Power cycling

To Bukit Timah Hill, 54 km. Cycling needs power and knowledge is power. So I cycle today to check out Sunday's race route. Problem is, I don't know where exactly the start line is. Today is my worse ride in BT. After overtaking a big guy on the trial, that somehow unnerves me, which almost unbalances me: i) I glance off the side of a trial; ii) stumble over a rock (if I wasn't tethered to my pedals, my tottering would've led to a fall) and iii) stall uphill (after passing two hiker babes who stare at me like I'm from Mars). Even at 4 pm, there are hikers on the trail. I also find out that the clattering on the trail isn't a rock hitting my frame; it is my now-missing pump, which I replace with a Topeak. At the bike shop, I learn about pump design. I'm all pumped up anyway, after three near falls on the hill and three run-ins with trucks onthe road during rush hour.

From chicken to champion?

To Bukit Timah Hill, 57 km. Yesterday has tired me out. A roadie passes me this morning. Ordinarily, I'd chase. But not today. In fact, I want to chicken out, save my $25 race fee, put on my slick tyres and forget about racing off road. But I'd already asked N to show me the race route today. And my ego is bigger than that hill. Today is the first time I've: a) done the entire loop (instead of parts of it); b) fallen on the hill (after I shout at some hikers; why do they hike here when there are far more places to hike than bike on this island); and c) done the loop solo (I don't want to, but N says I should go a second round after her ride with me. Two riders blast past me and I stop to let a third pass). I pay N the "tuition fee" by buying her lunch. Next week will be the second off road race in my life; the first was in 2004. I'm glad I got a mountain bike to replace my Iron Horse.

Scared stiff

To Bukit Timah Hill, 82 km. Today is the second time in my life up that 164m hill. But its my first time riding up with clipless pedals. The last time I rode off road was on 21 Aug 04. I almost fly off twice as I stall riding up the first two slopes. Going down, I see a terrifying slope and I gasp. There are more scary downhills. A strand of spider web is on my face but I'm too scared to unclench my hand to brush it off. I don't even take time to clip in as I bounce downwards on my 50 psi tyres and rigid fork. Gravel sprays from under my rear wheel as it loses traction. I get lost. This is my first time cycling solo on the hill, without a guide. Somehow, I emerge without a scratch. My virgin ride up (on 15 May 03), on my Iron Horse, was more pleasant. Today, salt is visible on my black shorts. I feel charred, since I'm cycling in the mid-day sun to get away from the crowd. There are only two bikers. Some hikers stand to attention by the trailside as I rattle by. For a lark, I cycle to Kheam Hock Road. I was told there's off-road trials here, but I don't find it. It's a scenic tarred road though.

Brute beauty

To Sengkang, 22 km. I have a flat. I don't just mean I live in one, I mean my tyre has gone flat. Usually, I'll fret. But today, I remove my slicks and put on my 11-year old Kenda knobbies (last used in 2004). What an awesome sight. For the first time, my little red Tank has knobbies. It's noticeably heavier and takes more effort to get up to speed. But it gives a better workout. And what a sight to behold, brute beauty instead of the wimpy slicks. On the road, I can't help but smile as my tyres whirr and as I cycle over gravel, holes and kerbs in my way. I inflate my tyres to 50 psi (a first). I even, for the first time, perfect lifting my front wheel off the ground.

Riding with Extremists

Sat 3 - Sun 4 Mar

To Tanjong Piai, Johore, Malaysia, 240 km. MSH says it's brave of me to lead cyclists I've never met before. She's mistaken. I'm braver, to offer help to someone who had mountain biked in the Himalayas. She makes one post in togoparts.com, I offer advice like a few others. She asks me for help and I agree, thinking she's a newbie. Then the story about her Himalaya ride last year is published last month in The Business Times. Too late for me to back out!

Deprived of sleep and speed
Day 1: Sat 3 Mar, Singapore - Tanjong Piai (Johore), 136 km. The alarm clock chirps at 4 am. But I'm awake even before that. Too much work, little sleep, too little cycling. To fix the riding (or rather, to get my cycling fix), I start riding to Woodlands at 4.45 am to meet four Singapore Management University (SMU) undergraduates for their recce ride to Kukup. It's organised by MSH, president of the SMU's "Extremist" outdoor activities club (cycling chapter) - and the only gal in this ride. I'm the tour guide. I put on my racing shoes to spare myself embarrassment.

It turns out to be a slow ride. One of them is on his first century ride. Another has cramps. Both soldier on. Traffic is heavy. And, after thousands of km over a few years, I meet the most unfriendly driver in Malaysia today, who leans on the car horn when passing us by.

I take the students to Tanjong Piai, the southernmost point of mainland Asia. A friendly official persuades them to enter the nature reserve. And I see that not all progress is good. When I was first there in 2004, I saw a post stuck in the ground with directions and distances of far away countries. And I don't recall seeing any land. Today, the pole is gone. In its place is a huge concrete platform. And, as the platform juts beyond the mangroves, the view of Singapore isn't obscured anymore. Man has extended the the southernmost point artificially.

We stop in Kukup and dine on seafood barbecue. MSH notices someone doesn't touch the prawns and proceeds to peel them. My jaw drops, not because of the prawns but because I did read about the scarcity of prawn-peeling females in Singapore. I retire with a headache. Was it the heat of the sun all day, or the punishing slow pace of just over 20 km/h?

Crap and puke
Day 2: Sun 4 Mar, Kukup (Johore) - Singapore, 104 km. I wake up with a headache. It's another rough nite. Sleeping on a mattress on the floor doesn't bother me. But some light snoring and monosyllabic talking in sleep and roosters crowing, do.

The house we stay in, like others in the area, is built over the sea. The toilet is a hole in the floor. When it's low tide, you can see the crap. Forget about flushing, wait for the tide to come in. The proprietor says tourism now accounts for about 30% of the village economy (a drop from its heyday). The rest comes from fish farming and restaurants.

The sun is up. It is hot. And boring to cycle the straight road out of Kukup. To keep myself going, the music in my head is anime and Scorpions (does that make me an eclectic eccentric?). It gets more interesting when the headwind starts to blow. And the road starts to rise and fall instead of monotonously flat. The best things in life aren't flat. Think durians, dollops of ice cream ...

Looking back over my shoulders (and, for variety, under my armpit) to see if the last rider is cycling is rather dangerous on a narrow road. I sprint, drafting cars and motorbikes, then stop to wait. Nearer Johore Bahru, I behave myself again as the traffic gets heavier. Someone tells me to stop as the last rider can't make it. We stop, we pukes. He'd never gone more than 50 km before, yet this weekend, he does two century rides. I've never had anyone puke on my ride before. He gamely rides on, refusing taxis. That's national character, indicating how the Vietnamese (for he is one) booted out the French and Americans.

Back home, I notice I'd left behind something: a soap bottle that doesn't leak. Drat. That's another first, leaving something behind during a ride (blood and flesh excepted; I've lost those before).

"Mountain biking" with roadies

Feb distance: 346 km

To West Coast Highway, 85 km. V says a group of mountain bikers are joining us. But they're all on road bikes. As it turns out, they're mountain bikers who've left their mountain bikes at home. Taking their road bikes out on a spin (including one with egg beater pedals), they cycle at a relaxed mountain bike speed. They break off at Lim Chu Kang, leaving three of us to go to the west coast. N asks to go up Bukit Chandu, which I introduced her to on 19 Feb. I lead her a tad further, to the canopy walk, and she beams. We see a chameleon. I ask: "Wanna ride my bike?" It (the lizard, not the bike) takes a running jump off the walkway into the trees. The wind blows, the trees sway and the birds chirp. We tear ourselves away when it starts to drizzle, then chill out later at the Esplanade. Rich cake and beverage. Mmm, best ride of the year so far. I go home with a smile on my face instead of a headache that comes from gritting my teeth to catch roadies.

When small is big

To Braddell Hill, 20 km. How is it possible to get busier? Emails, papers on my table, people in my face. Urgent, important. Time is of the essence. But somehow, it passes. I hit the road after work, looking for the highest hill nearby to climb. It turns out to be less high than I thought. But it's a quiet place for solace. I stop by a petrol kiosk and treat myself to an ice cream. Ah, small pleasures are a big deal. The radio is playing. It's light classical music. I've not heard it for years, but I like it. The kind of music that plays on Band of Brothers. Not a funeral dirge, but not normal programming either. This afternoon, former senior cabinet minister S Rajaratnam passes away.

Dog tired

To West Coast Highway, 103 km. You know how it is with dogs, they chase cyclists, get tired and slow to a trot, until the next peloton passes by, and the chase starts again. And that's how it is with me. The first Thomson peloton blasts past. I don't even bother to chase. Wave no. 2 draws nearer. I ready myself, then catapult into the slipstream as nuclear-powered SY waves at me. A jam at the Kranji dam separates us. I struggle ahead and hang on at 42 km/h behind two girls including SY, but soon drop behind (hence the expression "separating the man from the girls"). Wave no. 3 passes next and I draft at a more humane 38 km/h. We stop at Lim Chu Kang to wait for the rest. Soon, we are eight again. N leads me to a West Coast hawker centre, which is my first time there. I have, for the first time ever, a kuay teow goreng and a Horlicks dinosaur. Bleah. Today is also the first time I pump my tyres to 110 psi (10% more than recommended). It's easier to ride, but not enough to catch more roadies.

Smiling speedster

To Lim Chu Kang, 67 km. My legs pump rapidly like pistons. My heart pumps like they would burst. My lungs scream for air. The average speed for this ride, uphill and downhill, is ove 28 km/h. And HCK sails past me, smiling like Mona Lisa and once, even chatting on the phone before sailing away from me. She's a smiling speedster, with a titanium Soul. Her friends call her "slave driver". There's another mountain biker besides me in the group of nine. He looks like a schoolboy. He's fast on his track shoes, fast enough for the roadies to talk about him. He slows down only when he bumps my rear wheel and crashes. This has never happened to me before. His bicycle ends up in the next lane. Fortunately, no car runs over his unusual machine. Or over him. He has a bad case of road rash.

Swept away

To Mandai, 71 km. Today's bike leader is HCK. She decides to take the rear. As I lead, a shaft of sunlight breaks through the trees. It's majestic, clear and I can take it at face value. Unlike the ritual of "we're riding slowly today", which became "look, we're in front, how did that happen". And soon, they are out of hailing range. What a fine turn of events. I'm in the ride, wanting to help out as a sweeper. As it turns out, I am a sweeper but not by choice, as the guy roadies and nuclear-powered SY drop me. I have my revenge on some other roadies on the return leg, as I drop them. Heh heh. At one stop to regroup, HCK tries out my little Tank; she's privileged to be the first gal to ride it. During lunch, O tells me about one of his accidents. He didn't just break bone, he lost some of it, through infection. I've never seen a finger tip without bone before.