Rural Jurong

Escaping the clutches of the comforts of home, I jump on my bicycle to try out the new Park Connectors to see where they link to. I took the nearest entrance and went wild, exploring places I've haven't been to in years. Really feels great to cycle peacefully, without any distractions, cars, people, whatnot. The path looks abandoned though, a pity. More people should use the park connectors, which will lead to more of them being built! A bicycle highway, stretching all across the country, what fun!

Uh oh, road block. This wasn't here when I last came; my favourite railway bridge is blocked! Now I'm cut off from the other side of the park connector! A pity, I wanted to cycle to Clementi from here, a less stressful route then the usual. I can still squeeze past, but I'll have to carry my bike across, not so fun when it weights a fair bit. I crunch through the lalang, where my bicycle awaits me in all its shining glory. But I know that it's a pain to maintain, wielded by monkeys and fixed up by gorillas. But it doesn't take away its splendour as I behold it through the grass. Until the next maintenance schedule...

Onwards to Bukit Batok then, since the way to Clementi is blocked. On one side, the products of capitalism, tall buildings, offices, factories and containers. On the other, tall grasses, the remnants of a once vibrant forest. Cool and peaceful, only rotting railings and concrete banks mark it out as a canal instead of a river. Riding past the canal, I see the water level falling falling falling till its a trickle(?) The (mostly) dry canal entices me to take a walk down to explore, like the old days. Cartoon figures bearing stern messages signs along the pathways beseech me to think otherwise. I cycle on.

What ho! I spy three kids playing in the dry canal, sliding along the sides slippery with moss into the water. The air is filled with laugher and joy as they carry out their simple pleasures. They remind me of a past that wasn't too far removed from what they're doing, happier and simpler times. Headless of the dirt and injuries, they run down, gathering speed for a slippery slide into the water. Grey factory buildings; concrete, utilitarian and square, loom over them, a ghost of the future.

Up, up and away! Easier said then done, especially on a single speed steel roadster weighting about a hundred tons on the upslope. But where there's an upside there's a downside and I gather speed while moderating with careful applications of the brakes and a sharp lookout for obstacles. Signs on the side exhort me to get off and push, a thousand dollars in fine if not. I whizz past said signs without a care, paying as much heed to them as they do to me.

Bukit Batok, here we are! Yet I have a journey more to return home. Spending not a minute there I head on back home; the journey, not the destination the real pleasure. On my way back I encounter a heartwarming scene, a little boy cyclist rushing in aid of a fellow cyclist, his friend, whose chain has popped off the crank. Slowing down to give them space, I'm shocked to behold their size. Was I ever so small? So little? How did I manage to grow this big? Gods' grace indeed. Looking again at the little men, one chinese and the other malay, they remind me of times past when I did just the same. Cycling around with Fadhli with me, Liang Liang on the other side, as we took all obstacles in our stride, pedalling onwards till the day grows dim and even beyond. Alas alas, the bulldozers come, chewing up our homes; an obstacle we unfortunately could not withhold. But a good memory it remains and one that brings a smile on my face even as I cycle by towards home.

Down and up, left and right, the path now familiar. Another sight once was familiar but strange now to see; a chicken, yes a chicken strutting for all to see! Spotted it down the canal, innocuous in its presence. No bigger then a pigeon, black as charcoal but no stranger to me. It brings back yet more pleasant memories of roosters as beloved pets. It looks up as I past by it but doesn't utter a sound. As I stop and look back it carries on its task. I smile and carry on.

Last stop, Jurong Library, its cool air welcoming to all. I park my bicycle nearby as I stroll to a favourite seat, all but collapsing into it. Taking advantage of the excellent air-conditioning, I cool down before beginning a hunt for books. Some successful, some not so, I haul my catch to the counter and scan them in. Taking the time to secure them to my bicycle, I set off to my last destination, home.

Darker and darker it grows, my lamp chasing away the shadows, its white ghostly glare lighting the way home. I finally reach my door step, my journeys' end. As I enter, I let in fond memories and ghosts of the past yet of the present. They gather around and tell me of a time not so long ago, of a Jurong not of steel and concrete, but of brimming jungle and muddy swamp.

Rural Jurong.