No loss of skin or blood, but loss of face

Sat-Tue 12-15 Mar
To Mersing, Johore, Malaysia, 478 km. This is my first ride where I raise funds for charity. Over four days (with one rest day), I suffer no loss of skin or blood, but lose my face somewhat no thanks to my erratic performance. While I manage to keep up sometimes with the main peloton, I'm also trashed by the roadies, and scared by in-line skaters (bladers) ... and newbies.

Little sheperd girl

Day 1: Sat 12 Mar, Singapore - Mersing, 187 km
While I've been a paying participant / volunteer in charity rides before (Project Care in Sep 02, Cyclethon in Jun 03 and Cycling for Cancer) in Oct 03, this is the first time I actually canvass funds. Having taken other people's money, I'm anxious to do a good job. I even wax my bicycle. I have barely four hours of fitful sleep and ride off for the start point with my baggage around 4.30 am. This is some kind of personal record - the earliest I've been up for a ride.

I try to snatch some sleep at the start point but sleep eludes me. There's a hive of activity at the site of the new St Andrew's Mission Hospital (SAMH), which we've raised almost $90,000 for (excluding accounts receivables - pledges made but uncollected - and before expenses). I check out the bicycles; the most high end is probably RM's; a carbon Trek with Campy groupset. Mine is probably the oldest bicycle. A tenth are on mountain bikes; the rest are roadies.

A pastor prays for our safety before the bishop flags us off around six. The way the 35 cyclists and 16 bladers spread out on the way to Changi Ferry Terminal is a precursor of the days ahead. At Tanjong Belungkor ferry terminal, our baggage goes up a bus. I cycle with the roadies towards Rest Point 1, 54 km away. Good grief, they don't stop at all for two hours. I fall back like a recalcitrant lamb. A Precision Cycle Racing Team member, BY, slows down for me to draft her until I catch up with the peloton. She sheperds me a few times, though I ask her to go ahead and leave me alone to my misery. I drop out at the checkpoint to stuff my face with a box of sandwiches and guzzle water, and watch the roadies set off. When the last cyclists (including the newbie girls) arrive, I set off on my own.

I stop by at a restaurant to rest. A monkey tries to open my saddlebag. The "mischief" continues when I see the girls arrive at the restaurant. "Ride with us, we ride slowly," one of them says. Having heard their siren song, I extend my break. The last rider arrives. I extend my break further. Then we cycle.

The route takes us through what the organisers call "moderately steep undulations". I call it *expletive deleted*. Most of the girls overtake me. I gasp. I've no little sheperd girl this time to help me, and I fail to overtake them. They are still chirpy at Rest Point 2. I'm so drained, I need help to open my two sandwich boxes. I leave ahead of the girls, which counts for nothing since they overtake me again. There's no mercy on the way to Mersing. I struggle to close the gap through the headwind, cutting corners along the way, then maintain a small lead to Mersing, 44 km away.

For the first time ever, I have a real massage, courtesy of SAMH's Dr M. My calves have been causing me pain on the last 20 km; once, I turn my bike into a scooter as I cramp. Ooooh, Dr M is good. I don't tell him about my weird "injury" though (I bite my lips earlier when they got caught between my teeth and waterbottle spout as I drink, then go over a bump). Tonight is also the first time ever when I'm not allowed to keep my bike with me as I sleep. Not that I get much of it; one of us (three to a room) snores as loudly as a bus.

Scorched earth

Day 2: Sun 13 Mar, Mersing - Desaru, 153 km
The sun is high and so is the temperature. I cycle solo for 100 km. I draft my shadow and the shadow of my head is smack between my knees. The aftermath of brush fires blackens the road on either side. Wisps of smoke still rise from them. I run out of songs in my head and play an endless loop - as endless as the road stretching ahead. I see the shadows of birds flitting overhead, but am too tired to turn my head to look at them. I guess they are vultures; it seems they know when something is about to drop dead. Wearing my yellow jersey, I resemble an egg sunny side up. Desaru should be renamed Desertru. To amuse myself, I play "name the roadkill". But some are just too minced and gory to look at.

The day begins with its own ups and downs. I cramp during the pre-ride stretch, then keep pace with the peloton all two hours to Rest Point 1. This time, I don't need the services of the little sheperd girl, and set a personal record: 30.8 km/h average speed on my cyclocomputer. I also (almost) have a high speed crash, when the guy in front brakes. I jam my brakes and skid. The fastest woman cyclist in Singapore, CL, asks if I'm ok. Yeah, just scared. I see a dog ahead and yell to warn the peloton, then ring my bell furiously. The roadies don't cycle with bells. One doesn't even ride with a wallet. They are so aerodynamic and light, while I have my camera, food, chainbreaker, spare chain links and other assorted goods. At the rest point, I bid goodbye to the roadies as I want to ride without pressure.

But pressure overtakes me. I hear voices and think the sun has baked my brains. I look behind - it's the bladers. I don't want to be overrun and join the roadkill, so I speed up. The voices come closer. I can't hear what they're saying but I strive to keep my butt out of their reach. They pass me as I stop for lunch. They eat and rest between their 30 km relays. As I find out later, they were merely enquiring about my health. They've been great; whenever their van passes me (to drop off the next team in the relay on the road ahead), they cheer me on. When I pass their van, they offer more cheers, even drinks and route advice.

Also great are the support crew, all volunteers. At the rest stop, one of them flags me down while the other takes my bicycle, takes my bottle, then sniffs its contents to determine what liquid to pour in. There's ample supply of water, 100-Plus and sandwiches (which we have for breakfast, lunch and breaks throughout all riding days).

A couple of youths try to scare me, buzzing past me on their motorbike and glaring as they pass, but I'm too stoned to be scared. The other road users are simply sublime.

I arrive at the hotel around 2.45 pm to cheers. Like yesterday, I'm the first mountain biker to arrive. Batch#1 arrived around 12.35 pm, batch#2 around 2 pm. One of the lead riders calls it quits, with an injured knee. (A few other cyclists suffer road rash during these four days; one was stationary, the others were crashes at varying speed. Yesterday, a couple of cyclists go up the support bus, but are back on the road today.)

I surrender myself to Dr M's tender ministrations. The "hospital" is packed with bikers, bladers and hangers-on who eavesdrop.

The conversation with Dr M (as recounted by newbie gal who refuses me a "tow line" and gets tekan in turn on the uphill with headwind towards Sedili on Day 4.)
Dr M: "Yadder Yadder..bad knee...yadder yadder ... Are you riding to Sugei Rengit for seafood with the guys tomorrow?"
Me, black specs perched on nose, slouching with one leg outstretched, imploring eyes looking at Dr M, nodding my head sheepishly.
Dr M: "I won't advise you to ride in that bad knee you know ..."
Me: slouching more and pouting lips.
And, as the story goes, I end up joining the newbies for a "2 km" ride for ice-kachang topped with ice cream at a golf club's cafe in Desaru.

Slack ride
Day 3: Mon 14 Mar, Desaru, 16 km
Today is a rest day, but what can keep a biker down? Last night, Dr M says I shouldn't cycle and shows me how "loose" my knee is. My surgeon had told me it's "small". I seek another opinion; N (whose list of competitions won fills a sheet of paper) says to listen to the doctor. So we laze by the beach, shooting the breeze, instead of joining some roadies for seafood lunch at Sungei Rengit. I choose a shorter ride "only 2 km". After lunch, we cycle to another hotel for ice kachang with ice cream. Somehow or other we end up cycling 16 km. On the way back, someone lends me his Crusader roadbike. It's skittish and fast - I know so as I clamber on my bike after that.

Class structure

Day 4: Tue 15 Mar, Desaru - Singapore 122 km
There's a change in plans. Instead of all bikers setting off first followed by the bladers, the bladers go off first, followed by three groups of cyclists. The fastest cyclists self-select themselves for Group 1 and set off first, followed by Group 2. I'm in Group 3 together with the newbies.

After I warm up, I surge ahead towards Sedili. The road is all mine, until a yellow speck appears behind me. Like a heat seeking missle, the speck locks onto me and closes the gap. A shadow appears next to mine. I still don't know who it is, and wave the rider forward. It's HHL! I'm impressed. The wind beats her down as we head uphill and she waves me forward. I surge uphill; before I know it, I'm at the checkpoint where I'm asked to turn back. Group 3 goes no further than the 25 km mark towards Sedili. That's so no fun. The other Group 3 bikers arrive, some alone, others in twos or threes, then head back towards the Desaru hotel.

I hang around, cycling in circles. The first wave of Group 1, who ride the full 43 km to Sedili, blast past me. I turn to chase them but it's a lost cause. Another yellow speck appears. "C'mon buddy," says RM. I gratefully tag along behind him as he rides a steady 35-37 km/h. I drop back after some time. Sigh. At the end point, I guzzle and gobble, then get permission to ride off alone to backtrack and see the bladers in action. It's sheer poetry in motion, as they swing from side to side at 30-35 km/h.

For some reason or other, they swing away from the hotel. Huh? I ask the blader's technical director JW what's happening. He says all bikers have moved off towards the endpoint and so are the bladers. Double huh? I thought everyone was supposed to be at the hotel for a mass send off to the endpoint at Tanjong Belungkor.

So here I go again, on a high speed chase up to 51 km/h to close the gap with the bladers. They cheer as I shoot past; I sure don't want to be left behind and lost. At a junction, they helpfully shout to me to turn right. Enroute to the endpoint, I ride my heart and lungs out, shooting past Group 3 who're taking a break at 0 km/h. I thought going at 38-40 km/h was pretty neat, until a trio of roadies slip past me. "C'mon Kevin," says one, waving me to draft behind. Easier said than done, going uphill at 42 km/h.

It's all over too soon, with the bladers reaching the endpoint together for the grand finale. We say our thank yous and goodbyes. A blader does me one last favour - I didn't even have to ask - a neck massage plus some liniment! Bladers are cool; they go at my speed with far less equipment. Too bad they aren't allowed on Singapore roads. And I thought bikers have it bad in Singapore.

Acknowledgments
Profuse thanks to SL and his crew from Avanade, the doctors and other volunteers from PCRT and St Andrew's Mission Hospital. The event is a major exercise in planning and logistics. I'm prone to moan, but the organisation of this event leaves me quite speechless. Think of all the work done quietly behind the scenes, months and months of planning, on-site recce and work during the event. Let me trumpet it for the 20 crew and pat them on the back!

• Route planning: where the checkpoints and rest points should be, maps with distances for segments and total distance
  
• Safety: route planning (as above), support vehicles, road marshalls, 24-hour insurance / medical assistance, two roving medical teams, first aid kits and "hospital" at the hotel, physiotherapist, emergency mobile phone contact lists for all participants (even next of kin and blood type) in a handy pocket-sized plastic pack
  
• Communications: media relations, dedicated website, FAQs, two briefings for participants to choose from, contact persons before the ride and for actual day of the ride
  
• Equipment: sponsored jerseys (2), helmet, sunglasses, roving bike mechanic with spares and tools
  
• Other logistics: transport, ample water, isotonic drinks, sandwiches, occasional bananas, buffet dinners.