"Mountain biking" with roadies

Feb distance: 346 km

To West Coast Highway, 85 km. V says a group of mountain bikers are joining us. But they're all on road bikes. As it turns out, they're mountain bikers who've left their mountain bikes at home. Taking their road bikes out on a spin (including one with egg beater pedals), they cycle at a relaxed mountain bike speed. They break off at Lim Chu Kang, leaving three of us to go to the west coast. N asks to go up Bukit Chandu, which I introduced her to on 19 Feb. I lead her a tad further, to the canopy walk, and she beams. We see a chameleon. I ask: "Wanna ride my bike?" It (the lizard, not the bike) takes a running jump off the walkway into the trees. The wind blows, the trees sway and the birds chirp. We tear ourselves away when it starts to drizzle, then chill out later at the Esplanade. Rich cake and beverage. Mmm, best ride of the year so far. I go home with a smile on my face instead of a headache that comes from gritting my teeth to catch roadies.

When small is big

To Braddell Hill, 20 km. How is it possible to get busier? Emails, papers on my table, people in my face. Urgent, important. Time is of the essence. But somehow, it passes. I hit the road after work, looking for the highest hill nearby to climb. It turns out to be less high than I thought. But it's a quiet place for solace. I stop by a petrol kiosk and treat myself to an ice cream. Ah, small pleasures are a big deal. The radio is playing. It's light classical music. I've not heard it for years, but I like it. The kind of music that plays on Band of Brothers. Not a funeral dirge, but not normal programming either. This afternoon, former senior cabinet minister S Rajaratnam passes away.

Dog tired

To West Coast Highway, 103 km. You know how it is with dogs, they chase cyclists, get tired and slow to a trot, until the next peloton passes by, and the chase starts again. And that's how it is with me. The first Thomson peloton blasts past. I don't even bother to chase. Wave no. 2 draws nearer. I ready myself, then catapult into the slipstream as nuclear-powered SY waves at me. A jam at the Kranji dam separates us. I struggle ahead and hang on at 42 km/h behind two girls including SY, but soon drop behind (hence the expression "separating the man from the girls"). Wave no. 3 passes next and I draft at a more humane 38 km/h. We stop at Lim Chu Kang to wait for the rest. Soon, we are eight again. N leads me to a West Coast hawker centre, which is my first time there. I have, for the first time ever, a kuay teow goreng and a Horlicks dinosaur. Bleah. Today is also the first time I pump my tyres to 110 psi (10% more than recommended). It's easier to ride, but not enough to catch more roadies.

Smiling speedster

To Lim Chu Kang, 67 km. My legs pump rapidly like pistons. My heart pumps like they would burst. My lungs scream for air. The average speed for this ride, uphill and downhill, is ove 28 km/h. And HCK sails past me, smiling like Mona Lisa and once, even chatting on the phone before sailing away from me. She's a smiling speedster, with a titanium Soul. Her friends call her "slave driver". There's another mountain biker besides me in the group of nine. He looks like a schoolboy. He's fast on his track shoes, fast enough for the roadies to talk about him. He slows down only when he bumps my rear wheel and crashes. This has never happened to me before. His bicycle ends up in the next lane. Fortunately, no car runs over his unusual machine. Or over him. He has a bad case of road rash.

Swept away

To Mandai, 71 km. Today's bike leader is HCK. She decides to take the rear. As I lead, a shaft of sunlight breaks through the trees. It's majestic, clear and I can take it at face value. Unlike the ritual of "we're riding slowly today", which became "look, we're in front, how did that happen". And soon, they are out of hailing range. What a fine turn of events. I'm in the ride, wanting to help out as a sweeper. As it turns out, I am a sweeper but not by choice, as the guy roadies and nuclear-powered SY drop me. I have my revenge on some other roadies on the return leg, as I drop them. Heh heh. At one stop to regroup, HCK tries out my little Tank; she's privileged to be the first gal to ride it. During lunch, O tells me about one of his accidents. He didn't just break bone, he lost some of it, through infection. I've never seen a finger tip without bone before.

Nuclear-powered vs kerosene-powered

Jan distance: 498 km

To Tampines and Woodlands, 101 km. "She likes to ride at 30-35 km/h", says N of "nuclear-powered" SY. Well, that's to warm up. SY hits 41 km/h and chats at the same time. When I (being "kerosene-powered") moan, she still cycles at 41 km/h - uphill. Watching her stand on her pedals makes my knees go weak. But she isn't always in the lead; the group of nine is split into four in front including me and five in the rear. As the day wears on, riders start to drop out. It's just the three of us for lunch, but I'm glad for that. If it wasn't for cycling and cyclists, I might have lost my marbles. Or maybe I already have. I cycle a few rounds around the carpark so I can round off today's ride past 100 km.

Bike paradise

To Tampines and Kaki Bukit Road, 71 km. Today, the eve of Chinese New Year, sees many bikers on the road. In fact, there are two groups at the start point. I happen to know some of them, and meet HCK for the first time (though we've emailed each other before). I reluctantly join the slower group, as the faster group zooms off quickly without asking me to tag along. But it turns out to be serendipity, as N leads me to the spiffiest bikeshop ever; it's so spick and span, we have to remove our shoes to enter. The shop is carpeted, airconditioned and stocked chock a block, from floor to ceiling. Bikes, frames, parts and accessories - even 1.20" tyres, which I never knew existed. And I did get a good workout as I charged up hills. The sight of the goodies in the bikeshop got my heart racing too.

Black death

To Lim Chu Kang Road, 94 km. The black car passes so fast, so close to the three of us, I feel fear only after it clears the rider in front. The driver must've been unaware, or couldn't care less, as he overtakes us on the right to turn left. One decision in a moment in time may have far reaching consequences in the future. And it was someone's decision like that, made a few years back, that kept me working late into the night, night after night. The highlight of this week is today's ride, my first with BBB. I get to touch her sleek Lightspeed. After 30 or so km, she turns for home. I cycle on, hoping my fretting will blow away in the wind. But they don't. Instead, when I get home, I compile a to-do list. At least, I have people to delegate this to. So, this is how Monday morning blues are born.

Winning number

To Mount Faber, 57 km. It's the first time I've body marking. The number: 103, which sounds like "surely third" in Cantonese. If I'm superstitious, it means I'm condemned to being third each time there's a podium finish, like in past races. Regardless whether it's an individual or team event or how many people take part. But superstitious I'm not. Today, the curse is broken. At Togopart's "King of the Mountain" time trial, I'm joint second at 4 min 10 sec, 7 sec behind the champ, a student (and 40 sec ahead of third place). It looks like I'm the oldest on the podium. And a crowded podium it was. The "queen" of the mountain is the sole roadie, who is so fast that the stopwatches don't stop in time. I could've done better. I got my gearing wrong. Lost air warning some pedestrians. I could've pushed myself harder at the end. But I could've been stuck behind a tour bus disgorging tourists. Or be third instead of second. The first time I did this (on a shorter route, on 16 Oct 05), I lost second place by one second. So, this is what it's like to be walking on air. This win is dedicated to my "coach" and friend, N. As a reward for the good performance, I see bikeshop man who saws off a few grams from my steerer tube.

Photo courtesy of Sehsuan

Stuck up

To Old Upper Thomson Road, 20 km. It's supposed to be a recovery ride but I can't resist charging uphill. Back home, I clean and lube my drive train. The lube sticks to the container and when it comes out, it does so in globs. It's as stuck up as the roadie I met on the road.