Lighting and thunder

Upper Thomson Road, 57 km. Weather girl says it'll rain. I think, maybe they'll get it wrong today as they have on some other days.

As I head out, I see dark clouds. So I ride towards the light. Perhaps I was in the eye of the storm; suddenly the sky turns dark and rain pours. The storm is directly above me; I can tell from the split second between lightning and thunder. That's close!

The trees arch overhead, like a tunnel. In between is a light grey of heavy rain, undergirded by the dark grey of asphalt. The rain stings as it hits my bare arms and face. Yes, the weatherman is wrong: this is not a "shower" (a shower is like what you feel in the bathroom); this is a thunderstorm.

My disc brakes squeal in protest as I brake downhill. But I've figured out how to fix the noise without removing the pads and lathering them up. Squeeze the brakes, the manual equivalent of anti-braking system. Perhaps that gets rid of oily film. Or perhaps the storm is so heavy, it flushed oil off the road.

See, sea

Sembawang, 41 km. Yesterday, it rained so hard, parts of the country flooded. Water even flowed into some public buses (looking on the bright rather than stormy side, at least buses were running). I plotted how to get to dry "land" as a pedestrian, but I haven't done standing broad jump for a long time. And I might slip and fall too as pavements and roadsides have turned into streams.

Today, rather than risk being rained out at my usual ride time, I'm on the road earlier rather than later. I head towards the sea. I like water in me (hydration) and outside of me (landscape), but not on me (drenching, blinding rain).

Sunshine, sea and greenery: some of the best things in life are free.

Breathtaking

"Main road" on a little island north of main island

Coney Island, 66 km. I haven't cycled for almost two months, the longest break ever. Not that I
wanted it. It's the weather. Grey skies, grey with particulate matter and toxic fumes Made in Indonesia.

Today, after heavy rain, 3-hour Pollutant Standards Index (PSI) was 47. Then 57. Then 67. With 10-point increments, I could go somewhere worthwhile: the recently-opened Coney Island. It is mostly rustic. I hope they don't pave the roads. Leave it like dirt ok? But not dirty. The beach is almost litter free. I'm impressed. As for the crowd, I'm surprised. There''re people about on a weekday afternoon. The "main road" allows two cars to pass, but it's like a single track as people walk five abreast.

By the time I get home, PSI is 97. No wonder my throat feels funny in the last hours of the ride. I return home lighter. Not just because of fluid loss, bit because my rear light dropped off. I stopped in time to see it run over by a public bus.

Surprisingly, it's still recognisable as a rear light!

Sun shiny day

Woodlands, 50 km. It was sunny when I started cycling Matt Black, kitted up with a rack and bag for the first time as a trial. Then it rained. Another first for Matt Black. When I get home, the sun comes out.

Nightfall

Admiralty Road West, 37 km. Dark clouds gather. I wait for the rain to fall as dusk draws near. The clouds hold back, but the light inexorably fades. So out I go. As I head back from the ride, lightning flashes. I speed up to beat the rain. As I near home, I see that the rain has fallen, but not on me.

The dark clouds didn't blanket the entire sky, and I had options where to cycle. I'd headed where the dark clouds faded. I escaped.

Wetter doesn't matter

Woodlands, 50 km. After suffering in Sarawak, I accidentally reset my cyclocomputer to zero. There goes tens of thousands of km on my odometer. Then I notice the sensor hangs by a bit of plastic and promptly breaks, which I superglue back. As I head out of home, the leg of my sunglasses snap off. And a lift door nearly slams into my bicycle. As I finally get on the road, the drizzle turns into a downpour so heavy, it goes "ting ting ting" on my bell. I cycle on anyway. Usually, I'd cuss the rain as I dislike getting wet. But since I'm wet from the word go, there's no need to avoid rain, which will wash off my sunblock and keep me cool. When you're already wet, wetter doesn't matter. I'm happy to be able to cycle today and get home in one piece notwithstanding the bus that pulls out when my rims and brake blocks are wet.

Ending like the beginning

Woodlands, 48 km. Yesterday morning, it rains so hard, parts of Singapore flood again; it seems more rain fell in a few hours than usually falls in July. This morning, the roads are wet and the skies are grey. I wait till the roads are less wet, so that spray from the road doesn't end up on my cycling togs. When I head out the door, I see the drizzle. I'm committed mentally to cycle so I do. I don't like cycling in the rain. We wear "quick dry" clothes so we stay dry, don't we? The drizzle turns into a shower. I could turn back, but I don't. The task is the same but the purpose has changed. Now, I want to see how big the rain cloud is. As it turns out, really big. The sky from the centre of the island all the way into the next country is a monotone of grey. The rain pours down. Even motorcyclists shelter at bus stops. This time, I'm physically committed; I'm just too far from home. To go home, I have to finish the ride. As I near home, the rain turns into a drizzle and the roads start to dry. Just like when I started. Only, this time, I'm chilled to the bone instead of bone dry.

Do I feel better after the ride? Yes, because the ride is done. If I didn't cycle, I might've rued not cycling at all. And to be warm and snug after a cold ride sure feels better when it's well earned.

Laws of cycling irony

Jun distance: 201 km

Woodlands, 50 km. When I awake, the wind blusters and rain pelts down. I head back to sleep. When I open my eyes again, the sun beats down. As I head out the door, there's a feathery drizzle over here. But over there in the distance, I see blue sky. It's safe to ride - weather-wise.

It's dangerous to ride traffic-wise. At a X-junction, a car from the opposite direction turns right across my downhill path. The driver might as well have stopped and opened his door to let me in. I brake and yell. At a T-junction, a driver slips his car out from the side road in slow motion. That's driving dangerously cautiously. I brake and yell. At another X-junction, another driver does the same as the other drivers: when a cyclist is with a red bicycle and red jersey, the light is no longer green in the cyclist's favour, but red. As I go down another hill, a car meanders in front of me across three lanes to turn right. I'm so astounded, the sight takes my breath away.

Here are my "laws of cycling irony". #1: when traffic going in cycling direction is light, braking is heavy. Conversely, if traffic is heavy, braking is light. If vehicles (or better yet, a big truck) is beside cyclist, would drivers have pulled the stunts they did? Probably not. If they did, it wouldn't be cyclist in car. It would be car in truck. #2: when traffic is heavy and pollution is high, cyclist breathing is easier as no yelling of warnings are needed. The slipstream is akin to drafting too, hence less effort expended. #3: it is safer to ride in heavy traffic (heading in cycling direction); even if drivers coming from the other way don't see / ignore cyclist, traffic in cycling direction would plough into errant vehicle before cyclist does, push errant vehicle forward and give hapless cyclist more braking distance.

I've read and heard warnings about Vietnam traffic. I wonder if it's worse than Singapore drivers. Four near misses in 50 km is awesomely awful. Well, I'll find out for myself at year's end.

Bikes, bites and a break

Bukit Timah, 43 km. While others are out cycling, I'm in bed catching up on sleep. As I head out, the sun is high but dark clouds loom ahead. So instead of heading as far north as one can go on this little island, I decide to drop by a new bike shop, which also sells things to eat ("bites").  I ogle at the gleaming carbon frames and other gleaming toys. There are bicycle jerseys too. I wonder why people wear white ones, like the one I wear today. It is tempting fate, it is tempting road grime and puddles to splatter all over it, to turn washed jerseys that smell nice but look unwashed. Yes, it rains today, but I have a break today. As I cycle, the rain falls ahead of me. By the time I get there, the road is wet but does not splash up. The rain has damped down the oppressive heat that beats down from the sky and wafts up from the ground. It is cool, it is nice. What a break!

Overcast and sunny

Lim Chu Kang, 66 km. When I looked up at the sky last night, there were no twinkling stars. The sky was just gloomy and dark. This morning, it is overcast. Not cloudy, just a sheet of grey in the sky. I cycle anyway though I feel tired; I worked all day yesterday and get up at 5 am today, waiting for the sky to lighten up. It’s been a long week, I’m so tired I can’t sleep. My legs hurt, working long nights means my running is put off until Fri, which is apparently too close to riding day on Sun. Still I ride; past 50 km/h, my fat tyres roar with delight. While 9,000 cyclists ride in the south today, I head north. I see some pelotons of cyclists, which is usual. What’s unusual is a family of cyclists; papa, mama and three kids including one riding pillion. Further down the road, I see another family peloton. I wonder if they get bullied like I am, first by a motorcyclist then by a bus that tries so hard to bust me, I pull into the bus lane to avoid becoming a passenger in the bus.

Ahead, the grey hangs like a wet blanket in the sky. It may or may not rain, but where I am, the sun burns down. I'm glad to get home, to shower and fall into deep sleep.

Misinterpreted, missed adventure

Feb distance: 225 km

Changi, 72 km. I help a friend who’s organising a ride which is labelled “intermediate”. Over 30 people show up, including one who wobbles and swerves every few metres. I'm a sweeper. We barely cycle a few hundred metres when he crashes. Misadventure. By that time, everyone else is out of sight. He feels bad to hold us sweepers back and pulls out of the ride. I report this to the organiser, who replies that the ride is stated as “intermediate”. Perhaps, to that cyclist, "intermediate" meant being able to balance on a bike for a short distance. What a pity, spending time and money travelling all the way and renting a bike for a missed adventure. The rest of the ride has its excitement too, with people stopping to take photos and phone calls. It’s hard sweeping a ride like this, on winding park connectors. Several times we lose sight of the cyclists in front and don’t know which way to turn. Fortunately, no one gets lost or hurt. The two Hungarian kids who show up are real sports, no fuss from them. They cycle better than some of the adults.

Feb 2010 is the driest since Singapore's weather records started in 1869. It's hot, hardly any rain falls and one gets wet from sweat - but with a breeze as fast as one can ride, cycing is, well, a breeze :)

Cloudy and overcast

Woodlands, 49 km. The weather dithers. Sun beats down, hides behind a cloud, peaks out again, repeat. I check out the weather radar online. It'll be down for two months. The 3-hour nowcast has bad news (how there's a nowcast without weather radar escapes me). Half of the country is under thunder-and-lightning clouds, the other half is under clouds which may burst with rain. I cycle anyway, asking for trouble. Not because I want to, but because I desperately must ride today. An escape for a few hours. Escape with my life, I do.

A white car stops in its tracks at a blind corner; the monkey-brained driver looking at monkeys. I yell "blind corner" but the driver probably didn't catch the obvious. I pass a 3m long snake, which, despite its much smaller head, has enough sense to get off the road unlike aforesaid driver. Midway through the ride, rain drifts down. I see the edge of the black clouds. I sprint. The rain drops intensify into the "plop plop" type and I seek refuge at a bus stop. Of course, I'd cleaned and lubed my drive train. When the rain lightens up, I scurry off. A car, black as death, wanders about aimlessly ahead, then drifts to a stop. With wet rims, brakepads and road, my bike slews as I brake hard.

Gracefully, I come to a halt. I find my voice. "Hellooo! Dangerous!" I could've smacked into death's butt, bounce off and be run over by the car behind. A minor detail, of course, to the man at the wheel (I hesitate to use the word "driver" as I still believe drivers supposedly pass tests before they're allowed to operate their lethal weapons).

On the home stretch, I see a green twig, with most of it curly-wurly on the road and its head raised to see what's coming. It's a tiny snake. What does this portend of the future, or am I reading, thinking too much?

First ride of the year

Kranji, 41 km. This post could've also been titled "dressed up, messed up". "Washed out". "Weather beaten". The day is so sunny, it shouldn't have been necessary to look at the weather radar. But I do. Just a handful of tiny scattered showers, including one patch where I'm going. Surely it'd pitter patter out by the time I get there. I dress up, colour coordinated from headware to socks, sunglasses, arm warmers and sun block. Camera. And a freshly cleaned, lubed drive train.

The grey clouds look down on me and sprinkle some water. I quicken my pace, hoping to ride out from under the cloud cover. It is a tease, it is a trap. When I'm neither here nor there, it pours. I stop at a bus stop.  And wait. A foreign worker from China talks to me and learns something. That taxis with red lights on the top don't stop. His bus comes, he beams and says goodbye. When the rain turns from "pour" to "trickle", I ride. Another trap; it pours again. I stop to eat. The rain trickles, then pours again. I wait no longer; all in all 1.5 hours have gone by in the rain. I'm cold, wet, hungry. I zip up my jersey and blink at the rain stings my eyes.

Is this first ride of the year a harbinger of things to come? Today is the first day of the year and the first day of a new decade. But yesterday is another day, it ended well as the last day of the year and the last day of a decade. Anyway, What's with all this symbolism? Reminds me of my Timor race, where I slipped and fell down the steps before the start of a day's race. "And that will be the last fall of the day," I told my stunned audience. And so it was.

No where but here

0 km. Non-riding day. Yesterday, I dig. And lay out my cycling clothes. Today is a nice day to cycle. Sometimes sunny, sometimes cloudy. I wait all day for it to rain. It does not. I feel bad I do not cycle. Till I remember why I ride: to feel good. Since it feels good not to cycle today, why should I feel bad? I should get back on the saddle soon. Or the endorphins will not flow and my butt will get fat.

Dry in wet season

Lim Chu Kang, 66 km. Digging and lifting dirt is backbreaking. After a few hours on a dig yesterday, my back is sore. I cycle today anyway. I meet some Singapore cyclists I'd met in Timor, but they're looking for dirt. Me, I'm a roadie on MTB. I cycle with a solo roadie along the road, decked out in blue including bar tape. Two solo riders together. After some leap frog where we take turns to overtake each other, he leaves me behind. I'm knackered. I stop to eat and explore a river bank though, ironically, my water bottle is dry. I stop again to buy a drink. I'm pushing it, going on a two-bottle ride with just one water bottle. I didn't expect rainy December to be such a scorcher today. Life throws another curve-ball? Not really; if it rains all the time during rainy season, it'd be a deluge and that hasn't happened since the days of Noah.

Still, life has surprises. I see a lorry ahead in the wrong lane. The light is "green" to go ahead but "red" for turning. The lorry turns. I hear a quiet bang; if bangs can be considered quiet, this is one. When I pass the accident spot, a car is wedged between the lorry and a lamp post.

I reach home, grateful to be safe and for blue skies. And the rain pours. As a character in a Hindi movie said, if you're on a crowded train and someone pukes, look outside the window.

Truly it's relativity

Woodlands, 47 km. Usually, when the sky is this shade of grey, I say, "It's going to rain." In December, when the sky is mostly grey, I say, "It might not rain" and I cycle. The sky is tentative; a few drops of rain fall, but my sweat falls more. I wear no sunglasses nor sunblock. The sunlight pours down. I've cycled this route so many times, it starts to bore me. I seek to enjoy the ride. But though the motion (pedal) is the same, the emotion is different. Just as the journey matters, so does the destination.

Face fate

Nov distance: 255 km

Woodlands, 51 km. I'm almost whacked by a cab as I leave the carpark. I yell once, steel still comes. I yell again and swerve, cabbie waves apologetically. Better than waving goodbye. I go off the beaten track, to places which I've passed by but never looked. Lighting flashes, thunder rumbles. I tempt fate and keep exploring. I think I can get away with it, but I'm wrong. The drizzle turns into a down pour. I sit and wait. A foreign worker stops at the bus stop and talks to me. "Water?" He asks if that's gotten into my camera. "Monkey," he says, pointing across the road. Two of them walk on the railings, then sit side by side. Companionship. A lorry passes, packed at the back to the gills with foreign workers clutching black dustbin liners, that flap in the wind and glisten in the rain. It's their only protection against the elements.

At least, I get to stop at a bus stop, with a roof over my head. The down pour turns into a drizzle. I wave goodbye to foreign worker and ride off into the sunset. A car turns into my right of way. With my wet rims and brake blocks, I can barely stop. The car stops. I go on living.

Exploration

Sembawang, 42 km. It's been overcast almost all day. I sneak out hoping the rain won't fall. I wander about, checking out the promising places I'd passed before. Everyone of them peters out. As I turn back on an abandoned road covered with dead leaves and branches, the ground shifts, my bicycle stalls and I fall gently - on broken glass. Fortunately, no blood is shed. Why would anyone put glass out in the wild? It's not like it's a dump. As dusk falls, the rain drops fall. I speed. Fortunately, it remains a drizzle. I also avoid a fountain of blood as I filter past two lanes that lead to an expressway. Like a miracle, the traffic just cleared in time for me to get in lane. Light rain and suddenly, light traffic. Wow ...

Same route, different thoughts

Woodlands, 48 km. I've been cycling north for the past few weeks. Surprisingly, I'm not bored yet. Though the route is with little variation, my thoughts seem different. I used to rue living here. This time of the year ("winter"), it tends to rain. And this island is so small; just 120 km to ride around it. I'd wished I lived in US (where I can ride to different states) or in Europe (where I can cycle to different countries). Having watched a documentary about ice storms and snow, I realise I took for granted I can cycle most days of the year here, even if I need to fly to ride further distances. As I cycle home, I happen to turn my head and see the sunset as a huge orange poised above a train track. Nice ... I open my eyes, see what I can see. And don't take sight for granted either :)

Last night, this morning

Woodlands, 49 km. Last night, the thunder rumbled and the rain poured. Some streets were flooded. At least one car stalled. Some firemen removed a manhole cover and a 1-meter water gushed up. This morning, I hurried to ride under the cloudy sky, anxious to finish the ride, to be wet only with sweat pouring down, not rain. Also in a hurry is a taxi-driver inching out from a side road. He stops, I go since I have right of way. He moves. I yell twice and brake ... unable to stop before him, I end up in front of the taxi. He stops a handwidth away from me. He waves apologetically. What if he'd hit me while I was riding and the impact hurls me onto oncoming traffic. My poor bike might be irreparably damaged and so might I. Still, having had such a close call after so many km on the road isn't bad, is it? I cycle on. As I pass familiar sights, I realise they look better because I'm wearing sunglasses. They make colours richer. Without them, objects are washed out in the harsh sunlight. Illusion, or just prudence? If looking through coloured lenses makes things look better and help prevent cataracts, surely looking at life differently helps too?