Three nights ago, I found myself peddling ferociously up several knolls with a wailing kid behind me complaining at everything that were going wrong. Why is it wobbling? Why is it so difficult to cycle? And I thought my nieces were hard to placate.

The experience didn’t get anywhere near enjoyable with cyclists making casual remarks at the kid’s failure to put in effort to peddle. I ended up with excruciating leg cramps that I find inexplicable to relate. What can I do when my peers were a bunch of effulgent teenagers? Understand the pain of coming from leg cramps when it’s merely hours since we set off? Or expecting them to commiserate with my plight?

Doesn’t help when the wailing kid suddenly gave up at some point, leaving you to fend for yourself, the bike and her weight. She doesn’t weigh a ton. But a feather weighs as heavy as Dumbo the flying elephant when you’re making a serious attempt at an inclining slope. Did I mention she gave up half way up the slope?

For everything I’ve learnt from the armed forces, I should have remembered the importance of a seven-hour sleep and food. Being sleep deprived, going on an empty stomach and lugging an emotional baggage are the exact ingredients you need to cook up a disaster of the night.

I reached Joo Chiat drained. Couldn’t enjoy the wanton noodles when pain takes over hunger. My final leg of the journey was spent hiccuping every three revolutions I made on the wheel.

Did I enjoy the it all? It could have been better, with lesser knolls; lighter or no passengers; enough sleep; satisfied stomach and a happy mood. I’m sure I won’t need twelve hours to cajole my two little nieces, at least.