Vicious cycle

Jul distance travelled: 370 km

To Tuas, 108 km. He carries a heavy load on his back and sweats more because of the weight and heat trapped between bag and body. And he gets dehydrated and tired faster. So he struggles more to keep moving. And sweats more. And gets more tired. And so goes the vicious cycle goes. The rest of us don't quite get to cycle as much, as we stop and wait, stop and wait. And on and on it goes as we go on our journey to the west, waiting for he who rides the vicious cycle. He doesn't even drink on the move, because he uses bottles with screw-tops. Still, we see some scenic sights today, including jugs of ice water at Raffles Marina. I'm so trigger happy, I use up an entire roll of film. "Nice, nice," says N the bike hasher, who has little problem keeping up on his full-suspension Santa Cruz. And sweeper Bikerboey seems happy enough drafting behind me on the last leg of the ride at 30 km/h, after everyone else breaks away. Whatta gal - kayaking yesterday, nine hours on the road today, and a ball game after that.

Police watch dog

To Punggol, 25 km. I reach the end of Punggol Road. Five dogs lie in a row but they do not molest me. A policeman stands outside his post beside the dogs. Now, that's what I call "police watch dog". I wonder why the dogs leave me alone, since I am alone and vulnerable. And why am I alone on this Wed night ride? Because I leave the office late (as usual) and ask the Wed night riders to ride first while I catch up. As I cycle, I wonder if they are in front or behind me. As it turns out, I reach the rendesvous ahead of them. Since there is no one there, I head for home and don't even pass them on the way home. Still, it was a good ride - short and sharp. And no dogs at my tail.

Perspiration at Bukit Chandu

To Bukit Chandu, 83 km. Finding this place was serendipity. To pay homage to the memories of war heroes at "Reflections at Bukit Chandu", I cycle up the hill. The reward is multi-media and static displays of Malays who fought the Japanese to the end. Some of the survivors were offered their freedom if they took off their uniforms, but they chose to die in them. They merely delayed the onslaught of the enemy, who'd biked down Peninsula Malaysia. There are photos of them carrying their 10 kg rifles, battle gear and heavy steel bicycles as they go off road. At the museum is a tin cup, the only keepsake left to a widow by her warrior husband.

I also discover the picturesque Pandan Reservoir; I have the whole place to myself. And come across two bikeshops (Heap Hong and Tan Bike Shop) for the first time. I meet WC at the latter. What an interesting solo ride today. I'd wanted to ride with the Bike Aiders, but heavy workload leads to heavy eyelids and I spend 11 hours in bed this morning.

Strange ride down memory lane

To Sembawang, 40 km. The road sign is gone, but the road is still there. Sort of anyway. It just peters out. Over 20 years ago, I'd hiked through Jalan Ulu Sembawang to Marsiling. Now, signs tell me to get lost. At Kampong Wak Hassan, which is also a shadow of its former self, a police van with lights flashing passes me, followed by a jeep with a machine gun mounted on it. I see a tandem bike with front suspension. And at St John's Road, which is near Canada Road (no kidding), I see two bunkers. Why would anyone build military fortifications in a residential area? Tough question, but no answer. It's easier to answer the question why I'm cycling today instead of Sun: I gotta work tomorrow. That means I've worked the equivalent of eight days this week. To stay sane, I ride today. And drop by three bike shops too to cheer myself up. Today marks the day I've ridden my horse past 13,000 km.

Better late than never

To Sengkang, 34 km. I get off work so late, I almost don't even bother to drop by the meeting point for the Wed night ride. But I drop by nonetheless, and am rewarded with the sight of five riders. We wait for a guest rider, then set off without him. The ride is so slow, an "ah beng" on a creaky bicycle (and de rigueur thick chain wrapped around the frame) overtakes us. We stop several times to await our guest rider. I chat with H, who completed a 1,400 km charity ride to Kota Bahru and back some weeks ago. I listen wistfully. My life now is all work, no big adventure, no respite.

Weird ride

Half island, 80 km. I oversleep again today, just like last Sun. And again, I miss a Bike Aid ride. Like in a weird dream, strange things happen. I notice that generally, blue collar foreign talent wear dark colours and ride dark coloured bicycles, while white collar foreign talent wear bright colours and ride fancy bicycles. At Kranji, I whip out my camera for a shot and a battery pops out. Two vehicles drive by. It looks like they miss the battery, but it gets dented and leaks. At West Coast, my second of three rest stops, I see a cyclist with a squeaky bunny perched on her handlebars - WC. What's the probability of meeting her like that? It's our first ride together, but only for a few minutes as we head in different directions. Back home, my contact lens tears as I try to remove it. I spend anxious moments trying to get the remains out of my eye.

Surreal ride

Jun distance travelled: 349 km

To Tuas West, 106 km. Talk about hot money. The sun's rays beat into my wallet and my coins radiate heat. At a SPC petrol kiosk in Tuas, the cashier asks if I've petrol. Beside me is a rack full of bicycle tools. I've not seen such an array, not even in a bike shop. Cheaper too. The only creatures out in the open are a few stray dogs and some ang moh bikers. So it's true about mad dogs and Englishmen being out at mid-day. I reach a dead end - the entrance to a live firing area. Though death lurks afoot, it is so picturesque. I stop by a Christian cemetary, with its colourful flowers dotting the green grass, and windmills blowing in the wind. One of them has a smiley on it. The signs prohibiting the burning of paper money are incongruous. I cycle on. The vegetation towers on either side of me. Bamboo arches across the road, forming a canopy. A man emerges from the side, carrying a durian. Dogs bark. I halt. Another man says it's a dead end. I head off-road in my 1.25" slicks to join the main road.

Bikes, babes and a little blood

To Paya Lebar, 44 km. This is the third consecutive year I've taken part in Runway Cycling. It's a bike fest. I see: a single speed decked out like a roadster, with chrome and shoulder-high handlebars. A motorbike with a folding bicycle on board. Biker babes too, but just a scattering of them. I'm at the start line early, so that at flag off, I only have scores instead of thousands of people ahead of me. Moments after flag off, we're cycling at 39 km/h and above. Strangely enough, there are few roadies ahead. There are some rollerbladers in front, but they are soon left behind. And so am I, by the lead riders - two guys drafting the lead vehicle. A dozen others overtake me. I cross the finish line barely 30 minutes after flag-off. I cycle around in circles, waiting for the lucky draw. I reckon there are many unclaimed prizes that day. There aren't any goody bags either, unlike before. Still, I get to chat with the legendary WC, with her smiley orange bunny buddy on her handlebar. I have a health check-up too, including a blood test, courtesy of NKF. "You look tired," says one of the staffers. Well, I've had four hours of fitful sleep. So much work, so little adventure.

Wed nite live

To Seletar, 32 km. Tonight's ride is like a group of old rockers going on the road for a reunion gig. Orchestrated by GKT, the ride is joined by the Padre, B, D and two "guest artistes" whom I've not met before. The Padre claims he's off form, but look at him rip through the night air on his trusty Trek. My max speed tonight is 54 km/h.

Change

To Kallang and Seletar, 66 km. We cycle past a big flat frog that must've once been a big fat frog, until something ran over it. Gentle Giant shrieks at the sight. This is the first time this year I've cycled with her. Today is like a reunion of the Fellowship of the Spins; all but one are present. But things don't feel the same anymore with the passage of time. I end my ride early - lack of sleep takes its toll.

Tech note Yesterday, for the first time ever, I have my wheel trued. But it still isn't true to form. It got bashed out of shape from last week's Subaru race. And I couldn't find my favourite mechanic; the entire shop is gone, until I managed to find it today at Upper Thomson Road. His "kung fu" is still the best. My bicycle is a mess; it has taken me three hours to clean the bike and the spills at home. Wheel out of whack, frame scratched, body bruised. Was it worth the experience?