Belief and unbelief

Jurong West, 100 km. The news reader says, “in Bethlehem, where Christians believe Jesus was born”. Do people say, “where Buddhists believe Buddha was born”, or “where Muslims believe the Prophet was born”? Did the news reader mean Jesus’ birthplace is in doubt, or Jesus’ birth is in doubt? Around the world today, people dress like Santa and go “ho ho ho” but seriously, there’s no fat dude living in the North Pole running a toy factory. We know the factories are in China! Which is why today is not called “Santa-mas” but “Christ-mas” with Christ-mas cards, carols and gifts. So how did Christmas (2,000 years and counting) come about but not Santa-mas? How long does it take to debunk something?

As I ponder this, I cycle off the beaten track. It looks like a dead end and dog country but a man on a lorry says it a through road and no dogs. So I cycle on. A few workers gesture to me that there’s no way out. And I see a dog. Fortunately, it’s had its fill of suckered cyclists and leaves me alone.

I believed the lorry man but it's the wrong guy. I then believed the workers who toil there and my eyes which tell me to back track. To be absolutely sure, when I’m on the main road, I circle around where I was misled. Yes, there’s no way out.

My detour leads me towhere I’ve not cycled before, but I’m not really lost. I believe my compass when it points north. Just because I believe doesn't mean it's so, but some things are really so.

Stay-cation

Lim Chu Kang, 103 km. Yesterday, I sleep almost 12 hours. Closed eyelids shut out the world and the darkness swallows, albeit for a while, the troubles that confront me. Once in a while, a star shoots across the sky. For a while, it dazzles, then it is gone. On the ground, the mire is still there, poured from above, stirred from below.

I continue my stay-cation. A vacation is when you vacate home and travel elsewhere. A stay-cation is when you spend the night at home. Instead of my usual year-end break, I stay on this little island. Today, I do a century ride. It is so hard to cycle 100 km. I don’t mean it’s hard because I’m on fat tyres. I mean, this island is so small! I detour into housing estates, twisting and turning, which beats going around in circles. On the same journey, I see urban, suburb and rural areas. For the entire journey, it rains not. Once in a while, the heavens give me a break :)

Recovery ride

Woodlands, 51 km. The back of my right knee hurts. Must be the result of my 42 km run two Sundays ago. The pain goes away after a few km and doesn’t come back. Physiotherapy helps physical pain go away. Is there anything that makes mental / emotional / spiritual pain go away?

Some people believe in karma / retribution, that those who’ve done wrong will get their just desserts. A cosmic calculator that works out the score and distributes the rewards and the punishments. Well, I believe in a Celestial Being, not inanimate but divine, that sees, knows and feels. And born not necessarily on 25 Dec, but on the original Christmas Day :p

I so hope that next year, things will work out better. The last decade was the worst of my life. And I hope you'll have a good year too, the first in a new decade.

Stick or quit?

Nov distance: 254 km

Woodlands, 52 km. For seven rides in a row, I cycle the same route, with its 25 upslopes and 49 traffic lights. I'm not tired of it yet. Same road, same sights, perhaps what's different is the traffic conditions and the cyclists who pass me. A guy on a titanium frame and carbon chainstays overtakes me. I crank up my wattage and keep up, till I get tired ... tired of following behind. So I surge past and we part ways.

I stop by the same shop for lunch, though I don't eat the same thing as last week. The cook-boss tells me he's in business for 20 years, though the shop I eat at is less than a year old (his other branch is the first branch). He's done well enough to drive a BMW. He says it's a hard business, with long hours.

So how does he keep it up for two decades? He sure can stand the heat in the kitchen. As for me, two colleagues quit, one after 2-3 months. This is after she tells me her time frame was 2-3 years. The other tells me she'll stick around "for a very long time" and it turns out the time frame was weeks. What gives? I don't get it. Perhaps us old sticks in the mud, just stick around too long.

How I long to be back in Cambodia. To cycle far away from home, away from the things that eat me up, to be away where the road is long (photo).

Sunblock, reprise

Woodlands, 52 km. Sun is out. Sunblock is smeared. Bicycle is rolled out - at a different time, lest I, uh, run into that woman-who-ignores-shouting-cyclist again. I’m still shaken by my experience last weekend. Imagine if I’d skidded and bounced face-first into a parked car’s window or smashed into one of fat mama’s kids ...

Like last week, the sky grows dark, the clouds rumble and thunder roars. Rain pelters down. I sit beside a reservoir and zip up. My jersey I mean. I don’t have to zip up my lips as I cycle solo. I see several other solo cyclists. I guess the pelotons are on the road at dawn, while high noon is for us soloists.

When the rain lets up a little, I stop for lunch. The stall owner is glad to see me. Can’t be that many cyclists who stop to eat his food I guess. We talk a little about his business and he moans about the laws of the land. He says 'we don't have to work anymore" but somehow he still wants to cook, but not over expand his business. He's got human resource problems. Nice lessons there, for those who'll listen and learn. Our chat is like one of the highlights of the week. What a week it's been. Hope the sun shines on me really soon, I'd like to bask in it for a while. Without sunburn.

Sunblock

Woodlands, 51 km. The sun shines. I smear on sunblock for my dose of cycletherapy. To spice up the ride, I count the number of stop lights. There are 49 sets (each set is two or more traffic lights; a pedestrian crossing would have two, an X-junction would have four or more). This makes almost one set of lights for every km on the route. I sure wish there was a set of lights where I have my accident.

The rain pours down as I cycle downhill. A group of pedestrians cross the road; a big lady with some teenagers. I yell. Lady looks at me, looks away and continues crossing. I jam brakes. Brake blocks grip wet rims. Tyres lock. Forward motion continues. No time for evasive action, no time to brace for impact or wince. Bicycle meets body. She takes 1-2 steps sideways, still carrying her umbrella above her head. No blood is shed. Everyone remains upright, my foot unclips by reflex. Lady giggles and says something which sounds like “I thought highway code says I should launch myself into the path of a cyclist going downhill in the rain and bicycles have anti-lock braking systems”.

Sunblock doesn't block the rain from pouring down, nor blockhead from jaywalking.

Come and go

Woodlands, 51 km. I arise from my sleep because of a funeral dirge. Drums bang, cymbals clash and  do I hear clarinets? The mourners gather in the carpark, dressed in white t-shirts. Someone holds and old lady by the shoulder, I guess it’s the widow.

When they are gone, I go too. Cycling I mean. The same Woodlands route. I'm not quite tired of it yet, but someday I will. Before I do, I'll count how many stop lights there are on the route. I'm sure there are more stop lights than there are upslopes on this route (25).

Two tyres lie in my living room. All worn out. They’re still serviceable, I’m sure I can crank some distance out of them. What I don’t know is, whether they’ll blow. That’s a risk I don’t want to take.

Things don’t last, do they? Or they last, but not in the form they once were. Consider the PIGS: Portugal, Italy, Greece, Spain. Once great imperial powers, especially Italy. Its been around for over two millenia. They used to lord over all. But now?

Somethings don’t last a lifetime. When it comes to relationships, especially blood ties, they last for life. The question is, whether they work or not, and whether they work without working at them.

Mismatch meets match

Woodlands, 50 km. For the first time, I’ve mixed tyres. All my life, tyres are the same; if one is 1.25”, the other is 1.25”. Today, I have 1.95” semi slicks in front and 2.1” knobbies in the rear. That’s another first; the fattest tyre I’ve used before today was 1.95”. Riding a 2.1” is like riding on a fat cushion of air. Nice. Sometimes I ride over stuff on the road just for fun. I can feel - and hear - the buzz of the knobbies as chemical energy becomes mechanical energy becomes sound. Today, I count the slopes on the route: 25. Slopes they are, I wouldn’t call them hills; that’d be making hills out of molehills. Well, most of them anyway. As I ride up the steepest road, a worker carrying shopping bags stops and stares, then cheers me on. As I reach the top and ride down, he offers me some of his groceries. I smile and wish him “subah Diwali”.

After cycling over two hours, I get home, brew a cup of tea, and start pounding the road. I just want to see what happens when I do my own dualthon. My legs protest. It feels like I feel some way into a half marathon. As I go on, the ache goes away. 

Perpetual punctures

Oct distance: 992 km

Woodlands, 61 km. The past few days, I patch and replace innner tubes. Pump them up at night, find them flat the next day. Find more holes, patch them, pump them up. Check tyre, find bits of glass and stone, gouge them out. Tubes still go flat, including from where the rubber meets the valve. Must've done this at least six times. I run out of tubes, buy new ones. Bikeshop man says, things aren’t the way they used to be. Inner tubes aren’t latex anymore, they have a shorter lifespan. Perhaps that’s why holes keep appearing when I pump my fat tyres to 50 psi. No point fixing the tubes anymore. Is that what happens to people too? Under pressure, they deflate. You can patch them, but some just go. And tubes have to be the right size for the tyre - unless you’re out of tubes and have to make do. And when you make do, the tubes eventually go.

I stop by my regular mechanic to replace the chain (the other shop has a tool that tells me the chain is so worn, a new chain will skip). Regular bikeshop man says if the chain skips, it’ll be because of the smallest cog; just run the chain for a few months on other cogs. Indeed, the chain skips like a happy school girl out of school on her way to get a new dress.

Bikeshop man might’ve saved my life too. He says my tyre is frayed. Huh? It just looks like a scratch to me. He holds it to the sky and ... light comes through in places. It's as if someone took a sewing machine needle to the tyre. He says, just a bit more pressure and it’ll go boom. Imagine that, if I’m whizzing downhill beside passing traffic.

Wetter doesn't matter

Woodlands, 50 km. After suffering in Sarawak, I accidentally reset my cyclocomputer to zero. There goes tens of thousands of km on my odometer. Then I notice the sensor hangs by a bit of plastic and promptly breaks, which I superglue back. As I head out of home, the leg of my sunglasses snap off. And a lift door nearly slams into my bicycle. As I finally get on the road, the drizzle turns into a downpour so heavy, it goes "ting ting ting" on my bell. I cycle on anyway. Usually, I'd cuss the rain as I dislike getting wet. But since I'm wet from the word go, there's no need to avoid rain, which will wash off my sunblock and keep me cool. When you're already wet, wetter doesn't matter. I'm happy to be able to cycle today and get home in one piece notwithstanding the bus that pulls out when my rims and brake blocks are wet.