It's about time

Sembawang Road, 36 km. I'm back on the road after a week's travel and the aftermath of jet lag. A roadie in yellow says "hello" and slips past me. I tail him at 33 km/h. My knobbies hum with joy but my dry chain squeaks in protest. He slips out his phone, which is "hands-free": both hands off the handlebar. We reach a fork in the road and part ways. At Sembawang Park, the police are there. There is a poster of fugitive Mas Selamat. Half the heel of my cycling shoe breaks off. Its first ride was in Oct 03, at a mountain bike race on Penang Hill. Since then, it has been in more races and several expeditions. When things rot away, band-aid can't do much. I was forewarned; inspection had shown cracks. When it comes to fundamentals, catastrophe sometimes creeps up rather than happen suddenly. Surprise despite warning, if one looks away from the signs.