Bikelog

Total distance: 43,987 km
All distances refer to round trips, starting from my home in Singapore unless otherwise stated (21,539 km on my Iron Horse, subsequent distances on my little red Tank)

Expeditions
→ 529 km (Dili, Timor Leste, 22-29 Aug 09); my longest offroad ride. NEW!
→ 652 km (Kampong Cham, Cambodia, 21-28 Dec 08); my longest solo ride.
→ 907 km (Luang Prabang, Laos, 19 Dec 07-2 Jan 08)
→ 952 km (Bangkok, Thailand, 25-31 Dec 06)
→ 1,028 km (Tak Bai, Thailand, 23-30 Dec 05; this trip also marks my longest fully loaded ride in one day: 192 km)
→ 1,502 km (Padang Besar, Malaysia, 19-31 Dec 04)
→ 401 km (Sumatra, Indonesia, 7-15 Aug 04)
→ 1,043 km (Betong, Thailand, 17 Dec 03-3 Jan 04)

Other distance/altitude personal bests
→ 478 km (Mersing, Johore, Malaysia), first ride where I raise funds for charity, 2005
→ 225 km (Tanjung Piai, Johore, Malaysia), longest ride in one day, 2004
→ 1,835m (Maubisse, Timor Leste), highest peak I've biked up, 2009; I've also been up Cameron Highlands but there is conflicting data about its height, from 1,500 to 2,031m)
Speed records
→ Max speed to date: 66.4 km/h downhill) in Pahang, Malaysia, 2005
→ Max speed on flat road: 50.0 km/h around Sengkang, Singapore, 2004
Dumb things done on a bike
→ Longest ride with hands off handlebars: 2 km (Pengarang, Johore, Malaysia), 2003

Ode to my bike
Your frame supports me	Haiku style
Your wheels transport me	On my bike I ride
When I feel blue	The miles pass, my heart is light
Riding you sets me free	And my world feels right

Find me on Facebook, message me that you're a biker :)

Year 2009

Sat 10 Oct: Reverso
Woodlands, 46 km. I didn't cycle last week. Why bother when it feels like a chore? I am mired in malaise today too, until evening. I'm seized by the urge to rise and ride. And so I do. I usually ride to Woodlands clockwise. Today, I do it in reverse. Without the need for arm warmers or sunblock to ward off sunburn. Nor sunglasses and contact lenses. Nice and simple. Traffic is heavy and there are a few close calls. When traffic thins out, I look at the sky. Wispy cirrus clouds after the cumulo nimbus in the morning. I rue riding without my camera. Shots missed: smoke stacks silhoutted against the greying sky.

Sun 27 Sep: Privilege cycling
Woodlands, 48 km. In mass affluent Singapore, there's privilege banking. But privilege cycling is foreign though Singapore has more high-end bicycle shops than any other city in ASEAN. One month after Tour de Timor, I reflect on the privilege of cycling in a government-sanctioned race where roads are closed for us, and food, safety and security provided for over five days. In 2003, hardened ex-communists welcomed us with respect after we cycled the length of Peninisula Malaysia to Betong. In 2005, I had a police escort all the way from the middle of the causeway to Kuala Lumpur. This cyclist is not as welcome in his own country, even in cycling-designated spots. The only time privilege was given on a large scale was 2009's OCBC Cycle Singapore, when roads were totally closed for the route (50 km for a few hours). Still, what a privileged life cycling I've had :) And I'd no close calls on the road today.

Mon 21 Sep: Positive spin
Tuas, 112 km. I never thought I'd fight the urge to ride. First I read, then I lunch, then look for excuses. For an hour, I look at a weather map to see where rain falls and figure out where the wind blows. The odds are 1/4 cardinal points that I won't get wet. Excuses, excuses. When the sun is out, it's too hot. If it's overcast, it might rain. So I ride. As far west, as far south as I can, till the road runs out. I marvel at compact Singapore. North is Sungei Buloh nature reserve, where migrating birds stop. South is an industrial complex. Here, I almost collide with a dragonfly. In both places, wide, empty spaces. Should've brought my camera. It's cloudy. When the sun peeks out, hues of orange and pink burst out. Instead of snapping photos, something else snaps: my sunglasses. It stays on my face anyway. A car (in the wrong lane) nearly hits me. Later on, another car hangs back to let me get in lane. How quickly the weather changes. I keep above my cruising speed but the sky opens 30 minutes before I get home. Rain stings, brakes barely work. I can barely see; no wipers on glasses. I remove them; the first time I ride with contact lenses and no eye protection. Water gushes by the roadside. I get wetter than at Timor river crossing. I'm glad I didn't bring my camera. And the pouring rain has washed away the encrusted Timor dirt from my bike.

Sun 20 Sep: A different spin
Seletar, 47 km. I wake up, then go back to sleep; it's too early to ride. When the sun is up, I get up. I'm in such a hurry, I forget my sunblock. It's a cloudy day. Would it rain like yesterday? For insurance, I go for a short ride instead of double the distance to Tuas. Seletar is now different. New roads, new turns. Heavy trucks with huge waist-height wheels that hurtle past. And dogs. Dog 1 barks while Dog 2 does a flanking movement. I back out calmly and as the barking continues, I crank up more speed. I almost get whacked by a vacuum cleaner on wheels that sucks up gravel. I could rue all the happenings. I could also be glad the doggies didn't sink their fangs into me and the vacuum cleaner swerved away in time as I appeared out of the driver's blind spot. Why be sad when you can be glad?

Sat 12 Sep: Riding with roadies
Bukit Timah, 51 km. I rarely do Saturday morning rides but I do one today. What a strange way to do a charity ride, to ride before, not during, then after. "Before" is when I ride to the jetty to send them off to Mersing; during, when I'm working; and after, which is today. Everyone but me is a roadie. My fat tyres hum to keep up with their silent slick tyres. One of the cyclists, I know through work. I get a headstart on next week's work as we talk. As we head home, a mountain bike on full suspension blasts past us and leads the way. For a while. Almost effortlessly, the roadies pull away at 40 km/h, pulling me behind them. The change from Sunday late morning to early Saturday morning ride is a change that puts a "spin" on the possibilities of change.

Sat 5 Sep: Missing Mersing
Changi, 51 km. I used to think cycling a charity ride was hard, but raising funds took effort too. But hardest of all is not being able to do a charity ride. I get out of bed after 4 am. I feel flat, so is my front tyre. I rush to change it and rush on the road, marvelling at how fat tyres can go above 40 km/h. Not that I've got a boat to catch ... I'm going to say goodbye and purposefully leave my passport at home. This is the fourth year of Charity Bike n Blade. This year, the bladers are all on bikes. I'm asked why I torture myself to show up. I toy with the idea of pretending to be a bike frame, hold some wheels and board the boat. But goodbye it is, time to ride home alone. My front tyre is flat again. Timor-trained-thighs would've fared well if I'd cycled to Mersing, but not Timor-torn-tyres. At least I went to Timor Leste. Still, I'm sad. Gotta be really nice to myself today. But first, I rip out my front tyre, check it and the rim, change the rim tape, patch two tubes ...

Sat 22 - Sat 29 Aug: Tour de Timor: trouble, trauma and triumph
Timor Leste, 529 km. Among the 43,000 km of rides I've done, this is the most eventful of them all. With its ups and downs, the tour is as varied as the terrain, which ranges from dry and dusty "moonscape" to jumbled jungle to wave- and wind-swept coastal roads to cloud-clad campsites. The participants are varied too: young and old, first-timers and old hands, elite and weekend warriors, those who walked away without a scratch to those who are hospitalised, full-suspension to rigid bikes ... More

Tue 18 Aug: Intensity, insanity
Old Upper Thomson Road, 24 km. On Sunday, I run a half marathon (being injured meant my training was only for a 15 km run). The run is ok but I walk like a lame duck on broken glass a few hours later. On Monday, I am on scheduled leave but clear my work emails in the evening. Today, the pace is frenetic; I work 1.5 days in 1 day (based on 8-hour day and lunch at my keyboard) and start riding after 10 pm. I tell myself, this is not a training ride. It is active rest + road test of pedal adjustment and new brake pads. All is well until a roadie sits on my tail. I crank up my crank but he overtakes me when I clock 43 km/h. My stomach full of murtabak protests at the strain.

Wed 12 Aug: Everything, something, nothing
Old Upper Thomson Road, 27 km. I want everything: my half marathon (which I signed up for first) and my most challenging ride ever. I'll settle for not achieving my personal best time for the run; to complete it will be something. I hope I won't mess up the run and the ride; I'll end up with nothing! Back home, I struggle to change the brake pads of my little red Tank with the very last pair of red pads from the shop. The exercise takes 10 times longer than it should :O

Sun 9 Aug: Seeing red
Woodlands, 65 km. I'm in/on Red socks, red jersey, red bike. Red is also the colour of universal brotherhood and equality, which is about half of the national flag of this little red dot on the map called Singapore (two equal horizontal halves, minus the white for the stars and moon heh). Today's ride turns from 3 to 2 to 1. No show? Ride solo. I do 10 laps around the "Microsoft hill" then charge up a hill 9-storeys high. It is so steep, i max out my gears and my rear wheel loses traction. Back home, the discordant noise of karaoke makes neighbours see red. Today is National Day. Merdeka!

Sun 2 Aug: Familiarisation ride
Lim Chu Kang, 78 km. There's a big ride coming up. In the few weeks left, there's not much training that can be done. So we ride (minus one who overslept) to see how we get along. It's hard to do a "training" ride where participants have varying experience, from seasoned adventure racers to someone going for her first expedition. Is this ride about performance, or to ride safe, gel together better than a gel saddle and have fun?

Sun 26 Jul: Check and test
Lim Chu Kang, 75 km. The unofficial motto of one elite fighting force is "check and test, check and test". Which is poles apart from its official motto. I check and test 2 pieces of equipment today, including an 8 year old (estimate), 2.1" tyre (a first, none of my tyres have been that fat). I don't want it to crumble away on a high speed turn. A lad with disc wheel and aerobar slices past me as if I'm pushing a pram laden with groceries. A lass labours past me. Is she cursing me or chattering with her clattering drivetrain? There are tell-tale signs no one has talked to her much about cycling. I think about helping but I don't understand her swear words. Telling her the intricacies of of shifting might get lost in translation. Moreover, I don't speak 'roadie' and am more familiar with MTB shifters. We part ways at a junction and I continue with my road test/recce ride. It is a hard, "2 bottle" ride.

Sun 19 Jul: Going cycling keeps me going
Woodlands, 57 km. It is overcast. It might rain. It might not. Should I stay in bed? I reluctantly get out to ride and feel better. A hard ride is when I keep above cruising intensity most of the time. My legs strain and my water bottles drain. I get lost and end up riding along uneven ground covered by grass, at 7 km/h before I see a hill. I ride up and see a road. Back to normal. I notice that when I strain, I get flu-like symptoms: nose runs, body aches, temperature probably rises. I might cough too, if I squirt water wrong into my throat. I see a guy pitch a tent beneath the noonday sun, a little girl plays by his side. He sees me, I nod, he smiles. What's that about, some output but what's the outcome? A little touch of humanity, I guess.

Sun 12 Jul: Rainy or sunny?
Changi, 61 km. Just like last month, fatigue stopped my wheels turning first week into the month. Under a cloud, I spend most of yesterday reducing sleep deficit. I was going to ride in the night, when the rains fall. Today, the sky is overcast. And I've cleaned my drive train. I head out anyway. The sky clears, the sun shines, my wheels turn. I meet a friend who hollers from the roadside. I explore a place I've never been to before: Johor Battery. And all is well.

Sat 27 Jun: Door gifts and near miss
Changi, 68 km. I'm out to commemorate 2003 NPCC charity ride. Our last anniversary ride was in Jun 2007. We've grown fewer and older. Among the handful of us who show up tonight, one says I look younger. That's because the night is darker. We ride then chat at a coffee shop, comparing injuries. The adventure racer who organised tonight's ride (and the 2007 one), being charming, has a charmed life. When I head into the toilet, a door slams into me. The assailant says sorry twice and turns on the tap for me. Back on the road, a passenger almost hits me with a car door. Wow, two door gifts in a night. Going home, I ride just below my ventilation threshold. My speedometer reads 38 km/h for a while. My fat tyres whirl like the wind. My right foot feels funny. I struggle to unclip it then fail to clip in. The cleat is gone. I peer forlornly at the road. On a hunch, I look at the pedal. The cleat's there. I hobble towards home. At a junction, a driver shoots across my right of way. It's a near miss. I don't mean she nearly misses me. She's a near-sighted miss and if I didn't brake in time she would've given me a present of her van.

Sun 21 Jun: Electrified
Mandai, 40 km. Riding in the late afternoon is less fuss. No sunblock, no poke in the eyes for contact lenses to wear sunglasses, no arm warmers to keep off the sun. I'm out to do Fartlek for fast legs. I've been labouring in expeditions thinking it is normal, but my reading tells me that need not be so. As I train, I see a bike ahead of me. It's too small for a motorbike, yet too fast to be a bicycle. I catch up with it at a traffic light and see that it's an electric bike. Fast pick up, fast speed. Soon it is out of sight, though I ride over 30 km/h uphill. I'm stunned. I used to overtake petrol-driven versions. Well, I know how to train better now, even when I'm not on a training ride. Knowledge is power and power makes bike go faster :)

Sat 13 Jun: Almost a century
Changi, 94 km. It's been years since I've joined a group ride with strangers. I end up as the sweeper. I ride with someone who slips twice and whose slippers drop twice. Four km into the ride, she graciously turns back and another joins her. I ride with them to the start point. Then my "amazing race" starts as I twist and turn on the park connector trying to find the main group. The ride leader eventually finds me and life is back to "normal". It's quite fun as I ride to places I've not been before and usually avoid (because of the "brownian motion" risks of collision with pedestrians, cyclists and tots in such places). Such places usually raise my heart rate but not today, perhaps because of the company I'm in and my perspective today of going with the flow.

Sun 31 May: Abandoned
Woodlands, 49 km. Beyond the big stone blocks lies a forest. Birds chirp. Leaves flutter. Shadows wave. A big open space, with walls several stories high. On the ground, some rotting wooden pallets. Bits of balloon, with ribbon trailing behind. What lay here before, a factory? A staircase without railings rises to another open space. Once useful, once noisy with clomping feet, now silent. Whatever value it created, whatever lives worked here, who knows? Whither have they gone? For better or worse? Does it matter?

Sun 17 May: Bucking with the Broncos
Mandai, 36 km. The road seemed interesting, made entirely of debris. No "protected area" sign. I clamber over a fallen tree with my bike, enticed further in. Alas, round the bend, it's a dead end. This time, I slide my bike beneath the tree trunk instead of over it. I'm ready for a boring ride, but I'm surprised. Thrice. #1: up ahead are two transporters with two armoured Broncos each. I sprint to catch up and manage to do so only at traffic lights. The leviathans seem to levitate. In their slip stream, at 47 km/h, I give up the ghost. #2: some roadies overtake me. Absolute performance takes over: fat tyres vs slicks, mountain bike vs road bike, aluminium vs carbon. The leap frog begins, I overtake, you overtake, until I break right at a junction. #3: three vehicles overtake me, two of them trucks, challenging "touch me if you can". Woah, I don't know you, please stay more than an arm's length away...

Sun 10 May: Whither the weather?
Woodlands, 48 km. The biker sits on his bike, then looks up in disbelief. The sun shines, the sky rains. As I look on, I too am confounded. I wait two hours, hooked on the "now cast" to figure out the driest route. When the rain stops, I start. I can't control the weather or what life throws at me, though planning helps. My route plan works; the only water that falls on me is from the road below. Still, nice things can happen unexpectedly. #1: resting pulse rate < 60 beats per minute. How did that happen, I resumed running only this week after a five week "injury" break. #2: my wrist, which I hurt on a ride about seven months ago, is much better. The long Batu Pahat ride last week must've helped "massage" it. #3: my tyre patch holds though I'd ripped it off and glued it back on.
PS: on last week's ride, there were three police checkpoints around Skudai. Did that have anything to do with the arrest of Mas Selamat, who was caught in the area last month.

Fri-Sat 1-2 May: Gone solo
Batu Pahat, 323 km.
Day 1: Ride with abandon. There's supposed to be at least eight of us but the organisers abandon their own ride. That doesn't leave me all packed with no where to go, no way. I head for Batu Pahat, my first since Jan 07. A solo roadie passes me and I pass three mountain bikers heading for Kukup. The rolling hills near the end of the ride are tedious but keep the ride more interesting than the boring straight roads enroute. It is hard labour on Labour Day. 161 km is over my limit for a mental-strain free ride. At Batu Pahat, most shops are closed. I thirst. Guardian saves me with provisions. Loud singing from outside troubles me not as I plan a 9.5 hour siesta.

Day 2: Go away to come home. Obstacle #1: breakfast on peanuts (and I don't mean my salary) since Guardian sells no bread. #2: going down four flights of steps with fully-loaded bike. #3: a gate that locks me in the guesthouse. All surmounted. I tax my limited repertoir of songs in my head. I even keep my mind blank but there's too "static". Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb" it is. Malaysia is big, unlike tiny Singapore which bulldozes a national icon for motorists to save mere minutes. A dirty drizzle starts. I dodge puddles that may cover subterranean caverns. This is getting old. I'm getting old. I ride under a cloud. My feet are clammy and wrinkled. That's better than the tortoise in crawl posture in death with a tyre-sized hole in its shell. Or the bloated cat with guts trailing. Or the snake, monitor lizard, chicken and assorted mangled-beyond-recognition road kill. Trucks pass me at unfriendly distances. A lady brazens her way from a minor road to test my reaction. A petrol kiosk owner asks me where I'm from and says I'm crazy. When he finds out I'm solo, he says "even crazier". Indeed. I get home without map or compass. Am I glad to see Singapore.

Sun 26 Apr: Gimme a break
Jalan Bahar, 76 km. A recently-returned Singaporean wants to ride, so I get up early and oblige. Not that I sleep well, bad dreams affect shut-eye. Dark clouds float on high, so we say goodbye. How quickly the road turns wet from dry. At a bus stop I sit and sigh. Grey reaches far as I see with my eye. I ride on, with my bed I've a date. But I soon realise, I'm 'neath the edge of the cloud. As sudden as it hid, sunshine bursts through the grey crowd. My drive-train is blown dry. My tyre holds up too, on the biggest hole I'd ever patched. Oh what a break, my skin nor my bones don't break. May life's journey mirror this ride.

Sun 19 Apr: New route, new loop
Woodlands, 55 km. I hear thunder rumble at dawn, wonder if I get to ride today, and to back to sleep. When I get up, the sun is up. It is a scorcher. I'm not sure where to go and head north, poking my wheel (and nose) just a bit off the beaten track. And that little bit extra leads me to a familiar road that takes me home. Little things, can mean a lot ...

Sun 12 Apr: Grey skies and everything nice
Admiralty Road West, 44 km. Unlike past weekends (burn in morning, rain in afternoon), the morning sky is a cloudy sky. To taunt the clouds, I put on my sunblock and ride with my camera. I retire my very first pair of bikeshorts (5.5 years old) and ride with a new pair. When my bum feels good, so does my brain. What comfort; sentimentality and hanging on had gotten in the way of comfort. It (the sky, not the shorts) rains but does not pour. The water does not spray up in a parabola from my wheels. My saddle bag feels dry but it is not. So what if it is plastic, the water gets in somehow and my camera gets damp. But it bothers me not. Because it still works. Back home, I warm up my insides with home-brewed chai, after a messy, foul-tasting first attempt on Fri.

Fri 10 Apr: Adversity, adaptability
Admiralty Road West, 59 km. Would you spend a night in a place on Singapore's top 10 most haunted list? Well, hundreds of foreign workers spend every night there, a place formerly known as View Road Hospital, "a psychiatric facility ... for the rehabilitation of patients with chronic schizophrenia" (citation: Institute of Mental Health). It was vacated years ago, but now, it buzzes with life. As I wander about the north, I see more of them. Strangers, thrown together by a common desire to make a living. Some chat together, others just gather and sit separately by themselves. I'm your kind, please be kind. Many of them live in container-like structures stacked on high. Across their abode, live the locals in flats stacked on high.

Sun 29 Mar: Pushed
Lim Chu Kang, 73 km. I see the trees, high as three stories, lie on their sides, pushed over by the invisible wind. The base of their roots, each as wide as a small car, lies vertical. Elsewhere, I see a truck lie on its side, pushed over by invisible forces as it makes too tight a turn perhaps. I feel tired, but I push on. Today's ride (plus yesterday's) is about twice my weekly total. Yesterday, at a "time trial", I push myself so hard, sweat pours off my body and my glasses almost fall off. Age catches up with me. I trash a kid (late teens, I guess, see the look as his mother looks at me) but someone in his twenties walks away with the $1,000 prize. A bad carpenter blames his tools. I blame my clothes; I forgot my socks, wore the wrong jersey (too thick) and thought I didn't need a headband. It takes energy to lose heat.

Sun 22 Mar: Do you know where you're going to?
Sengkang, 42 km. The road ahead may look doable and the (intermediate) destination may look attractive. But after a while, that's all there is. A dead end, or you just go round and round. Is that your destination? Where can you go from here? Or the road ahead may be rocky, yet full of promise; when you round the corner, a new vista opens. Over a babbling brook you go, and a trail beckons ahead. Past knee-high mimosa, over waterlogged ground. The cost might turn out to be higher than any potential benefit. I know, because I was there - several times, before you even knew the place existed. Does it make sense for newbies to follow advice from other newbies?

Sun 15 Mar: Pain and rain
Sembawang, 42 km. Wrist pain: since mid-Sep, six months ago. Back pain: three weeks ago. Knee pain: 1 week. Well, I ride today anyway. I feel the sun warm the small of my back. Ah, feels good. Then I realise I've no sun block. I tussle within: it might rain, it might not. If I burn, that would hurt. A u-turn isn't necessarily a flip flop. And pain might be creative destruction; that's what exercise is about, to tough up the body. I head head home for my sun block then head as far north as I can. If I could ride on water, I would be in Malaysia. I pass an olive-green pickup with top-mounted machine gun, with ammunition box attached. I pass a white police van. Soon, I'm in the middle, with a police escort in front and army one behind. Clouds gather, rain falls. But I'm ok, it's rain that refreshes not the kind that drenches. I race against the rain and get home before it really pours.

Wed 4 Mar: Short-handed and rattled
Kovan, 17 km. A handlebar is meant to have two hands on it. But one of my hands holds a bar end - and a wheelset. The wheelset rattles. So I seek help from bikeshop man. He says something is trapped in the double-walled rim and I would have to shake it out. To console me for going home empty handed(!), he gives me a makeshift rim tape and tells me why the one I made didn't work well. As it turns out, even if I fix the rattle (I didn't), the wheelset doesn't quite fit (diameter is right, but not the width of the rim). What a difference 1-2 mm makes. What a difference a good fit makes. What sadness if something that used to go well goes awry or away ...

Sun 1 Mar: We've moved, it's over, move on
Old Lim Chu Kang Road, 61 km. For years, whenever I ride past, someone is tending to the land, watering, weeding. Now, the land is overgrown. Whatever sweat has dripped onto the soil, whatever calluses has formed on hands, what was it in aid of? There's nothing left to show. In the distance, heavy calibre weapons boom like rolling thunder, followed by the pitter patter of small arms fire. Dark clouds gather overhead. What's happened to the people who lived and toiled here? I don't know them, yet I wonder. What more the people I know of? But it's time to move on.

Sun 22 Feb: Exhilaration acceleration
East Coast, 70 km. Once in a while, I have a good day. For warm up, I ride 12 km to the start point: the Formula 1 pit. I've wanted to ride on the race track and now I can. There's 2,400 of us doing the 40 km OCBC Cycle Singapore challenge. We're packed like cattle but when the ride starts we somehow space out. I see dropped water bottles (which must've bounced out of bottle cages as we speed over speed bumps). I also see two riders go down in separate incidences in shuddering turns but I'm without a scratch as my mountain bike is oh so nippy. In the risky East Coast Park area, we're early enough to avoid the misguided kids and pedestrians (though they must be especially foolhardy to venture on the wrong track with pelotons bearing down). I hang on grimly at 35-38 km/h and start overtaking in the last few km. Near the finish line, I sprint and hear the commentator say, "Here comes a mountain bike, it's not built for speed ... but look at that, faster than a racing bike" as I overtake a spent roadie. I might've been the first mountain biker to cross the finish line but kudos to the guy on knobbies who kept up until the last few km. I reckon I'm in the top 15% among all age groups. Oh yes, what a beautiful day.

Wed 18 Feb: Drag and drop
Mandai, 28 km. Off with the knobbies, on with the slicks. Up goes the speedo, isn't that neat. Moral of the story: if something is a drag, drop it. Unless you've made a commitment. Commitment? What's that? For some, commitment lasts until it is inconvenient.

Sat 14 Feb: Smoked and stoned
Lim Chu Kang, 64 km. This is my longest ride of the year so far but that's not why I'm stoned. First, a guy using aerobars overtakes me and the gap grows though I'm going at 42 km/h. Second, a guy in sandals on a creaky mountain bike sits on my tail effortlessly. Third, I pass the farms along Old Lim Chu Kang Road. I'm stupefied to see they are gone. Even the bus stop shelters are gone. Those farms have been there for years. Where have the farmers gone? What next? When there's nothing left, one hopes in hope to keep going. Helplessness is when time is the only weapon ...

Wed 11 Feb: Pain
Old Upper Thomson Road, 25 km. 1939, World War 2 breaks out. 1940, 41, 42: the Allied world reels. Amidst the gloom, there are some "bright" spots, eg Dunkirk, the Battle of Britain. Fighting spirit and grit. I'm not in a life and death situation but in my context, it is gloomy enough. If the world is the world, dropping a stone makes little difference. If the world is a bowl, goodbye bowl. So, what can I do? As I ride, my right knee hurts. But I push on, as there's a race in 10 days. I don't know if the pain will go on, but until it becomes unbearable, I ride on. The pain goes away on the right, but the left knee starts to hurt. So I call it quits. For now. But I'll be back in the saddle again. Back in the real world, a "small" gap can make a big difference. A tiny hole in a big inner tube makes a bike pretty useless, right? And unless you're a cyclist, how would you know what that means? Does anyone have a patch? Or an inner tube to inflate my spirits?

Sat 7 Feb: Emotion and reason
Sembawang, 32 km. It's comfortable at home. And grey clouds are overhead. But I head out instead of staying home. Riding hard while sniffling from a cold feels bad. Emotion says stay home but reason says, if there's a race this month, train. Why do I race? Well, there's emotion about that. So, this is a mix of emotion and reason: to brave the rain, choose a route that gives a hard ride in a short time without being boring, judge speeds, feel the burn and dodge dumb drivers. But why do people make life-changing decisions based on emotions, when what's at stake is not whether vanilla, strawberry or chocolate taste better? Even if one chooses whether to ride in Laos or Cambodia based on emotion, expedition and route planning is all reason.

Sun 25 Jan: Half a car is better than none
Kranji, 49 km. Something has to be delivered by a certain day. The clock is ticking and is not negotiable. You have no car. Do you spend time looking for a car? Or is half a car better than none: get what you can and look for another half; and if you find a whole car in the meanntime, good for you. If it's wrong to get half a car, is it wrong to expect delivery without a car? What counts is whether the non-negotiable delivery is made, isn't it? And if the issue is hunger, would you turn down quarter of a loaf on account that it isn't half?

Sun 18 Jan: Appearances and patches
Mandai, 53 km. The roadie overtakes me and I slip into his slipstream. His jersey is unzipped and a walkie talkie (or an ancient mobile phone) is in his pocket. He appears to be a pro as I struggle after him on my fat tyres. As we slow at a traffic light, he appears to intend a track stand but unclips his shoes from his pedals at the last moment. When he tries a few times (rather than in one fluid motion) to insert his bottle into his carbon bottle cage, I reckon he's not been riding that much. Back home, I inspect an inner tube with a hole at the base of its valve and the seal of special glue I'd applied. The "patch" appears to hold up but it remains to be seen if it'll hold up on the road.

Sun 11 Jan: What's going on?
Kranji, 55 km. Situation 1: bike shop moves, a pet shop eventually takes its place. Bike shop moves again, another pet shop takes its place. Video shop closes ... and a pet shop takes its place. Coincidence? Situation 2: someone is afraid and to avoid the situation wants to go into a more fearful situation. But is the current situation so fearful when there is much data including first hand experience that says it isn't? Is the other situation less fearful when there is so little data, not even first hand experience? Situation 3: there's a strange sound after I ride through some undergrowth. I look down and see nothing stuck on my drive train or frame, but still hear something. I'm tempted to ignore the sound but ignoring it doesn't make it go away. I stop for a closer look. A cable has somehow worked itself loose and is rubbing against a tyre. There no friction without sound, no smoke without fire. If it's not desirable or possible to avoid or to change a situation despite best effort, then the only thing left is to accept the situation and change ... me.

Sun 4 Jan: Road sights
Kranji, 52 km. Seven elderly gents are out in their Sunday best on the road, one on a mountain bike, the others on road bikes with 1-inch tubing. They are dressed in bermudas, complete with belts. One of them has a silver thermos flask in his bottle cage. Six youths are out on their BMX, dressed in jeans on the pavement. Here and there, is a solitary roadie. It is a pleasant ride, until I'm a housing estate where a demented driver swerves into my lane multiple times within a few hundred metres. He looks back to glare at those he considers to have transgressed, oblivious to what he's doing. The last I see of him, he is gesticulating at a pedestrian crossing a driveway.

Fri 2 Jan: New year ride
Serangoon, 17 km. This is an orientation ride of sorts, to get used again to Singapore riding conditions. Somehow, it's easier to adjust to Cambodia compared to Singapore, though the former is right-hand drive. Over there, it is hot but not humid. And I don't have two pedestrians hurling themselves into my path or a woman pushing a baby in a pram to greet my front wheel. All these, on a short ride to get bikeshop man to true my front wheel. That costs me ten bucks, but he also gives me a practical session on how to true a wheel (which I didn't get from reading a book) and solves the failing cyclocomputer puzzle for me. As his business card says, he could be a (bike) doctor ... I reread the instructions (no kidding, the cyclocomputer is a computer) and he's so right.

Year 2008

Distance covered during this year: 3,235 km

This year's ride distance lower by almost 2,000 km compared to last year's already-low ride distance. Partly because instead of riding, I've been running. I'm a biker, not a hiker, a rider, not a runner. So why do I train for a marathon? That's another story. To recover, I ride in the flatlands of Cambodia, but that turns out to be my toughest expedition ever, even harder (though not higher) than mountainous Laos. More

Year 2007

Distance covered during this year: 5,125 km

This year, my total ride distance drops dramatically compared to last year's 6,729 km. However, it is the year of my most complex expedition to date: cycling in Laos. More

Year 2006

Distance covered during this year: 6,729 km

This year, I suffer my worst injuries, tearing my bike shorts in seven places. Win my first (and only) SACA race medal and cycle deep into the heart of Thailand. More

Year 2005

Year 2004

Year 2003

Year 2002

Years 1995-2001

Darling HarbourÊ

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