Back on the road again

To Clementi, 84 km. The National University's centennial ride to Kuala Lumpur is on again, after going nowhere since Feb. Today is the first training ride since the organiser left the university. There's just a dozen of us, the lost momentum is not surprising. I wonder if they can rustle up 40 cyclists now. What we lack in numbers today, we make up for in speed. There are two roadies with us and we tear up Mandai road, going downhill at over 50 km/h, including the giant on a full-suspension Giant. There's another guy on a steel rigid: D. He, too, is looking for a new frame. I try out a 17" Giant; it's too big for me, but the next size down is 14".

Farewell that never was

To Mandai, 40 km. I remember helping to deliver a crate of oranges to him just before Chinese New Year in the early 1990s. Yesterday, former President Wee Kim Wee was cremated. Today, I cycle to the columbarium in black and white to pay my last respects. But that was not to be; there are so many blocks and so many with flowers, I don't know where to go. Unlike the usual Chinese cemetary, the columbarium, with the sound of gurgling water, feels peaceful. I don't get to say goodbye and reluctantly cycle away in the night. The first time I went to a president's funeral was in 1981; Dr Benjamin Sheares' sister had taught me. He was an old boy of the school too. As if my weekend isn't bad enough (I work tomorrow), I get chased by dogs too.

Oldies are goodies

Sat 30 Apr - 2 May

To Sedili Besar, Johore, Malaysia, 312 km. Old friends (old among my bike pals anyway) on old bicycles on old familiar roads, cycling to a new place (for me anyway) is the way to fond memories.

Day 1: Far from the maddening crowd
It's been four months since I last toured with non-roadies. Today's ride has mountain bikers, touring bike riders and one solitary roadie, all from Bike Aid. It feels good to be the lead rider for a change, compared to cycling with the roadies. We're on a pincer movement towards Sedili Besar, which I've never been to. Eight of us head across the causeway. Another eight go by sea to Tanjong Pengelih then ride north.

Sedili Besar is close, yet so far from the maddening crowd. Away from city lights, the stars seem brighter and nearer. At the Sedili Kechil ferry point, a little girl cradles a little kitten in her hands. In a coffeeshop hangs a photo of the King (royalty, not Elvis). All over the little village, people sit and chat. This is the life.

Also special are the bikers and their bikes; among my group are three retro steel steeds: a Heron, a Bridgestone XO3 and my Iron Horse (of course). As if to protest my treasonous thoughts about changing my bike, two inner tubes blow, including one of my spares. It's a protest with some heart, as the blowout happens after I reach the Le Club hotel.

Day 2: Sleep, then speed

The seafarers head for home in early morning, while I sleep over 10 hours to catch up on a few weeks' sleep deficit, then have a long, languid breakfast. Three of us cycle to Tanjong Lemang while the other five bask at Jason's Bay. RA pretends his Heron is a single-speed and cranks up a mean pace. I too, ride at my own pace and admire DH with his canvas shoes and semi-slick tyres, powering away. They get by with no lunch, while I stuff my face - again.

Day 3: On the road with roadies
I cycle at my own pace, comforted by the thought there are others on the road. As I stand and wait, some familiar faces streak by - roadies. I cycle with the stragglers part of the way, then rejoin the others.

Tech note I've been thinking about kicking roadie butt by getting a road bike, but this ride reinforces my decision to stick to a mountain bike. It's more versatile. And I outpace some roadies anyway even when fully loaded, as two roadies ride at sub-roadie speed in the scorching heat to Tanjong Pengelih for the boat ride home.

This ride is done with a reset bike computer. It seems to have "hung" just like some !@#$ desktop computer and I wipe out the hard-earned 20,000 km on it as I reset it to 0.

Indicator error, human error

Apr distance: 473 km

To Canberra Road, 30 km. As usual, I'm home too late for the Wed night ride gang, and cycle solo. I head for the sports school, but can't remember where it is. I pedal furiously, but my speedometer sometimes says "0 km/h". Since the RPM is wrong, speed is wrong and distance is wrong. But the forward motion is unmistakable: working so hard, making slow progress. As I dismount at the end of the ride, I'm almost the victim of a high speed crash. On the pavement. By another cyclist, who cares not for his own kind.

Nice doggies

To Choa Chu Kang, 60 km. There are two rides starting at 8 am. I skip them all to catch up on sleep after more than a full day of work yesterday. I hit the road alone, then give a newbie triathlete a good run before going off the beaten track. I pass 3-4 dogs; they don't molest me. They don't even bark. At a traffic light, a dog comes up to me. "Don't bite me, OK?" I plead. It opens its mouth and licks my leg. I believe its owner is the bikeshop owner who recognised that I've removed the crank he'd sold me. "It's been thousands of km," I say to soothe his feelings.

Stealing time, back in time

In Ang Mo Kio, 16 km. It's 8.30 pm. There's no one left in the office to see me steal away from the office, drained. I've got to ride to regain life and sanity. I cycle back in time to where I used to live, where I rode in shock over a little wriggly snake, where a mad orange dog bit me, where I struggled uphill on a single-speed, fell on my face as my front wheel disappeared where a drain cover used to be, and rolled downhill after crashing into a pile of roadside debris. Now, as an adult with a better-equipped bike, my Cateye cuts through the darkness. A shadow moves; it's a cat. All is quiet and peaceful. For a while, the storm in my heart quietens.
Tech note I wear my first pair of bike shoes, with new cleats. They are now my training shoes.

Grinding up Genting

Fri 15 - Sat 16 Apr:

To Genting Highlands, Pahang, Malaysia, 105 km. Looks like shit. Wait a minute, it IS shit. Bird shit on my waterbottle, on my bicycle, on the rooftop car rack, as we whizz from Singapore to Kuala Lumpur. It's Saturday morning rush hour as we do a "warm up" ride at 37-40 km/h. It's ok for the roadies but as the sole mountain biker ... HHL too has become a roadie and is ahead with the rest of them on her two-week old Orbea Vitesse. I fare better as we cycle up 26 km towards the 1,800 m peak. She overtakes me, I stick to her wheel then go up a 10-degree gradient while she waits. All of us DNF (did not finish), perhaps 6 km from the top, as we run out of time. What a shame. I'd hoped to break my "highest altitude" personal record. Going downhill, my speedometer fails. 0 km/h, it reads. More like 50 km/h. I'm the last man as the girls turned back earlier while the other guys led the group of 5. It's a sickening ride back to Singapore.

Follow that train!

To Sengkang, 32 km. I can't remember the way to the sports school, so I wander to Sengkang and follow the train tracks one round before stuffing myself with prata and heading home. My bum hurts; follicularitis. Either my bum is getting old, or my saddle is, or both.
Tech note My saddle is 11,870 km old, which is more meaningful than saying I bought it in Nov 03. Talk about space-time continuum ... sometimes it makes sense to measure space (or distance) rather than time.

Chock a bloc

To Kangkar Pulai, Johore, Malaysia, 162 km. So much happens in one ride. The Kulai ride is cancelled because of "rain", but I see some gals on their way to Sedili Besar. They ask me to join them, but I don't have my teddy bear for an overnight ride. So I cycle solo to explore the unknown at Kangkar Pulai and Universiti Technologi Malaysia. I see a motorbike under a bus, but the motorcyclist seems OK. Further on, two cars almost crash behind me; if it'd happened, they'd have taken me down. Or that pothole I barely miss at high speed. Or that furball running at full tilt, barking at me. Back at the Singapore immigration, an officer touches me (in both senses of the word) by asking me to join the shorter car queue. Then the people who cancel the Kulai ride do a local ride and I lead them on a sightseeing tour (and learn from a racing veteran turned bikeshop man how to fix V-brakes). The tour's grand finale: feet soaking at the Seletar hot springs.

Photo courtesy of RebelXH

Unfazed at Fraser

Sat 2-Sun 3 Apr:

To Bukit Fraser, Selangor, Malaysia, 68 km. There's silence, but for the sound of insects chirping, birds singing and my lungs labouring the 29 km up the 1,524m hill. We travel about 400 km by car from Singapore to Kuala Lumpur for the night and cycle up Fraser's Hill the next day. It's a long way to go to risk being whacked by a bus; I can have that in Singapore. Except that in Singapore, buses try to whack cyclists even on straight broad roads, compared to that bus overtaking me on a winding narrow road. Still, I'm cool, literally. Going downhill, I keep ahead of traffic as I corner at 38 km/h. W sheds some skin and blood; he has another scare later too. Mauritian R and N seem happy enough. I've reason to be happy too, besides enjoying the hill scenery and cool air. Having snapped the scenery, I keep my camera in my pouch on my bicycle, which goes on the bike rack atop the car. Which proceeds to get drenched in the pouring rain. "Oh God, if you keep my camera dry, I'll sing praises to you," I pray. Time to learn singing; not a drop splashes the camera.