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?

Journey or destination, a means or an end?

Oct distance: 148 km

Woodlands, 55 km. I didn't have to peer out the window to check the weather. The sunlight streaming in and the heat streaming in tells me it's a sunny day. I know I'll head to Woodlands but make several detours. It's not like I'm in a hurry to get to my destination and back, I'm out for a ride and so I ride.

I pass some boys and their toys - golf and model airplanes - and realise we've some things in common.

• Mostly boys: though golf does have a higher proportion of girls, most mountain bikers and aeromodellers are guys.
• Toys: they all slice through the air (including golf balls and clubs), so aerodynamics and aerospace materials are used. Bicycles do go airborne a little and roll on the ground. 
• Weather affects us: we bake in the sun and are at risk of lighting strikes when it rains.

Some things are different.

• Getting there: usually, cyclists can get to their start point on their own. Unless golf courses and fields are at their door steps, golfers and aeromodellers need a separate set of wheels.
• Health: cycling is healthier. Golfing would be healthier than it is, if done without buggies and caddies. Aeromodellers do some walking but mostly stand there and twiddle thumbs and whirl. Cycling can be hazardous to health though, because of traffic or crashes.

As I cycle home, it suddenly pours. I wait 30 minutes. Better to chill out at a bus stop than get home and spend more than 30 minutes cleaning my drive train :p

Mind games

To Woodlands, 47 km. I have a right not to ride. When something feels like a chore, to do it is a bore. When it's done for fun, it should be fun. So I lie in bed until I can stand it no more, then stand up. The sky is grey. Is it as grey as far as I can see, or beyond? Not that I can see far, when the sky is blocked in high-rise Singapore. Hence, I yearn for wide, open spaces. I fire up my Mac to look at the weather radar. All around where I live, a bright green hovers. That means rain. Will I get wet? The answer need not be blowing in the wind. Less than an hour later, the bright blob has become a piddling puddle. On the road I go! The road is slick with rain barely 2 km away from where I live. I pack my camera with me. Once in a while, I stop and shoot. To see the beauty in the ordinary. Even if it is an incinerator.

Things (grey sky) might look bad, but the bigger picture (weather radar) puts things in context. Even if it's bad, it might not last that long. Even if it does, look for the beauty in the ordinary.

Reverso

Woodlands, 46 km. I didn't cycle last week. Why bother when it feels like a chore? I am mired in malaise today too, until evening. I'm seized by the urge to rise and ride. And so I do. I usually ride to Woodlands clockwise. Today, I do it in reverse. Without the need for arm warmers or sunblock to ward off sunburn. Nor sunglasses and contact lenses. Nice and simple. Traffic is heavy and there are a few close calls. When traffic thins out, I look at the sky. Wispy cirrus clouds after the cumulo nimbus in the morning. I rue riding without my camera. Shots missed: smoke stacks silhoutted against the greying sky.

Privilege cycling

Sep distance: 309 km

Woodlands, 48 km. In mass affluent Singapore, there's privilege banking. But privilege cycling is foreign though Singapore has more high-end bicycle shops than any other city in ASEAN. One month after Tour de Timor, I reflect on the privilege of cycling in a government-sanctioned race where roads are closed for us, and food, safety and security provided for over five days. In 2003, hardened ex-communists welcomed us with respect after we cycled the length of Peninisula Malaysia to Betong. In 2005, I had a police escort all the way from the middle of the causeway to Kuala Lumpur . This cyclist is not as welcome in his own country, even in cycling-designated spots. The only time privilege was given on a large scale was 2009's OCBC Cycle Singapore, when roads were totally closed for the route (50 km for a few hours). Still, what a privileged life cycling I've had :) And I'd no close calls on the road today.

Positive spin

Tuas, 112 km. I never thought I'd fight the urge to cycle. First I read, then I lunch, then look for excuses. For an hour, I look at a weather map to see where rain falls and figure out where the wind blows. The odds are 1/4 cardinal points that I won't get wet. Excuses, excuses. When the sun is out, it's too hot. If it's overcast, it might rain. So I ride. As far west, as far south as I can, till the road runs out. I marvel at compact Singapore. North is Sungei Buloh nature reserve, where migrating birds stop. South is an industrial complex. Here, I almost collide with a dragonfly. In both places, wide, empty spaces. Should've brought my camera. It's cloudy. When the sun peeks out, hues of orange and pink burst out. Instead of snapping photos, something else snaps: my sunglasses. It stays on my face anyway. A car (in the wrong lane) nearly hits me. Later on, another car hangs back to let me get in lane. How quickly the weather changes. I keep above my cruising speed but the sky opens 30 minutes before I get home. Rain stings, brakes barely work. I can barely see; no wipers on glasses. I remove them; the first time I cycle with contact lenses and no eye protection. Water gushes by the roadside. I get wetter than at Timor river crossing. I'm glad I didn't bring my camera. And the pouring rain has washed away the encrusted Timor dirt from my bike.

A different spin

Seletar, 47 km. I wake up, then go back to sleep; it's too early to ride. When the sun is up, I get up. I'm in such a hurry, I forget my sunblock. It's a cloudy day. Would it rain like yesterday? For insurance, I go for a short ride instead of double the distance to Tuas. Seletar is now different. New roads, new turns. Heavy trucks with huge waist-height wheels that hurtle past. And dogs. Dog 1 barks while Dog 2 does a flanking movement. I back out calmly and as the barking continues, I crank up more speed. I almost get whacked by a vacuum cleaner on wheels that sucks up gravel. I could rue all the happenings. I could also be glad the doggies didn't sink their fangs into me and the vacuum cleaner swerved away in time as I appeared out of the driver's blind spot. Why be sad when you can be glad?

Riding with roadies

Bukit Timah, 51 km. I rarely do Saturday morning rides but I do one today. What a strange way to do a charity ride, to ride before, not during, then after. "Before" is when I cycle to the jetty to send them off to Mersing; during, when I'm working; and after, which is today. Everyone but me is a roadie. My fat tyres hum to keep up with their silent slick tyres. One of the cyclists, I know through work. I get a headstart on next week's work as we talk. As we head home, a mountain bike on full suspension blasts past us and leads the way. For a while. Almost effortlessly, the roadies pull away at 40 km/h, pulling me behind them. The change from Sunday late morning to early Saturday morning ride is a change that puts a "spin" on the possibilities of change.

Tour de Timor: review

1. Regrets :'(
a. losses: my watch (time to go, analogue-digital face, world time and multiple alarms) and my sports towel. Never in 3 circumnavigations (twice by air, "once" by bike based on over 43,000 km cycled in total) have I lost so many things
b. lacerations: i got some, but my team leader got skinned from hip to knee ...
c. loos: oh, crap. Why are communal toilets exciting? Because you never know when you'll get a clean one.
How fast does a toilet queue move? As fast as the bowels ...

2. Relief :)
a. doggies there were, but no bark, no bite
b. dents: none to bicycle (but a big scratch). I got dented, but that'll heal
c. deaths: none (some riders broke bones though)

Missing Mersing

Changi, 51 km. I used to think cycling a charity ride was hard, but raising funds took effort too. But hardest of all is not being able to do a charity ride. I get out of bed after 4 am. I feel flat, so is my front tyre. I rush to change it and rush on the road, marvelling at how fat tyres can go above 40 km/h. Not that I've got a boat to catch ... I'm going to say goodbye and purposefully leave my passport at home. This is the fourth year of Charity Bike n Blade. This year, the bladers are all on bicycles. I'm asked why I torture myself to show up. I toy with the idea of pretending to be a bicycle frame, hold some wheels and board the boat. But goodbye it is, time to cycle home alone. My front tyre is flat again. Timor-trained-thighs would've fared well if I'd cycled to Mersing, but not Timor-torn-tyres. At least I went to Timor Leste . Still, I'm sad. Gotta be really nice to myself today. But first, I rip out my front tyre, check it and the rim, change the rim tape, patch two tubes ...