Changi, 59 km. Far north, it's rained so hard in the Land of Smiles, no one is smiling. It rains here too, but there's no flood. When the rain stops, the cycling starts. As it's late in the day, I intend to cycle just 40 km and be home before sunset. On a whim, I turn where I've not turned before and keep going until I don't know where I am.
The only guide is my compass, a tiny thumbnail-sized thing that guides my Little Red Tank and me. Heading east takes me to a familiar road. A dog trots behind a pedestrian, spots me and locks on, barking. I yell at it. It's not alone. Another mutt keeps pace to my left, barking. I wouldn't be able to move my legs and bark like it does.
Again, I turn where I've not turned before and end up in a dead end - a gate that leads to the biggest airport here. A girl in a dress is there. Why? As I u-turn and pass her, I tell her she's headed for a dead end. "I know," she smiles. She's carrying a big camera. So, I'm dressed up, she wears a dress. I sit on my toy, she swings it in her hand. I get accosted by dogs, she might meet wolves in men's clothing. I explore more dead ends. She seems to be doing the same. But since she's now in a residential area, I reckon she's safe and I head home - getting somewhat lost in this unfamiliar place. Again, my little compass, velcroed onto my handlebar points me home.
A little magnetism goes a long way.