30/10/09

Today I completed my first metric century ride! Landed myself at ECP and headed towards Changi Coast Road when the sky threatened and finally rained. There's no end to my fury toward NEA until they get their forecasts right. 11am is beforenoon you guys promised afternoon! Headed to one of the shelters to find 3 people already there. Actually 2 of them looked like they were there ever since their visas expired 3 years ago after swimming from Sabah and realising jobs in Singapore require proper travel documents. Nearby, was a group of a dozen men and two ladies having a picnic under the shade of a tree. When the rain got from a drizzle to a pour they too joined our cosy pavilion and resumed their picnic inside. Despite dressing all sunday casual and surrounding their hoard of snacks of chips and bread with spreads and drinks which included beer, it was easy to tell they were military. First and foremost, it was not sunday, and that's how we passed time and bonded in HTA as well, sans beer, and in real life, people don't call others half their age sir during a picnic, or anywhere else for that matter. Facing the deserted path with the sea behind me, it was impossible not to hear what they were discussing. As far as I could tell, it was all classified top secret stuff. Words like BBQ, paintball, yacht trip and souvenir shoebag kept popping up. These were the elite codetalkers that we thought only existed in Windtalkers (2002), but since they were local, they used colloquial instead of Navajo. I gathered that BBQ was a substitute for interrogation techniques, paintball for SAR21s, yacht trip for sending navy subs and shoebag for real shoebags. So they carried on their important discussion whilst the four of us original residents of the pavilion became unwitting eavesdroppers. Realising they were discovered, the leader of the pack (the one everyone else called sir) offered me chips and asked me if I was from the police (the emblem on my left breast). I assured him I was from NPCC and have not been secretly trying to break their code while politely declining his offer. Realising that the rules of engagement that he's been trained in did not work, he lowered the bag of chips and resumed his discussion while I stared forlornly into space as my bicycle was getting sprayed with rainwater which would require the 3rd cleaning this week (I usuaully clean it once in 3 months). Damned monsoon.

Rain subsided, codetalkers went on their way and I waited a bit more for the puddles to disappear before resuming. Reached the end of ECP and onto the park connector to finally get onto Changi Coast Road.

Ladies and gentlemen on your left is Changi Airport, the right is wilderness and ahead lies 7km of straight tarmac goodness. Now of course, you're wondering why I took the picture from the side when most of the time people take pictures of big long roads from the middle. Of course, you would like to have me straddling my bicycle whilst holding my camera in the middle of 4 lanes which has a speed limit of 70km/h but has the very inspiring sight of aeroplanes taking off showing people how fast they really should be going.

I trudged on and made it to the extreme east of Singapore where ice lollies grow on trees and there are springs of 100plus (by this time my body was no longer producing perspiration and I think my saliva glands had all but died).

Imagine my dismay when all that greeted me were people with nothing better to do just like me and a water fountain that is piped all the way from the Sahara. Across the deep blue ocean was Brian's seaside villa.

I then made my way home to wash my bike for the 3rd time this week but not before signing off on the guestbook for all who ever made it (and those who didn't)

http://i38.photobucket.com/albums/e146/amiss89/IMG_9165.jpg <- click on link to see it maximized.

Too many times we try to describe the life with a row of digits, bring a moment down to statistics, measure success with the number of kilometers cycled. It became well established, that a bunch of numbers is required in every summary even if they express the spirit of the expedition in the worst possible way.