Sep distance: 449 km
Woodlands, 64 km. Last week, as I was taking part in a mass run, I heard a cracking sound and a tree fell barely 50m ahead of me. Ok, it wasn't a tree, it was a branch as big as a tree (it blocked the entire lane).
Today, I hear a crack above my head. It's not thunder, it's a branch. I'm not going to look up to see whether it's a piece of US space junk falling on me. I sprint to get out of the way. A branch falls one bicycle length ahead of me. Some dry twigs smack into me; it's like being caned. Did it make sense, to sprint away without knowing where the branch is? Is getting hit on the helmet or my neck (I stick it out like a tortoise when I lean forward to sprint) better than getting smashed in the face? All I know is, I'm unfortunate enough to be there when the branch falls, but fortunate enough just to get a whipping.
Two weeks ago was the 10th anniversary of September 11. There were people who were there for just one day (for a meeting) or for the last day (of work after resignation). There were people who missed death by seconds, because they were delayed by something or other. There were people who died in an instant. There were others who fell from the sky.
Clearly, life is unfair. Stuff happens. Things fall out of the sky. I read about the cancer survivor who dies when someone jumps off a building and lands on the one who beat cancer. I also read the sign on the door of someone in a documentary who has an artificial heart (he carries his life support system around in a backpack). The sign says: "There's always, always something to be thankful for."
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Windswept, rainswept and wet
Sunday, September 04, 2011
Against the wind
Sat 3 Sep - Sun 4 Sep
Singapore to Desaru (Johore, Malaysia) to Singapore, 346 km.
Journey before the journey
Day 1: Sat 3 Sep, Singapore - Desaru, 165 km
My 10th charity ride is Charity Bike n Blade #6. Today is not work so I break a cardinal rule: don't try anything new on a big ride. I break this rule six times.
1. Use a new route to the start point, past filter lanes to expressways and a series of wheel-eating drain covers.
2. No valve caps, to reduce rotational mass.
3. Fill up with a never-tasted-before energy powdered drink.
4. Use only one squeeze bottle; the other has a screw top and needs two hands to get at the contents inside.
5. Use thin instead of thick expedition gloves.
6. No sit-down lunch break. Instead, nibble every hour on dry rations and energy gel, just like Tour de Timor.
This year, there are two foldies, one MTB (mine), a hybrid and the rest are road / tri bikes. That's a whole lot of bicycle and bling; if each machine is conservatively valued at $1,000, there's $100,000 of bicycle on the road. Someone shows me his carbon bicycle; even the spokes, crank and caliper brakes are carbon. The only thing carbon on my bicycle is me, carbon-based life form.
In the past, I tend to surge ahead with the first wave then blow up. This time, I rein myself back and find myself at the end of the peloton. Great, just what I planned. Until a second wave passes me and I realise I was at the end - of the first wave! Still too fast eh?
My first rest break is almost three hours later. The infrequent and short stops take their toll. Both foldies overtake me when I stop and stand to eat some snacks. As I'm going too slowly to draft anyone now, I go solo and look at road kill to break the monotony of going uphill. Besides the usual cats, monkeys, snakes, monitor lizards and birds, I see, for the first time, a porcupine.
My bicycle purrs with pleasure. The chain whirrs effortlessly through the drive train. The slick tyres give silent service. The only thing that isn't working is me. Lack of training, sleep and proper food, plus a rumbly in my tummy from the strange powdered drink are my ball and chain. I want to give up and take the short, 100 km route, but somehow press on. The energy comes from tradition: never give up, keep going.
By the time I get to the hotel, it's as if I'm the last man in. People clap. Members of the search party I guess. I hear half the cyclists had taken the 100 km route. While I get bonus mileage from the ride to the start point this morning.
Hot and windy
Day 2: Sun 4 Sep, Desaru - Singapore, 181 km.
As if I'm still and asleep, waves pass over me. Actually, they pass beside me, these lighter-than-mine bicycles. When another peloton passes by, I feel like a stray dog and latch on. One cyclist goes over a pothole and his tyre is holed. Air hisses like an angry snake. Everything stops except the air.
I wonder about some of these triathletes; some cycle with neither saddle bag nor tyre pump. Who needs inner tube or pump?! Whip out mobile phone, speak and a car appears with tools and spares.
It is hotter today than yesterday. Those guys who have crew cuts or even shaved heads are now the coolest dudes in the pelotons. I wonder how long-haired girls do it. Well, it's a fact, women live longer than men; they are made of sterner stuff.
Salt pours through my pores and stains my arm warmers like mould. I am thankful for the ice cold, sponsored 100Plus isotonic drink. I meet the legendary founder of Joyriders. She cycles six days a week. Her sole rest day is my sole cycling day ...
The song "Against the wind" plays in my head. The speedy cyclists are way ahead, and many others have taken the short route. Heat didn't quite bother me in the last Bike n Blade but then, my solar-powered, air- and liquid-cooled body wasn't getting older by the day. I pull up beside a stationary support car. The crew helpfully suggest I pour cold water on myself besides drinking it. "See the steam rise?" I ask. I protest in shame as someone holds an umbrella over me.
Why should the safety vehicle be behind me and draft me? We turn the tables and put some zing into things. We pass a sole roadie. "Come on!" I yell. He pulls beside me then sanity takes over him and he drops back. The car and I move as if there's an invisible bungee cord between us and we move like this until I'm on the outskirts of town. We pack, wrap our bicycles in cling wrap for the bus ride back to Singapore. We debus, and I cycle home.
Will I be back here next year? Will I be on a mountain bike or, as M asks, will I "downgrade to a road bike"?
Singapore to Desaru (Johore, Malaysia) to Singapore, 346 km.
Day 1: Sat 3 Sep, Singapore - Desaru, 165 km
My 10th charity ride is Charity Bike n Blade #6. Today is not work so I break a cardinal rule: don't try anything new on a big ride. I break this rule six times.
1. Use a new route to the start point, past filter lanes to expressways and a series of wheel-eating drain covers.
2. No valve caps, to reduce rotational mass.
3. Fill up with a never-tasted-before energy powdered drink.
4. Use only one squeeze bottle; the other has a screw top and needs two hands to get at the contents inside.
5. Use thin instead of thick expedition gloves.
6. No sit-down lunch break. Instead, nibble every hour on dry rations and energy gel, just like Tour de Timor.
This year, there are two foldies, one MTB (mine), a hybrid and the rest are road / tri bikes. That's a whole lot of bicycle and bling; if each machine is conservatively valued at $1,000, there's $100,000 of bicycle on the road. Someone shows me his carbon bicycle; even the spokes, crank and caliper brakes are carbon. The only thing carbon on my bicycle is me, carbon-based life form.
In the past, I tend to surge ahead with the first wave then blow up. This time, I rein myself back and find myself at the end of the peloton. Great, just what I planned. Until a second wave passes me and I realise I was at the end - of the first wave! Still too fast eh?
My first rest break is almost three hours later. The infrequent and short stops take their toll. Both foldies overtake me when I stop and stand to eat some snacks. As I'm going too slowly to draft anyone now, I go solo and look at road kill to break the monotony of going uphill. Besides the usual cats, monkeys, snakes, monitor lizards and birds, I see, for the first time, a porcupine.
My bicycle purrs with pleasure. The chain whirrs effortlessly through the drive train. The slick tyres give silent service. The only thing that isn't working is me. Lack of training, sleep and proper food, plus a rumbly in my tummy from the strange powdered drink are my ball and chain. I want to give up and take the short, 100 km route, but somehow press on. The energy comes from tradition: never give up, keep going.By the time I get to the hotel, it's as if I'm the last man in. People clap. Members of the search party I guess. I hear half the cyclists had taken the 100 km route. While I get bonus mileage from the ride to the start point this morning.
Hot and windy
As if I'm still and asleep, waves pass over me. Actually, they pass beside me, these lighter-than-mine bicycles. When another peloton passes by, I feel like a stray dog and latch on. One cyclist goes over a pothole and his tyre is holed. Air hisses like an angry snake. Everything stops except the air.
I wonder about some of these triathletes; some cycle with neither saddle bag nor tyre pump. Who needs inner tube or pump?! Whip out mobile phone, speak and a car appears with tools and spares.
It is hotter today than yesterday. Those guys who have crew cuts or even shaved heads are now the coolest dudes in the pelotons. I wonder how long-haired girls do it. Well, it's a fact, women live longer than men; they are made of sterner stuff.
Salt pours through my pores and stains my arm warmers like mould. I am thankful for the ice cold, sponsored 100Plus isotonic drink. I meet the legendary founder of Joyriders. She cycles six days a week. Her sole rest day is my sole cycling day ...The song "Against the wind" plays in my head. The speedy cyclists are way ahead, and many others have taken the short route. Heat didn't quite bother me in the last Bike n Blade but then, my solar-powered, air- and liquid-cooled body wasn't getting older by the day. I pull up beside a stationary support car. The crew helpfully suggest I pour cold water on myself besides drinking it. "See the steam rise?" I ask. I protest in shame as someone holds an umbrella over me.
Why should the safety vehicle be behind me and draft me? We turn the tables and put some zing into things. We pass a sole roadie. "Come on!" I yell. He pulls beside me then sanity takes over him and he drops back. The car and I move as if there's an invisible bungee cord between us and we move like this until I'm on the outskirts of town. We pack, wrap our bicycles in cling wrap for the bus ride back to Singapore. We debus, and I cycle home.
Will I be back here next year? Will I be on a mountain bike or, as M asks, will I "downgrade to a road bike"?
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Dark clouds, bright outlook
Aug distance: 359 km
Changi, 55 km. I'm off to meet a friend who is collecting his new toy (a two-wheeler named what else but Wheeler) and his friends.
I go west past the airport and fly through the air effortlessly at over 30 km/h on my fat tyres. Fly, in a nice sort of way, ie behind, not in front of my handlebars. Dark clouds hover in the sky but it doesn't rain for a while. When it rains, it is a reluctant drizzle; so light, the white of my jersey doesn't get stained with the dirt from the road.
Speeding without incessant clicking from the crank is such joy. Instead of the sound of irritation, there is the joyful hum of fat tyres and the cheerful banter of the wind as it flutters past my ears.
There are dark clouds on the horizon, but it doesn't mean it'll always storm. And some preparation can be made in advance for rain.
Changi, 55 km. I'm off to meet a friend who is collecting his new toy (a two-wheeler named what else but Wheeler) and his friends.
I go west past the airport and fly through the air effortlessly at over 30 km/h on my fat tyres. Fly, in a nice sort of way, ie behind, not in front of my handlebars. Dark clouds hover in the sky but it doesn't rain for a while. When it rains, it is a reluctant drizzle; so light, the white of my jersey doesn't get stained with the dirt from the road.
Speeding without incessant clicking from the crank is such joy. Instead of the sound of irritation, there is the joyful hum of fat tyres and the cheerful banter of the wind as it flutters past my ears.
There are dark clouds on the horizon, but it doesn't mean it'll always storm. And some preparation can be made in advance for rain.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Don't fix it till it breaks
Woodlands, 67 km. The clicks are too much. Not 'clicks' as in km but as in 'high pitched sounds that grate on the ears'. They (the clicks, not the ears) started in mid Jul, after I wiped the crank arms clean. Perhaps some water/dirt got in? Greasing, tightening, loosening the crank arm bolts and cursing haven't stopped the clicks. A wild goose chase to fix one thing (dirt), eventually led to wild tightening and breaking of steel.
Not the saddle nor seat post, not the chain rings nor chain. I'm now convinced it's the crank arm that clicks. I rue the day I cleaned it. Now, the squeaky clean drives me nuts. Instead of stripping the threads off the crank arm and ruining the entire crank, I put up with the noise. Sometimes, the clicks go away. Then they come back. "Just checking to see you're still around and irritated," they chirp. I ignore them. And, then, they go away!? I can't believe my ears.
Elsewhere, in the south, north, east and west, leadership change is through people power in the streets, or gun powder. Or those in power seem powerless, with revolving doors (6 prime ministers in 5 years?!), gridlock or bailed out governments. This weekend, here, change is relatively quiet, through the ballot box. The rancour is mostly online and some offline (booing).
I wouldn't say "if it ain't broke, don't fix it". Things can be better, but don't fix till it breaks; it's like cooking food till it burns ...
Not the saddle nor seat post, not the chain rings nor chain. I'm now convinced it's the crank arm that clicks. I rue the day I cleaned it. Now, the squeaky clean drives me nuts. Instead of stripping the threads off the crank arm and ruining the entire crank, I put up with the noise. Sometimes, the clicks go away. Then they come back. "Just checking to see you're still around and irritated," they chirp. I ignore them. And, then, they go away!? I can't believe my ears.
Elsewhere, in the south, north, east and west, leadership change is through people power in the streets, or gun powder. Or those in power seem powerless, with revolving doors (6 prime ministers in 5 years?!), gridlock or bailed out governments. This weekend, here, change is relatively quiet, through the ballot box. The rancour is mostly online and some offline (booing).
I wouldn't say "if it ain't broke, don't fix it". Things can be better, but don't fix till it breaks; it's like cooking food till it burns ...
Saturday, August 20, 2011
The right choice, the right line
Pasir Ris, 52 km. Let's see, ride with roadies today at 5 am, or hit the trails at 9 am? The latter sounds more fun, so I go for it. I end up being a sweeper, offering to look for some lost people then getting lost as the main group moves ahead.
I cycle down memory lane (Tampines trail), where when I last crashed and tore a strip of skin off my leg. The place looks so different now, with a lot more grass and some double black diamonds. I choose to go offroad, I choose the right line but veer off as my front wheel on a rigid front fork catches onto some gremlin buried in the ground and I crash for auld lang syne. No damage to bicycle nor to skin, just crushed my my pride a little.
I eat humble pie and ask the organiser how to do a proper bunny hop. Guess I'll have to eat carrots too :p
I cycle down memory lane (Tampines trail), where when I last crashed and tore a strip of skin off my leg. The place looks so different now, with a lot more grass and some double black diamonds. I choose to go offroad, I choose the right line but veer off as my front wheel on a rigid front fork catches onto some gremlin buried in the ground and I crash for auld lang syne. No damage to bicycle nor to skin, just crushed my my pride a little.
I eat humble pie and ask the organiser how to do a proper bunny hop. Guess I'll have to eat carrots too :p
Saturday, August 13, 2011
By the numbers
Changi, 127 km. 4 hours of sleep. 5 am rendezvous with 30 cyclists, all roadies but one (me, with the fattest tyres and biggest saddle bag). Pace picks up, heart races, drive trains whirr in the dark.
Half the cyclists break off in ones and twos as we head from east to west. The remaining half end up in hospital. Well, not as emergency cases but as visitors, as we're training for a charity ride. We see and hear first hand what we're raising funds for. At the dementia ward, our guide says: "If you think you've got problems, wait till you come here ...".
As for the squeaks that have been plaguing my bicycle, they're gone, all gone. Or perhaps I can't hear them over my tired panting.
Half the cyclists break off in ones and twos as we head from east to west. The remaining half end up in hospital. Well, not as emergency cases but as visitors, as we're training for a charity ride. We see and hear first hand what we're raising funds for. At the dementia ward, our guide says: "If you think you've got problems, wait till you come here ...".
As for the squeaks that have been plaguing my bicycle, they're gone, all gone. Or perhaps I can't hear them over my tired panting.
Monday, August 08, 2011
Will over steel
So I'm off for help; some bikeshops are closed, but not the one I already visited yesterday. And yes, the man does have a spare bolt; if it was any other shop, would I have ended up with a bolt plus entire crankset? He dismantles the crankset, cleans the chainrings, checks the other bolts, adds some grease, puts it all back. $5.
Amazing, yes. More amazing is, how an short allen key and some arm twisting can shear off a steel bolt. Morals of the story: mind over matter (or is it mind your force). And know your bikeshops :p
Sunday, August 07, 2011
Road rage
Sembawang, 47 km. It's late afternoon when my wheels hit the road, on account of rain since morning. Perhaps I should've stayed home to stay sane and a better chance to stay alive. Thrice, drivers hurtle their metal into my right of way. I'm on a major road, they're on a side road but might makes right, according to the unofficial highway code. Having taken evasive action through defensive cycling, I'm tested again by a pedestrian crossing a narrow road; she sees me coming and keeps walking, stopping only when collision is imminent. My odometer reads 12 km so far. And people tell me, it's dangerous to cycle overseas. Yeah, right.
I drop by to see bikeshop man, whose 12-year old dog has died. He was there when she breathed her last breath. He lubes my headset like I tell him to, though it isn't really necessary. And it isn't the headset that's creaking, it's the cranky crank. Again. I should've left well enough alone. So much for the relentless pursuit of excellence ...
Saving me the best for last, as I cycle home, a driver shoots out from a side road, goes against the flow of traffic (draining the blood flow from my face) and stops only when another metal monster behind me is too big to squeeze past like I did and blares a protest.
I drop by to see bikeshop man, whose 12-year old dog has died. He was there when she breathed her last breath. He lubes my headset like I tell him to, though it isn't really necessary. And it isn't the headset that's creaking, it's the cranky crank. Again. I should've left well enough alone. So much for the relentless pursuit of excellence ...
Saving me the best for last, as I cycle home, a driver shoots out from a side road, goes against the flow of traffic (draining the blood flow from my face) and stops only when another metal monster behind me is too big to squeeze past like I did and blares a protest.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Hearing is believing
Jul distance: 354 km
Lim Chu Kang, 75 km
As I cycle through the concrete jungle, The Cure's "A Forest" plays in my head (or is it a song in my heart?). Concrete still surrounds me but the music I imagine makes me feel better until I'm near the coast.
My creaky crank behaves itself but just for while. A tiny creak returns. I stop to turn the crank bolt and that's like turning up the volume. For an hour I put up with the irritating, infernal, incessant noise. Time to head for the bikeshop but that's hours away.
Surely I can't fix it so I've to put up with noise? Haven't I tried enough? Well, what do I have to lose but a few minutes to try again, then say with grim satisfaction, "I knew it, waste of time"? So I stop, I fiddle and presto, the noise disappears. Well, almost but for sure, it's the bolts. I'm glad I didn't take it for granted that the problem is beyond me. And if it wasn't for the incessant noise driving me insane, I wouldn't have tried again.
After I get home, my cyclocomputer dies, wiping out, yet again, the total distance accumulated over time. I replace the battery. The day before, my solar-powered watch gave up too. Time to reset the watch. Some things can be reset but don't be deaf, listen ...
As I cycle through the concrete jungle, The Cure's "A Forest" plays in my head (or is it a song in my heart?). Concrete still surrounds me but the music I imagine makes me feel better until I'm near the coast.
My creaky crank behaves itself but just for while. A tiny creak returns. I stop to turn the crank bolt and that's like turning up the volume. For an hour I put up with the irritating, infernal, incessant noise. Time to head for the bikeshop but that's hours away.
Surely I can't fix it so I've to put up with noise? Haven't I tried enough? Well, what do I have to lose but a few minutes to try again, then say with grim satisfaction, "I knew it, waste of time"? So I stop, I fiddle and presto, the noise disappears. Well, almost but for sure, it's the bolts. I'm glad I didn't take it for granted that the problem is beyond me. And if it wasn't for the incessant noise driving me insane, I wouldn't have tried again.
After I get home, my cyclocomputer dies, wiping out, yet again, the total distance accumulated over time. I replace the battery. The day before, my solar-powered watch gave up too. Time to reset the watch. Some things can be reset but don't be deaf, listen ...
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