Perspiring like a pig, I persevere on by pressing hard on the pedals of my Titanium Shimano. The tubeless wheels roll on relentlessly over the narrow mountain side path, pushing man and machine up the slope. 

I sway to the left without looking back. There’s a loud siren behind me. It sounds like an ambulance, and it is approaching closer and closer. I slow down and wait, but it doesn’t pass. Thinking the road is too narrow and that I may be an obstruction, I stop by the side of the path and glance behind. I see nothing.

The siren persists. It seems to come from the immediate curve behind me, so I wait. The sound gets louder, but still no sight of an ambulance. The sound is so loud now that it fills my entire head. I am in pain, in so much pain. The pain is so unbearable that my hands instinctively cup my ears, and I scream. The siren suddenly stops.

“What was that?” I say under my breath. I’ve never experienced such a thing before. I don’t know what to make of it.

“Since I’ve stopped, I may as well take a break.” I say out loud. I often have monologues with myself.

I notice a flat leaning spot on the mountain wall, so I push my Shimano to it and lay it down just outside the paved path. Kicking and clearing away some loose stones on the ground, I sit. I take out my soft red plastic bottle and squeeze it. A jet of cool water shoots out right into my dry mouth.

With my thirst satisfied, I lean back and gaze at the golden rays beaming through the cracks of a low hanging cloud. The contrast of the golden rays and the white clouds against the blue sky soothes my soul somehow. “What a breathtakingly beautiful sight,” I say.

The pain of the siren in my head has diminished to a trickle, like the lingering memory of a dream—right there but not quite.

I pick up my bicycle and push it uphill. In all my mornings of riding in the mountain, I’ve never truly noticed how beautiful the view is. How the hills and mountains fade into the foggy distance, how the little critters of the mountains pop out, glare at me, and disappear again. I know instinctively that they are cursing at me for man’s lack of respect for their environment. The little critters know more than we give them credit for.

“Do these humans know better than us about the environment? They destroy the very host that gives them life. Do they really believe they are more intelligent than us?” they seem to say with their scornful ebony eyes.

“What has just happened to me? Why do I suddenly notice things and derive insights I have never had before?” I say to the wind, but get no response, just an endless whizz passing by my ear.

Then, as though the devil’s eye is upon me, the bloody siren comes round again.

“What the hell is going on? I’m damned to find out,” I bellow.

 I backtrack down the mountainside path to the spot I had sat earlier. There, I see it—the ambulance with its bright-red flashing lights circling and splashing on the jagged mountain walls. Two paramedics are kneeling near the edge of the road. An itsy wrong move and they tumble to their deaths. I see them working on something or someone, so I go close, as close as I can, but not so close as to be obstructive. I stand in regret. Before me is a scene of an accident.

But how? How can it be? I’ve just come from here. I didn’t see anyone behind me.

Since the paramedics don’t seem to notice me even though I am only meters away, I call out, “Hey, what’s happened?”

No one responds. I put my bicycle down on its side, and walk closer. I stand hovering over the incident. Strangely, no one seems to mind or care, not even the third paramedic who is just standing over the injured person holding a respiratory mask and some tubes in his hands. He doesn’t even glance at me.

I look down at the recumbent body. His face is turned away to the other side, so I can’t see what he looks like. I don’t know if he is alive or not. Judging by the cycling pants, long sleeve jersey jacket, gloves, and cleats attached to the soles of his shoes, he must be an ardent cyclist, perhaps even a professional just like me. I look around, and my eyes land on a silver Giro helmet just like the one I have. It is overturned and lying close to the edge of the mountain. It must have rolled there after hitting the ground.

The cyclist must have been familiar with the hills as I am. He must have loved the thrills of riding at enormous speeds round the bends and near the edges of the mountain paths. He must have loved the adrenalin rush, just as I do. Too bad I never got to know him, or we could have been great cycling buddies for sure.

They put him in the ambulance and drive away. The deafening siren pumps high decibels of a high-pitched scream directly into my brains once again. I struggle with the pain and wonder why it hurts so badly.

The sound finally dwindles into a slight ringing in my ear. I turn around and notice the helmet again. I walk to it and bend down to pick it up. But strangely, it seems to be stuck to the ground. I can’t even move it, let alone lift it. I can’t explain it. I’m boggled.

I cycle on, climbing ever higher. I wonder about life—how beautiful it is, how precious it is, and how easily we can lose it. I wonder who the man was. What a pity he lost his life so suddenly. “I hope he had lived a good life at least,” I say to the blue sky above.

I come across a rock by the edge of the cliff. It’s perfect for ensconcing and admiring the beautiful scenery. I am tempted, so I stop and walk my bike to it. I lean the Shimano against it, and I sit.

The morning has turned into evening so quickly. The orange orb that had said hello in the morning is now waving goodbye as it makes its descent behind the highlands in the distance.

I stare and watch, and I feel at peace; so at peace in fact that I don’t even think of going home. Heck, I can’t even seem to set my mind on anything apart from this beautiful mountain. Right now, for some reason, I don’t remember home. “Hmm, that’s funny. Where do I live? What’s happened to me? Why can’t I do that—remember home?”

I sit until it is dark, and I sit until it is dawn again. Normally, I would be bored watching sunrises and sunsets, but I can’t explain why I am so fixated on the sun. My mind is so occupied all the time with the beauty of nature that time seems to stand still, and in its stillness, I feel I have found solace.

A family of shy squirrels come out to greet the dawn, they scuttle just by me. The young ones play blithely at my feet, not a care for this human cyclist who has invaded their home ground.

A Daurian Redstart flies nearby and perches on a little twig just above my head. It is so close that I can almost touch its yellow belly. I have never seen so much beauty around me as I see now. Something has changed, something has definitely changed. I’ve never been this way, ever. Every morning, I cycle here but never have I noticed the beauty that surrounds me. Why is today so different?

I get up and push my Shimano. I ride at high speed round the bends with not even a flyspeck of fear of flying over the edge of the mountain. While my mind wanders in places that only exist in dreams, my eyes consume the blurry passing tarmac under my wheels. It’s hypnotic. At times, the ride is so smooth that I feel like I am actually hydroplaning. I ride on, and on, and on, racing against the sun on its daily journey across the sky.

At the exact time as yesterday, it comes again—the siren. It gets louder by the second.

“What? Another accident?” I swing to the left to let it pass. I ride slowly and wait but it doesn’t pass. I stop and stand by the side of the path. As I wait for it to come round the bend, I feel the loose stones under my feet. In slight boredom, I roll my foot on them playfully as I wait. The sound is getting louder now, and it amplifies even more inside my head. It’s so loud that I have to cup my hands over my ears. But the sound just won’t go away.

“WHERE THE F—K ARE YOU!” I scream at the top of my voice. The words echo over and over against the mountainous walls.

I hate this torture! I face it every day. But, every time it happens, it feels like it’s happening for the first time. I know I have seen the ambulance before now. I know I saw the ambulance yesterday and the day before, and the day before that, and so on. So, why do I wait for it when it never passes me? I force myself to walk towards the sound, just as I did yesterday and the days before. I can see the paramedics attending to the cyclist, I can see the GIRO helmet on the ground, and I can see them putting the cyclist into the ambulance, and I know he is DEAD yet I can’t pull away from this routine. WHY? What has happened to me? I feel like I’m trapped in an eternal return. And why is it that I can never see the cyclist’s face no matter how hard I try? I try to move to the other side so I can see his face but I can never get to the other side. Why? Why? Why? Why does this movie play over and over, and why can’t I choose not to watch it? Who is controlling this movie? Who is controlling me?

I know I will hear the siren and see the dead cyclist again tomorrow, so I will try harder to resist waiting for the ambulance to pass or seeing the cyclist’s face.

For now, excuse me while I sit against my carved mountain wall and watch the sun set for the umpteenth time.