Fred Perry

chio!

Jalan Batu Ubin slope

It was the moment I've been waiting for. After cycling upslope for as long as I can remember, it was finally time to relax the leg muscles and let the cold wind blow past my sweaty body, cooling it instantly.

Ahh, the wonders of humidification.

Whenever there's an Upslope, there must be a Downslope, I smiled as I thought about this cycling motto of mine. I am a someone who always thinks of ways to reward myself after achieving a specific target, and in that instant, a downslope was a reward for me and my tired legs.

Jalan Batu Ubin, the signboard read as I cycled past it a few minutes ago. I was heading North to Noordin Beach to see the Malaysian coastline across the Straits. That was my motivation for cycling in the North route.

I stopped at the top of the hill and waited for the rest to cycle past me. Three friends of mine, one by one, started descending that slope and came to a halt near the fork at the bottom.

I was the last and I started peddling momentarily before I stopped. The bike was bringing me down by the mere action of gravity. The wind was blowing towards my face and I was enjoying every moment of it.

It was then I felt my hat slowly coming off my head.

OH NO, I need to grab it before it flies off, this was the only thing that came to my mind. I have always been a right hander all along, but when it comes to cycling, my left hand proved to be more stable than my right. I can't cycle properly with only my right hand on the bike - It's something I find weird all the while but haven't been able to reason out why.

My left hand still on the handle, I held my hat firmly on my head using my right hand, thinking that would suffice as I was already nearing the bottom.

But the bike was travelling at a speed seemingly higher than what I would experience on other slopes. In order to avoid collision with the bike in front, I jammed on the brake I could reach - the one on the left. Front wheel brake. Smart move.

The front wheel screeched to a noisy halt but the rest of bike, by its inertia, was still in momentum down the slope. The back of the bike flew upwards, causing me to lose total control. Within a quarter of a second, I felt my body being pushed forward to the handlebar, and the next moment, I felt my body being forcefully lifted off.

I had just flown off the bike. Wow.

My final resting place was a grass patch beside the cycling trail. And the next moment everything became blur. I couldn't see anything clearly. At all.

Shit, where's my specs?

I couldn't care less about other things, I couldn't feel the excruciating pain coming from my knees or my palm or anywhere else. I need to find my specs. One bystander stopped his bike beside mine and asked if I was alright.

"Yes I am. I need to find my specs first," I heard myself mumble.

Still sprawled on the ground, I summoned all the remaining energy I had, sat up and focused my eyes on the ground. Blurred. I saw something orange. Shiny. Reflective in fact. I knew I had found it.

My benefactors were god-sent. They got my bike up, gave me wet tissues (Take as many as you like), asked numerous times whether or not I was alright, and offered a tube of antiseptic cream which was not even opened yet. They gave me a plaster too.

I wondered why I needed one. It was then I felt the pain. On both legs. I bent to see how bad they were. The one on the left was huge, the whole skin had been peeled off and I could see my juicy white flesh. The other was a bunch of scratches and small wounds, painful no less. I thanked them numerous times for their help, and I placed the plaster on one of my wounds with my still trembling hands.

My friends rushed upslope and still found me trembling all over from the trauma. 1 hour after the incident, I was still trembling uncontrollably.

I thank God I am still alive to tell the tale. The trauma of flying off the bike is one I can never forget.