Working, raining, sickening

Mar distance travelled: 691 km

To Woodlands, 39 km. I've been missing Wed night rides because I've been working or it's been raining or I've been ill. That's sickening. Tonight, I see people I've not seen before, all togged out in fierce-looking jerseys and bikes, cycling at a fierce pace. As I go at 46 km/h, one of them in knobbies shoots past me. I lead them to the sports school, where they do a few laps round the hill there. As we break outside the school gates, the surveillance camera has us in its sights. A security guard tells us to move. Well, we may be terrors on the road, but we're not terrorists. We adjourn to Casuarina Road, where service at our haunt has gone from good to worst after several management changes. There, B critiques my cycling style. GKT tells me B is a time trial champ.
Tech note My drive train has been behaving well since the Mersing ride. Nice, smooth and quiet.

Long slack ride

To Kranji, 77 km. Another weekend with the Bike-Aiders. I feel like sleeping, but that only brings pleasure for another hour or so. What shall I do after that? Instead of hitting the sack, I hit the road. I alternate between charging uphill and waiting in the shade. A trailer pulls past me, pulling a few other riders in the slip stream. That's when we really spin. We reach Kranji and Lim Chu Kang, which are unlike their usual rural self; traffic is so heavy, it comes to a standstill. Long lines of cars line the roadside as people make their way to the graveside to sweep the tombs.

Contacts with the road

To Woodlands, 36 km. Today is the first time I cycle with contact lenses. My earlier attempt some months ago ended in abject failure when, after a few hundred metres, my vision blurred. It happened again today but I pressed on, blinking madly. That worked, though my eyeballs felt kind of dry. If my contacts don't work, it means I'll make hard contact with the road. But it's cool to ride with shades; look cool, feel cool. Besides cataract prevention (I think), wearing contacts help to reduce neckache, since I don't have to raise my head that high to see the road. When cycling hundreds of km, each degree of elevation counts.

Messing about to Mersing

Sat-Sun 20-21 Mar

To Mersing, Malaysia, 322 km. The medicine label says in red block letters: "Warning. This may cause drowsiness. If affected, do not drive or operate machinery." Obviously, the doctor thinks my cough isn't contagious and I'm fit to work, since he doesn't give me medical leave. And if I can work like a bee, I can race with the rain clouds on my bike. So that's what I do this weekend, baking in the sun then soaking in the rain.

This is my longest ride of the year so far. It's the first time I've done two American century rides (100 miles or 160 km per century) in as many days. The first time I've been in another country during elections. The first time I use white soft paraffin for my butt and it seems to prevent follicularitis. The first time I eat two bowls of chendol in a row. And the first time I cycle long distance with Bike Aid-ers.

One has grey hair on top and sandals on his feet. His 10-year-old Canondale R800 has a plastic tray for a rack and plastic bags to hold stuff on it. In his singlet and platform pedals, he's one of the fastest in the group - and there are 11 of us. Also swift on their feet are R (who leads most of the ride on a Schwinn he borrowed a few months ago), IA on his Canondale road bike (with MTB cleats and red matching saddle bags) and MT (who carries all his stuff on his back).

This is a ride down memory lane for me, as it traces the first two night stops of my ride to Thailand. It feels a little strange; though that 1,000 km ride was a few months ago, it was another time, another place.

This ride is different. Then, it was cloudy and cool. Now, the sun is out. There's headwind. Lots of traffic (due to the elections). And doing 160 km per day over rolling hills (sometimes, four in a row) is no joke. There's time pressure; I need to get home in good time so I can rest before going back to my beehive on Monday.

It takes us almost 12 hours to reach Mersing from Singapore. On the return leg, I somehow manage to get home in about nine hours. Surprise, surprise, I don't get lost in Johore though I separate from the main group. I wait at the designated junction to Kota Tinggi but it starts to rain. There is no shelter, so I race the rain clouds which are heading south. I meet up with three others in the group. I tell them the rain is coming and continue south. Back in Singapore, the race continues. I get pelted with huge drops of rain before I get home. The cost of the race: cycling over 70 km virtually alone with them hills and with just one rest stop fuelled by a chocolate bar and two charcoal tablets (remember the two chendols?).

Photo courtesy of IA

Toe-clips and sandals

To Changi, 65 km. Toe-clips and sandals. Leather on seat post. Mud flaps on mud guards. And Milo with egg. I think the egg is served on a saucer separate from the drink. But no, at one coffee shop, the egg is in drink. And I drink it. So it can be done. What also can be done: cycling 30-40 km/h with toe clips and sandals. At least, R from Bike-Aid can do it. Today, I join them for my first time on a ride. What exotic bicycles; R has a Heron, JO has a Bridgestone XO3, which R formerly owned. The parts are so exotic, R gets them by mail order. It's nice cycling with them; I guess Bike Aiders are kind by definition. And it's nice that the weather has cleared up a little; it's been raining so hard lately there are floods.

Bewilderment and admiration

Fri 6 - Sat 7 Mar

To Kundu Island, Indonesia, 152 km. The crash of waves along the beach is like cycling. Both are rhythmic, hypnotic, idyllic even, especially in a place like Kundu, one of the Riau islands to the south-west of Singapore. My first-time experience there ranges from bewilderment at the hassle to admiration of the friendly folks along the way.

The prelude to the ride proper is a ride to Harbourfront, followed by a two-hour ferry ride. The bewilderment begins upon landing.

The hassle: It doesn't matter that I can get into Indonesia visa-free. Upon landing, a man in uniform walks up, checks my passport and says that as I hadn't been to Kundu before, I have to pay up. After I pay him, he asks for tips. Another man demands $10 for pushing my bike out of customs, though I didn't ask him for the service. And you've got to register with the area chief with a photocopy of your passport and more money. Somewhere out there in the boondocks, a man in a helmet and flak jacket yells at me. He's appeased after I wave a greeting to him. Back in Singapore, I'm almost abducted as the ferry pulls away even though my pals say I'm still on board. I take a running jump and barely make it on shore.

The ride: There are gentle rolling hills and roads that skirt the sea. Forests of trees provide shade along the way. There are fields of grass and villages of houses, some wooden, some concrete, some half-built or abandoned. Traffic is occasional. A boy on a bike way too big for him stands on the pedals and careens along at 30 km/h. Others chase us to point us in the right direction after we get lost. Another boy walks barefoot. A girl reads as she walks alongs. A cat limps along on three paws. There is hardly any roadkill. But this isn't a place for speeding; crashing into the occasional pothole at high speed isn't good for you anyway. It's a harsh ride on 1.25" slicks, given the rough roads. There seems to be more dogs here than in Malaysia. Perhaps because there are more Chinese here. Anyway, the dogs are silent and harmless, unlike in Singapore.

The place: This is a nice place to retire in. In Singapore, you'll sit on your couch in your tiny airspace and watch TV. In Kundu, you can sit on the beach and soak in the view - that's what the villagers do, as many live on landed property by the sea. They fish or grow their own food, which seems to be there for the picking. A sweep of the hand, the drop of a net, and presto, prawns caught by the moonlight.

The businessman: Bikerboey's contact, SB, is an "Indiana Jones" entrepreneur. He's been around the region sussing out a place "to make a few bucks". He sinks in $300,000 into Sawang Beach, catering to the expatriate market in Batam until the heyday was over. He's in the construction business and was involved in building Bridge #1 at Barelang.

Seven bridges of Barelang

Feb distance travelled: 504 km

Sat 28 - Sun 29 Feb

To Barelang, Indonesia, 127 km. The primary mission: head south about 80 km along six bridges linking Batam, Rempang, and Galang islands until the road runs out and locate a seventh foot bridge. Secondary mission: ride an American century, ie 160 km to and fro along the route, instead of the usual metric century of 100 km. Mission brief by bike leader TYS: hot and long, hilly ride. Eat and drink all you want, provided you carry it all the way. Form up position: 0700 hours at Harbourfront for ferry to Batam.

The roads at Batam are like those in Malaysia. But some drivers unfortunately are like those in Singapore. Still, there are friendly, helpful strangers. In the big city, it's been said: "Don't talk to strangers." But in Batam, like Malaysia, helpful people appear from nowhere, like the lady who calls our hotel for us to arrange our transfer. And the motorist who honks at me to tell me I've missed my bike pals who've headed along another road. What a nice welcome to biking in Indonesia; it's the first time I'm cycling here. And it's the first time I've done a century ride on my 1.25" slicks.

Mission outcome: primary mission completed.

Secondary mission is a total failure. I'm glad AD is along for the ride. It's when he cramps that I manage to overtake him, since I'm off form. Mitigating factors: starting the ride with barely four hours of sleep. After two weeks of medical leave. The enemies are too strong: blazing sun, roller coaster hills and ... only one "official" rest stop, at the first bridge.

Off the end of the road in the east just before the seventh bridge is a kelong which, as it turns out, serves fish of the day. I'm flat out on a bench while waiting for lunch. After lunch, AD and I abandon the secondary mission and seek evacuation back to the airconditioned comfort and soft pillows of our resort. TYS haggles with three locals on our behalf and we speed back to our hotel by four-wheel drive. The rest of the trip is total relaxation: eat and sleep. Except for AL - he doesn't cycle at all but is working through the weekend at the resort.

Red eyes, green eyes

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 21 km. It's been 10 days since I last rode. I've had viral conjunctivitis, also known as pink eyes. My case was so bad, my eyes were red like in a horror movie. And I became green eyed with envy, as I had to miss rides Barelang and Belungkur. Today is my "recovery ride" to "see" if I can do it. First, I sit in front of a fan at full blast to be sure my cornea cells don't fly off, then I set off. I'm off form. Right hamstring hurts though it's a short ride (OK, I tried to chase a roadie and a car ...). I also think about Ho Swee Haw, whom I met at Penang MTB Jamboree 2003. He crashed and died on 21 Feb in Perak. I'm sorry he's gone.

Six bridges too far

To Harbourfront, 20 km. Barelang. An exotic name across the water at Batam. Six bridges linking Batam, Rempang, and Galang islands. A long ride to-and-fro of 160 km. But these are six bridges too far for me. At Harbourfront, I drop out of the ride at the last minute, no thanks to an eye injury. I thought I'm OK to ride but the ride there screwed up my eyeball. Took a taxi home but got stuck for a while, no thanks to a driver who refuses to pay for parking. He doesn't care about me or the security guards, who also didn't care about my eye. "Wait for the police," they say. A little lady steps up and yells at the driver. She succeeds where the guys fail. "All men are useless," a lady once told me.

The craftsman

To Permas Jaya, Johore, Malaysia, 80 km. I'm here for the first time, thanks to GPS-in-his-head AF, who knows the new roads, old roads and no-roads-it's-mangrove-swamp-there. At Pelentong, we see a craftsman cooking noodles. He dips noodles in hot water, cold water, hot water, cold water, changing the texture and taste of his creation. On the way here, we are ticked off by a patriotic Malaysian for trampling on the grass at a teeny-weeny park.

Tech note Slicks at over 70 psi feel right. Less rolling resistance, faster acceleration, more road buzz. OK for Singapore roads but harsh in Malaysia. At the causeway, I come across the drain covers that caused grief to the legendary Jan Boonstra.