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, September 28, 2008

Nature's cycles


Sep distance: 155 km

Punggol, 37 km. Why are there seven days in a week? Perhaps because nature's rhythm is made up of seven days. Fifth day after illness strikes, I'm not quite back in form (I run). Sixth day, I'm better (I run), but still not fully there. Seventh day, I'm best (I ride), perhaps because I'm sitting down rather than running. And perhaps, on a bicycle, prettier scenery is within reach. Butterflies flit over the grass. Birds chirp in the trees. Something splashes in the river. I cycle at 1/10 the speed of tonight's F1 cars. At the end of the road, I wonder why the seafood restaurants got cleared off, decades ago. There's still nothing here. People used to live here. They brushed their teeth as the sun rose.

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Hot and cold

Punggol, 38 km. Wheels hum. Sun shines. Wind blows. Sky is blue. And so am I. As I cycle and explore, I feel better. Because the sun shines, wind blows and sky blazes blue. People fish along the coast, in sight of the industrial complex across the water. But no fish in sight. When I get home, the water in my water bottles are warm. I later feel cold. And my body aches. Thermometer declares: fever.

Saturday, September 13, 2008

Memory tricks

Sengkang, 36 km. Ignored memory: as I leave my house, I notice my gloves are off. I recall I said I'd never ride without my gloves, after I'd crashed and smacked my hands against the ground. Ouch. I ignore the memory; after a few years of cycling with gloves, surely I can do without them today. I crash. Lacerations on my leg. Strain on my wrist (I can't even squeeze my water bottle). Dopey look on my face. Unwanted memory: when you want to forget, but can't. I find this happens most with emotional pain, not physical pain. Forgotten memory: I pass my guru's home, and recall my last visit there, before he emigrated to Oz. Lasting memory: I recall how I cycled in this area at night, for "Rapunzel" moments. Pleasant memory: I finally meet bikeshop man who, since I met him six years ago, is now in his third location, having moved here a month ago. Postscript I usually cycle on Sundays. Why do I ride this Saturday, when traffic is heavier? Because I have a meeting tomorrow. At 7.30 am ...

Sunday, September 07, 2008

Simple and quiet

Woodlands, 44 km. I'm so tired, I go to bed. I'm so restless, I go and ride. No sunglasses. No arm warmers. No sunblock. No sunshine. Even if it rains, I will cycle. It's that simple. I look for the quietest roads: Old Upper Thomson and Mandai. I stop at Kranji War Memorial. Part of trying to get closure. I'd have been the only soul there, except for a couple in a car, doing driving practice. I stop at a plaque that details the fall of Singapore. And another in memory of Force Z. The difference between their life and death was about a month, when Japan surrendered after executing them. The sky is somewhat cloudy, but the rain holds. The sun sets. The sky is ablaze. I look back and wonder. All those people who lived and died. All the happy, all the sad. It's the same sunset, isn't it?