Swept away

Moving off in the morning mist

Jun distance: 325 km

9-11 Jun, Pahang, Malaysia, 283 km

Background
Charity Bike n Blade #11, a charity ride in aid of Beyond Social Service and Peacehaven (The Salvation Army). Over 80 cyclists raised close to SGD300,000, which, with government matching grants, amount in total to about SGD500,000.

Route: Day 1 by bus to Kuantan (non-cycling day), Day 2 to Lanjut 142 km, Day 3 to Tanjung Leman 141 km.

Ride details
Day 2. At “wheels up”, I take care to hang back so I don't cycle with the fastest. After a great two hours, I drop off. My lack of training (just over 40 km per week for a month) shows.

Another breath taking sight

M comes up behind me and says “Hi, I think I'll stick behind you." Then she offers to pull me along. "I might not be able to keep up," I confess. "I'll pull you at 20 km/h,” she says. That doesn’t last long. When I see a support car by the roadside, I and stop to top up on Gatorade (sponsored) and bananas. She pedals on.

The crew take good care of me. When they drive past, they ask if I need anything and stop when I do.

The broom wagon comes along at 1pm. I ask for permision to carry on and it is granted. Two other cyclists get off to join me, including intrepid sweeper S. It’s so early in the afternoon, why be swept up? The reason is lunch, or rather the lack of it. There is no food along the way other than Gatorade, bread and bananas from support vehicles.

I arrive at 2 pm, 2 hours later than the faster cyclists. At least, I make it on my own steam, in the steaming heat.

Day 3 is like Day 2: a great 1-2 hours speeding through the cool morning air, then the first stop at a water point. I linger and watch the roadies ride off. I'm solo most of the time now. While people overtake me, I don't see the recumbent cyclist. It seems some other cyclists don't ride today, not just the casualties from yesterday who lost skin and blood when wheels touched and when someone went into a pot hole and took others down.

Whole lot of calories. Thanks, crew
for keeping me going

To save time, I don't have a hot lunch today when I could’ve, just bread and bananas. I pass a roadie who stopped upslope. "I am done," he says, and claps to cheer me on.

Sweeper S and my room mate KC debus. S says he'll ride with me. He punctures and changes two
tubes before his tyre is fixed. Time ticks away. A support car comes along and the crew ask me to go on. I speed to avoid being swept up. Barely 12 km from the end point, the broom wagon catches up with me, sweeping me up. We see KC, there is no room on board for him. S is apologetic as I don't get to finish the ride but I’m glad we get to ride together; in past years, he’s the sweeper while I’m ahead.  We arrive just after 2 pm. What's the rush this time? To catch the bus home.

Why am I slow this year? Besides my lack of training, Day 2 offers high heat and headwinds while Day 3 has high heat and rolling hills. And fat tyres don’t help!

Nightstops
Zenith Hotel, Kuantan: this big hotel feels new and things work. The hotel sets aside an empty hall to lock up our bikes.
Lanjut Golden Beach and Golf Resort: I've been here before. It's more dismal this time. The ceiling pours when the shower is turned on. The toilet doesn't flush well. For another cyclist, the aircon in his room doesn't work, but he got a room change.
Tanjung Leman: Felda Residence Tanjung Leman. We don’t spend the night here, but I wish I did as it has big and luxurious grounds. The hotel lets us stop here to shower and ready our bikes for the bus ride back to Singapore.

Tech note
After struggling with a stock saddle that came with my then new bicycle in Sep 2014, I'm back to my Brooks saddle, owned since 2011. After several adjustments, I've gotten to the bottom of it and found the sweet spot. Sweet! The only pain isn't at my rear end, just heart ache that I got swept up and didn't ride all the way to the end.

Oh! This is my 800th post on this blog :)

Going around in circles

Seletar, 42 km. I’m fed up after going around in circles at work these past weeks. But today, I don’t mind going in circles, furiously cycling along a 2.3 km loop I discovered. Traffic is light and there is only one traffic light along the entire route.

When I cycle loops, I tend to get bored and frustrated: all that effort but going no where really. Ironically, cycling round in circles this time, I feel better. Perhaps going at speed with just one stop per loop gives the illusion of progress?

Micro adjustments, major pain

A dead end is a pain; a poorly adjusted saddle is a rear end pain

May distance: 156 km

Seletar, 39 km. Millimetre by millimetre, I adjust my saddle, because I know the pain that comes from thousands of kilometres of pain that comes from a “maladjusted” saddle. Too high or too low? Too far forward or too far aft? Nose tilted too high or too low? Trail and error is a pain, and only time will tell.

I got my current beau, Matt Black, in Sep 2014. Why adjust the saddle again after taking a year dialling in the stock Selle saddle that came with Matt Black? Because I decided to replace the stock saddle with my Brooks saddle, which I bought in 2011 for my now-retired Little Red Bike.

Fast and furious

Seletar, 45 km. This residential area, with names like Picadilly Circus, used to be a quiet, idyllic place to cycle. It also has an airport.

Besides the airport, the area is increasingly more and more an aerospace hub, with Airbus and other giants here. The aircraft traffic is still light, but road traffic is heavy: fast and furious.

Cycling here would be hair raising, but for the helmet I am wearing.

Cycling here used to have the thrill of speed without traffic lights.
It's a good place to train. Now, the thrill is filtering without being killed by speeding traffic.

Photos:
Top right, 2011: it used to be a path, leading to wooden houses with zinc roofs. The only things buzzing around were mosquitoes.
Bottom left, 2014: construction for buzzing traffic.

Excuses and reasons

Add some colour to grey

Seletar, 41 km. I knew I should ride yesterday. The sky was clear, I’d eaten too. But instead of burning fuel, I stayed home. My excuse: I stabbed my hand last week. It still hurt and hurting hands don’t go with handlebars. Wait till Sunday.

Today is Sunday. Dark clouds are overhead, so I shouldn’t ride. But I need to train for my charity ride. Otherwise, I’ll suffer and worse, get a “DNF” (ok I exaggerate, such status is given only during races and this isn’t a race).

Well, since I have a reason to ride, that beats any excuse. I look at the weather app, see where the clouds have been going with the wind, and ride.

Life happened

Pasir Ris, 31 km. It looked like it was going to be a dark and stormy night: dark clouds hang overhead, thunder rumbles. I even see lightning flash in front of me. What a great reason to stay home. But I ride.

I'd signed up for a charity ride. That leaves me four weeks to train.

How things have changed. In the past, I'd have trained for months. Now, barely a month. In the past I'd grab every opportunity to ride. Now, I grab every excuse not to ride. I even thought of doubling running and stop riding.

How big would've the change been? In the past, I blog only after cycling. Now, I was going to blog without cycling.

What's happening? Life happened: there are physiological, psychological and preferences changes.

Slow and steady

Good morning Mersing

4-6 Sep, Johor, Malaysia, 279 km

Prologue
Day 1: 4 Sep. To commeorate Bike 'n' Blade's 10th event, we reprise the route of the 2005 inaugural ride. Instead of a ferry to Desaru, we bus up on 4 Sep. The only cycling I do on is ride 10 km to the bus pickup point. DHL volunteers wraps up our bicycles and loads them. "It's a mountain bike," one volunteer says. Instead of stuffing my machine with the other carbon road bikes in the bus hold, he carries my heavier bike into the bus.

It's great to catch up with some repeat charity riders; we meet once a year. E flew back home from Shanghai just for this. And I'm glad to have  a room mate who doesn't snore; room are assigned randomly.

Nightstop: Pulai Desaru Beach Resort

Rain and shine
Day 2: 5 Sep, Mersing, 135 km. We ride at 7 am. It rains. It's cold. I zip up and ride. The sun comes out. I'm glad, until warm becomes steaming hot.

Non-horizontal, to the horizon

I stop and talk to one volunteer support crew. When I cycle, I have wind to blow away heat, but they stand in the sun. One says cyclists riding in the heat inspire them.

Mersing. I was here two weeks ago. And here I am again. It doesn't get easier. And my butt still hurts. I stop and fiddle with my saddle several times.

So many people pass me by, including a roadie who says "Yay, mountain bike." Two volunteers are on motorbikes: a lady on Ducati and a guy on KTM. I wish I had one of those.

At the hotel, I use an ironing board to dry laundry in the sun, and improvise a plumb line  to adjust my saddle fore-aft position.

Nightstop: Hotel Seri Malaysia Mersing

Feeling at a loss
Day 3: 6 Sep, Desaru, 124 km. After breakfast, I notice my rear tyre is flat. It was ok when I sat on it yesterday afternoon to adjust my saddle.

I look for the hole in the inner tube: I can't see it, feel it, hear it. I fill the sink with water using a makeshift bung, but still fail. I feel the inside of the tyre with both hands but feel at a loss. I replace the inner tube, hoping that what's happened would be like in Inner Mongolia: replacing the tube would fix the problem.

Bad morning

A volunteer checks out of the hotel for me; he says the rest left 5-10 minutes ago. At 7 am, the official flag off time, I sprint to catch up. In the cool morning air, my sweat drips like rain drops on my top tube.

I catch up with riders at the first rest stop. At every stop, I pump up my tyres. It's a slow leak, and I ride slowly. For the first time ever, I see the sweeper, S. He's a regular at charity rides over the years and for the first time, I have a break with him.

Less than 15 km from the end, a sweeper vehicle stops. The crew gently talk me into boarding. This is the first time I'm swept up. I feel deflated like my tyre. Yesterday, "slow and steady wins the race," a roadie told me. Today, a slow and steady leak gets me.

What's the use of cycling on knobby tyres if they puncture like slicks on the road?

On the bus to Singapore, I examine a punctured inner tube. Back in Singapore, I turn the tyre inside out and study it. I just can't see it. I flip the tyre right side up and study it. There, clear as day, a wriggly piece of wire, 1 cm long. It looks like a staple. How did it penetrate the tyre where it hurt most, missing the big knob beside it?

Moral of the story: stick to the discipline of checking the outside of the tyre at the end of every ride, and check the tyre first thing in the morning.

Well, at least my saddle and butt are ok.

Up and oval

Sep distance: 273 km

11-14 Sep, Malaysia (Cameron Highlands, Ipoh), 252 km

Prologue
This is my eighth Bike n Blade. This charity ride is the longest in terms of days (two days to travel to and fro, by bus on 11 and 14 Sep respectively, and two days to ride) and the highest we climb: 1,500m. Everyone's a roadie (including triathletes) except a guy on a recumbent and me on my MTB.

I've a migraine on arrival. I try to sleep it off but fail. I eat a few mouthfuls of dinner, telling myself "three more mouthfuls". I want to keep my food down so I can ride up tomorrow. I want to complete my ride but leave my dinner uncompleted.

This has never happened to me on a charity ride but given this is my 16th charity ride. It is reasonable to expect that someday it would happen, just a matter of time. Rather than being unfortunate, I've been fortunate to escape it for so long.

12 Sep "Up". Cameron Highlands, 63 km
We ease out of morning rush hour to the base of the hill. Various roadies talk to me as they overtake.
"Mountain bike?" Well, this is the highlands, which means mountains, which goes with mountain bike. "Are you going to change bike tomorrow (160 km ride)?" "No, same bike, different rider," I quip.

They leave me trailing behind. It's a long climb. I think about strawberries, which grow in these hills. Being a couch potato, I like potatoes. You can slice them, dice them. Stack, drop, fry, bake, mash and freeze them. And strawberries? They go bad so fast. Squeeze them and they leave a sticky mess. Expensive and unsuited for carbo loading. Potatoes are a staple! Strawberries are delicacies, which need delicate handling.

I should stop thinking about these things. The journey doesn't get easier with these thoughts; they get harder. Enjoy the ride instead, ok?

I ask myself, "why am I doing this?" My heavy heart weighs me down. At a water point, I ask the crew if they are from The Salvation Army. "Thank you so much for your support," one says. And that's why I'm doing this. 70 cyclists, 30 crew, $320,000 funds raised for charity and an estimated $0.5m worth of bicycles. My bicycle would be the cheapest. When I unload other people's bikes, I can carry each with two fingers: one to lift, the other finger is just to balance the bike.

Lunch is served at the end of the ride. Buffet of pasta. No water. Strawberry juice is served instead!

13 Sep "Oval" 170 km around Ipoh

Blending in with the peloton and road colour

When the alarm rings at 0530, my first thought is: "I want to sleep, not ride." But I get up; call it habit or discipline. I breakfast on potato wedges.

I stick to the second peloton at the start but get dropped. As I cycle solo, the only rider with me is a motorcyclist who draws alongside and says my jersey is the colour of the road and not visible. I agree.

At a traffic light, the ambulance crew asks if I need anything. I ask if the ambulance is air=conditioned. Of course it is. "Massage?" I ask. "Well there's a bed but you need to get your own masseuse," comes the reply.

As the day draws on, various cyclists pass by, look at my fat tyres and make passing comments such as "strong determination" and "hard core". The ambulance passes by and the crew asks "are you ok?"

I am, until I miss a water point at the 140 km mark. The support vehicle isn't there. When I stop at a coffee shop, a couple of cyclists are there. One insists on buying me a Coke. By now, lunch time has passed. I'd bananas, 100Plus, a packet of energy gel and two cereal bars.

170 km is a long way to go on rolling hills. With fat tyres. Good thing there were some nice, quiet, scenic routes to pass the time.

14 Sep Epilogue
This is the toughest Bike n Blade to date and my toughest charity ride. Cycling up Cameron is cool (pun intended) but 170 km, hot sun and rolling hills is something else.

At breakfast, J says: "I look at his tyres and I feel tired already." S: "He has downhill rims." A: "So the part you enjoy is downhill? What was your max speed?" It was 61 km/h compared to her 58.

Our bus is 90 minutes late. I go back to my room to sit in bed. I'm a couch potato :)

To round it all off, I cycle home, about 9 km away, the same way I came. I seem to be the only one using my own muscle power to get home.

Sugar, ice and everything nice

Aug distance: 349 km

22-24 Aug, Malaysia (Malacca - Batu Pahat) - Singapore, 281 km

Prologue
This is my third ride to raise funds to buy food for the poor. It's good to meet some old cycling pals, some of whom I met in 2010 for a charity ride in Sarawak. We catch up during lunch as we bus up to Malacca on 22 Aug. In the hotel, I catch up on some work.

Nightstop: Hatten Hotel

Proper concentration
23 Aug Malacca to Batu Pahat, 111 km.

One of my bidons is filled with Gatorade, mixed in what I hope is close to the recommended dose. I've read about running nutrition and apply it to cycling. It's not so good to drink plain water after all, I read. When my stomach feels odd after some bananas, only then do I drink water to dilute my stomach contents. Placebo or not, it works. I don't need to take long breaks; at a rest stop, I'm off after a few minutes.

When I run out, I refill with 100Plus. It's 6% concentration: within the recommended range. The escaping carbonation pops my bidon top. Twice. Tip:  don't top up to the brim.

Lunch is a half hour break, then I'm off. When I pass support car #1, I know I should stop at some point. I do when I see a 7-Eleven. I get a slurpee: sugar, slush, artificial colour and flavour, real nice. "Brain freeze!" I sit on the cool tiled floor then the shop staff passes me a stool. I need the break; with the headwind, I've laboured along at 20 km/h at some parts. I enjoy the aircon and move off when I see the first group pass by, then another.

I lead some cyclists to the hotel, abou 20 of us are there by 1.30 pm. I wait two hours for my bag. Well, at least we beat the rain that poured down later.

Nightstop: Katerina Hotel

Exclusion order
24 Aug Batu Pahat to Singapore, 170 km.
I draft a couple of roadies. It's a long straight road to boredom, and against the wind. One of them, with a BMX helmet, asks: "Why  am I doing this?" I wonder aloud: "Why am I doing this three times?" then talk him. He's a mountain biker who's on a road bike. He tells me that when he grows up, he wants go be like me, because I keep up with roadies while on fat tyres. He asks me why I'm not using slick tyres. I tell him about my downhill rims. He tells me he once bought 2.3" tyres and found it tough going.

And this is getting old. My third Ride for Rations. And, this year, my eighth Bike n Blade.

After lunch, we're grouped together. We're to stick to assigned groups as we near the border. The slower group I prefer to be with stop. They've had enough. I'm told to join the faster group. By this time, after 150 km, I'm knackered. I cycle and struggle hard to keep up. The sweeper slows to keep me company. I know some of the rest resent the slowdown. One yells at a man old enough to be her dad. It's not that he's unable to keep up.

What is this ride about anyway? I thought it's to raise funds for those who've been left behind in society. And if some cyclists fail to keep up, that's out of place (pun intended)? This is the first time on a charity ride where I struggle.

At the traffic lights, I catch up, then wait. One of them has a broken handlebar. Carbon. And yesterday, two cyclists break bones.

At the end of the ride, I thank an organiser for taking on this challenge of organising a charity ride, then put myself on a "exclusion" order: if I forget what I feel now and sign up for another Ride for Rations as a cyclist, exclude my participation.

I might sign up as a crew member though. It's no longer fun to cycle, but it's still a good cause. We'll see.

Home delivery

Kranji, 62 km. When the alarm clock goes off, I'm in two minds whether to get on my two wheels. It's the weekend after all. My alarm needs rest, so do I. But today, it's time to deliver rations, part of what we'd raised funds for during Ride for Rations.

First stop: Sunlove Home, the "head office", to deliver a big cheque. The chief there offers us water. We politely decline, but he delivers anyway. He thanks us several times.

Rations belong to the hungry, kid belongs to a volunteer

Second stop: Marsiling, one of the "branch offices". There are bags of dry rations, all nicely packed in colour-coded plastic bags by the food supplier. Cooking oil, sugar, noodles, canned food, 30 eggs … a month's supply of food. There's milk powder too. High calcium type for the elderly and milk for different children's age groups. Some beneficiaries come the the centre to collect their food. For others, it's home delivery.

We have a trolley and slips of paper with names and addresses. Some cheery people are waiting at the void deck of their apartments, but their unit numbers aren't on our list. Walking along narrow and fusty corridors, we knock on doors. People are waiting for us by the door, some in wheelchairs. Some are amputees. Most are elderly, they move with difficulty. Hands fumble with locks. We hand them the bags and they sign for it, then thank us softly.

One lady, on elbow crutches, tells us to go in. We hesitate, she tells us we don't have take off our cycling shoes. We place the food neatly where she tells us to. "Would you like me to untie the bags?" I ask. She says she can handle it. I'd earlier struggled to untie them to photograph the contents of some bags! 

But some don't answer the door.

Back at the branch office, the pile of bags has shrunk. Some people aren't in, or haven't come to collect.

The homes are tiny. From the door, I see the bedroom, living room and kitchen. Some are dim, dank and cluttered. The home of the lady on crutches is bright and airy, neat and tidy. She's going out. She hangs a cloth bag on her crutch, since she can't clutch it.

To clear my head, I cycle to where I'd spent some tough months in my army days, to see my old camp being flattened by earthmoving machines.

Bad things happen so that good will follow?

13-15 Sep, Malaysia (Malacca - Batu Pahat) - Singapore, 311 km

Prologue

Where the rubber meets the road

Day 1: 13 Sep, Singapore to Malacca. This is my 14th charity ride. Or is that 15th? There are two rides this weekend: one in Malaysia, one in Indonesia. When I signed up for both, they were in separate months, but because of the haze, the earlier Malaysia one got postponed to the same weekend as the Indonesia one.

I apologise to the second organiser, hand over the cash and join the first organiser. Just over 90 cyclists take part (over a hundred signed up, but the postponement led to 10% attrition); there's support crew and cars too.

I cycle 19 km to the start point. I'm so early, i cycle to a McDonald drive-in for food. I help load up the bus to Malacca with bicycles then settle down for shuteye.

At the hotel, my wheel feels squishy. Puncture. A two-cm long piece of wire. When I feel the inside of the tyre, there's another 5 mm sticking out on the inside of the tyre. What's the point of knobby tyres if they go flat? But I guess the knobs are somewhat flat too!

Nightstop: Hatten Hotel

Solar powered

Peace and quiet

Day 2: 14 Sep, Malacca to Batu Pahat, 106 km. Overnight, my rear derailleur missed the rear wheel so much, it seizes up. I manhandle it to get it to work after gentle coaxing fails; no time for niceties now. At the start line, someone can't get her cyclocomputer to work. I give away my sole spare CR2032 battery and swap the battery for her. So, now my bicycle is lighter. Another cyclist loses his sole, which he fixes with duct tape.

Along the way, I see what is possibly the fastest man on this ride off his bike. A broken carbon spoke. Ok, I won't complain about by staight gauge steel spokes anymore. My inner tube holds up; first time I'm riding Presta valve in a rim made for Schrader.

On my fat tyres, I drop further behind. Yes, the world prefers thin people and thin tyres. I draft a roadie till she says her stomach hurt. So I pull her along. "Look at the houses, look for flowers, see that house, it's got three cars," I say, my feeble attempt to take her mind off things-

At the lunch point, I don't feel like eating much. I have four bananas, till the medic gives me her noodles. I do a good deed too; I return a guy's skullcap which  I found in the toilet. I say it wasn't in the cistern but he washes it anyway.

About 10 km out, I see a sign. Rest stop. Petrol kiosk. With Milo ice cream. Must stop.

Back on the road, I pass loads of roadies who've pulled over the roadside for cooling shade. It's a hot hot day. I trundle past them, pretending that I'm solar powered. I get to the hotel after 1 pm. And wait for my bag which is somewhere back there in a support vehicle.

Nightstop: Pinetree Hotel

Roadies ahead, MTBs sweep

Hydro-powered

Day 2, Batu Pahat-Singapore, 186 km. It rains, with thunder and lightning. We wait. Some support cars are ahead for an onsite weather report. It's still raining but without lightning. We get the all clear to cycle in the rain.

When the road is flooded. I plough through with my fat tyres. This is like a river crossing, without the gravel on the riverbed, just firm tarmac. When traffic passes on the other side, spray hits me full in the face. Hard. Just as well I'd managed to pop my sunglasses lens back; it'd popped out earlier.

M, the guy with the broken spoke, is back in the ride. Yesterday, he'd borrowed a car, gone home to another country to pick up a spare wheel. Today, he pulls a peloton of about ten along. W and I, on our mountain bikes, fall behind. My fat tyres sound like a flight of angry flies. But the buzz stops. Puncture.

Support crew, thank you

I find the hole and match it to the tyre. A 2 cm nail sticks out. My second puncture of the ride. I fix it with my spare tube and we press on. Separated from the rest, we decide to skip rest and lunch. W passes me an energy bar.

My speed falls and I'm losing steering control. I look down. Puncture, my third. I have no more spare tubes with me. I settle down for a long walk. Moments later, a support car appears beside me, driven by M, founder of this charity ride. Thanks to W, we're on the right route after all!

M drives me to town, where there are two bicycle shops. Both are closed. P, the tech support crew, manages to find a fat tube for me, amidst the stock of roadie tubes. He shines a torch but I can't find what caused the puncture. M tells me to wait for another group to finish lunch, so I eat too. "You may ride with us, but we cycle slow," V says.

We set off together. Whenever the support cars leave us, I lead. At a rest point, a roadie tyre bursts. Just like that. P replaces the tube, inflates it and it bursts again. He checks the tyre and finds a cut. I suggest he boots the tyre and he does with a tyre patch. It works and we go on.

Support car leaves us to wait for another group. "Just go straight," were the oral directions. We come to a fork in the road. After discussion, we decide to go straight. But it doesn't feel right. I ask everyone to U-turn. We see M again, who points out where to go. And so I lead, past immigration and customs. Where to next? The written instructions are congratulatory in nature.

"Do you trust me?" I ask V. "Would you cuss me?" The answers to both are "Yes". So I lead again, and we reach the end point - the charity we are raising funds for - to applause. Some people ask me: "Why are you so late?" I should've reached hours ago.

But what adventures I've had. Three punctures on knobby tyres, when I've cycled a thousand km on slicks without mishap. But if I wasn't here, would this group have had a harder time with a cut tyre and navigating?

Clearly wrong

Aug distance: 470 km

Woodlands, 63 km. The heat pounds down, the kind that gives a pounding headache. At the traffic lights, a transporter is ahead of me. As it pulls away, I cycle close to it. In seconds, I'm going uphill at 45 km/h.

I'm heading for a charity ride briefing. I was there last year. I recall the carpark, the staircase. But I can't find it! I circle around. I could keep looking, but almost an hour has gone by.

I head home. Trucks pass by so close, a passenger could reach out and touch me. Or, if smoking, flick ash on me. Or spit on me. At home, I look at the map. The briefing venue. I was so close and yet so far!

Messages on the road

Aug distance: 667 km

24-26 Aug, Kuantan, Malaysia, 327 km

Prologue

View from inside the peloton

Bike n Blade #7, Singapore-Kuantan-Lanjut. The seventh in the fundraising series, this is furthest we travel to start the charity ride and the highest fundraising target per cyclist. This year, we raise over SGD460,000. Total funds raised in the series since #1 in 2005 is over SGD2m. 

The omens 
Day 1, Fri 24 Aug, Singapore-Kuantan, non-cycling day. I'm trying to do a good thing, burning calories to raise funds for a hospital and eldercare centre. That's no guarantee that good things will happen. I checked my tyres a few days ago and decide to discard one. A big bicycle shop I go to doesn't have 1.25" tyres. As there's no assurance other shops would have them (not that I have time to shop), I go with 1.5" ie mismatched tyres. I pump it up, only to find the front tyre deflated overnight. Old tube. I replace it with a new tube. The tyre deflates again overnight. How can new tube be punctured indoors? I check the tyre, it seems to be in order, no debris found. I put in another tube, sprint the 10 km in the dark to the rendezvous point and am among the last to arrive. 

DHL volunteers cheerily and quickly cling-wrap my frame. The bus cargo hold is full of bicycles. The president of the organising committee kindly shifts some bicycles for me. Somehow, I board the wrong bus. On the bus, I see the zip of my pouch has failed and my keys almost fall out. I endure the 8-hour journey to Kuantan. As I help unload the bicycles at the hotel, I see a name tag: a name similar to someone I massively miss. What are the odds of that, this name on this bicycle on my bus, with me unloading it? 

Attention to detail; lots marked out according to bus numbers

In need of cheer, I turn on the TV in my hotel room. Spongebob Squarepants is on, but it isn't in English. What's going on? Perhaps, the events of today and reminder of someone aren't meant to taunt. Perhaps it's God's way of saying, "Bad things happened, but you didn't miss the bus, you didn't lose your keys and you're still functioning."

And it is a nice hotel room, the best ever to date in the Bike n Blade series. The hotel is so fancy, bicycles are not allowed in the rooms. We park them in the exhibition hall instead. It is so big, we cycle in it to test our machines.

Night stop: Zenith Hotel 

Seconds from disaster 
Day 2, Sat 25 Aug, Kuantan to Lanjut, 134 km. I have a big breakfast, not the McDonalds kind. Judging from their t-shirts, some cyclists are marathoners and there's an ultramarathoner.

Lanjut Beach

When we flag off, I hold back (unlike past years) and join Group 3 - which turns out to be a group of  triathletes. All is well, at just over 30 km/h until we spy another group ahead. Some breakaway. I follow. Mistake. The group ahead goes about 10 km/h faster. I drop out and cycle solo the rest of the way. At one water point, I quaff 100 plus, Red Bull and eat some bananas to see what happens. I have a gut feeling: bad idea.

Some super bikes overtake me. Their throaty roar spooks some cows, which charge cross the road - just seconds ahead of me. One cow tries to jump over a bike, which veers off the road in a cloud of brown dust, hits a metal pole and falls to bits on the grass. The pillion rider is able to sit up but the rider lies still. One of our support crew, a family, springs into action. I cycle to a fire station and ask for help.

I was just seconds away, perhaps 50m away, from the mad cows. I've had nine pieces of bad news in eight months. Being tenderized by cows isn't the 10th piece of bad news. I've been spared this time. I'm grateful. If I didn't see the crash, I would've taken for granted my road safety. As for those in my life who have moved on, the pain of saying goodbye is directly proportional to how precious they are. Better to have known and lament, than to not know them - or worse, to know them and not care.

So I had a painless ride on the road. At the hotel, staff serve cold drinks with cold towels. Posh eh? Little did I know that's to prepare me for the three-storey climb with bicycle up to my room.

Night stop: Lanjut Beach Resort

Double blessings
Day 3, 26 Aug, Lanjut-Kota Tinggi, 173 km. Flag off at 6 am. The road is dark, with potholes aplenty. Bicycle lights front and rear are ablaze. We move off in batches. I start with Group 3, who ride cautiously in the dark. Carbon wheelsets perhaps? On my mountain bike, I cycle ahead. When I look back, the lights are far behind, twinkling like distant stars.

Cardboard care, bubble wrap 

I end up behind the the safety vehicle of the group in front. I draft them but eventually I'm solo again. When more roadies pass me, I try to keep up as long as I can. Once, I even pull them along but  by the time someone takes over, I am spent. At 1.30 pm, the sweeper bus at the 160 km mark will start to sweep up cyclists. I've done the maths; if I stop to have a proper lunch, I might not make it.

So I press on. For the first time ever, I skip a proper lunch. Instead, I subsist on bananas, 100plus, energy powder (which I've not tried before) and gels. Thank you, guts, for putting up with the abuse. The stuff works; despite the calories burnt, I don't feel hungry. A few km from the end point, it starts to pour. It's the first time in Bike n Blade that it's poured like this. I later hear that cyclists are picked by safety cars.up as it's not safe to ride. So I'm doubly-blessed; I avoid the sweeper bus and the safety cars. I've been on the road almost eight hours. By the time I get in, the lead riders have showered and lunched. As before at the start of the ride, DHL clingwraps our wheels and frames for the trip home by bus (and unloads them at our destination).

It's anti-climactic as our buses arrive and we head home separately: some by taxi, some by personal transport. I cycle home.

Ride for Rations

6-8 Jul, Malacca, Malaysia, 296 km

Hope in hope

Day 1, Fri 6 Jul, Malacca, non-cycling day. Usually, for any charity ride, I'd take a day's leave. This time, I cycle to office (16 km) and work half a day. My friends have the pleasure of cycling to and fro, while I bus north from Singato Malacca with the main party. I see some familiar faces from a Sarawak charity ride, I've not seen most of them in two years. Coming along for the ride are some magnificent machines, including mountain bikes with titanium, carbon and exotic parts. I'm the only one on fat tyres. Fat, knobby tyres.

I think about yet another piece of bad news, which I get today. Looks like my life isn't going to change. Still, many would say: "Are you crazy? I'd like to have your problems". I, for one, don't need anyone to raise funds for me so I have food. My problems are higher up Maslow's hierarchy, but they are problems, and they are mine. I can only hope in hope. Well-placed hope, I hope. I receive a message from a donor, who wishes me well for the ride. Sweet.

Nightstop: Emperor Hotel

Personal best

Day 2, Sat 7 Jul. Batu Pahat, 106 km. The heavy storm peters to a drizzle by the time we set off. I go with the lead riders, led by an Ironman. I drop behind within half an hour, cycle solo and catch up with some of them at the lunch point. They don't lunch; they're off after some bananas and drinks. I cycle solo again until the outskirts of Batu Pahat, where i stop to have iced coconut drink. The lady sees me pour ice into a water bottle and gives me a free glass of ice.

Some cyclists pass by and give me directions to the hotel. I'm the seventh cyclist in, I reckon. This is not a race but I'm glad to have done my personal best. In around 1.10 pm, I wait almost two hours for my bag in the support vehicle. Note to myself: put bag in car #1.

While waiting, I talk to cyclist #6, who says he broke a collar bone earlier this year. He lost control after cycling over a dip in the road. A few months later, he broke the other collarbone on a motorbike accident. He broke his toe too, and can't run fast. Tough for a triathlete.

Nightstop: Pinetree Hotel 

Not how you start but how you finish
Day 3, Sun 8 Jul, Singapore, 174 km. Yesterday, my solar-powered watch, veteran of several expeditions, resets to Y2K. I fix it, but this morning, it goes back in time. As I push my bicycle out the door, I'm dismayed to find the rear tyre flat. Ridiculous: fat, knobby tyres getting punctures cycling on the road instead of offroad?! If I wanted flats, I'd have used my road tyres. There's breakfast and flag off ahead of me. I go into a frenzy to find the leak and the cause: a 5 mm long intruder, which I pull out.

After flag off, I catch the tailwind of an excavator and draft it at 40 km/h, leaving everyone behind until I'm winded. A middle-aged lady on a motorbike rides alongside to chat, asking where I'm from, where I've been ...

Peloton #1 overtakes and the only way I see them again is when they stop to check directions; we're ahead of the support crew and "supply lines". We stop for a break; the only one between breakfast and lunch. The chief organiser, who'd strongly advised everyone to use road tyres, asks if I'm giving people a handicap with my fat tyres. Well, I do feel disadvantaged.

We lunch at Pekan Nanas. We park our bicycles in the sun. When I put them back on, my gloves, helmet and sunglasses are sun-dried and hot. From this point on, no more breakaways. With all the junctions ahead, we ride in packs so there're enough support crew to space out among support vehicles and junctions. Our pace drops from over 30 km/h to 25 km/h so others can keep up. Mountain bike speed, I like :) and I pull so long, others ask if I'd like to drop back. My odometer records average speed of 26.5 km/h. Which is just as well, since some roadies go down in  a crash, one of them ends up with fist-sized road rash.

At the end of the ride (at the charity we're raising funds for), I've just one puncture but not a scratch on me. And I declare my new shoes "expedition proven tested for expedition" :) While others board taxis home, I continue on my Little Red Tank.

Other people's problems

Woodlands, 55 km. I attend a charity ride briefing today. The destinations aren't new to me. What to bring, what to expect: been there, done that. I even see some old faces. I haven't seen some of them for years.

What bears remembering is, the problems other people have. Why does this charity ride exist? To give some people the option of having more than one meal a day ...

Which reminds me of another charity briefing, last year: "If you think you have problems, wait till you come here". Here being the dementia ward in a hospital.

Against the wind

Sat 3 Sep - Sun 4 Sep
Singapore to Desaru (Johore, Malaysia) to Singapore, 346 km.

Journey before the journey
Day 1: Sat 3 Sep, Singapore - Desaru, 165 km
My 10th charity ride is Charity Bike n Blade #6. Today is not work so I break a cardinal rule: don't try anything new on a big ride. I break this rule six times.
1. Use a new route to the start point, past filter lanes to expressways and a series of wheel-eating drain covers.
2. No valve caps, to reduce rotational mass.
3. Fill up with a never-tasted-before energy powdered drink.
4. Use only one squeeze bottle; the other has a screw top and needs two hands to get at the contents inside.
5. Use thin instead of thick expedition gloves.
6. No sit-down lunch break. Instead, nibble every hour on dry rations and energy gel, just like Tour de Timor.

This year, there are two foldies, one MTB (mine), a hybrid and the rest are road / tri bikes. That's a whole lot of bicycle and bling; if each machine is conservatively valued at $1,000, there's $100,000 of bicycle on the road. Someone shows me his carbon bicycle; even the spokes, crank and caliper brakes are carbon. The only thing carbon on my bicycle is me, carbon-based life form.

In the past, I tend to surge ahead with the first wave then blow up. This time, I rein myself back and find myself at the end of the peloton. Great, just what I planned. Until a second wave passes me and I realise I was at the end - of the first wave! Still too fast eh?

My first rest break is almost three hours later. The infrequent and short stops take their toll. Both foldies overtake me when I stop and stand to eat some snacks. As I'm going too slowly to draft anyone now, I go solo and look at road kill to break the monotony of going uphill. Besides the usual cats, monkeys, snakes, monitor lizards and birds, I see, for the first time, a porcupine.

My bicycle purrs with pleasure. The chain whirrs effortlessly through the drive train. The slick tyres give silent service. The only thing that isn't working is me. Lack of training, sleep and proper food, plus a rumbly in my tummy from the strange powdered drink are my ball and chain. I want to give up and take the short, 100 km route, but somehow press on. The energy comes from tradition: never give up, keep going.

By the time I get to the hotel, it's as if I'm the last man in. People clap. Members of the search party I guess. I hear half the cyclists had taken the 100 km route. While I get bonus mileage from the ride to the start point this morning.

Hot and windy

Day 2: Sun 4 Sep, Desaru - Singapore, 181 km.

As if I'm still and asleep, waves pass over me. Actually, they pass beside me, these lighter-than-mine bicycles. When another peloton passes by, I feel like a stray dog and latch on. One cyclist goes over a pothole and his tyre is holed. Air hisses like an angry snake. Everything stops except the air.

I wonder about some of these triathletes; some cycle with neither saddle bag nor tyre pump. Who needs inner tube or pump?! Whip out mobile phone, speak and a car appears with tools and spares.

It is hotter today than yesterday. Those guys who have crew cuts or even shaved heads are now the coolest dudes in the pelotons. I wonder how long-haired girls do it. Well, it's a fact, women live longer than men; they are made of sterner stuff.

Salt pours through my pores and stains my arm warmers like mould. I am thankful for the ice cold, sponsored 100Plus isotonic drink. I meet the legendary founder of Joyriders. She cycles six days a week. Her sole rest day is my sole cycling day ...

The song "Against the wind" plays in my head. The speedy cyclists are way ahead, and many others have taken the short route. Heat didn't quite bother me in the last Bike n Blade but then, my solar-powered, air- and liquid-cooled body wasn't getting older by the day. I pull up beside a stationary support car. The crew helpfully suggest I pour cold water on myself besides drinking it. "See the steam rise?" I ask. I protest in shame as someone holds an umbrella over me.

Why should the safety vehicle be behind me and draft me? We turn the tables and put some zing into things. We pass a sole roadie. "Come on!" I yell. He pulls beside me then sanity takes over him and he drops back. The car and I move as if there's an invisible bungee cord between us and we move like this until I'm on the outskirts of town. We pack, wrap our bicycles in cling wrap for the bus ride back to Singapore. We debus, and I cycle home.

Will I be back here next year? Will I be on a mountain bike or, as M asks, will I "downgrade to a road bike"?

Back to Borneo

Sat 9 - Sat 16 Oct

Sarawak, 784 km (alternative title for this post: suffering in Sarawak)

Prologue
This is my longest charity ride yet, with BikeAid (Singapore), in conjunction with Lions Clubs in Singapore and Sarawak.  Quite apart from the fact that I could confirm my participation in this ride only three weeks before its start, there are three ominous omens: official bicycle charity ride jersey does not fit, there is a problem with my airline booking (eventually solved) and a few days before take off I discover a problem with my drive train (eventually mostly solved). This would be my 10th major expedition.

Boxing day
Day 1: Sat 9 Oct, Singapore to Kuching, non-cycling day. Baggage boys seem to delight in finding new bicycle boxes to bash. My immaculately undented box picks up two ghastly foot-long gashes in just one flight. Another guy has his bicycle hard case bashed so badly it loses a wheel. The Customs officials take an interest in our boxes. I wouldn't say we were detained; we certainly weren't herded into a room for interrogation. We mill about as a phone call is made so that the paperwork (proving we weren't crazy, we were indeed in town for a charity ride) is produced. Fortune takes a turn for the better. It turns out my room mate has all the bicycle jerseys. I trade my S for his L, which is too small for him. He'll give my S to his 6-year old kid. And why did I order an S? Because, being a Small Asian Dude, my jerseys are either S or even XS. As it turns out, just about everyone else finds their official jerseys too small.
Nightstop: Four Points

Automatic transmission
Day 2: Sun 10 Oct, Kuching to Seri Aman, 190 km. Lions Club dignitaries turn up in force to pray for our safety and send us 15 cyclists off. The first few hills lead me to ask myself, "Is this it?" Of course not. Soon after, I'm trundling uphill at below 5 km/h. And it rains. I worry about going downhill. What lurks beneath those puddles - a pinch flat? high speed blowout? ticket to judgement day? Nah, just spray. My chain keeps shifting on its own; from the smallest cog to the next and vice versa. When it shifts, I click instead of the other way round. To remove the confusion, I fiddle with the barrel adjuster by feel as I cycle, until automatic transmission becomes manual. I arrive at the hotel at 6pm. That's 10 hours on the road including breaks. Two others are ahead of me, one on a Trek carbon roadbike and the other on a Conalgo hybrid. I log 64.7 km/h going downhill, I wonder how they did.
Nightstop: Regent Inn

Discounted travel
Day 3: Mon 11 Oct, Seri Aman to Sarikei, 167 km. Six hours of sleep after accumulated sleep deficit is barely enough for me.  There's barely a cloud in the clear blue sky. In the blazing heat, I blaze ahead, being the second to reach the lunch point, behind Conalgo dude who has a blistered toe and carbon crank arms. After lunch, I lie down (beneath a ceiling that looks like hub and spokes) as there is time for a siesta. Others join my lead ... When I get up, I overdose on isotonic drink and have a rumbly in my tummy. I send down a combo of 2 tablets and a capsule to sort things out and I cycle again.

As the road crosses rivers, the bridges remind me of Timor Leste. This ride sure feels like Tour de Timor - race against time, sometimes skipping rest points. These mobile rest points (support vehicles) are spaced out every 10 km. This doesn't sound far, but the rolling hills sure make sweat roll fast and the km slow.

As I carbo load, I realise I'm like a hamster. I stuff my face then spin. Later, I see a nice place to eat again: a bus stop inlaid with mosaic beside a park. A support vehicle stops, tops up my fuel and proceeds to chase down one more guy in front. As it turns out, a few minutes ahead is a compulsory stop. Change in plans.

All our bicycles go up the support vehicles so we can ride - in the cars - nearer to town. There, with traffic police escort, we cycle into town. Some people breakaway. "Would you like me to chase them down?" I ask Chief Cyclist. "How are you going to do that?" By sprinting ahead then slowing down to 15 km/h. Why was our distance cut short? a) the ride took longer than anticipated and there is an official dinner. b) thee is a steep downhill with a elbow bend which, if mishandled, may lead to more than scraped bloody elbows.
Night stop: Dragon Inn

Cycling on ceremony

Day 4: Tue 12 Oct, Sarikei to Sibu, 53 km. Today's ride is ceremonious, with police outriders again.

We cycle at a controlled pace, first to a spectacle shop which offers free eye tests and spectacles to poor school kids, who go for means test and eye test. I hear some spectacles have come from Singapore opticians. We make such a spectacle of ourselves, we end up as a full page story in the next day's Chinese newspaper.

Things are back to 'normal' after that: us Fearsome Four blaze the way to Agape Centre in Sibu, which houses several non-profits eg Association for Children with Special Needs, then to Sarawak Society for the Blind and Methodist Children's Home (for the latter, there are gifts of stationery).

Our hotel is so high class, bicycles aren't allowed into the rooms :o I sure miss it; I can't use it as a clothes rack. High-end hotels have hangers that hang only in cupboards, and I can't hang just-washed-in-the-sink bicycle clothes in there, can I? Still, it's a nice room, and we get one in the corner.

Ceremonies continue with a formal dinner, where Lions are dressed to kill. There is food, speeches, District Governor as guest of honour, violin solo, a Chinese guy singing Italian opera, and dancing girls - not that kind of dancing girls for this is a dignified dinner - I refer to a fan dance.
Nightstop: RH Hotel

Slipping into slipstream

Day 5: Wed 13 Oct, Sibu to Bintulu, 246 km. Morning call 4.30 am. Breakfast 5 am. Flag off at 6 am. Ok, 20 minutes later than that. This is the longest day. I so want to finish the ride. Lunch at 10 am. Half an hour later, I'm off. Speeding downhill, dodging potholes. Nice, on a nippy mountain bike. I also have fun chasing the slipstream of passing timber truck with long loads of sawn timber. At a rest stop, I hear a cyclist has crashed: a rear wheel has knocked a front wheel off balance. I ask the medic for news, he says face plant with multiple abrasions, victim is hospitalised for observation. The Fearsome Four become the Three Terrors, one of whom cycles so light, he doesn't even carry sunblock. I'm told it can get as hot as 42 degrees Celsius, I'm glad I didn't know that then.

Back on the road, I see a man in a conical straw hat with diving mask in one hand and spear gun in the other. Later on, I see a hunter with a straw basket and rifle. I also see death metal hurtle towards me, as a vehicle goes the wrong way in my lane while overtaking traffic. I wave it away; like magic, it goes away.

At a stop point, I hear a crew member talk to another cyclist about me. "Ah, I see, it's smaller so he has to work harder." They could be talking about my wheels or cranial capacity.

Hills, hills, hills. To console myself, I think of Laos where the climb is long and Timor Leste where the roads are rough. Most cyclists are in the support vehicles. There is some talk that all of us have to ride in cars. A senior support crew member says, "ride on". Even when I'm stopped later by another crew member, senior dude tells me, "Ride on." So I get back on my bicycle and oblige. Only three of make make it all the way to Bintulu, where local mountain bikers and a police car escort us to a stage for another ceremony, where sponsors are honoured and we're garlanded on arrival and thoughtfully plied with drink and cake before a late dinner. A guy shakes my hand, "Congratulations, Hamster." Another asks for a group photo of us Three Terrors. I've finally broken my personal best distance, which was 225 km in one day.
Nightstop: Li Hua Hotel

Easy day is hardest day
Day 6: Thu 14 Oct, Bintulu to Miri, 128 km. Morning call 4.30 am, breakfast at 5, flag off at 5.45 going on 6.20. Today's distance is merely hundred plus. I am so slow, W asks if I'm ok before overtaking me. At a rest stop, A asks what I'm doing back there; I usually whizz past the first rest stops and few cyclists see me except at the start and finish. Yesterday was my best day, I do overtime so today my body is off. Or did it help that yesterday I wore a jersey that reads "Borneo Motors"?

As I near lunch point, I perk up. But things continue to go wrong. Km after km, I cycle on. No food in sight. Every glint in the distance, I hope is a support vehicle. Hopeless. I'm a goner. I see a shack by the road and break out my emergency rations. My butt is busted too, so I cool it for 15 minutes.


I get up and go, to make the next food point an hour away. Alas, that's not to be. I come across W who tells me "change in plans". Cyclists are being rounded up and driven to lunch point. So there you have it, a veteran who's completed all of Tour de Timor is in the broom wagon for Sarawak. It seems only four cyclists make it all the way today (and for the entire expedition, only two made it all the way past 800 km, one on a Trek the other on Cervelo). After lunch, we're driven to the outskirts of town under police escort to Pusat FDK Miri for more photo opportunities like cheque presentations. The cycling is over. At the grandest dinner of all - about 20 tables - people go on stage to be thanked. About RM80,000  raised for eight charities, I hear.
Nightstop: Eastwood Valley Golf and Country Club

The seat of the problem
Day 7: Fri 15 Oct, Miri to Kuching, non-cycling day. My bicycle box takes another two hits from the airport baggage bullies. That's way too many; my previous box (which I bought in Thailand) survived seven flights to Cambodia, Timor Leste and Brunei, and retired after the cardboard got too "floppy". I patch up the box then get help for myself - massage for my legs. I scream like a girl - actually, worse - as the girl next to me looks at me bemused since the worst she goes is a soft "ouch".

The injured rider is out of hospital. I tell him his battle scars are more honourable than mine, he tells me not to make him laugh as his mouth hurts.

Dinner is at a Lion dignitary's home. Ten cars driven by Lions take us to the multi-millionaire's home. The fleet of cars parks in the driveway with room to spare. We run out of space in our tummies as we gorge on local delicacies.

I reflect on why I'd a bad ride yesterday (crewman tells me I've done 95% of the ride; to me, anything less than 100% is "fail"). The answer is too little sleep, too much confidence.  There's a rhyme, there's a reason. Things I relearnt in the last hundred km of a 800 km ride: 1-2 buckle my shoe, 3-4 eat lots more, 5-6 lubricate, 7-8 tyres inflate, 9-10 contingency plan ... If only I'd eaten more of that less than appetising breakfast, pumped up my tyres and not counted on that supposed foodstop at 80 km. Worst of all is the pain in the butt; even coasting was a sore affair.

Baggage bullies bounce bikes

Day 8: Kuching to Singapore, non-cycling day. I wonder how our bicycle boxes get so bashed up. Today, I have the good (or bad) fortune to see for myself. Why stand on ceremony when baggage loaders stand on bicycle boxes and pass the buck / box to another guy in the belly of the aircraft. All the "fragile" stickers are for decoration. Ok, they are more useful than that; fragile stickers help hold box together after it gets bashed.

My thanks to the Lions. They provide the support vehicles, turning up at wee hours of the morning and driving us to and from dinner. In cars that start and stop, they ride and jump out into the blazing sunlight, bearing bananas, bread, water, isotonic drink. They cheer us on, give us directions. At lunch stops, they sometimes pay for us, or someone has supplied the food. They gave their energy and money. Thank you so much.

The toughest, the highest

Sat 4 Sep - Sun 5 Sep

Kota Tinggi to Kuala Rompin to Kota Tinggi, Johore, Malaysia 361 km.

Different cyclists, same results

Day 1, Sat 4 Sep, Kota Tinggi to Kuala Rompin. The rule is, at the start, start slow. Let those who want to go fast, go. Time and again, the rule has proved to be immmutable - especially if you know the lead cyclists. Full carbon road bicycles vs aluminium mountain bike. I've barely five hours of sleep. And I cycle to the start point.

"But this time it's different," I tell myself. I don't know the lead riders, maybe I can keep up. And I do. For a while. Then, I drop back like a kite with a cut string. I end up cycling alone. The support crew drive by to check on me once in a while, to see if I'm alive or a zombie. To help me save calories, one of them, from sponsor Equinix, even tops up my water bottle and peels bananas for me. From what he tells me, I gather I'm in the 40-50th percentile. I'm fast, but not as fast Father Time, who's fast catching up with me. To keep up with the young triathletes on tri-bikes, I rest less frequently - just a few minutes at water points and I'm off.

This Charity Bike & Blade (the 5th in the series) is mind-numbing. It used to be just to Mersing, with one long stretch of rolling hills. Now, there's those hills, plus those at Endau. It take too much energy to even play songs in my head. So I just aim for the crest of each hill and focus on my form, including my breathing. That's living in the moment. No more music in the head, that's too tiring.

One breath at a time

Day 2, Sun 5 Sep, Kuala Rompin to Kota Tinggi. It rains heavily at night. The road is wet, the rooster tail of water sprays from wheels, whirring and humming. Cycling at 16 km/h at the start to warm up is too slow for me. I do my usual 20 km/h warm up then crank it up to 25 km/h. The roadies catch up. Unlike yesterday, this time, I don’t chase. Until someone in white shorts comes along at 32 km/h. We take turns to draft each other.

As cyclists pass, I see compression leggings, aero-bars, high-end full carbon bicycles. Shorts are in different colours, but we wear identical white Uvex helmets and lilac jerseys - the official colour of St Luke’s Eldercare. There are 98 or so cyclists, we raise about $360,000 for charity, the highest ever.

Unlike in the initial 3 years of Bike n Blade, where there were more people on mountain bikes, the numbers dwindle in the subsequent two years. This year, there are only 2 mountain bikes. My small wheels and small crank churn to keep up. At one point, I end up pulling a peloton along as no one wants to take the lead. I soon end up cycling solo; spent after pulling people along and I can’t keep up thereafter. What a difference a few km/h makes.

Few people stop to eat, except for lunch. This is a high performance crowd, stops are only at support vehicles - especially the 100-Plus truck that comes with ice-box. someone asks if he can have a few cans to put on his burning butt.

This year’s Bike n Blade is toughest. Besides the rolling hills to Mersing, there's the Endau hills. My heart falls when I am at a crest and see a series of rolling hills ahead. As I cycle, I think of Laos - if I can make it up those 1,500m mountains, i can make it here. Near the end, I think of my marathon run. If i can finish that, i can finish this.

I see road kill, grotesque in death. If it’s too mangled, I look away. Otherwise, I identify it - to keep my mind off the ride. There are snakes, cats, dogs. Sometimes, birds peck away at scraps on the road. If the road kill is fresh, I hold my breath. I also see hills, denuded of oil palm, with trails snaking up. How I want to ride there instead of on the road.

I hurry to catch the 3pm bus ride back to Singapore. Bicycles are gingerly placed in luggage compartments or on passenger seats, with cling-wrap or bubble wrap. When we disembark, I choose to cycle home, the same way I start the ride.

Tips: when tired, moaning doesn't make the climbs easier. Instead, focus on form, live in the present - how to pedal, how to breathe. All that's needed is to cycle up this crest, and the next, one at a time. Break time up into 15 minute chunks, with a sip of drink as a treat. Don't have to last hours, just last 15 minutes, and the next, one chunk at a time.

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 ...