Clearly wrong

Aug distance: 470 km

Woodlands, 63 km. The heat pounds down, the kind that gives a pounding headache. At the traffic lights, a transporter is ahead of me. As it pulls away, I cycle close to it. In seconds, I'm going uphill at 45 km/h.

I'm heading for a charity ride briefing. I was there last year. I recall the carpark, the staircase. But I can't find it! I circle around. I could keep looking, but almost an hour has gone by.

I head home. Trucks pass by so close, a passenger could reach out and touch me. Or, if smoking, flick ash on me. Or spit on me. At home, I look at the map. The briefing venue. I was so close and yet so far!

Misses

Woodlands, 49 km. How should I tag this ride? I want to run instead so this isn't "cycletherapy". But I should train for next month's charity ride so should this be "training"?

It'd rained so hard, water was coming through my windows. At journey's  start, there's a string of red lights at every junction. Hours after the rain stopped, the roads are still wet. I cycle through a cloud - of insects. I feel them on my face and wonder how many I inhale.

On a whim, I try a different route. Initially quiet, it filled with roaring, speeding traffic within seconds. I turn into a quiet residential estate and almost crash head-on with a Mercedes SLK; the driver had behaved inappropriately with a four-letter word: "stop".

This kind of missing, I can cope with.

Older, crazier

8-10 Aug, Johore, Malaysia, 317 km

Day 1, Batu Pahat, 164 km. Alarm clock sounds. As if on cue, strong winds buffet trees and rain

pours. I feel like going back to bed, instead of cycling. But out I go anyway.

Like one of them said (there are six of us), nothing tastes good on this trip: the roti canai is like inner tube, even the ice does not feel cold. Only the durians are good: sweet, creamy, fragrant. Even the houseflies are in a feeding frenzy. They are more energetic than I am.

Nice long roads: light traffic, nice drivers, no traffic lights

By lunch time, I'd covered the equivalent of half a month's work of cycling. Only half the day has gone by. Dragon Brother (on a classic Bridgestone MB3 and fat tyres rolling lazily at 30 km/h) drops back so I can draft him to rejoin the rest. "Welcome back", says the Treasurer. "Are you sick?" asks D. "Sick of cycling," I reply.

The last time I was at this hotel was in 2005. It was a slow, easy ride then. Why is it so hard now? Then I realise I'm older now, fully loaded and with fat tyres on downhill rims and straight gauge spokes. Instead of 1.25" slick tyres on Made in France Mavic rims and double butted spokes, and support vehicles. So now, I'm older and crazier. My performance today is still sucky, but I feel better than when I started, wondering why I left a warm dry bed for a long wet ride.

Better to ride slow and be in good spirits, than to ride at high speed in low spirits. And at least it stopped raining up north, cool and overcast is good.

Nightstop: Pelican Hotel

Day 2, Kulai, 97 km. So, should I head home the way I came, or follow M to Rengas then break off from the rest as they go to Mersing? Pointless chatter in my head. D decides we shouldn't be heroes. We will cut short our trip by a day.

As it turns out, I'm frisky today. The wonder of a good night's sleep. Along the way, we stop for pineapples, drinks, breakfast part 2, then lunch.

The hills roll along this route. It is so hot, Zambuk melts, then solidifies at room temperature when temperature falls as the sun goes down.

Nightstop: B-link Hotel. This hotel is RM65 per room. It is small, we're told to leave our bicycles locked outside the hotel, then bring it into the reception for the night. The sink leaks, the water cistern is without cover (to flush, pull the lever inside). There's room for us here (and good food a few minutes' walk away), unlike at Batu Pahat, where we found room at the third hotel we checked with.

Add colour to your life. Wear colourful jerseys :)

Day 3, Singapore, 56 km. Treasurer has a neckache. Last night, Dragon Brother used his steely fingers. Today, I chop with the edges of my hands like knives on mincemeat. This is called massaging the numbers?

It's good cycling in Malaysia. The people are friendly, some drivers toot to say hello rather than "get out of the way". Almost all gives us our right of way. Some pedestrians cheer us.

With new roads, there are fewer slip roads to filter past. It's almost as safe as going back via Sultan Aminah Hospital (the coastal route). The onky thing that bugged me is a crank that creaks. I imaginedbit might explode in a shower of parts but it didn't, of course.

I'm glad I came after all.

Two good to be true?

Yio Chu Kang, 41 km. It's evening. I'm so tired, I have three cups of tea before I head out. I discover two loops today, each about two km long. Two loops, two km. I like.

Loop 1 is secluded, with broken road at one end and a tarred road sprinkled with fine gravel at the other. Zero traffic in between. All I have for company is a lone sentry. He stands silently, not moving. Even the fan in the guard house is still.

Loop 2 is in an industrial area. There are occasional heavy vehicles ahead, but the road is wide.

It is only when I head home that there is a near miss. Or rather, a near hit. The taxi driver didn't even slow down as he shot out from the slip road, nor did he spare a glance when I yelled. Life of a cyclist is like a bug's life, it may end on a windscreen.

A secluded road beside an industrial park. An industrial park safe for cycling. This country isn't Marin County, but there's some cycling to be had. Don't accept the status quo, keep looking, elsewhere if need be. And a bug can have fun.

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.