Pasir Ris, 36 km. Another training ride today, called for by the newbies last week. Unlike last week, there no volunteer are scheduled for today. I make it home in time to snatch 20 minutes of shut-eye, and roll my bicycle out the door. It's good to be able to help, especially when doing a little can do a lot.
The three of them are late, by 30 minutes. It starts to rain. Under the shelter, I tell them how to wear their helmets safely. The bicycle rental kiosk lady probably never had such customers before; she looks at how serious we are and offers better helmets without being asked to. The rain keeps falling. The lesson continues when I find a "runway" behind the kiosk that's sheltered where they can practise their "take off and landing". One of them, who last cycled 10 years ago and stopped after a downhill crash, takes off just after a few false starts. She veers off the "runway" onto the grass. "I'm already wet," she says. "Keep pedaling," I cheer and she keeps going. Another adult, who'd attended last week, seems to have regressed. She keeps pedaling backwards.
As I cycle home, in the rain, my Brooks saddle has its baptism of rain. Jerk drivers try to cut me off. I cringe as I cycle, half expecting metal against bone. Bad things come in threes? I guess when you do good things and expect good things to automatically come, that's bad.