Temperature Variations

There is an old joke, sourced before the ubiquity of mobile phones and Google/Web MD  that goes somewhat like this:

 

A doctor gets a phone call in his clinic bright and early in his workday, from a rather irate husband. "Doctor, what is this I hear from my wife about how you were rude to her last night? We've been with you for 12 years, with our kids from when they were born. Of all things I never expected you to use foul language on my wife for goodness sake!"

 

The doctor's brow furrows in strained recollection. "This is Vincent right? Right.....well perhaps there is some explaining to do on my part, and no less on the part of your wife, in the cold light of morning. If you remember I told you I would be outstation for a few days. Last night I had just survived a very long day on the east coast, drove back five hours in horrid traffic and blinding rain. If you understand that the monsoon has set in and I arrived at home drenched from the pit stops I had to make in the torrents and no let up on the weather on this side of the country. You do remember the weather last night yes?"

 

Vincent's silence suggested acquiescence. "What was my welcoming committee then at two in the morning but the phone ringing off the hook. As I fumbled in my satchel for my key ring I realised that I had probably dropped them at some pit stop and I had now no way of getting into my home, way past midnight. And there went the phone incessantly. I realised that now I had no choice but to break my way in, so I whacked the kitchen window panes with my satchel and all this while with the phone ringing after every disconnect. As I reached for the latch I cut my palm. Making my way in bleeding and clambering over the kitchen sink is no nimble feat either Vincent. Can you feel me on this?"

 

"Yes, doctor I can a bit."

"Then bleeding my way to the phone in the darkened hall, I manage to pick it up before the next disconnect to hear your wife asking me how to use to use a thermometer. Through clenched teeth to mask my pain, so that she wouldn't think I'm screaming at her, I merely told her."

 

Rain-obscured finals approach to Runway 16

With that thought in mind, the monsoon seems to be heralding its arrival in fits and starts, with the calm between them growing gradually more brief with each passing squall. What this means is that my cycling programme gets adversely affected. Along with the fewer night qualified crew for night MEDEVAC standby, I have been placed on day flying in the noons to proceed with night standby in rather perpetual motion. My monthly tally of hours clocked in flight is beginning to suffer. So it will till more crew are made current for night deck landings by the ever busy training captains.

 

The mornings are often wet with rain that began the night before. So it was yesterday as I gazed out from the rear balcony, assessing the likelihood of taking that 20km ride and coming back in one piece amongst the substance-infused drivers of the Kerteh metropolis. It wasn't raining, just wet roads and I realised that with the monsoon set to reign supreme for half a year, or so it feels for that duration of the worst 6 weeks of any monsoon, I had to go the wet road route rather than being baptised on every ride.

 

And so I set off boldly in my longjohns and skeletal patterned vest. Turning in to the Kijal coastal roads, things still looked like they would hold till I completed the remaining 14km home. Optimism can be myopic can't it?

 

Then the turn towards Al-Safinah's resort and restaurant through the rural lanes brought the coast and the fir lines into view. The sky and the sea were both black. The headwind over the single-lane bridge to the beach told me I would not get back without being soaked.

Ye Olde Bridge and Telekom Dish

Then it came down before I completed crossing the bridge. I often braved the rain because it is all part of being a cyclist. Today though I was to learn that I cannot take the rain for granted. As the initial pelts seeped through the spandex, the first sign of a difficult ride was that my riding glasses fogged up. Normal difficulty degree. Cold mornings, misty mornings, all do that. Pffft.

 

It took only 30 seconds before the sky lost all restraint and it just came bawling down. My eyes stung like I had been trapped in teargas. Hey, I know what that is like because I had done riot control training under the Public Order module in RMC. Blinking didn't work. The rain kept washing sweat from my scalp straight into my eyes and it was really painful. I started meandering as I cycled single-handed and tried shaking my glasses out to clear the nasty elixir out of the lenses. Realising the hazards of riding this way if a car should approach from  my 6 o'clock, I stopped at the Telekom dishes, wiped the glasses with my wet gloves and rubbed my eyes with my fingers in windshield wiper fashion. Relief. Continue!!

 

However, the moment I was moving again, the cycle of forward motion, rain and sweat repeated. Perhaps the design of these Limar glasses pooled the water-sweat mix over my eye sockets and kept  stinging and blinding me. I refused to relent. I would complete this ride without stopping aside for shelter!! I groaned and gasped in pain and pushed on.

 

As I passed Pantai Penunjuk and approached the Moslem graveyard, my cell phone began ringing...off the hook if there was one. Pedalling against pain and anxiety at what this untimely call could portend, I found a safe spot on the roadside just next to the graveyard gates where most people parked when they were out in better weather tending the graves.

 

I picked up the call by dabbing through the clear plastic of the top tube bag to the capacitance touchscreen, immediately hitting the speaker icon thereafter. It was the voice of the morning's duty Operations Officer.

 

"Cap!! Cap where are you? Can you come in now for immediate flight for Exxon?"

 

I suddenly had the intense desire to explain how to use a thermometer.