Privilege cycling

Sep distance: 309 km

Woodlands, 48 km. In mass affluent Singapore, there's privilege banking. But privilege cycling is foreign though Singapore has more high-end bicycle shops than any other city in ASEAN. One month after Tour de Timor, I reflect on the privilege of cycling in a government-sanctioned race where roads are closed for us, and food, safety and security provided for over five days. In 2003, hardened ex-communists welcomed us with respect after we cycled the length of Peninisula Malaysia to Betong. In 2005, I had a police escort all the way from the middle of the causeway to Kuala Lumpur . This cyclist is not as welcome in his own country, even in cycling-designated spots. The only time privilege was given on a large scale was 2009's OCBC Cycle Singapore, when roads were totally closed for the route (50 km for a few hours). Still, what a privileged life cycling I've had :) And I'd no close calls on the road today.

Positive spin

Tuas, 112 km. I never thought I'd fight the urge to cycle. First I read, then I lunch, then look for excuses. For an hour, I look at a weather map to see where rain falls and figure out where the wind blows. The odds are 1/4 cardinal points that I won't get wet. Excuses, excuses. When the sun is out, it's too hot. If it's overcast, it might rain. So I ride. As far west, as far south as I can, till the road runs out. I marvel at compact Singapore. North is Sungei Buloh nature reserve, where migrating birds stop. South is an industrial complex. Here, I almost collide with a dragonfly. In both places, wide, empty spaces. Should've brought my camera. It's cloudy. When the sun peeks out, hues of orange and pink burst out. Instead of snapping photos, something else snaps: my sunglasses. It stays on my face anyway. A car (in the wrong lane) nearly hits me. Later on, another car hangs back to let me get in lane. How quickly the weather changes. I keep above my cruising speed but the sky opens 30 minutes before I get home. Rain stings, brakes barely work. I can barely see; no wipers on glasses. I remove them; the first time I cycle with contact lenses and no eye protection. Water gushes by the roadside. I get wetter than at Timor river crossing. I'm glad I didn't bring my camera. And the pouring rain has washed away the encrusted Timor dirt from my bike.

A different spin

Seletar, 47 km. I wake up, then go back to sleep; it's too early to ride. When the sun is up, I get up. I'm in such a hurry, I forget my sunblock. It's a cloudy day. Would it rain like yesterday? For insurance, I go for a short ride instead of double the distance to Tuas. Seletar is now different. New roads, new turns. Heavy trucks with huge waist-height wheels that hurtle past. And dogs. Dog 1 barks while Dog 2 does a flanking movement. I back out calmly and as the barking continues, I crank up more speed. I almost get whacked by a vacuum cleaner on wheels that sucks up gravel. I could rue all the happenings. I could also be glad the doggies didn't sink their fangs into me and the vacuum cleaner swerved away in time as I appeared out of the driver's blind spot. Why be sad when you can be glad?

Riding with roadies

Bukit Timah, 51 km. I rarely do Saturday morning rides but I do one today. What a strange way to do a charity ride, to ride before, not during, then after. "Before" is when I cycle to the jetty to send them off to Mersing; during, when I'm working; and after, which is today. Everyone but me is a roadie. My fat tyres hum to keep up with their silent slick tyres. One of the cyclists, I know through work. I get a headstart on next week's work as we talk. As we head home, a mountain bike on full suspension blasts past us and leads the way. For a while. Almost effortlessly, the roadies pull away at 40 km/h, pulling me behind them. The change from Sunday late morning to early Saturday morning ride is a change that puts a "spin" on the possibilities of change.

Tour de Timor: review

1. Regrets :'(
a. losses: my watch (time to go, analogue-digital face, world time and multiple alarms) and my sports towel. Never in 3 circumnavigations (twice by air, "once" by bike based on over 43,000 km cycled in total) have I lost so many things
b. lacerations: i got some, but my team leader got skinned from hip to knee ...
c. loos: oh, crap. Why are communal toilets exciting? Because you never know when you'll get a clean one.
How fast does a toilet queue move? As fast as the bowels ...

2. Relief :)
a. doggies there were, but no bark, no bite
b. dents: none to bicycle (but a big scratch). I got dented, but that'll heal
c. deaths: none (some riders broke bones though)

Missing Mersing

Changi, 51 km. I used to think cycling a charity ride was hard, but raising funds took effort too. But hardest of all is not being able to do a charity ride. I get out of bed after 4 am. I feel flat, so is my front tyre. I rush to change it and rush on the road, marvelling at how fat tyres can go above 40 km/h. Not that I've got a boat to catch ... I'm going to say goodbye and purposefully leave my passport at home. This is the fourth year of Charity Bike n Blade. This year, the bladers are all on bicycles. I'm asked why I torture myself to show up. I toy with the idea of pretending to be a bicycle frame, hold some wheels and board the boat. But goodbye it is, time to cycle home alone. My front tyre is flat again. Timor-trained-thighs would've fared well if I'd cycled to Mersing, but not Timor-torn-tyres. At least I went to Timor Leste . Still, I'm sad. Gotta be really nice to myself today. But first, I rip out my front tyre, check it and the rim, change the rim tape, patch two tubes ...