a creature machine mobile dream: On cycling, proximities and mobility justice.

We take to the gravel this time around, rubber hot from kissing circles, wet with sweat and slippery reroutes. Here, every turn is a little bend that does not break off so easily.

(i) open the sky, get a handful

I still remember late nights pedalling hard on quiet streets, mostly up the north east towards Punggol on my rusty Flying Pigeon. Soft flimsy body pressed against the seat, knuckles white from clutching the handles, fists forward, legs burning. At the speed I was going, it felt as though I was rushing off somewhere, as though I was running late as the soft flimsy body stammers against the air that pushes towards it, believing that flight can occur if I press on.

Before the Flying Pigeon, it was hot afternoons on a…was it called a mobike…the first of its kind, grey frame with yellow trimmings oh how feeble the mind. I was pushing against ground to emerge, just a few months after the traumatic birth of my child as myself, or more like myself before all this. I was pushing against ground to emerge victorious in this long weary battle, still caught in the thick fog of postpartum depression but I knew then I was fighting no one but myself. Habits take time to form. These afternoons felt more torturous than it was healthy. These shared bicycles were never built for long distance but somehow I made a pact that if they could hold out, than I can keep going and before I knew it, the same distances felt shorter, easier to manage. And the routes grew larger, covered further distances. And what emerged was not my old self, or a new fresh version but some approximate of a childhood joy I’ve misplaced.

Afternoons became long night rides around town, embarking the moment my daughter has gone off to bed. I chart the routes in the day and attempted them at night. Intrepid explorer, reckless surveyor, soft machine, anything but mother or wife, a few hours each time. Around this time, I had traded temporary bike arrangements to a more permanent one. My trusted rusty Flying Pigeon my partner had gifted me. I cycled until I felt more machine than corpus, more metal than flesh. I cycled until I disappear and everything else around me grew bright and overtook. I cycled so fast and close my eyes when the roads were empty and pretended I was air borne. And I was, damn I was.

I made playlists and shut everything out and knew in those moments I did not have to be anything but force; momentum, balance, heat. I was the night’s air, the endless dark, the streetlights. I was the song blasting in my ears. Frank Ocean’s Biking played often and the lines “When's the last time I asked for some help that I couldn't get from nobody else…Nobody…” No body, spilled into the air like a wish. And yet I always find myself as a six year old, at the carpark of my old house learning how to ride for the first time.

***

There’s not much memories of my father that I have held on to. But this particular one remains intact somewhat, recalled with ease and remained unsullied by the bitterness of absence. It was night time. There between me is my yellow bicycle, with the training wheels removed, my father’s right hand clutching the bottom of the seat and his left on the handle. Are you ready? I remember bubbling excitement, nervous laughter and his reminder to look straight. Never look back ok, just keep pedalling. Promise? I nodded, the nerves made me pace left and right before I sat on the seat and place both feet on the pedals. Ok ready? My father asked again and I begin pedalling before I said yes. Keep your eyes straight, pretend I’m not here. And his voice trailed behind me, ghost air and then pure speed. Untethered open sky.

Keep going he shouted over laughter and I peek at the handle to realise his hand was no longer there and I was on my own. Ironically, this too became our relationship dynamic; he was often letting go and I held on without looking back. Anyway, the first time felt so faultless, so powerful, wind whooshing through me, face numb from laughing, slow turns round the bend and picking up speed before slowing down again at the next bend. Round and round I went the happiest six year old in that moment. My father stood close by and clapped his hands proudly. You got this. You got this.

***

Years later, I am on a different bicycle, no longer in search of some redemption arc, some sweet ending. Cycling is nothing but repeating a set of movements, the same routes circles round and round, an endless loop. I come back slightly different each time but still the same. Frank Ocean’s Biking comes on… “Open the sky, get a handful…God gave you what you can handle, gave you what you can handle…”

I got this.

(ii) slowly, surely: On mapping close proximities and closer intimacies.

Many moons ago, I sat in a room at Singapore Art Museum and caught a three screen video work by Gan Siong King, an artist from Malaysia. His kung-fu style editing, with quick cuts and witty quips made me all squirmy in my seat. In the opening scene of Kecek Amplifier Bersama Nik Shazwan, he starts off with how the bicycle is man and machine being one…

“The bicycle, I say it’s perfect…Perfect equation, amount of energy spend and amount of distance travelled so this efficiency is quantified at four times…The same amount of energy spent walking, you can travel four times the distance. It is man and machine being one.”

and then segues into the story of Ceriatone Amplification, a Malaysian-brand amps, machines that are meticulously (and lovingly) built by hand.

That scene stuck with me for a super long time, and I was searching for it to write this piece. Instead, I found an older work by Gan, The Boy, His Bike and The Map, in which that particular scene was cut from. I sat down in the darkness of my kitchen floor watching it in one sitting going, yes, yes, yes. The boy in question here is Jeffrey Lim, a graphic designer and cycling advocate. The video opens with the very same quote but begins with Jeffrey sharing about his processes of making a map for cyclists. More on that much later ok, promise.

At the end of the video, Jeffrey talks about how being on the bike eliminate the barriers between people. The proximities of space between him and people make them more friendlier and make him approachable. The bike allows for one to reach others, eliminating any barriers. Well, this is entirely not the case in Singapore. I thought about this a lot, feeling envious that it is possible elsewhere. Over here, the roads are accumulated stress pools. Maybe cars are more affordable in Malaysia, I’m not sure. What I know is that it is hard to be cycling in Singapore. Over here, these same proximities make cyclists more vulnerable to dangers. But it also reveals a lot about socially inequitable¹ road use. How then do we address these biases and make the roads equitable and accessible for everyone?

Last year, my partner and I were commissioned to collaborate on a sound exhibition. His project minimal waste has already been running for a while. Here he charts different routes by following (and documenting) other cyclists on their daily commutes. He also does routes, with the same destinations, based on different bicycles. The project investigates accessibility among cyclists or the lack of it. From his project too, we learn that yes, everyone navigates the city differently but more pertinent is that the responses from other road users vary based on the body on the bike, the type of bike, the time of day, the route itself, etc etc.

In an article on bike advocacy titled The Sharpest BIPOC Minds in Bike Advocacy, I found this quote by a New York cyclist, Do Jun Lee (who also has a really delicious blog Intersectional Riding) that I truly believe is applicable in most dense cities:

‘We are all implicated in each other’s lives. If we want to dismantle the violence, excesses, and exclusions of a car-dominated streetscape to re-imagine a better street, we cannot reproduce car culture within bike culture. This means understanding how the car as a tool has been implemented to reinforce existing and create new forms of racial, gender, class and other inequalities and violence. To create safe and just streets, the bike movement must intentionally center radical inclusivity that loves the diversity of bodies, needs, and experiences of cycling rather than promoting a monoculture of privileged cyclists. This inclusivity means that marginalized communities such as people of color cannot just be included as token participants, but that we are active leaders and full participants in generating bike knowledge and shaping a bike movement for our collective liberation. Without radical inclusivity, the bike movement produces “ideal” cyclists whose privileges come at the expense of “undesirable” cyclists whose bodies are policed, dispossessed, and harmed.’

***

I still remember the first time it happened so clearly. I was cycling on a pavement, at pavement speed, which is much slower than road speed, along Jalan Kubor. As I passed the bus stop, my bike halted to a stop, veering sideways and causing me to almost lose my balance. Because I was not speeding, I manage to stabilise my bike. Right in front of me, a little off centre is a man in his 40s who had grabbed the handle. His hand was still on the handle and with no hesitation, he started reprimanding me for going too fast.

Of course I was shocked. I was also pissed. But most of all I was scared shitless. This man berated me and when I tried to defend myself he started pointing at me aggressively, his words thick and loud. Do you know how dangerous it is to just stop someone’s bike like that? You are the danger he had said as I pointed back mimicking him, trying to grow larger in size and the louder I got, the smaller I felt. At one point, he smacked my hand like a child and I, on reflex told him that he had assaulted me. I screamed the sentence in his face and then he ran up on a bus that came along seconds later. When I told the bus driver of the man’s actions, the driver closed the door and drove away. As the man passed me in the safety of a bus, he smiled his widest smile as though he had gotten away. And of course he had. And I knew there was nothing I can do about it.

This, unfortunately is not a standalone incident. Similar incidences of varying degrees happen all the time. My partner has witness some of it on several occasions and tells me that these things do not happen to him, or at least not as regularly. I have considered not cycling altogether but instead I press on. It’s the only way to feel free here, beneath the encasement of discrimination and entitlement is a way out of it all. Jeffrey described how he discovered the city, by getting lost on his bike…”You have this sense of flight and sometimes I just do that. Clear you head and let the roads bring you the experience…”. That’s almost what it is but also so much more that I cannot truly explain myself.

Anyway, to combat against these potential encounters, I take to the roads blasting loud music, by making myself visible and fearsome, like a caterpillar cosplaying as a snake. Here I become fortified and untouchable. Although these encounters still happen, I have sadly become desensitised by them, preferring to laugh and flip a finger instead as I ride away. This does not mean it has become less dangerous though.

**

As part of our collaboration my partner and I decided to build a bicycle sound machine, fashioned with bells, a makeshift wind chime that clang loudly and a playing card that click metronomically. On the handles we placed a trumpet horn that we use when the roads get too loud. We named our project pelan-pelan kayoh—a phrase with two meanings: pedalling slow (not necessarily speed but a kind of mindfulness) and a colloquial phrase meaning 'moving slowly but surely'—to think about the relationships between cycling, sound and the city.

We took turns; one of us rode whilst the other documented from another bicycle that trailed behind. We too, much like Jeffrey made a map of sorts, describing the acoustics of different spots, the congestion, the noise. One of the prompts we were exploring in this project was to consider whether a safe environment for both pedestrians and cyclists can still be achieved with an overwhelming presence of noise (or the lack of it). What I do know though, with both bicycles (one with loud music and the other with these strange sound contraptions), my body goes on auto hyper focus mode and attune itself to my surroundings for the very fact that these roads are not designed for cyclists. On hindsight, it’s kind of like fighting noise with sounds of your choosing.

Aside from the bicycle, the audio documentation and the soundless video of our cycling POVs, we too created an actual map as part of a small one page zine that we printed as a small batch to be given away during the exhibition period. The map was hand-drawn from an existing map and it covers all the three routes we took. Why a map? Well it allows for a visual understanding of how differently we navigated these routes, created with specific controlled parameters. But as Jeffrey shared, mapping makes perceptible the possibilities of connecting entire cities, travelling through them on the bicycle. Also, through the mapping these proximities, how one intimates and navigates the city becomes more visible and yet at the other end of the spectrum are the limitations and uneven distribution of access. Basically the practice of mapping helps us see what we can only feel when we are on the roads.

There’s honestly still a lot of work to be done before equity can be achieved. But pelan-pelan kayoh, I guess?

(iii) Gaza Sunbirds and the Great Ride of Return: On mobility justice and solidarity on wheels

Alaa al-Dali has one dream, and it is to participate in international races. The conditions of Gaza Strip was never a deterrence for Alaa who used to train four to five hours a day along 33km long strip that was only 12m at its widest. In 2018, Alaa qualified for the Asian Games but feared that he’d miss this one in a lifetime chance due to Israel’s refusal to grant travel for himself and other applicants. On 30th March of that same year, as he peacefully participated in The Great March of Return² in his cycling gear and bicycle, an Israeli sniper shot him in his right leg.

“The bullet was like a small grenade” Alaa recounted and he was forced to amputate or he’d die from the injury. With no other options, Alaa’s leg was amputated above the knee. However his dream remained, and three months after his injury, Alaa announced his plans to become the first para-cyclist in Gaza. Alaa was not the only one. During the occupation, there were already atrocious acts of violence by the occupying foces upon innocent civilians living on the Strip; three major wars and many injuries that were unable to be treated due to the lack of medical infrastructure. Many of these injuries resulted in amputations³ and beyond that violence is a growing number of equally passionate para-athletes . To date, Gaza Sunbirds, with its 20 members strong, are fighting for this dream together, a chance to participate in the 2024 Paralympics in Paris.

And yet as attacks turn to a large scale genocide with non-stop offences since October last year, this dream to fight becomes a fight to stay alive. As amenities such as basic supplies and medical aid grow scarce and inaccessible, the Sunbirds took to their bikes and source out supplies all over the strip.

‘When a bomb hit the neighborhood of Khan Younis, in Gaza, cyclist Mohammed Abu Asfour used his bike to escape. Soon after, Asfour and his teammates used money they’d been raising for their Paralympics goal, and began buying bread and distributing it by bike to people in need.

“We do like 300 parcels, 400 parcels, 500 parcels. Each parcel is, like, 16 kilograms — enough for a family for a few days,” said Karim Ali, co-founder and international coordinator of the Gaza Sunbirds. “And we’ve just been doing that consistently.”’⁴

As I write this, I do not wish for it to be some form of against-all- odds inspiration porn. Mobility is a fucking RIGHT and in the case of Gazans in this moment, through bright spirits of the Sunbirds, mobility is resistance. Mobility justice is acknowledging that the movement of some are predicated on the immobility of others⁵. This is a practice of mobilisation in a place that have been thoroughly immobilised through occupation and genocide. Flying a flag at the Paralympics and being able to compete is a protest against that very immobilisation of Palestinians.

Unlike cycling research from a behavioural change or public health perspective, which reinforces the idea that interventions should focus on changing individual behaviour, cycling scholarship, drawing on the new mobilities paradigm, seeks to show how individual cycling practices are embedded in complex assemblages situated within the constraints of a dominant system of auto mobility”….or in this case all this fucking oppression.

‘Through a mobilities lens, cycling does not appear as the isolated product of a personal, healthful choice but rather as a distinctive, self-propelled system of travel continually developing in concert with wider mobility norms, infrastructures and policies while building embodied cycling capabilities (Aldred 2012) within markedly different cultural and infrastructural contexts (Horton et al. 2007). Indeed, cycling can be imagined as a form of ‘inhabiting infrastructure’⁶. Or in this case…rebuilding infrastructures.

Ali said team members are also looking forward to the future, when they believe the Gaza Sunbirds will be even more necessary. 

“The rate of amputations in Gaza has been skyrocketing,” Ali said. “So, there’s going to be a massive need [for help, getting] all of these people back to mobility. How you help them get their independence again, I think we definitely see the role of cycling, for that, in the future.⁷”

At this very moment, here’s an update from the Sunbirds: Italy has granted visas to our co-founder Alaa and our team coach Hassan to reach qualifying races there on Sunday 19th May. Alaa and Hassan will not be joined by the rest of the delegation who, in light of the recent developments of Rafah has decided to wait out the remainder of their visas in Brussels with the hope that the Rafah border may open up again

As I scrolled through their site, I see so many other cities participating in the Great Ride of Return all around the world, mobilising as proxies to amplify causes, raise funds and fight on. I have yet to participate in the ones organised here but the one thing the Gaza Sunbirds team have emboldened us with is the knowledge that we can mobilise from wherever we are, with wheels or words, now more so than ever as Rafah burns everyday. Many Palestinians are still trying to evacuate their families and this require a flow of funds and many who are still trapped in Rafah require medical aid and basic amenities.

Our immobility woes are mere echoes to what’s going on in Congo, Sudan and Palestine at this very moment. Yet if you have experienced these injustices in small ways in your own city and overcome them in your own right (or for some of us, on our bikes) you’d know for real that mobility is possible. Let’s keep pushing against ground on our various dreaming creature machines and map ourselves unto other slippery reroutes that allow us to push through. Do donate to this cause or amplify others by adopting a fundraising campaign.. Let’s mobilise, free our bodies, free our minds. Free, free Palestine!

Till next time my loves. Hydrate, ressociate and stay in love.

1. Trust me when I say that the roads here are not built with bicycles in mind. We are an afterthought always. And this is not just the conventional bicycle but also include e-bikes and personal mobility devices (PMDs), whose demographic of users are mostly are delivery personnel who are part of the gig economy. PMD such as e-scooters or electronic bicycles (Ebikes) are banned on footpaths after a spate of accidents with pedestrians. But are ok on park connectors on the PCN or cycling paths. PMDs are not allowed on roads. With bans, those who break the law are at risk of hefty fines of up to $2000 and imprisonment of up to 3 months. These laws are sometimes head scratchers in their logic. For example how does one get to a proper path if they are not allowed to ride on footpaths?

This is just one small morsel of a bigger problem pie. Policies to protect both cyclists and pedestrians are not getting pushed for hard enough. Many gig workers get into accidents putting a dent in their livelihoods and in some cases these accidents are fatal. Road rage has been normalised here in Singapore and although laws are in place essentially to keep the roads “safe”, proper advocacy to have equitable use of roads still come ground-up initiatives or individuals. Simply put, most car owners feel that this is their grandfather’s road and no one else should have equal rights and access to mobility.

2. The Great March of Return was an initiation for peaceful protests organised by Ahmed Abu Artema, a poet and journalist in Gaza. It took place from March 2018 to December 2018. Israeli snipers shot shot over 6106 demonstrators, killing 183, between 30 March 2018 and 31 December 2018. This included women and children.

3. https://www.euronews.com/2023/12/26/gazas-rising-number-of-war-wounded-face-grim-choice-lose-a-limb-or-risk-death

4. https://theworld.org/stories/2024/03/06/eadline-gaza-sunbirds-paracycling-team-pivots-aid-distribution-amid-war

5. Sheller, M.2018.Mobility Justice: The Politics of Movement in an Age of Extremes

6. https://scholar.archive.org/work/pnmmkkypazfarh5ov5nhtkwd7u/access/wayback/https://www.elgaronline.com/downloadpdf/edcoll/9781788115452/9781788115452.00007.pdf

7. https://theworld.org/stories/2024/03/06/eadline-gaza-sunbirds-paracycling-team-pivots-aid-distribution-amid-war