Overcast and sunny

Lim Chu Kang, 66 km. When I looked up at the sky last night, there were no twinkling stars. The sky was just gloomy and dark. This morning, it is overcast. Not cloudy, just a sheet of grey in the sky. I cycle anyway though I feel tired; I worked all day yesterday and get up at 5 am today, waiting for the sky to lighten up. It’s been a long week, I’m so tired I can’t sleep. My legs hurt, working long nights means my running is put off until Fri, which is apparently too close to riding day on Sun. Still I ride; past 50 km/h, my fat tyres roar with delight. While 9,000 cyclists ride in the south today, I head north. I see some pelotons of cyclists, which is usual. What’s unusual is a family of cyclists; papa, mama and three kids including one riding pillion. Further down the road, I see another family peloton. I wonder if they get bullied like I am, first by a motorcyclist then by a bus that tries so hard to bust me, I pull into the bus lane to avoid becoming a passenger in the bus.

Ahead, the grey hangs like a wet blanket in the sky. It may or may not rain, but where I am, the sun burns down. I'm glad to get home, to shower and fall into deep sleep.

Misinterpreted, missed adventure

Feb distance: 225 km

Changi, 72 km. I help a friend who’s organising a ride which is labelled “intermediate”. Over 30 people show up, including one who wobbles and swerves every few metres. I'm a sweeper. We barely cycle a few hundred metres when he crashes. Misadventure. By that time, everyone else is out of sight. He feels bad to hold us sweepers back and pulls out of the ride. I report this to the organiser, who replies that the ride is stated as “intermediate”. Perhaps, to that cyclist, "intermediate" meant being able to balance on a bike for a short distance. What a pity, spending time and money travelling all the way and renting a bike for a missed adventure. The rest of the ride has its excitement too, with people stopping to take photos and phone calls. It’s hard sweeping a ride like this, on winding park connectors. Several times we lose sight of the cyclists in front and don’t know which way to turn. Fortunately, no one gets lost or hurt. The two Hungarian kids who show up are real sports, no fuss from them. They cycle better than some of the adults.

Feb 2010 is the driest since Singapore's weather records started in 1869. It's hot, hardly any rain falls and one gets wet from sweat - but with a breeze as fast as one can ride, cycing is, well, a breeze :)

Hard work

Mandai, 56 km. I see a long train of cyclist across the road. Might as well do some sprint training. I cycle till the end of the road and U-turn to cross to the other side. My rule is simple: I overtake cyclists, cyclists don’t overtake me. The hard work begins. I overtake uphill and downhill. I keep up the pace and cycle just below my lactate threshold. There are volunteers by the roadside, almost all of them are alert. Standing in the sun shine, they point the way and some shout encouragement.

I pass MTBs, roadies, foldies and a single speed ridden by a guy in rolled up jeans and clips. A handful of them pull away from be because they beat the red lights while I didn’t, but I overtake them all. It doesn't matter I’m older than all of them or that some of them have fancier equipment (Pinarello, anyone?) than mine.

I cycle till I’m almost out of water then head home.

It’s just like at work. More and more stuff ends up with me, even huge stuff that had belonged elsewhere. It’s taken a heavy toll. To work “part time” is to work 9-hour days plus an hour for lunch. Against the odds, I beat ‘em.

Cloudy and overcast

Woodlands, 49 km. The weather dithers. Sun beats down, hides behind a cloud, peaks out again, repeat. I check out the weather radar online. It'll be down for two months. The 3-hour nowcast has bad news (how there's a nowcast without weather radar escapes me). Half of the country is under thunder-and-lightning clouds, the other half is under clouds which may burst with rain. I cycle anyway, asking for trouble. Not because I want to, but because I desperately must ride today. An escape for a few hours. Escape with my life, I do.

A white car stops in its tracks at a blind corner; the monkey-brained driver looking at monkeys. I yell "blind corner" but the driver probably didn't catch the obvious. I pass a 3m long snake, which, despite its much smaller head, has enough sense to get off the road unlike aforesaid driver. Midway through the ride, rain drifts down. I see the edge of the black clouds. I sprint. The rain drops intensify into the "plop plop" type and I seek refuge at a bus stop. Of course, I'd cleaned and lubed my drive train. When the rain lightens up, I scurry off. A car, black as death, wanders about aimlessly ahead, then drifts to a stop. With wet rims, brakepads and road, my bike slews as I brake hard.

Gracefully, I come to a halt. I find my voice. "Hellooo! Dangerous!" I could've smacked into death's butt, bounce off and be run over by the car behind. A minor detail, of course, to the man at the wheel (I hesitate to use the word "driver" as I still believe drivers supposedly pass tests before they're allowed to operate their lethal weapons).

On the home stretch, I see a green twig, with most of it curly-wurly on the road and its head raised to see what's coming. It's a tiny snake. What does this portend of the future, or am I reading, thinking too much?

Tired of being tired

Woodlands, 48 km. It's been a hard and long week. I make a dent in my sleep deficit yesterday and try to reclaim more of my due today. I don't ride in the morning, don't have a proper lunch (too tired) and when it's too hot, I sleep. I get up, try to get more sleep and feel tired of being tired. Time to roll out the 1.95 inch tyres. The sun blazes. No excuses. On with the sun block, forget the contact lenses and sunglasses and cataract risks. Barely a km out, I feel hungry and I see dark clouds. Darn it, will I get drenched? Wretched fretting, I leave behind as I ride. That's all I can do. As it turns out, all's well that ends well. The hunger pangs pass. It's a cloudy day, I don't let the pedestrian and dangerous driver get to me, I draft a bust at 41 km/h and get home in one piece. Next week would be one of the most critical in my entire working life. Bring it on!

Cross border

Jan distance: 238 km

Woodlands, 53 km. When Singapore drivers drive across the border to Malaysia, they still drive like Singapore drivers. Malaysia drivers are generally far better drivers - they signal and are patient when filtering and turning. However, the two cars with Malaysian licence plates in Singapore today are driven like Singapore cars - what right of way; might makes right. One driver was cross enough to mutter at me as he swerved across the junction. If there was a truck going the same way as me, the driver would've thought twice.

Cycling puts us at the mercy of the sun, the rain and horrible drivers. As we're not sheltered by metal, it also means we're exposed to human kindness. People around us who'd not spare a thought to drivers and their passengers who go by, shower us with smiles, waves, greetings and kindness.

Solo twogether

Woodlands, 56 km. I cycle alone, minding my business. To breach the piddling 50 km barrier, I make a little detour. As usual, the usual monkey business is going on. I don't mean the little monkeys that scurry across the road nonchalantly, I mean the big monkeys sitting in their cars which stop on the road without pulling over at the sight of monkeys. Deer freeze at the sight of headlights and it seems some motorists freeze at the sight of monkeys.

I cycle on, minding my own business a tad too much. Then I see a solo cyclist by the roadside. He doesn't seem like in trouble, his bike is ok. I stop anyway. Turns out to be a Frenchman who'd flown to Bangkok, cycled to Laos then Cambodia back to Thailand, to Malaysia and today is his first day in Singapore. He peers at his laptop; he has no maps, just some street names. I become his guide and lead him to a petrol kiosk where he gets a drink and a roadmap.

Along the way we pass foreign labour who sit on a pavement facing each other, eating with their hands under the shade of trees. When they finish eating, they will lie down and rest from their labours in the sun.

I lead the cyclotourist to the housing estate and then I'm lost but he finds the right little street. I leave him at the three-story home of his friend of a friend. He's so happy, he asks a resident to take a photo of us. His next stop: Australia and New Zealand. Bon voyage!

Babbling brook

Bukit Timah Road, 46 km.

A babbling brook
Along the route
Quiet and safe
No motorists rude

Wheels that rolled along
The mighty Mekong
Home, it’s hard to find
A stream that sings along

The sun does beam
The birds do sing
A different journey
For wheels to spin

Nature vs nurture

Singapore River, 42 km. I meet some friends who’d spent winter cycling in Taiwan. It might as well have been on another planet; they describe how local drivers drive patiently behind cyclists and overtake only when it’s safe. No middle finger salute either, more like a thumbs up from drivers safely ensconced within their cabins with shouts of “jiayou”. The cyclists were given free drinks in shops and a driver went out of his way to help frozen cyclists. Why are Singapore Chinese so different from Taiwan Chinese; common gene pool, yet today I get bullied by two drivers ruled by law of the jungle rather than law of the land. Perhaps it’s because Taiwan is bicycle factory of the world? But doesn’t the law of supply and demand mean that when something is abundant, it is less valued?

Today, I also get a personal tour of a museum by curator. It’s like he knows by heart the captions to the exhibits but ask him more and he’ll go beyond what’s written. A few pedal strokes away from the museum is a dig which uncovered remnants of World War 2, colonial building material, Temasek era pottery and pre-Temasek sand. All that treasure underfoot, covered by dirt. To some, that treasure is trash ...

First ride of the year

Kranji, 41 km. This post could've also been titled "dressed up, messed up". "Washed out". "Weather beaten". The day is so sunny, it shouldn't have been necessary to look at the weather radar. But I do. Just a handful of tiny scattered showers, including one patch where I'm going. Surely it'd pitter patter out by the time I get there. I dress up, colour coordinated from headware to socks, sunglasses, arm warmers and sun block. Camera. And a freshly cleaned, lubed drive train.

The grey clouds look down on me and sprinkle some water. I quicken my pace, hoping to ride out from under the cloud cover. It is a tease, it is a trap. When I'm neither here nor there, it pours. I stop at a bus stop.  And wait. A foreign worker from China talks to me and learns something. That taxis with red lights on the top don't stop. His bus comes, he beams and says goodbye. When the rain turns from "pour" to "trickle", I ride. Another trap; it pours again. I stop to eat. The rain trickles, then pours again. I wait no longer; all in all 1.5 hours have gone by in the rain. I'm cold, wet, hungry. I zip up my jersey and blink at the rain stings my eyes.

Is this first ride of the year a harbinger of things to come? Today is the first day of the year and the first day of a new decade. But yesterday is another day, it ended well as the last day of the year and the last day of a decade. Anyway, What's with all this symbolism? Reminds me of my Timor race, where I slipped and fell down the steps before the start of a day's race. "And that will be the last fall of the day," I told my stunned audience. And so it was.