 Jul - Sun 24 Jul
To Kuala Lumpur, Selangor, Malaysia, 454 km. There are century rides and there is this ride that takes place after 100 years, to commemorate the founding of National University of Singapore (NUS) in 1905, in what was then Malaya. Hence this Centennial Cycling Event to Universiti Malaya (UM) in Kuala Lumpur by 26 cycling students, staff and alumni, four Red Cross first-aiders and several university officials.

Soaking up the fun
Day 1: Tue 19 Jul, Singapore - Batu Pahat (Johore), 162 km. On every bicycle ride, I've been able to pick up my bag and go. But not today. Where did I put my sunblock? But I needn't have bothered. It rains buckets for hours in Johore, so much so that my sprockets are gunk-free despite wet lube. And I'd waxed my frame too ... We're soaked. It's cold, I'm shivering and our bladders are full (and I don't mean Camelbaks).

Unlike the weather, the Malaysian authorities are warmer. We have a full-scale police escort, complete with six motorbikes and two jeeps, who met us halfway at the Causeway. For the rest of the ride, the police are with us. Though their numbers vary from state to state, their work is the same: to block traffic at junctions and sometimes even oncoming traffic on the other side of the road. While we don't have to brake for traffic, we have to brake uphill and downhill as we travel at the pace of the slowest cyclists. But it's just as well. I've only had 3 hours' sleep. Was it excitement or work stress?

The mouse that roared
Day 2: Wed 20 Jul, Batu Pahat - Melaka (Melaka), 102 km. This ride is my little red Tank's first foray onto foreign soil (its baptism of fire and water). Other machines on the road are road bikes but most of us are on mountain bikes, including an Ellsworth, Element, the ubiquitous Giant, Wheeler and a cranky Montana with a crank that comes off.

The police orchestrate a one-two manoeuvre among us depending on road and traffic conditions; one finger means single file. Besides the police outriders beside us, we seem to have picked up a mouse with a really loud squeak. Someone says the squeak is from my bike. And so it is. I'm in denial; after all, I'm on a newly set-up bike. The squeak is infernal and gets louder. With so many moving parts, where can the darned mouse be? After experiments on the move, the problem seems to get worse when I shift to my big chainring. Further detective work isolates the problem with the rear derailleur as the chain declines to shift down from certain sprockets. The bike gets its first scratches too - it is gouged twice along the chainstays. That's fine when we're riding on the flats (28-30 km/h) but what about the hills? At the hotel, I try to fix the problem.

Animal farm
Day 3: Thu 21 Jul, Melaka-Seremban (Negeri Sembilan), 89 km. With my drive train problem, I give up my position behind the two lead riders CYC and DF (President NUS Cycling Club and Team Manager). It turns out to be more fun at the back - just like in school. We have more room to play at the back: we snap photos and pass sweets around, as the margin of safety is greater than in front, where we're hemmed in front and back. As the pack is afflicted by the "rubber band" effect, I get the chance to do some sprints while another old-timer practices hands-free cycling.

Going uphill, one of the cyclists drifts far behind the pack. I ride alongside, telling him how to shift his gears, then I shoot off downhill at 54 km/h. Further on, the rider takes a swig from his waterbottle and swipes the rider beside. A chain reaction occurs, taking down a total of four riders. A spoke breaks. A close encounter between skin and chain ring results in blood pouring down a shin, splattering over a shoe and soaking up the sock. The drink rider spits out blood. We stop for the Red Cross to patch up the victims. TLZ swings into action, fixing their fallen machines, including removing the broken spoke.

My rear derailleur misbehaves badly; it refuses to come down after shifting. The road gets more hilly; we crawl along at 11 km/h; our slowest yet. It's a funereal pace, with us dressed in black and white, and vans behind us. A traffic cop asks: "All boys? Any girls? Just one? Terrible!" The girl, who's name is "forever young" in Latin, is up in front. She's the carrot, says someone, for us to ride faster. And that would make us donkeys. And joining us at one point was a herd of stampeding cows. Sacred cows they are not; scared cows they are. The rider in front slows down and I jam my brakes, skidding in the process. Good thing the beef veers and runs parallel to us, then turn into an adjoining field.

At Seremban, a relatively large town, I drop by three bikeshops. The third is the most promising, with photos of mountain bikers. He adjusts my rear derailleur but I'm still picky. He removes the cable from the casing, sprays WD40 into the latter and then uses an air hose. Still not good enough. He says my rear d is old and asks if I want a Deore, which is all he has. Sorry, no sale. For his labour, he asks for RM3.

Kamikaze dog
Day 4: Fri 22 Jul, Seremban-Kuala Lumpur, Selangor, 88 km. The talk of the day is of "mother" and "grandmother", as in "the mother of all hills". How bad is bad? Taking no chances, I ask for nasi goreng, tambah nasi" for lunch. This is hungry, back-breaking work as the small of my back aches. I've got my seatpost height right but what else needs changing?

Up ahead, DF pushes a newbie. Literally, with a hand on the latter's back, as both ride upwards. He aint' heavy, he's my brother? I go downhill at 60.3 km/h. What a pity, my 2004 record of 61.0 km/h still stands, but rules are rules: no overtaking the lead rider ... We stop at Semenyih Dam for photos. It is hot. When we wear white, it rains. When we wear dark blue, the sun beats down. It didn't help that some of the vans got lost for almost an hour, which means the sun is high when we ride.

On the flats, we amble along at 22 km/h until the newbie drops out. Then comes the "mother" of the hills along the road from Kuala Langat to Kuala Lumpur. I ride up to snap photos, then tear downhill. I try again to break my speed record. I'm at 55 km/h when a black dog strolls across. I yell at it. We stop again for photos. There is some jeering at the "geisha".

As one group of policemen hand us over to another, we give them three cheers, led as usual by sweeper DC. At Kuala Lumpur, some drivers ignore the traffic police and cut into our path. So we form a "bike bus" and take up an entire lane in what is the start of rush hour, around 4.30 pm. I slip in behind the bike leaders. They "high five" each other as we cycle into the hotel driveway. I ask them how they feel. Overjoyed? Anticlimax? They say they are relieved. It's an anticlimax for me. The mother of all hills has osteoporosis. To think I ate so much and saved calories! The oldest cyclist in the group doesn't think much of it either. But for most of the others, it's probably the ride of their life. As for me, I don't expect to have a police escort for my bike rides on foreign soil ever again.

Intensity with proximity
Day 5: Sat 23 Jul, Kuala Lumpur, non-biking day. At the simple gift exchange ceremony between NUS and UM officials, the loudest cheers are for CYC and DF. The latter somehow picked up some unwelcome bloodsuckers. He reckons the bed bugs were Seremban-bred. We have a bird's eye view of the boy's floorball game, which is a more civilised way of combat. Why shed blood with battle axes and projectiles? Sticks, a plastic ball, rules of engagement, a referee and linesmen would do. When the girl's game begins, I trade the bird's eye view for an eye level perspective. Distance breeds detachment, whereas intensity is heightened with proximity. At eye level, the pace of the game is more evident. We leave before the game is over, for lunch and mall crawling. What does one do on non-biking day? Read bike magazines of course and devour even the advertisements. Yummy. I also visit prison, where someone scrawled "5 star hotel" on the outside.

Heavy metal
Day 6: Sat 24 Jul, Kuala Lumpur-Singapore, 13 km. My room mate and I talk about riding and riders. I do a bit more mall crawling, then board the bus to Singapore. My precious machine is tucked at the back of the bus; everyone else has two seats assigned to their bikes. The bus driver holds his head as metal clashes against metal when we carry our bikes on board. I cycle home after we debus at Adam Road. And thus ends another adventure, again without a scratch or puncture.

Sunday, July 17, 2005

Lapping it up

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 39 km. The Padre (who has abandoned his Church of the Knobby Tyres) and some Precision Cycling Team members pass me by, and those are the high points of the ride. Round and round I go, for five boring laps. Perhaps I'm a hypochondriac, but do I imagine a backache and hamstring pain? I follow the example of Mr Millimetre, Lance Armstrong. It seems he tweaks his bicycle mm by mm. And that's what I do to my seat. We'll see how it goes, on the ride to Kuala Lumpur. I've waited one year for this.

Saturday, July 16, 2005

Taking it easy

To Mandai and Seletar, 50 km. I ease myself onto my bicycle gingerly, still feeling the strain of a sore throat and food poisoning. The thought of going around in circles at the Old Upper Thomson Road circuit drives me off towards the wide open spaces of Mandai and Seletar "dam". Cycle I must, to see how my saddle position fares. But it's hard to tell unless I'm up against the roadies. My bicycle is a few grams heavier anyway, thanks to grease to stop my seatpost creaking. The Dura Ace grease is courtesy of bikeshop man.

Sunday, July 10, 2005

Last among the first


To Changi and Bukit Timah, 112 km. The last training ride for the National University centennial ride. Over 20 of us, comprising undergraduates, staff and alumni, cycle in two groups, with me in the first. As we speed along, a police car pulls us all over. "Ride in single file," say the guys in blue. But for some reason, motorists prefer to pick off single file riders. Which is how some bikers have died. I guess that's why even fish, fowl and other fauna travel in packs. But man's law prevails over the law of nature. As the day wears on, I fizzle out. Overheating (I'm the only one in the dark blue team jersey that soaks up the sun) and lack of sleep mean I bring up the rear now and then during the last legs, despite speeds of over 40 km/h. Though I start well, it counts for not. It ain't how you start, it's how you finish. Rain cuts short the ride. One roadie says road bike brakes work less well when wet compared to mountain bike (MTB) brakes. If this is so, all the more reason I'm glad my new frame is an MTB.
Photo courtesy of Keith N

Saturday, July 09, 2005

"Ride like lightning, crash like thunder"

To Clementi, 35 km. For an hour, Dr P Tan talks non-stop about cycling-related injuries arising from accidents, overuse and environment. A painful and sometimes deadly subject goes down better when it's laugh-a-minute. After the medical talk comes the route briefing for the National University centennial ride to Kuala Lumpur. After a year of training, the journey is about to begin.

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

Swiftly with the slickies

To Fort Road, 30 km. I make my rare guest appearance at the Wed night rides. There's seven of us, only two familiar faces. It's a mystery of life, how people come and go. Another mystery is how things change so much. Like they guy who once rode a Litespeed and now, a Martini. Everyone is on slicks and one guy on a mountain bike leads the pack with his aerobars. We cycle in the low 30s but when I break for home, I ride over 40 km/h. Number of near misses: 2.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Easy on Easton

To Mt Faber and Kranji, 109 km. Several firsts today. First group ride on my Red Tank and my first century ride on it. First time I do more than one lap up Mt Faber. It's easy on with a racing frame and Easton tubing. After five laps (during which a Malaysian registered bus almost pulverises my as it overtakes), It's almost sacrilege to say so, but I should've dumped my Iron Horse frame a long time ago. With the new frame, a burden has been lifted from me. Swift acceleration, higher speed and gear to spare. Two riders overtake me, but they're half my age. I cycle solo to Kranji to get to know it better, adjust the saddle height and position along the way, then head home.
Photo courtesy of Daniel F

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

Getting acquainted, reprise

Jun distance: 368 km

To Mandai Road, 33 km. Bikeshop man fixes my rear derailleur and I'm off on another test flight. Riding a bike is like flying. A bike has a cockpit, just like aircraft. We navigate by the seat of our pants and use aerospace grade materials. And we soar through the air, with minimal contact except at the saddle and (not always) handlebars and pedals. Test is successful. Despite mushy tyres and heavy shoes, there is noticeable improvement in acceleration and speed. Tank is 2 kg lighter and I reach 37-40 km/h easily. The Easton frame and racing geometry are proving their worth. Still, it remains to be seen how I will fare against real life roadies. 1,000 km rides. And offroad with a rigid aluminium fork.

Monday, June 27, 2005

Getting acquainted

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 29 km. "Click click." The sound of cleats in clipless pedals. The beginning of thrills without spills. I start getting acquainted with my little Red Tank. While I'm a little sad to part with my old, faithful, trusty and rusty Iron Horse, my Tank is nippy. Twitchy even. I persuade bikeshop man to lower the handlebars. That's better. I do the circuit at the former car race track. There are other cars there, parked by the roadside. I suppose, like me, the car occupants have their pulse racing and sweat dripping. The difference is, I'm riding my bike. I stop a few times to tweak my cockpit until it is just so. Rear derailleur isn't behaving itself though. And Tank needs getting used to. At a traffic light, I almost fall beside a police car. And, as if they know I'm on a brand new frame, a few pedestrians and another cyclist buzz dangerously close to me.

Saturday, June 25, 2005

Finally, the end


To Yishun Central 1, 33 km. My home feels empty. The spot where she stands in the kitchen waiting for me is empty space. It feels funny without her. After almost 22,000 km, my Iron Horse is retiring. Because it's tiring to have to keep changing threaded forks that get worn out; I've worn out the threads of two in 3.5 years. After visiting 11 shops in the past few months (excluding two that were closed and including some on-line), I finally decide what's worthy of the memory of my Iron Horse. I see it hanging on a wall in Yishun. It feels good, it's the right top tube length, but it's white. I see another one nearer home. It's red, and the price of additional components sounds right too. Bikeshop man says it's a better buy than another horse. A kid with a new Iron Horse admires my retro one. I walk home to my empty kitchen. Bye bye, horsey.

Thursday, June 23, 2005

Last ride that never was

To Tanjong Pagar Rd, 29 km. Question: what's worse than not having money to buy something? Answer: when you have money but can't buy anything. Today's ride is supposedly the last rite for my old bike. But bikeshop man declines to sell me a Jamis frame. The closest size he has is 1" too long. Insufficient standover height, and the bike will wobble when going downhill, he says. Second bikeshop sells Voodoo, but even Buffy the Vampire Slayer is creepy, so no bike that proclaims "practitioner of black magic" for me. Third bikeshop doesn't have Iron Horse in my size.

Sunday, June 19, 2005

Long, hard and high

To Kranji and Mount Faber, 102 km. Today's universty training ride is the longest and hardest I've ridden for the centennial ride preparation. Never before have there been so many roadies (at least five, or a quarter of the group size) and they ride a mean pace. This ride is also the highest we've ever climbed, to Mount Faber. I like it long and hard, pushing man and machine to the limit, against generally younger men on more sophisticated racing machines. Two of them wear track shoes and wear me down. I guess I've decided what frame to get now; one that's light and which will perform well. No straight-gauge tubing. Goodbye, Iron Horse ...

Saturday, June 18, 2005

Window shopping

To Still Road, 50 km. I visit three bikeshops today, looking for frames. There aren't many exotic frames about but those I see are nice and have nice price tags too. It's interesting is how quotes vary from shop to shop. Labour costs range from $0 to $60. Cable prices vary as much as three times. All in all, it'll cost between $200 - $400 on top of the price of the frame, for headset, seatpost ... some of which are thrown in free. Of course the $400 tag is quoted by the shop that charges for everything. Still, I learn something from that bikeshop man; he says my current bicycle is in "racing" position.

Sunday, June 12, 2005

Back in the saddle


To Airport Road, 92 km. I'm back in Singapore and back in the saddle. Harvard is better for cycling. There are more cyclists and bike posts on the pavements for locking bikes. Even the weather is better. Well, I have to make do with where I live. This week's NUS training ride is at Paya Lebar Airport: runway cycling. I go three rounds. I try to draft the Singapore cycling team but they deploy their drag chutes. There are few roadies today, but some mountain bikers give me a good run, especially one with a 1668 number plate. I also see bikers from Wheels are Turning, cycling association and togoparts. Alano offers me his rigid fork, which I grab. But alas, it doesn't fit. Darn, either I get a fork custom-made, or a new frame ... Too bad I didn't win a bicycle or anything for that matter in the lucky draw. This is the fourth consecutive year where I've cycled on the runway and go home with just the goody bags.
Photo courtesy of Siva

Sunday, May 29, 2005

Riding upstream

May distance: 565 km

To Clementi, 38 km. I was wondering which jersey I should be wearing to keep cool in the afternoon heat, but I needn't have worried. In mere minutes, the sky turned dark. Now I know why rain is called "shower". Riding up Lornie Road, the pouring rain gushes down the side of the road. It's as if I'm cycling up stream. For all my trouble of cycling 1 hour in the rain, it turns out the training ride was cancelled. No one told the six of us who showed up until one of us called half an hour later. We should've stayed home snug as a bug in a rug. Since I'm already on the road, I stop at a high-end bikeshop. Bikeshop man looks at my bicycle. "I've never seen an Iron Horse on the road for a long time," he says.

Sunday, May 22, 2005

Trashed

To Changi, 91 km. Another university training ride. This time there are a few more new faces compared to last week, but still a far cry from the targetted 40. We head for East Coast via West Coast. East Coast is jammed with cars and people. Instead of taking a break, I cycle for home via Changi. A roadie passes by and I sit on his tail at a humane 35 km/h. He peels off and I'm alone again, but not for long. A mud splattered guy shoots past me; he's so splattered, I can't make out what make of bike he cycles. He thrashes me, speeding up Loyang Avenue on knobbies and a filthy drive train. And I'm on my slicks ... My headset is trashed too; it gets loose after a few bumps on the road. The long term solution will set me back at $700, for a new frame, fork and seat post, since spares for 1" frames are hard to come by. I stop by a bikeshop for a look. A girl asks me how to attach a light to her helmet. I tell her, then move on. A bus cuts in front of me. Like a rag to a bull, I race with the bus, leaping ahead at 46 km/h.

Sunday, May 15, 2005

Back on the road again

To Clementi, 84 km. The National University's centennial ride to Kuala Lumpur is on again, after going nowhere since Feb. Today is the first training ride since the organiser left the university. There's just a dozen of us, the lost momentum is not surprising. I wonder if they can rustle up 40 cyclists now. What we lack in numbers today, we make up for in speed. There are two roadies with us and we tear up Mandai road, going downhill at over 50 km/h, including the giant on a full-suspension Giant. There's another guy on a steel rigid: D. He, too, is looking for a new frame. I try out a 17" Giant; it's too big for me, but the next size down is 14".

Saturday, May 07, 2005

Farewell that never was

To Mandai, 40 km. I remember helping to deliver a crate of oranges to him just before Chinese New Year in the early 1990s. Yesterday, former President Wee Kim Wee was cremated. Today, I cycle to the columbarium in black and white to pay my last respects. But that was not to be; there are so many blocks and so many with flowers, I don't know where to go. Unlike the usual Chinese cemetary, the columbarium, with the sound of gurgling water, feels peaceful. I don't get to say goodbye and reluctantly cycle away in the night. The first time I went to a president's funeral was in 1981; Dr Benjamin Sheares' sister had taught me. He was an old boy of the school too. As if my weekend isn't bad enough (I work tomorrow), I get chased by dogs too.

Monday, May 02, 2005

Oldies are goodies

Sat 30 Apr - 2 May
To Sedili Besar, Johore, Malaysia, 312 km. Old friends (old among my bike pals anyway) on old bicycles on old familiar roads, cycling to a new place (for me anyway) is the way to fond memories.

Day 1: Far from the maddening crowd
It's been four months since I last toured with non-roadies. Today's ride has mountain bikers, touring bike riders and one solitary roadie, all from Bike Aid. It feels good to be the lead rider for a change, compared to cycling with the roadies. We're on a pincer movement towards Sedili Besar, which I've never been to. Eight of us head across the causeway. Another eight go by sea to Tanjong Pengelih then ride north.

Sedili Besar is close, yet so far from the maddening crowd. Away from city lights, the stars seem brighter and nearer. At the Sedili Kechil ferry point, a little girl cradles a little kitten in her hands. In a coffeeshop hangs a photo of the King (royalty, not Elvis). All over the little village, people sit and chat. This is the life.

Also special are the bikers and their bikes; among my group are three retro steel steeds: a Heron, a Bridgestone XO3 and my Iron Horse (of course). As if to protest my treasonous thoughts about changing my bike, two inner tubes blow, including one of my spares. It's a protest with some heart, as the blowout happens after I reach the Le Club hotel.

Day 2: Sleep, then speed
The seafarers head for home in early morning, while I sleep over 10 hours to catch up on a few weeks' sleep deficit, then have a long, languid breakfast. Three of us cycle to Tanjong Lemang while the other five bask at Jason's Bay. RA pretends his Heron is a single-speed and cranks up a mean pace. I too, ride at my own pace and admire DH with his canvas shoes and semi-slick tyres, powering away. They get by with no lunch, while I stuff my face - again.

Day 3: On the road with roadies
I cycle at my own pace, comforted by the thought there are others on the road. As I stand and wait, some familiar faces streak by - roadies. I cycle with the stragglers part of the way, then rejoin the others.

Tech note I've been thinking about kicking roadie butt by getting a road bike, but this ride reinforces my decision to stick to a mountain bike. It's more versatile. And I outpace some roadies anyway even when fully loaded, as two roadies ride at sub-roadie speed in the scorching heat to Tanjong Pengelih for the boat ride home.

This ride is done with a reset bike computer. It seems to have "hung" just like some !@#$ desktop computer and I wipe out the hard-earned 20,000 km on it as I reset it to 0.