Still searching

Jul distance: 157 km

File photo, 2005.
Scene is gone, photo remains

Seletar, 34 km. I seek another route today. A simple loop that doesn't take as long, yet gives me a good workout. Lots of slopes, little traffic would be ideal. Parked cars on narrow roads are bad for the health.

I check out a few locations. I'll be back. Hopefully, the haze won't.

Piddling pedaling

Buangkok, 33 km. It's such a nice sunny day. I wait till it is dusk, then head out. I pack my camera to shoot the sights. Someday, all these open spaces will be gone. Watch this space!

While it was easy access last week, this week is different. I survey the terrain, carry and walk my bicycle, then double back. It's a balancing act, clambering past a fallen tree in tall grass.

I spy a trail beside a road and head up. A jogger looks at me. I pass a tree: someone has placed a pot of water in front of it (does a tree have a front?) and white cloth around it. Then, I hear furious barking. OK, I hear you, I'm out of here!

Then, to the medical park. It's so quiet, the road sweeper leaves her chest-high, four-wheeled outdoor garbage container half-blocking the road as she sits by the kerb to rest.

Barely two hours later, I'm back home. Such a short distance! But I did push myself hard sometimes. I can feel the burn in my legs somewhat. There are, after all, no traffic lights at all on this stretch and some (short) slopes.

All dressed up. Where to go?

Buangkok 36 km. I dress in my cycling gear. I know I don't want to cycle my usual circuit. But I don't know where to go.

I wander into an industrial park, where car workshops sprout. I pass through flatland with a single track, with tall apartments within holler distance. Then I end up in a medical park. Not in an ambulance, but on my bicycle. I do laps there; during this time, only four vehicles pass me, and several joggers - there's a fitness park here too.

Overhead, a couple of F15s roar past. Below, a man sits by the roadside. I don't know if he's talking to me whenever I pass, or  just muttering to himself. I doubt he's a patient from the mental institution here.

This is a nice place to cycle. It's quiet, no traffic lights. If something bad happens, there's Accident & Emergency on the grounds. Somewhat disconcerting are the bars, some barbed wire and rows of beds.

Clear the air

Woodland 54 km. Choking, hazardous haze above 400 PSI had made cycling too bad for health and kept me off the road. Today is different. Air quality is in the "good" range, below 20 even. I revel in the freedom. I draft a truck laden with metal rods as thick as thumbs. It's an easy pace of 38 km/h. I also cycle "hands free" uphill.

I'm glad to ride but then I think I should be running instead, even if it takes as long (2.5 hours) as cycling. Have things changed that much? 2.5 hours feels longer on foot than on wheels, though the distance is way shorter. Now that I've been alive so long, do I look for different things? This is beyond hedonic adaptation.

May be this has to do with being "poisoned"?

Survival of the adaptable

Jun distance: 150 km

Old Upper Thomson Road, 42 km. It's been  long time (21 Dec 2011, to be precise) since I last did "circuit training". Instead of braving the traffic on the busy roads, I take the old, lonely road. No traffic, just a couple of joggers, the occasional cyclist, a lone monkey. And eight wild boars; four adults,four kids. I tap my brake levers to give them early warning that I'm passing into their personal space. I'm glad they don't bowl me over as they cross at right angles to my direction and crash into the undergrowth ahead of me.

I used to cycle with a headband, as dripping sweat would sting my eyes otherwise. It's been a sultry hot day but since I cycle at night, I skip the band. No sweat. I don't need it.

At work, I've got a key position unfilled, for the first time. The workload is split among the team. I'm the point man now. And the rainmaker too. All firsts. I hope it works out. Still, I've been through worst. And it's a good ride today.

Oh, what am I training for? A charity ride next month. My first one with downhill rims. No more wussy slick tyres.

Peace and quiet - not

Woodlands 55 km. Thunder rumbles in the distance. Nearby, a party blasts away. It is such a party, a Red Rhino and its civil defence crew is on standby nearby. The noise gets to me, so I roll out. It is drizzling.

I've not cycled at night for a long time. It is cool and quiet. I like cycling. A well-tuned bicycle is quiet efficiency. I explore a road I've never been on, and add 10% to my usual distance.

I'm 30 minutes away from home when there's a flurry of frenzy. Dogs. A pack by the road. They bark. A black one lunges out. I yell at it and take evasive action. Good thing there's no traffic behind me and no traffic lights in front. Otherwise, I might have become minced meat.

Flexibility and opportunity

Woodands, 53 km. It's a routine now. Rest and relax first part of the day, then cycle. But when it's about time to cycle, it rains. Ok then, I'm flexibe, I can chill more. A short while later, the rain stops.

Today, I read about a businessman. Actually, a businessyouth. He sold roasted chestnuts in supermarkets till the latter got acquired by a western chain. "What's with the smell and smoke?" the new owners ask. He gets cooking hobs installed and ceiling painted each night. Then he roasts the nuts elsewhere and sells them in the supermarkets. Business falls. What's roasted chestnuts without roasting? To cut a long story short, he sells roasted seaweed now, nicely wrapped in resealable bags. In several countries.

If his family wasn't in debt, he wouldn't have gone into business. If the supermarkets hadn't been acquired, he wouldn't have diversified.  He says his succcess came from problems.

You get what you pay for

May distance: 99 km

Woodlands 49 km. I struggle with my first tablet. It's a lesser-known brand, cheaper than the usual Taiwan brands. I should've paid more. Still, it's usable, just imprecise for precision typing and drag and drop.

Similarly, I "saved" some money on bicycle shorts. But it was false economy. The more expensive ones aren't worse for wear, but the cheaper one is a let down: I wear it less often, but it's worn out compared to the other, expedition-proven one.

I shouldn't let these things get to me. This time last year, an era ended. It was (and still is) painful but, somewhere along 1,441 km of cycetherapy, I figured that things could get better. With hindsight, the end of an era wasn't the end of the world.

So I count my blessings on this ride:
Zero creaks
One smooth transmission
Two drivers yield to my right of way instead of cutting across as they are wont to do
Trees (by the roadside)
Forlorn, begone
Five lanes, I filter safely across

You get what you pay for.
You feel what you think.

Milestone

Woodlands, 50 km. It's been rough, dealing with the impetuous, ill-judged and so in-your-face. Hobson's choice: even if I don't choose, I'm making a choice. As it turned out, things didn't work out. But I'll never know if I did the right thing, because I don't know what would've happened if I didn't choose. I guess, in such situations, heuristics would've helped. But then, even proverbs conflict: "great minds think alike" vs "fools seldom differ".

To get away from it all for a while, I cycle more out of a sense of obligation than anything else. But I'm glad I did. It's not raining, it is cool.

Two cyclists, one of them a roadie, ride against traffic flow and head towards me. A taxi sees me and pulls out anyway. A roadie dressed in black overtakes me and waves. In the night, he can barely be seen. I crank it up and draw beside him and yell: "Your tail light is out!" He replies: "Must be the battery. Flat." He pulls away. I catch up with him at a traffic light. When the light turns green, he waves to me and vanishes into the dark. All he has are tiny, tiny reflectors.

For my insurance, I have a big tail light, two (small) reflectors on my bicycle (and two strips on my helmet) and a gleaming shoulder sash. If only I have such a safety margin elsewhere.

Wishbone Ash's Persephone plays in my head. I realise that when there's a song in my head, I can't think of anything else. It's a kind of meditation, a kind of hush to trouble and fuss.

Oh, the world is 41,000 km round. Today I cross the 60,000 km mark.

Caught in between vs best of both worlds

Apr distance: 182 km

Seletar, 31 km. I'm sandwiched. Rain before the ride and dinner appointment after. I debate whether to ride at all. I know I should; I've already eaten a cyclists' diet. All those calories need to go somewhere. That, plus habit.

Habit is a good thing so off I go, but not on my habitual route. I take a shorter route, and create it on impulse.

Look forward to my next ride; will be crossing the 60,000 km mark, which is 1.5 times the girth of the earth.