Cycling is like life. Cycling with no goal is meaningless. What meaning is there cycling in circles? Or living aimlessly? Meaning comes from direction and destination. Join me in my life's journey on a mountain bike :)

Blogging since 2003. Thank you for reading :))

Sunday, March 19, 2006

Medic not medal

Mar distance: 527 km


To Bukit Timah Hill, 46 km. Any hope of getting a medal was over after the first few seconds of the race. I'd a good spot at the start line but most of the pack of 16 Weekend Warriors just surge ahead. As I pass the commentator, his remarks about arm warmers gets me hot and bothered as he says naught about my rigid fork. I see someone ahead, lose my nerve and fall, hitting my chin on the handlebar. And after riding over 27,000 km since 2002, I learn something today - the power of the mind. I tell myself I'll go up those slopes and I do, as my rear wheel spins over wet gnarled roots. On the last downhill near the finish line, I relax and something hits me. The ground. The brake lever gets stuck in my shoe. After waving my limbs in the air like a helpless tortoise, I unstrap my shoe and try to cycle, then realise my front wheel is the wrong way round. I cross the finish line with a dangling number plate, and twisted saddle, rear derailleur and ankle. I miss a medal by 4-5 minutes; the guy ahead of me is the last to get a medal. This is my third off-road race, my sixth solo race and the worst race ever. But at least my wounds are treatable by the medic and I get home under my own steam. (Title of this entry inspired by RebelXH)
Photo courtesy of Deemax

Saturday, March 18, 2006

Why oh why

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 26 km. Saturday morning. A time to sleep in and wake up without the alarm clock. I get up, put on sloppy riding togs and ride to remind my body that tomorrow it'd better work hard. Back home, it takes barely 50 minutes to get my bike race ready. The bike is ready but the biker isn't. So, why do I do this? Isn't there enough stress at work, why have stress at play? Risking bloodshed and broken bones. All keyed up, waiting for tomorrow. Just to find out when I've been weighed and measured, whether I'm found wanting. I want my first podium finish for my third off-road race!

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Power cycling

To Bukit Timah Hill, 54 km. Cycling needs power and knowledge is power. So I cycle today to check out Sunday's race route. Problem is, I don't know where exactly the start line is. Today is my worse ride in BT. After overtaking a big guy on the trial, that somehow unnerves me, which almost unbalances me: i) I glance off the side of a trial; ii) stumble over a rock (if I wasn't tethered to my pedals, my tottering would've led to a fall) and iii) stall uphill (after passing two hiker babes who stare at me like I'm from Mars). Even at 4 pm, there are hikers on the trail. I also find out that the clattering on the trail isn't a rock hitting my frame; it is my now-missing pump, which I replace with a Topeak. At the bike shop, I learn about pump design. I'm all pumped up anyway, after three near falls on the hill and three run-ins with trucks onthe road during rush hour.

Sunday, March 12, 2006

From chicken to champion?

To Bukit Timah Hill, 57 km. Yesterday has tired me out. A roadie passes me this morning. Ordinarily, I'd chase. But not today. In fact, I want to chicken out, save my $25 race fee, put on my slick tyres and forget about racing off road. But I'd already asked N to show me the race route today. And my ego is bigger than that hill. Today is the first time I've: a) done the entire loop (instead of parts of it); b) fallen on the hill (after I shout at some hikers; why do they hike here when there are far more places to hike than bike on this island); and c) done the loop solo (I don't want to, but N says I should go a second round after her ride with me. Two riders blast past me and I stop to let a third pass). I pay N the "tuition fee" by buying her lunch. Next week will be the second off road race in my life; the first was in 2004. I'm glad I got a mountain bike to replace my Iron Horse.

Saturday, March 11, 2006

Scared stiff

To Bukit Timah Hill, 82 km. Today is the second time in my life up that 164m hill. But its my first time riding up with clipless pedals. The last time I rode off road was on 21 Aug 04. I almost fly off twice as I stall riding up the first two slopes. Going down, I see a terrifying slope and I gasp. There are more scary downhills. A strand of spider web is on my face but I'm too scared to unclench my hand to brush it off. I don't even take time to clip in as I bounce downwards on my 50 psi tyres and rigid fork. Gravel sprays from under my rear wheel as it loses traction. I get lost. This is my first time cycling solo on the hill, without a guide. Somehow, I emerge without a scratch. My virgin ride up (on 15 May 03), on my Iron Horse, was more pleasant. Today, salt is visible on my black shorts. I feel charred, since I'm cycling in the mid-day sun to get away from the crowd. There are only two bikers. Some hikers stand to attention by the trailside as I rattle by. For a lark, I cycle to Kheam Hock Road. I was told there's off-road trials here, but I don't find it. It's a scenic tarred road though.

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Brute beauty

To Sengkang, 22 km. I have a flat. I don't just mean I live in one, I mean my tyre has gone flat. Usually, I'll fret. But today, I remove my slicks and put on my 11-year old Kenda knobbies (last used in 2004). What an awesome sight. For the first time, my little red Tank has knobbies. It's noticeably heavier and takes more effort to get up to speed. But it gives a better workout. And what a sight to behold, brute beauty instead of the wimpy slicks. On the road, I can't help but smile as my tyres whirr and as I cycle over gravel, holes and kerbs in my way. I inflate my tyres to 50 psi (a first). I even, for the first time, perfect lifting my front wheel off the ground.

Saturday, March 04, 2006

Riding with Extremists

Sat 3 - Sun 4 Mar

To Tanjong Piai, Johore, Malaysia, 240 km. MSH says it's brave of me to lead cyclists I've never met before. She's mistaken. I'm braver, to offer help to someone who had mountain biked in the Himalayas. She makes one post in togoparts.com, I offer advice like a few others. She asks me for help and I agree, thinking she's a newbie. Then the story about her Himalaya ride last year is published last month in The Business Times. Too late for me to back out!

Deprived of sleep and speed
Day 1: Sat 3 Mar, Singapore - Tanjong Piai (Johore), 136 km. The alarm clock chirps at 4 am. But I'm awake even before that. Too much work, little sleep, too little cycling. To fix the riding (or rather, to get my cycling fix), I start riding to Woodlands at 4.45 am to meet four Singapore Management University (SMU) undergraduates for their recce ride to Kukup. It's organised by MSH, president of the SMU's "Extremist" outdoor activities club (cycling chapter) - and the only gal in this ride. I'm the tour guide. I put on my racing shoes to spare myself embarrassment.

It turns out to be a slow ride. One of them is on his first century ride. Another has cramps. Both soldier on. Traffic is heavy. And, after thousands of km over a few years, I meet the most unfriendly driver in Malaysia today, who leans on the car horn when passing us by.

I take the students to Tanjong Piai, the southernmost point of mainland Asia. A friendly official persuades them to enter the nature reserve. And I see that not all progress is good. When I was first there in 2004, I saw a post stuck in the ground with directions and distances of far away countries. And I don't recall seeing any land. Today, the pole is gone. In its place is a huge concrete platform. And, as the platform juts beyond the mangroves, the view of Singapore isn't obscured anymore. Man has extended the the southernmost point artificially.

We stop in Kukup and dine on seafood barbecue. MSH notices someone doesn't touch the prawns and proceeds to peel them. My jaw drops, not because of the prawns but because I did read about the scarcity of prawn-peeling females in Singapore. I retire with a headache. Was it the heat of the sun all day, or the punishing slow pace of just over 20 km/h?

Crap and puke
Day 2: Sun 4 Mar, Kukup (Johore) - Singapore, 104 km. I wake up with a headache. It's another rough nite. Sleeping on a mattress on the floor doesn't bother me. But some light snoring and monosyllabic talking in sleep and roosters crowing, do.

The house we stay in, like others in the area, is built over the sea. The toilet is a hole in the floor. When it's low tide, you can see the crap. Forget about flushing, wait for the tide to come in. The proprietor says tourism now accounts for about 30% of the village economy (a drop from its heyday). The rest comes from fish farming and restaurants.

The sun is up. It is hot. And boring to cycle the straight road out of Kukup. To keep myself going, the music in my head is anime and Scorpions (does that make me an eclectic eccentric?). It gets more interesting when the headwind starts to blow. And the road starts to rise and fall instead of monotonously flat. The best things in life aren't flat. Think durians, dollops of ice cream ...

Looking back over my shoulders (and, for variety, under my armpit) to see if the last rider is cycling is rather dangerous on a narrow road. I sprint, drafting cars and motorbikes, then stop to wait. Nearer Johore Bahru, I behave myself again as the traffic gets heavier. Someone tells me to stop as the last rider can't make it. We stop, we pukes. He'd never gone more than 50 km before, yet this weekend, he does two century rides. I've never had anyone puke on my ride before. He gamely rides on, refusing taxis. That's national character, indicating how the Vietnamese (for he is one) booted out the French and Americans.

Back home, I notice I'd left behind something: a soap bottle that doesn't leak. Drat. That's another first, leaving something behind during a ride (blood and flesh excepted; I've lost those before).