Sign of the times

Mar distance: 45 km (what? this is the only ride in Mar?!)

Sengkang, 45 km. I'm stewing in my juice. "Sky juice" isn't raining from the sky. Instead, sunshine is pouring down. So, to the outdoors I escape.

My chain is clean. Really clean. Instead of using a toothbrush and solvent, I'd dug out my Park Tools "Chain Gang", which had laid abandoned and forlorn for so, so long. It's done its job so well, my drive train feels so, so different.

I thought that cycling would cleanse me, just as the Chain Gang had cleaned my chain good as new. But that's not to be.

Troubled thoughts keep pace with me, though I've got to keep my wits up and eyes open on the traffic.

On a whim, I turn into a road with a "dead end" sign. It used to be a dead end, but no longer. Yes, the sign is still there, but things have changed, permanently. Sometimes, it makes sense to ignore the signs? On the other hand, if the sign turned out to be right and the road was a dead end, it's no big deal.

Seeing red

Feb distance: 410 km

Changi, 122 km. On this group ride, I am the marker at major junctions: when the sweeper passes, I chase down main body to mark the next junction.

There are 28 cyclists. The Bromptom Brigade is in the swing of things: blaring Abba, even a box of durian puffs.

As the night rolls on, some cyclists roll slower. Only distant red blinkers sheds light on which way the lead cyclist has gone. In a park, even that little ray of hope is gone. It doesn't help there are other groups of cyclists about, and the tail gets dropped like a lizard.

I tell the tail to wait while I scout for the rest, and eventually find them. It's clear, on this night ride, there are too many junctions and not enough markers. A few of us reorganise ourselves so there's one more marker. That works better.

At the end of the ride, only 2/3 of the pack is left; the rest have gone home along the way. By the time I get home, it is 3.30 am. At this time, the roads are peaceful, quiet and safe.

Crazy water snake?

Punggol 36 km. This is the Year of the Snake, according to the lunar calendar. The weather has been wet this year so far, with flash floods even. Is this the year of the water snake? Or just a snake year gone crazy? When the rain stops, I cycle to a campus but am denied entry.

The security guard admits that motorcycle entry is ok but not bicycle entry. He explains there's no parking for bicycles. It makes no sense to him that I'm there to cycle, not park. Nuts.

I cycle near an institute for mental health, then, on a whim, head into a park connector. It is crowded with cyclists, joggers, strollers, roller bladers and families with kids and prams. I get back on the road where I feel safer - with ample room to clear my head.

Acclimatisation

Lim Chu Kang, 69 km. It sounded like a car. I glance to my right, a bicycle whirrs past on aero wheels. Later, I hear another bicycle behind me, it sounds like a creaky "market bike". But I can't shake it off. How can such a noisy keep up? I veer off and look as it passes; it's a roadie tailing me.

This Lunar New Year is the Year of the Snake. Snake is commonly found as roadkill in Malaysia. Today, two drivers almost mistake me for a snake as they pretend to drive ...

I meet some friends on the road; they are going for lunch. I would join them, but the sunny sky is now grey and I dislike cycling in the rain. If I want to get wet, I'd swim - but I don't like to swim. I speed home, but the rain is speedier. I stop at a bus stop to get out of the drenching rain. But I get on the road again; it doesn't look like the rain is going to let up.

I realise it's not the rain's job to keep me dry, sometimes it rains and rain is wet. Since I live in the tropics, with tropical storms, I'll get wet sometimes. The rain isn't that bad anyway, it's cold and wet but I've been through worse, in Taiwan and Vietnam.

Always a first time

2-3 Feb, Telok Sengat, Johor, Malaysia, 183 km. It's a race against time. To be there at 7am, to be a little late so I don't have to wait like before. I lose the race again, they are late: someone had a tyre puncture but no tyre levers.

Traffic past the causeway is light at 0730. I've cycled thousands of km in Malaysia, but never have I been to Kong Kong and Telok Sengat until today. I like the quiet roads and picturesque villages; the kind of place where Mas Selamat would hide out. We even get to do some offroad!

Our hotel room at Telok Sengat is so big, I can cycle into it and in it. We wash up, wash clothes and dry it in the sun on a clothesline. They dry before sunset. We sit and shoot the breeze, and see the sun go down.

We compare our sunset photos. I realise I was so focused on the ball of fire, I failed to see the rest of the sky beautifully lit up. That's what happens when you don't see the big picture. The picture isn't complete without perspective.

Nightstop: Rumah Tumpangan Pang Ah Ngang

We're up before dawn. The town, which is so small, is still asleep. We cycle out of town for breakfast. There are some slopes on the way to Sungei Rengit. I surge up and down them. Bike leader tells me that since cycling on a mountain bike isn't enough a handicap, they'll chip in and buy me a trailer so I can haul all their stuff.

I catch up on sleep on the ferry. When we make landfall, it is pouring. The rain, combined with my speed, stings. Especially when it hits my lips. Public transport drivers bully me on the roads. Water streams down the roadside. The wind is so strong, the spray doesn't shoot vertically up from my tyres but curves to the side.

This is the maiden overseas trip for my downhill rims.

A little means a lot

Jan distance: 259 km

Woodlands, 50 km. I tighten the leather on my Brooks saddle, three 1/4 turns. And I can feel the difference in my bones, literally.

At a traffic junction, a guy darts across. Brakes squeal, skid marks stretch across the road. A near miss. If the driver was say, glancing at his passenger, there'd be more than skid marks on the road.

A few turns of a screw. A split second reaction on the road. A little, yet it means a lot.

Just like a smile, a text message, a kind word.

Zip up and keep going

Memories of Vietnam from last month

Sembawang, 50 km. The sky has been grey since yesterday. When I leave home this afternoon, it is drizzling. I'm not going to be cooped up. I'm going out.

Wet roads, wet rims and wet from the sky, this is so like last month, so like Vietnam.

When I am already dirty and wet, what can more rain do to me? I zip up my jersey and keep going.

I'm glad to get home out of the cold rain, grateful to have a dry place to go to, a warm shower and a hot drink.

Crash concretely

Sembawang, 45km. How ironic. I've toured with my bicycle overseas for tens of thousands of km. Climbed up mountains and rolled down so fast, my ears popped. Crossed rivers, dodged traffic. All without bloodshed.

Today, blood flows from three holes beside my knee, the result of grass which seems to be the same height as a concrete platform. But seeing is deceiving; feeling is not. It's not short grass and low concrete, but high grass (that flattens) and high concrete. Front wheel crashes to a halt. Part of me lands on grass, leg lands on broken concrete and opens up.

I squirt water on my wounds to wash it and brush off wet grass from my body. My bicycle seems ok. So I keep cycling. I look down on my leg. Blood is flowing. Go with the flow ...

Courteously cemented

Woodlands, 51 km. Cycling on home ground takes getting used to. While cycling in Vietnam is seemingly crazy, where traffic goes on both sides of the road, the number of hair-raising moments (3 in 500 km) is disproportionately less than back home (1 in 50 km).

Today, bendy bus and a car pass so close to me, I could've flicked my sweat on them.

At a junction, a cement mixer truck slows. While I've the right of way, the truck's got the might of way. I wave thanks to the driver. After the driver lets me pass, he overtakes me. Not just an arm's length away, but an entire lane away. I wave another "thanks" to him. Thank you sir!

Half empty, half full

Woodlands, 63 km. Yesterday, it rained buckets. Curtains down on annus horribilis. A colleague died suddenly, another got diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer, some people left. And a girl from India sustained horrible injuries and died in the dying days of the year.

Today, it's sunny. I wipe on leftover sunblock from my aborted Vietnam expedition and cycle.

I'm on top of them before I realise I'm on broken glass. I stop to check my tyres then realise a brake block is misaligned with my hardly-used, 2003 downhill rims. Which explains the "burn" I feel in my legs, which I'd attributed to the fat rims and straight-gauge spokes. If it wasn't for the broken glass, and the chance glance from a different perspective, I'd have continued with the drag.

This incident, plus the 40 cm tear in my rim wall, brings home the point: a glass can be half full, and half empty, at the same time. Sometimes (not all the time), something can be unfortunate, and fortunate, at the same time. It is a choice to see both, not just the bad side.

May 2013 be annus mirabilis, or, at least, a "dead cat bounce" ...