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 :))

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.