National iconoclast

To National Stadium, 38 km. In a TV documentary, a political commentator points out where his home had been. Now, it is in the shadow of an overhead bridge for motorists. Plants now grow where he grew up. This week, letters appear in the press chiding those who'd decided that the iconic National Library had to go, to make way for motorists on the go, to save them five minutes. Where cavernous halls used to be filled with the atmosphere of learning, there's now a tunnel filled with traffic fumes. Another icon that'll be going down too is the National Stadium, opened by Lee Kuan Yew in 1973. I've puked there and led a contingent there. Watched decades of national days there. It's empty today, yet filled with memories. I walk the concrete one last time, including the spot where Mr Lee must have seen the nation on parade. Wow, the building is coming down but he's still standing ...

Strange that it's strange

To Mandai Road, 26 km. I get an email today; someone wants to interview me about my life on wheels. How strange, just when I'm getting tired of cycling. Or maybe it's strange I think it's strange. The timing is right after all, if you believe in the Big Guy in the Sky. Anyway, for those tired of running, it's been said that the hardest step is putting on the running shoes. For those tired of cycling, I suppose the equivalent is putting on shoes, gloves, helmet, dragging the bicycle out of the house - then dodging road-borne big boxes of metallic death. Still, I have fun today, drafting (with fat tyres) a motorbike at 42 km/h until the ubiquitous traffic light puts a stop to this.

Still steel

To Mount Faber, 53 km. I come across a group of roadies by the road as I do my laps up the hill. I stop to chat on my fifth and last lap. I know some of them but the rest are strangers. Which didn't stop them from offering me isotonic drinks and buying me lunch. Most of them are on steel (vs aluminium / carbon / titanium) bicycle, lovingly polished and maintained, gleaming and looking like new. One-inch tubing, with threaded forks and at least one bicycle with friction shifters on the down tube. These bicycles would be at least 20 years old. The riders are older - they'd lived in kampongs. Hence their name: Kampong Kakis. They're among the friendliest roadies I've ever met. Today, I wear my self-dyed arm warmers for the first time. Someone says it looks nice, though to me it looks like some creature died on it and decomposed, leaving splotches (yes, like roadkill!).

Meetings

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 27 km. I'm in a meeting this morning when I'm called urgently to attend a second one. I cut short the first meeting and go for the second. Because of the second meeting, there's a third urgent meeting. All of this to get things right and beat the clock. I have lunch at 3pm; a lunch meeting. I have another meeting tonight: the one where the rubber meets the road. I tear around the circuit on my fat squishy tyres till I'm winded.

Banking on trouble

To Mount Faber, 52 km. This week is like last week. At work, there's still heavy fire. And another banking fiasco. I wait an hour at bank #1, only to be told I should go to bank #2. At the latter, there's another 1,000 places ahead of me (based on queue number). Someone helps me before I become a fossil and says bank #1 is the place to go. Today, I do my five non-stop laps up Mount Faber, like last Sunday. And like last week, I notice the little things. At an Indian restaurant, I'm given a banana leaf big enough for two. The rice served is enough for two too. There's an Indian show on TV, which brings back pleasant memories of India. Today, I could've been maimed / killed twice by overtaking cars but I live to tell the tale. Unlike the little kitten that's splayed on all fours, with blood oozing from it's mouth.

On trial

Feb distance: 237 km

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 27 km. The road is wet from rain. Ordinarily, I'd stay home and stay warm. But these aren't ordinary times. I'm under fire and on trial. a) Under fire: I'm under heavy fire at work, with no respite in sight. My flak jacket is shredded; I'm considering coconut husks as stop-gap. b) On trial: there's an individual time trial next month. I've figured out what's needed, so training isn't drudgery any more. Having a goal (and a benchmark - last year's record), I know how to get there. I know what's relevant and what's not, what counts and what doesn't. So I cycle, in my Waveline shorts (a personal first). It rains. But I'm cheery, because I've figured out b). And because, as someone reminds me today, there are "little" things. Like friends who care (actually, this is a big thing!). And little things like having a hot cup of cocoa. We can't always fix the big things (like getting people to accept and apply (b), but the little things are in our grasp.

Downs and ups

To Mount Faber, 52 km. Yesterday is a bad day. I go to three banks. At one of them, my queue number is 2015; number being served: 1035. Then it's a working lunch, giving advice on how communications strategy and dealing with audit findings. Then it's three hours with a friend going over our year-end expedition plans. My head hurts before I get home and I feel like puking (aka "merlion"). Today is a good day. I'm up after 12 hours of sleep. I cycle up Mount Faber with my fat tyres, in the noon-day sun. I want to stop after round 2, but meet my target of doing five non-stop, despite having to contend with a taxi going against traffic flow (ie going head-on towards me) as it overtakes a bus. I have lunch at a new place, cycle up Keppel Hill for the first time (where, by fluke, I see a man playing the flute) then head home.

By the river, reprise

To Choa Chu Kang, 54 km. Just 24 hours ago, I was on foreign soil, in Yangon. It's a different world, with right hand drive. For over two days, I hear no honking, yet in Singapore, you'd be hardpressed in two hours to find a driver who doesn't press his horn hard. On the streets there, it's "eat first" (instead of "pay first then eat" in Singapore), right to life rules (instead of right of way), "we first" rather than "me first", and natural beauty abounds. Here, it's hard to find unspoilt beauty. Still, I manage to parts of old Singapore today, where yellow butterflies flit a frantic dance on an old abandoned road (Lorong Bistari).

By the river

To Choa Chu Kang, 77 km. I'm on my fat tyres for the first time this year. A light turns green and I cross a junction. Another car beats the red light bearing down on me. The driver literally lifts her hands in despair. She must've lifted her feet off too. Since I've to hold on to my handlebars, I roll my eyes in despair and pedal away to explore some trails. I find a path by a river. It is just about as beautiful as it gets in Singapore; 2 km (and another 2 km back) along the concrete bank, surrounded by water on both sides.

Looks good (or what to look for when getting a jersey)

To Seng Kang, 27 km. I've been poisoned and off work for three days. I take it lying - and sitting - down. To see if I'm ready for work tomorrow, I ride my bicycle today, wearing a sponsored jersey. It looks good, with emphasis on "looks". It has many panels with inner lining on some panels, to cover the pin-hole type outer layer I suppose. I'm unsure which is the layer (if any) that wicks sweat away, but all that cloth makes the jersey heavier than usual. There's a pocket at the back; it's big enough but requires rummaging to get stuff out. The jersey is predominantly black and dark orange; not quite eye-catching enough for traffic safety. Designed with good intentions, but somehow the intent got lost in translation as the jersey is not designed for serious cycling. With all that work and material put in, I appreciate the gesture.