Pengarang photos

Red hills

Aug distance: 427 km

Sat 26 - Sun 27 Aug:
To Sungei Rengit, Johore, Malaysia, 116 km. Happiness is outdoors, where the jungle is foilage rather than concrete. Where the light is from the sky rather than the ceiling. Where the sound underfoot is the crunch of the earth rather than carpet pile. The last time I went offroad in Johore was with the Fellowship of the Spins in Feb 03. Almost all the fellows are here, including bike leader LCT. He teaches me to hop. His friends and some newbies are with us. I'm impressed by the mother who takes her two teenagers out for the adventure (though they don't join us offroad). It rains and I remember why I hardly go offroad: i dislike cleaning my bicycle. The irony is, there's water where it's not wanted (it rains) but no water where it's wanted (in the hotel). I'm scared riding in a gulley with little room for mistakes as a lorry passes me. I'm disappointed my rather new, branded waterbottle is holed (by a flying stone?). But I'm happy surging up the red hills, taking pictures of cyclists then overtaking them.

Big wheels, little wheels

To Changi Village, 67 km. Today is the launch of Green Transport Week and it's my first time joining Togopart's brunch ride. The ride is slow, with over 40 cyclists, some of them newbies. Among the faster riders are those on foldable s and little 20" wheels who clock over 50 km/h downhill. I meet two female "big wheels" (celebrities) today: one a senior parliamentary secretary who poses beside me for a group photo and a charity rider who drafts me. I've wanted to cycle with her and it happens at last. So, today I see smaller wheels that go faster than bigger wheels, and smaller-built persons who have more influence than bigger-built ones. It's not always that size matters. But what's inside always matters.
Photo courtesy of CHDennis

Serendipity

To Sengkang, 35 km. Some believe good things happen. I believe fortune happens to the prepared. As I cycle today, I go more or less wherever the road takes me and don't know exactly where I am. But I'm directionally right and find the turning I want: to Buangkok. But where a six-lane road used to be is now a dead end. I come across more dead ends before I find my way home. Sure, it's fun to explore. But when you need to be somewhere in a hurry and there are things to do, leaving things to serendipity is such a pity.

Non-existing existence

To Admiralty Road West, 54 km. How do you prove that something never took place? How do you prove intention, when behaviour patterns are ignored, perception is selective and worse, insults are read when they don't exist? This is so unproductive. Unlike cycling. I hit the road past 11 am, having spent most of the morning and yesterday licking wounds. I'm out of shape but manage to keep up with a Cycleworx rider at 38 km/h on my fat tyres before we part. I spend hours exploring off-the-beaten-track, partly excited, partly fearful of snake bite; that's another wound I'd rather not lick.

Fireworks

To National Stadium, 29 km. While some people are selling their unwanted tickets to the National Day parade, multitudes are gathered around the stadium, on the roadside, on the pedestrian bridge, on the grass. Dressed in red and white (or at least in red), they're there for the duration of the parade though it can't be seen from the outside - except for the fireworks. Together with N and J, we smell the gunpowder, feel the explosions, hear the boom and see the fireworks bloom in the night sky. I pick up some foil that flitters down. That piece of aluminium was extracted from the soil, processed and travelled thousands of miles. In that fleeting moment of glory, it does its job as part of the fireworks, then falls to the ground, to be trampled and swept away.

Volunteer night (and morn)

To Labrador Park, 53 km. Tonight, there's a barbeque to thank the volunteers who helped at the Kent Ridge race on 23 Jul. The one who did the most cooking: the general manager, who organised the race, the barbeque and now, does the cooking. The food is good - and overwhelming in quantity. The company is varied too; some strangers, some old friends. Just as well it's not my last meal, as a car comes too close when cutting across my lane. The night is not over for me yet, as I cycle to church to handle food and beverage for those praying through the night on the eve of national day. On this day, I think of the men who, well, volunteered in the 1950s to take on the white men and the mantle of national leadership, eventually taking over (and wearing white). Majulah!

What money can't buy

To Senoko Way, 54 km. A family has a picnic by the river's side (one of the rare ones that doesn't have concrete banks). Some people fish in the Straits of Johore. Three men sit on the kerb, with three bottles in front of them. All for free, as money can't buy a real family, get fish to bite bait or friendship. Or real sleep. I spend much of the weekend plugging my sleep deficit; I start cycling today at 1045! I find some single tracks, but these peter out. And I find that progress has beaten me to more off-the-beaten paths; where I used to be able to cycle are now out of bounds. Still, there are still houses that have gargoyles on their gateposts to look at.

Too much, too little

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 19 km. There's too much work when a) I wake up in the night thinking about it and can't fall asleep after that. b) when a bikelog reader asks if I'm overworked as I got a bikelog date wrong. c) when I ask myself if I should cycle tonight since I'm leading a strategy review tomorrow. Well, I can't take it anymore: too little sleep, too little cycling. So I cycle. My pedaling muscles seem connected to my smiling muscles; as I cycle, I can't help but smile. I meander about; just five km out of this highrise jungle, there is cool night air and quiet roads. And it's all free! (OK, I pay taxes but still ...)