Night biking

[Thursday, 13 April, 2006]

One thing weird about cycling is that my arms are aching more than my legs now.

It was the first time I cycled alone over such a long distance on the roads – from Tanjong Pagar to Strathmore Avenue. The last time I took a ride on my brother’s mountain bike was when I was in secondary school, travelling only from Tanjong Pagar to Spottiswoode Park.

To begin off, the bicycle was left untouched for quite long that both the tyres had already deflated. My elder brother was so nice to help me with the preparation but realised the air plump was spoilt. Then, he told me I could already push it to the petrol station at the other side of the International Plaza, which I could get them done for free.

I did as told, but took a long time to find it for its location was actually quite bad that it was the first time in my life I ever saw them though I stayed so near. The Indian guy was quite busy that he told me to do it myself. So, I helplessly took the tube and stood like a fool there until he came over when business was finally down. This night I learned something new.

After all the rushing, I was already quite tired. My legs were very tiring since beginning and I never knew how I managed to complete the journey. Good for me the bike had good suspension that I bounced my butts on purpose.

Luckily there were fewer vehicles than in the day, but enough to obstruct me. It was a very good experience. Somehow, my driving experience told me how dangerous and irritating it was for cyclists to be on the road.

I was at a loss when I needed to make right turns; I did not know if I should move to the right side like when I was driving 3-tonner or remain on the left since cycling was pathetic slow.

I became weaker after taking some alcohol and for more than twice I almost hit the curbs by less than a centimetre’s distance. I managed to survive till home afterall.

I guessed my arms were aching because of the heavy weight of the bicycle that I needed to use more strength to keep it straight.

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