Slow leak vs blowout

Jul distance:  187 km

Mandai, 39 km. My tyre is flat. How does a tyre go flat after I park my bicycle? I expect grit has cut through the tyre into the inner tube. I'm wrong. There is a big hole at the base of the Presta valve. And that's the end of the inner tube; not only is it beyond economic repair, how can such a hole be repaired in the first place?

I change the tube and do interval training for a charity ride next month. Training is boring. As I cycle, I ruminate.

Life has been likened to a roller coaster, with ups and downs. Life has also been likened to a railway track. While one part of life may be up, parallel to it is another rail that may go down. With respect, the second metaphor reflects life better than the first, but is more metaphysical than physical. One rail that goes up while the other goes down  spells "train wreck".

For me, life is like an inner tube. No pressure and life is flat. Too little pressure, roll along fine, even comfy, until there's a pinch flat. Too much pressure, explode. If punctured, get to the destination if there's a slow leak.  Or not, if it's a blowout and there's no spare tube or and tools. And it's no use having tools without the know how to change the tube. The ride is over dude unless someone helps out. And the puncture keeps recurring unless the cause is fixed: remove whatever is embedded in the tyre. Otherwise, keep changing the tube and pump up the tyre and patch the inner tube ad infinitum.

Ending like the beginning

Woodlands, 48 km. Yesterday morning, it rains so hard, parts of Singapore flood again; it seems more rain fell in a few hours than usually falls in July. This morning, the roads are wet and the skies are grey. I wait till the roads are less wet, so that spray from the road doesn't end up on my cycling togs. When I head out the door, I see the drizzle. I'm committed mentally to cycle so I do. I don't like cycling in the rain. We wear "quick dry" clothes so we stay dry, don't we? The drizzle turns into a shower. I could turn back, but I don't. The task is the same but the purpose has changed. Now, I want to see how big the rain cloud is. As it turns out, really big. The sky from the centre of the island all the way into the next country is a monotone of grey. The rain pours down. Even motorcyclists shelter at bus stops. This time, I'm physically committed; I'm just too far from home. To go home, I have to finish the ride. As I near home, the rain turns into a drizzle and the roads start to dry. Just like when I started. Only, this time, I'm chilled to the bone instead of bone dry.

Do I feel better after the ride? Yes, because the ride is done. If I didn't cycle, I might've rued not cycling at all. And to be warm and snug after a cold ride sure feels better when it's well earned.

A little distance, a big difference

Woodlands, 50 km. My handcrafted-in-Italy, titanium-railed Selle Italia Flite has seen better days. 49 months ago, thousands of km ago. While it is not torn, scratched nor cracked, it is wrinkled. As wrinked as a weather-beaten, aged face that has been sat on. It seems to sag a little in the middle, which is enough to give a pain in the butt after a few hours of cycling. So I shift it (the saddle, not the butt) 5 mm forward, so that the sit bones sit properly on the saddle again. This little distance seems to make a difference to comfort, but time (and over a hundred km day after consecutive day) will tell.

Yesterday, I went for physiotherapy. The therapist says my back ache has to do with the tightness in my hamstring and calf. He also says my right leg is clearly stronger than my left. Which might explain why my right leg got injured from marathon training and saddle sore is not equitably spread across the bum.

Likelihood and magnitude

Woodlands, 50 km. Grey skies here. Grey skies there. The road is wet from an early morning shower (no, I don't mean my bathwater flowed onto the road; I don't get up that early anyway). Will it rain or will it shine? I hedge and put on sunblock but do not wear sunglasses. If the sun does come out, it is likely that I will be toasted. I cycle past a man dressed in trousers, long sleeves, knee guard and baseball cap. No helmet. If he falls, he would hurt his knees. Magnitude of the hurt, should the risk materialise, would be small. However, a knock on the head, can have a large magnitude of hurt. The sun does come out. I don't get sunburnt. I wonder if I've increased the risk of retina "sunburn" and cataracts when I get older.

Laws of cycling irony

Jun distance: 201 km

Woodlands, 50 km. When I awake, the wind blusters and rain pelts down. I head back to sleep. When I open my eyes again, the sun beats down. As I head out the door, there's a feathery drizzle over here. But over there in the distance, I see blue sky. It's safe to ride - weather-wise.

It's dangerous to ride traffic-wise. At a X-junction, a car from the opposite direction turns right across my downhill path. The driver might as well have stopped and opened his door to let me in. I brake and yell. At a T-junction, a driver slips his car out from the side road in slow motion. That's driving dangerously cautiously. I brake and yell. At another X-junction, another driver does the same as the other drivers: when a cyclist is with a red bicycle and red jersey, the light is no longer green in the cyclist's favour, but red. As I go down another hill, a car meanders in front of me across three lanes to turn right. I'm so astounded, the sight takes my breath away.

Here are my "laws of cycling irony". #1: when traffic going in cycling direction is light, braking is heavy. Conversely, if traffic is heavy, braking is light. If vehicles (or better yet, a big truck) is beside cyclist, would drivers have pulled the stunts they did? Probably not. If they did, it wouldn't be cyclist in car. It would be car in truck. #2: when traffic is heavy and pollution is high, cyclist breathing is easier as no yelling of warnings are needed. The slipstream is akin to drafting too, hence less effort expended. #3: it is safer to ride in heavy traffic (heading in cycling direction); even if drivers coming from the other way don't see / ignore cyclist, traffic in cycling direction would plough into errant vehicle before cyclist does, push errant vehicle forward and give hapless cyclist more braking distance.

I've read and heard warnings about Vietnam traffic. I wonder if it's worse than Singapore drivers. Four near misses in 50 km is awesomely awful. Well, I'll find out for myself at year's end.

Do you C?

Woodlands, 47 km. What a week. I get my bonus letter, which means there'll be more Cash in the bank. I do wish I've more, but Circumstances have changed. On 15 Jun, my Cat died. The same day, Cross pen with sentimental value "died". The next day, CD player died.  The thing is, things can usually be replaced (except those with sentimental value). I wait and wait till Sunday comes and I Cycle. My heart isn't really in it, but I Concentrate on my form as I ride the Circuit. Then stop for lunch at the usual place. Courage. C'est la vie.

Same same but different

Woodlands, 54 km. I've been cycling this same route for months. While the route is the same, things are different. i) The soundtrack in my head is different; Abba is playing; classic rock fan has turned popped :o ii) Traffic, while light, is also different. I used to be able to charge up the hill to one of Singapore's most haunted places; today, a truck comes downhill while a family on wheels (pa is on a bicycle, kid scoots about on a scooter) crosses the junction. I also have to pedal furiously ahead of a bendy-bus to get in the right lane of a 4-lane road. iii) A roadie overtakes me and I give chase. I pull into a bus bay and pull ahead; roadie charges on. As we head towards a collision, I throttle back to let him pass. iv) I have a new toy on my stem: a new camera. Actually, not all that new; an impulse buy of a display set that has a scratch on the case and fingerprints all over the LCD screen. iv) I make a detour into a waterfront. Formerly an industrial workplace, it is now a playground.

If things feel the same and you want change, look for what's different. If things are different and you want continuity, look for the same.

It's about time

Woodlands, 50 km. Rubber time: I usually cycle in the morning but it pours so I adopt couch potato mode: sit on couch and eat potato chips. Time has come: as time passes, the urge to cycle gets stronger and I get ready to ride. Waste of time: the inner tube I patched, is leaking again. It’s not like it sprang a new hole while stationary and why is my fat tyre so puncture prone nowadays? Ample time: what’s the hurry, cyclists don’t have to ride through red lights. When the light turns green, it’s sprint training! Pressed for time: a driver overtakes me on the right then veers into my lane to turn left. Any closer and I would’ve been pressed against the car.


Time’s up: for the little snake whose belly is split wide open on the road. Keeping time: with a roadie, until Overtime, when my cardiovascular system feels like overload. Nick of time: a driver honks angrily. I look behind over my right shoulder. "What's up man?" I wonder. Then I look ahead and realise another cyclist has overtaken me on my left and is now in front of me. I spot him just in time. He must've done the same to the driver behind me. Dinner time: at a well-reviewed western foodstall in a coffeeshop. Actually, the steak wasn’t that great.  Any time you feel like adding to this list of time, be my guest, please comment :)

Ride the waves

May distance: 560

Kluang, Johor, Malaysia
Day 1, Vesak Day, 156 km. The last time the three of us had cycled together was in 2005, on the long ride straight up the middle of Peninsula Malaysia. Since then, the other two have cycled together the length of UK. Why did I get up before the crack of dawn to cycle with them today? Things are inverse; the small Asian dude has fat tyres, the big guys have thin road tyres. We stop by a little village to refuel. Like a tiny hamster, I have to keep eating. Big guys don't have to eat a lot. I hear that bears, unlike hamsters, can go without food for a long time :o The village is so small, there's only lontong to eat but the lack of variety is made up by the friendliness. Two villagers offer, unasked, directions to where we're going. Another takes a photo of us.

My front wheel springs a leak. It's not that I'm overweight! As the wheel sags, my spirit flags - the cumulative effect of sleep deficit and work excitement. Now, I have the added excitement of stopping every half hour to pump up my tyre. I cycle ahead; the longer I'm on the road, the more I'll have to pump my tyre. Once in a while, there are trees by the road. Where there are many trees, the air is discernably cooler. The weather blows hot and cold; the burning sun gives way to rain clouds. I ride at the edge of the clouds and soon I'm back in the sunlight. My pals, in the rear, stop and shelter from the lighting. At our destination, my room mate might be the sole American in Kluang, putting up at a hotel called the White House. But there's no shelter from the giggling girls who chatter and run along the corridor outside our room. The young and the restless ...

Day 2, Saturday, 149 km. Rolling on fat tyres takes far more physical energy than changing the tyres to slicks. But, the mental effort to change tyres exceeds the mental energy to ride on fat tyres. As I wonder on the oddness of it all, I notice the oddness of the things on the road. Sure, there's the usual roadkill: snakes, cats, birds. Then I see a chicken foot; it's a clean amputation. A few minutes later, I see another chicken foot. I don't stop to see if the chicken had two left feet, but it certainly left its feet behind. I also see two cushions and a pair of trousers.

As I cycle on, I so want to stop by a dentist and ask for novocain. For my butt. Would that numb my butt or would my legs go numb too? By now, the sun is burning and we stop almost every half hour to rehydrate. And, just like yesterday, the rains come in the afternoon. No need to rehydrate then, with water pouring from the sky and from below. Rain pours from above and rushes down the road. As cars pass, water roars from the right, wash over bicycle wheels, crash against the curb on the and meet the next surge of water from the right. As I ride the waves, I hope I won't sail over my handlebars.

Not that I have to worry for long, as the rain clouds don't seem to have an exit permit beyond Malaysia. They peter out near the border. Where a puncture awaits me. How do you fix a tyre when traffic is rushing past a metre away? A construction worker unchains the gate to a work site and lets me in. He barely speaks English but his kindness is eloquent enough. I can't find the source of the puncture but replace the inner tube anyway. I certainly don't want to cycle home in the dark. I make it home, whereupon the rear tyre deflates completely. I find a 1 cm wire embedded in the tyre.

When things go ride

Woodlands, 50 km. Part of the sky is cloudy but the rest is sunny. I decide to ride and go for a nice lunch at a certain shop. I dress up in my cycling togs, grab my bicycle. A few pedal strokes later, it rains. Grey clouds stretch as far as I can see. It's a dirty drizzle, wet enough to wet the road so that dirty water from the road sprays up, with the rain not heavy enough to wash the road grime away. As today is a working day for most people, I mistakenly think the traffic will be light. A truck honks me, it pulls so close to me I pull into a bus lane to let death pass. A puddle lies ahead of me, a car joyfully plunges through it and drenches me with spray. As for lunch, that certain spot is closed! Ugh, what a ride. Until I become grateful I make it home alive, without a scratch. My gears shift flawlessly and I wasn't floored when I ride gingerly on wet, slick metal plates on the road where some road work is going on. Many things in a day go right, right? Even a crummy ride has its good side.