Something is better than nothing

Oct distance: 254 km

Mandai, 41 km. I don't feel like cycling today. Instead, I pay off the sleep deficit that built up over the work week. Morning turns to noon turns to dusk. The tension between slacking and cycling reaches tipping point; I push my bicycle out. It's only when I'm on the road that I realise, in the fuss to light up like a Christmas tree, I've left my water bottle behind.

There's a water cooler in a park, so I head there. A mom is scolding her kid. "No dinner for you!" she barks. The kid whines, says she'll never do it (whatever that was) again and mom, her voice melting, says "I forgive you".

Traffic is heavy, it's dinner time. A few other cyclists are out too, their lights blinking like twinkling stars. A roadie is behind me. I pedal hard. I hear creaking. "He's behind me," so I pedal harder. When I look back, no one's there. It's just my saddle creaking and my imagination. Time for some attitude adjustment.

At the start of the ride, all I had in mind was perhaps 25 km instead of the usual 50. Unless I'm leaping across a gorge and fall short, something is better than nothing and a short ride is better than no ride. And once the wheels get rolling, it's easier to keep going. It starts by getting the bicycle out the door :p

Dead end

Changi, 59 km. Far north, it's rained so hard in the Land of Smiles, no one is smiling. It rains here too, but there's no flood. When the rain stops, the cycling starts. As it's late in the day, I intend to cycle just 40 km and be home before sunset. On a whim, I turn where I've not turned before and keep going until I don't know where I am.

The only guide is my compass, a tiny thumbnail-sized thing that guides my Little Red Tank and me. Heading east takes me to a familiar road. A dog trots behind a pedestrian, spots me and locks on, barking. I yell at it. It's not alone. Another mutt keeps pace to my left, barking. I wouldn't be able to move my legs and bark like it does.

Again, I turn where I've not turned before and end up in a dead end - a gate that leads to the biggest airport here. A girl in a dress is there. Why? As I u-turn and pass her, I tell her she's headed for a dead end. "I know," she smiles. She's carrying a big camera. So, I'm dressed up, she wears a dress. I sit on my toy, she swings it in her hand. I get accosted by dogs, she might meet wolves in men's clothing. I explore more dead ends. She seems to be doing the same. But since she's now in a residential area, I reckon she's safe and I head home - getting somewhat lost in this unfamiliar place. Again, my little compass, velcroed onto my handlebar points me home.

A little magnetism goes a long way.

Keep things fresh

File photo

Seletar, 42 km. Instead of cycling the usual northern loop (which I claim solely for myself since I've never seen any cyclist do the entire loop), I head to the northeast corner of this little island.

The little town I cycle in, with its own Picadilly Circus, has changed a lot. Some winding roads have become dead-ends, all boarded up. New, wide roads have been built. But still, it's a place for planes, as it has been since last century. Amidst change, there is continuity, amidst continuity, there is change.

Escape velocity

Woodlands, 56 km. Last weekend, rather than fight traffic outside, I fought a bug inside me - it seems to take more energy to fight something inside than outside. It would be terrible if the enemy is me. I save energy and spend time on the couch.

Today, I cycle. Hard. Or perhaps it feels hard because of the hiatus. I dart into a road I've avoided for a long time (a year? more?). There used to be dogs there; perhaps they're gone now. Wishful thinking. They're so glad to see me, a couple of them even leave their food to meet me. I crank up my revolutions per minute as they cheer me on, barking. The lady feeding them shouts; she's either calling them back or asking me to go faster.

The closest cur is on my left. Ahead is a curve in the road. If a car appears on the right and cuts the corner, I'd be intercepted on either side. Worst case scenario is to be bitten on the left then careen to the right and carom off a car. No thanks to the fangs, I veer right. As if on cue, accursed cur stops. I pass into safety without passing out.

Couch is safe, but I'm glad I go out today.

What to do?

Woodlands, 56 km. If "what to do" is said with a scratch of the head, it means "what shall we do?" As in, "shall I cycle today, or run?" In the end, I cycle. As an incentive, I pack a camera for fun and cycle to places where fun takes place: where the waters flow.

If "what to do" is said with a shrug, it means "what can we do?" - in other words, suck it up, there's nothing we can do about it.

If the current situation is the latter, go have fun, why let life pass by?

The sky is falling

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."

Windswept, rainswept and wet

Pulau Punggol, 39 km. Yesterday was a cloudy day. All day. I didn't cycle as I thought that would precipitate precipitation. But there was no rain. Today looks like yesterday, so out I go. The wind blows, and I huff and puff as I ride against the wind. Big drops of rain pelt down, taking their time to hit the ground. That's the warm up. Then sheets of rain fall. I spy a little hut, park my bicycle beside it and hurl open the door. A man inside jumps out of his seat as if I'm lightning. I mumble "sorry" and stand outside to chill out in the wind and rain. No point cursing. No point worrying. Think about what to do and if the time to do it hasn't come, just chill out.

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"?

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.

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 ...