Freedom

Feb distance: 520 km

Sembawang, 46 km. I used to think freedom was about space. For instance, prisoners have no freedom of movement; they are stuck in one place. But a prison sentence is not just about space; it's also about time, hence the expression "doing time".

At work, timelines and deadlines mean lack of freedom. Digital nomads might not be chained to a desk, but they might not have freedom of time, hence the expression "no time".

People who wander the world or, as Aussies say, go walkabout, have freedom. They might be constrained by weather and seasons which affect time and place of travel, but within those constraints, they have more freedom than a salaryman.

Today, I enjoy freedom. I stand by the water, feel the refreshing wind, smell the salt in the air, gaze on the water. I leave because I am hungry, and I know I have decent food to eat.

This is a simple life. I feel alive, and I have freedom of time and space.

Sight, sound and feel

February distance: 520 km

Choa Chu Kang, 60 km. Cycling back home after cycling overseas is an adjustment. The traffic,
traffic lights and humidity get to me.

Ive flash backs to the places I've been: the cool mountain air in sunny Timor Leste, the winding road in Sumatra, even the star-studded night sky in Darwin, Australia.

Last year, I was sick of cycling, even of expedition planning. I felt I should cycle, didn't want to, but felt compelled to. But now. I'm glad to be back in the saddle, travelling. I don't tire of beautiful scenery, or perhaps I haven't seen enough of it. Moreover, seeing beauty on bicycle tires feels different from seeing it in a motor vehicle or photo.

If you're in some kind of funk, may it pass to.

Long winded

1-5 Feb, Sri Lanka, 414 km

Prologue
This isn't a particularly long ride, but it was harder than I'd expected. While the coast is flat, I didn't figure the headwinds would be so strong. Or so long winded. They blow all day, perhaps 10 km/h. No need to calculate the vector; I head north, the wind blows south. Most of the time, I go below 20 km/h, at its worse, 14 km/h. The weather is hot but not humid; a good thing about the wind is, the wind blows sweat and heat away.

Headwinds aren't new to me; I've faced them in the Outback. So I've learned to grit my teeth and grind on. While I've cycled over 68,000 km, Sri Lanka brought new experiences. I've:

• been chased by dogs, but not a three-legged one.
• raced before, but not while touring
• gone hungry, but not had a liquid lunch of ginger beer
• wondered how to keep my bicycle safe while I sleep, but not used two bedrooms before.

Beach Road: I like it a lot, because there's a lot of it

Route
1 Feb fly there, nightstop Negombo Village Guesthouse
2 Feb Negombo to Kalpitiya, 129 km, nightstop Randam Hotel fka Windy Lanka
3 Feb Kalpitiya and its environs, 141 km
4 Feb Kalpitiya to Negombo, 144 km
5 Feb fly back

Riding
I do some off road, single track, double track, dirt roads and roads. I know I'm lost when the trail peters out. To get back on track, I track like a hunter, looking not for footprints but tyre tracks.

Night riding: to clock more miles, I do some riding at night. It's not really safe. Cows, dogs and pedestrians don't have blinking lights at night. And the glare of oncoming headlights is blinding. Once, the timing of the passing vehicle was such that I saw pedestrians walking abreast by the roadside: just enough time to see them but too little time to avoid collision if they were near enough. A near miss.

Over 400 km, I see three other cyclo tourists. One of them was solo like me. We wave to each other / exchange thumbs up.

Roads, traffic and other hazards

I like watch dogs ie dogs who sit there and watch

Traffic is heavy along the A3, which refers not to paper size but the road connecting Colombo to Negombo and much else. I ride along the road shoulder, because, as one guidebook put it, bus and truck drivers "consider cyclists a waste of valuable tarmac ... get out of the way quickly". You're "at risk not only from traffic coming from behind, but also from oncoming vehicles overtaking another vehicle". The good news is, traffic thins out north of Negombo.

I never really felt menaced; I've felt more menaced cycling in a carpark back home.

Roads are generally ok, though a guidebook mentions cycling is "eyes down", to negotiate potholes and chickens. There are poor road surfaces sometimes, but that's off road; in my experience, the main roads are ok.

I get frazzled on my last day of cycling, when I go to the beach at Negombo. It was harrowing as the road to the beach is narrow: it's jammed with traffic and a wedding procession. To win the race against the sun, I squeeze past whatever gap I see, including on the pavement, to get there and back to my hotel to box up my bike and wash up.

Dogs are are all over the place, usually sleeping by the roadside, sometimes trotting about, almost always in packs. Almost all the time, they ignore passersby, but I am chased twice, once by a three legged dog.

People
Locals are friendly (at least, I've not met any unfriendly ones). It's not just kids who're pleased to see a cyclist. Even adults go "hello", "hi", "good morning". One waiter in an eatery asks personal questions, not just "what is your name, where are you from" but also age and family status. And I got one question about how much my bicycle costs.

Once in a while, there are lycra-clad roadies.
Most of the time, locals are on steel, singlespeed bikes.

A worker sitting by a hut offers me food as I cycle past. A student going for night class chats with me as he cycles alongside. A guy with crutches rides his motorcycle alongside me, his sweepstake tickets riffling in the wind. He offers a hand. I realise later he wants to pull me along, when I see the student's father do just that.

Most of the time, I cycle below 20 km/h, because of headwinds and my load. One afternoon, two guys on a singlespeed bicycle pull alongside me. The passenger is sitting on the top tube. " Race", the  cyclist says, and he pulls away. The race is over in seconds, when one of them drops his phone onto the road. The cyclist catches up after he ditched his passenger then zooms off at 35 km/h. Instead of racing him, I draft him instead, to his disappointment.

Fried roots? 

Refueling aka food and beverage
Short eats are aplenty, in "hotels" (even small shops call themselves that).  Meals that fill are less available. Except in tourist areas, most people dine at home, so there's little demand for filling food. I eat what I bring: cereal bars.

One night I have rice and curry. Another time, I have what seems like fried roots. There are also scattered bakeries. Most of the time, it's short eats and provision shops.

At a "hotel" (eating place).
The ad above, EGB, is for ginger beer

Food stalls usually serve drinking water. If you're squeamish about hygiene, well ... No tongs or gloves are used when handling food - more likely, the food handler handles grubby money then food. Customers may eat with their hands; if you do, use the pitcher of water available for that purpose: don't drink from that!

An alternative to short eats is ginger beer; I quaff the 1 litre version. It's refreshing, calorie rich and not sickly sweet unlike some short eats.

Accommodation

Mosquitoes (Anopheles type, 1 cm long), are everywhere in the hotels. Mosquito nets are standard issue in the places I stayed.

In all my travels (over 68,000 km by bicycle, I've never encountered the desperate situation of being unable to find my hotel despite repeated attempts. Until this trip, at Kalpitiya. 

Randam Hotel. On the second night, I use the upstairs room
while my bicycle is in the ground floor, courtesy of housekeeper

It's getting dark. I ask some bystanders but they don't know. At a random hotel by the road called Randam Hotel, the staff say it's the hotel I'm looking for, though the name is different. Even the phone number is different. I have dinner instead and as I'm eating, a guy shows up and says he's from the hotel I'm looking for ie Windy Lanka. He leads me to ... Randam Hotel. Ok, whatever.

The room is dingy and kind of dirty. The lights flicker too, so I ask for a room change the next day. But different people give me different prices for the room. I end up paying a higher price after some bargaining. It's clean and bright but when I get up in the night, I have a feeling. Spooky. 

The next morning, I get up early to ride. It turns out I'm alone in the hotel, locked in. Exit via window, then the housekeeper comes, unlocks the door and makes nice Ceylon tea for me.

The other hotel I stay in, at Negombo, is hard to find as it's in a residential estate that twists and turns 3 km from the main road. The housekeeper there is fascinated by my bike packing. He lets me take a shower and serves me a drink as I wait for my night flight. 

Reflections

It's been said once you learn to ride a bicycle, you don't forget how to do it. That's procedural memory I guess. As for other details, that's declarative memory. What does 50 psi feel like without a tyre pressure gauge? How do you remove this rack?  I needed to refresh my memory. Which means, I haven't been touring enough.

I didn't expect this ride to be tough. It's flat, as expected but I didn't expect incessant headwinds that cut my speed by 30%, which means I work 30% harder. Of course, I should've realised that when a hotel is called Windy Lanka, that's what it means. But then, the hotel changed name too so it wasn't windy!? As if this ride isn't hard enough, there isn't much food to be had. My "lunch" comprises "short eats", ie, sweet snacks and became a race against the sun. I did enjoy the ginger beer though :)

When I came home from Indochina, bread became part of my diet, because of the magnificent French bread. And now, I take ginger with my tea.

General

Visas may be required, may be on arrival. See http://www.eta.gov.lk/
Weather varies, depending on which part of the island you're on and when. See http://www.lonelyplanet.com/sri-lanka/weather

Tests

Jan distance: 210 km

Seletar, 40 km. A few days ago, I took a test which was administered immediately after a course. I've not sat for a test since last century. Somehow, I passed the written test (multiple choice) with full marks, followed by a practical then oral tests.

Today, instead of being tested, I do the testing. On equipment: a Revelate bag, on loan from V (she even delivered it!) In my tours, I've always used a seat post rack. This bag doesn't need a rack at all.

Test over, now to do the "scoring" of bag with rack vs Revelate bike packing bag.

PS: it's not quite true I'm testing the equipment. It's also true my equipment test me, to see if I know how to use them.

Hope for the best

Changi 71 km. It's been raining on and off. I leave my camera at home; in a downpour, I've seen how the rain seeps in. Even when I ride towards blue skies, rain clouds just appear overhead in ambush. So why bother with the extra weight and add one more thing (wet camera) to worry about?

But it doesn't rain. Not a drop. I miss some great shots. I should've taken my camera and if it rains, just add more water proofing. Instead of thinking "it'll rain", I could've thought "it might not rain, and I might get some great shots".

Prepare for the worst, hope for the best.

Lighting and thunder

Upper Thomson Road, 57 km. Weather girl says it'll rain. I think, maybe they'll get it wrong today as they have on some other days.

As I head out, I see dark clouds. So I ride towards the light. Perhaps I was in the eye of the storm; suddenly the sky turns dark and rain pours. The storm is directly above me; I can tell from the split second between lightning and thunder. That's close!

The trees arch overhead, like a tunnel. In between is a light grey of heavy rain, undergirded by the dark grey of asphalt. The rain stings as it hits my bare arms and face. Yes, the weatherman is wrong: this is not a "shower" (a shower is like what you feel in the bathroom); this is a thunderstorm.

My disc brakes squeal in protest as I brake downhill. But I've figured out how to fix the noise without removing the pads and lathering them up. Squeeze the brakes, the manual equivalent of anti-braking system. Perhaps that gets rid of oily film. Or perhaps the storm is so heavy, it flushed oil off the road.

New year, new thinking

Upper Thomson,  42 km. There's only a minute (pun intended) difference between 2359 on 31 Dec to midnight. But when the minute ticks over, a new year begins: a small change that leads to a big one.

In my first ride of 2016, I decide to ride at night, on a Monday. I was going to go somewhere but decide to do loops instead. I've disliked cycling loops as I go in circles, but I realise that even if I go some where and come home, that's a loop too.

The road I loop is quiet and empty, with the occasional car - and wild boar. It used to bore me, but what's not to like? Instead of journeying to a destination,  my destination today is the journey itself.

What used to feel like a chore is now fun.

Also new is my cyclocomputer, replacing my 20 year old one that seemed erratic after being beside a blinker.

Making the numbers

Pasir Ris: beauty of friendship

Dec distance: 388 km

Pasir Ris, Upper Thomson, Seletar, Ubin, Lim Chu Kang 317 km*. I was resigned to 2015 being the year of my lowest mileage ever since I started serious cycling 12 years ago, in 2003 (the year of my first expedition). But I didn't want this year, a tumultuous one, to end that way.

Mileage is within my sphere of influence, though this year's haze (supposedly the longest in local history) was not. So I resolved to ride the miles and make the numbers. But this wasn't going to be mindless performance driven. I want to have some fun too, and ride to nice places, not do mindless loops like a demented hamster or a trapped rodent in the rat race.

Reflections

As I ride, I have flash backs of good things in life, mostly abroad with friends and family. Not about work. Someday, work ends. But friends and family: in a life well lived, friends and family will be gathered around my deathbed. Worked till death, no.

Christmas is meant to be a merry occasion ("merry Christmas"). But not for someone I passed on the road. He passed away. He lies on the grass, with a "fatal accident" sign metres away from him. A small crowd gathers around him, all deathly silent. He's still, but probably still alive [afternote: when I passed the site again, I notice the fatal accident sign is dated Nov. No confirmation bias here!].

Ubin: blue skies and sunshine

I erred elsewhere though. Newbie errors. At Ubin, I wipe out twice: first, my wheels lose traction over roots; second, I make a tight turn on the trail and stall. Somehow, no falls at the black diamond trail (ok, I got off to walk at the neck breaking spots).

I'm happy overall. Ubin, on this weekday, has people including a skateboarder who ignored my warning and blundered into my path. The coffee shop is closed. For "lunch" I've an ice cream cone from a nice lady and a cereal bar.

2x2 matrix

If I take a pessimist's view, the km target will be within grasp, but slip away. So many km, so few days left - and worse, if the remaining days of the year are dreary and wet instead of bright and sunny. If I take an optimist's view, the remaining days might be bright, not grey.

Rain or shine, I want to make the numbers and have fun in the process. On New Year's Eve, I'm

If life's a bitch, heal at the beach

rained on twice. And twice, metal nearly hits me. The first is elbow distance away. The taxi driver who saw the near miss was astounded and shouted in my support. The second near miss comes from behind - the driver jammed brake in time. In both cases, I'd the right of way. I could've been dead right …

I reckon I could plot all rides on a 2x2 matrix (sun or rain, safe or unsafe). The "magic quadrant" (would be the top right box: bright and safe). This ride is both wet and unsafe. But it's successful. I exceed my target. This year has been horrible, but it isn't an all-time low mileage.

Tech note: there is a colourful film of oil in puddles which spray up onto rotors and brake pads. I guess this causes my new brake pads (just a few weeks old) to screech. The screech went away after I poured water on the pads and squeezed them against the rotor. The screech came back after I wipe the rotor dry …

Well, I sure am not going to get a third set of pads! I replace the new pads with the initial stock brake pads. No screech!

Bikeshop man had asked me to buy new pads, because once oil gets on the pads, they will screech. Fixes include using a blow torch to burn away the oil, or to use prescribed solvent that won't damage the pads or rotor. Thinking there should be less drastic solutions, I brushed the stock pads with detergent and soaked them for several nights. Let's see how they work on the road.

*Instead of writing a post for every ride, this is the first time I'm combining several days' ride (25-31 Dec) into one post.

See, sea

Sembawang, 41 km. Yesterday, it rained so hard, parts of the country flooded. Water even flowed into some public buses (looking on the bright rather than stormy side, at least buses were running). I plotted how to get to dry "land" as a pedestrian, but I haven't done standing broad jump for a long time. And I might slip and fall too as pavements and roadsides have turned into streams.

Today, rather than risk being rained out at my usual ride time, I'm on the road earlier rather than later. I head towards the sea. I like water in me (hydration) and outside of me (landscape), but not on me (drenching, blinding rain).

Sunshine, sea and greenery: some of the best things in life are free.

Resolutions, resignations, ruminations

Balestier, 30 km. I'd resolved to ride Matt Black henceforth, and retire Little Red Tank. It's been plagued with front shifter problems and clicks when I pedal. But I couldn't relegate it to this role, and took it out for a spin.

When I'd tried multiple times to fix the shifters and trace the clicks, it defied me. Now, old bicycle, old faithful, rolling over 44,700
km, has somehow "healed" itself. Somehow, all the problems disappeared, and I didn't have to do anything. What's the meaning of this?

Matt Black, on the other hand, has just over 1,800 km on it and it squeals like an irritated pig when I brake to a halt.

I don't know if Little Red Tank is safe to ride, after crashing it several times during races, after carrying loads on tours up and down mountains. Which is why I retired it, resigned it to its fate of short errands. I might be short-changing it, but better safe than sorry eh?

Last weekend, I ruminated (nay, agitated) whether to ride or not. If I'd cycled, it would be to chase numbers. My annual total mileage is at risk of a record low. But what's the point? What do the numbers mean? Racking up mileage (kilometre-age?) for the sake of numbers and not enjoying it seemed senseless. If it's not fun anymore, and the result is just a number, why bother?

So, instead of riding, I went running. I intended to run just an hour, so I fueled on coffee and a couple of dried prunes. I was on the trail for 2.5 hours, none the worse for wear. I didn't even feel hungry.

I even thought of blogging here about running, instead of confining blog posts to riding. "Confining" is just that, confining. Why not spread my wings, and go where I've not been to before?

Dear reader, what do you think?