Cycling is like life. Cycling with no goal is meaningless. What meaning is there cycling in circles? Or living aimlessly? Meaning comes from direction and destination. Join me in my life's journey on a mountain bike :)

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Friday, December 31, 2004

Malaysia: longer ride, longer story

Dec distance travelled: 1,635 km

Sun 19 Dec - Fri 31 Dec

To Malaysia and South Thailand, 1,502 km. This is the sequel to my 1,000 km ride in 2003, where I ride to Thailand via the east coast of Peninsula Malaysia. In 2004, I ride to Thailand again via the west coast, and riding in the three major western islands of Pangkor, Penang and Langkawi. With a big wave (tsunami) missing me along the way and no big bomb going off in South Thailand while I'm there. And no punctures either.

Acknowledgements
This story is written with thanks to the following who helped with my journey:
  • My "board of advisors" from Kuala Lumpur Mountain Bike Hash, especially Joe Adnan who sends me on his own volition and free of charge a full set of detailed Malaysian road maps (without them, I would've thought twice about going for the expedition). Thanks also to those who gave their perspective and tips on cycling up the west coast like Cyclosaurus
  • The countless motorists in Malaysia who are cyclist-friendly (and who put almost all Singapore drivers to shame), and the many stall holders, hotel keepers and officials for their friendliness
  • TCW, my cycling buddy who signed up after reading my posting online though his only Malaysian ride then was to Pengarang. Thanks for helping look after our stuff and for sharing the hotel room costs too!
  • Bikerboey, who got me started on my first 100 km ride in 2002, and on my first 1,000 km bike expedition in 2003.
The ride
Bad start

Day 1: Sun 19 Dec, Singapore - Batu Pahat (Johore), 159 km
It's a bad start. My brakes squeak (I stop to fix them). We start late (one of us has a late night). There's a headwind and hills (bow down and take it like a man). TCW breezes through despite three hours of sleep. Ah, the vigour of youth, a carbon bike and high-end components. The road is interminable. With just my thoughts in my head and no music, I wonder how prisoners in solitary confinement survive with their sanity. Perhaps I've already gone nuts, to want to do this ride in the first place.
Night stop: Fairyland Hotel

The road less travelled
Day 2: Mon 20 Dec, Batu Pahat - Melaka, 105 km
There's a long, wide and picturesque road starting from Parit Jawa which one of my KLMTB advisors had pointed out. It's idyllic, rustic and I feel happy. It's worth taking the road less travelled. We stop to photograph the tomb of a Malay princess. It's a nice cloudy day to ride.

Apart from the photo break, we've been cycling for three hours before a real break. Already, my butt and left hamstring hurt. A short stop to check my map helped to relieve the pain. It's worth taking a short break, even if at first sight it won't't seem to make a difference. Some dogs chase TCW. Schadenfreud; usually, they chase me. I crank up more revs, ride alongside and shout at them. In Melaka, we saunter the historic streets.
Night stop: Regal Hotel

Serendipity

Day 3: Tue 21 Dec, Melaka - Port Dickson (Negeri Sembilan), 97 km
I'm looking for more kampung (village) roads to cycle in. But the terrain doesn't match map, compass or distance travelled. A safer route would've been to stick to the well-travelled road #5. A passerby says I'm on the wrong road. A passing taxi driver says I'm on the right road. The road to sheer pleasure.
We stop at two roadside food stalls, with the usual friendly folk. One of them has the radio on, with UB40 playing "Kingston Town". This is sheer magic, eating roti canai and drinking Milo panas amidst the rural setting. This journey is more fun than the destination.

My left hamstring still hurts and so does my butt, but it is better with the gel seat cover I bring along. My eyes are red after wearing my contact lenses yesterday, so I'm using my usual glasses. TCW is as frisky as a foal, while I'm an old horse plodding along.

The hotels are spread out in Port Dickson. I find a room for RM30, which is bigger than one which cost RM50. My room has rather artistic (but lewd) graffiti. How much difference 100km makes. In Melaka, RM45 gets us a room with aircon, TV and ceramic floor. In Port Dickson, we have no TV, no aircon, and paint peeling off walls. Still, the hotel provides a shower and space to hang our laundry and park our bikes.

TCW degreases and lubes his bike. No wonder he flies on the road. After the cleaning ritual, we wander about to feed our bodies with grocery shopping.
Nightstop: Hotel Meng Yan

F1 Circuit

Day 4: Wed 22 Dec, Port Dickson - Klang (Selangor), 113 km
I look again for serendipity, but that's an oxymoron. Route N159 starts picturesque enough - a dawn ride through a village. But it's a Chinese village. With hordes of dogs scattered throughout the road. The road leads to a big stream. On the map, there's a road on the other side. But there's no bridge. The only way back is through the dogs again. We ride through packs of between two to eight dogs. No eye contact with them, and hiss like a snake ... the dogs part like the Red Sea, with pursuers behind us.

That's the beginning of our troubled way. What do I do when my compass says I'm directionally right but the terrain says I'm not? do I have enough faith to keep going? The map says I'm supposed to be on a little road, but I'm on a major road leading past Sepang F1 Circuit and Kuala Lumpur International Airport. I triangulate my bearings by flagging down a motorcyclist and asking people at a bus stop. They say I'm on the right track.

The road is so broad, cars and trucks speed. So do I, at speeds of between 36-55 km/h.
I have no map of Klang. It starts to rain. Where are the hotels? Friendly locals tell us the way. We pass by one; it's called a "villa" rather than "hotel" or "inn". It is clean, with an in-house spa.
We have tandoori chicken for dinner. I feel triumphant, having escaped the dogs, finding the way to Klang and a decent hotel.
Nightstop: Panmour Villa

Another American century

Day 5: Thu 23 Dec, Klang - Telok Intan (Perak), 169 km
There's the usual hassle of getting out of bigger towns. Compared to smaller towns, which are built alongside the major road through it. I ask a helpful couple taking a morning walk and soon we're off. The road between Kapar and Jeram is potholed and rippled. I bounce along on my poor butt.
We stop at Jeram for breakfast. The friendly shopkeeper speaks English and has posters of "Free Anwar" and Osama bin Laden. TCW is fascinated with them.

The road is clogged with heavy vehicles. I turn into B110 past Sekinchan, which is a parallel universe. For three whole hours, we cycle on never-ending roads that run straight as arrows. Padi fields stretch as far as the eye can see. Picturesque as it is, the road has me jaded. There are only so many songs I can sing to myself, as riding with an earpiece is not for me.

We break at a roadside stall; TCW tucks into two packets of nasi lemak while I eat my raisins in the fly-infested shack. Today's ride is another American century: 169 km. Thank God it's flat. Thank God also for the little kedai that dot the landscape. Telok Intan is an unusual, splendid little town. The streets are well-paved.There's KFC and Pizza Hut, and a Chinese pagoda.
Nightstop: Anson Hotel

Drawing the line

Day 6: Fri 24 Dec, Telok Intan - Lumut (Perak), 106 km
Today, I meet one of the manic depressive truck drivers which KLMTB had warned me about. I'm cycling on the white line of the motorcycle lane when a driver blasts his horn at me from behind, to claim the white line for his left wheels. I wonder why he wants all that space on road for his right wheels, when the lane is broad enough for us all.

I get lost on the way to Lumut; route 100 isn't even on the map. A kind motorcyclist puts me on the right track.

Our hotel charges 33% more today, as it's the start of the weekend. We cough up the dough and head off to ride round-island at Pangkor. The ferry there ironically screens the Titanic movie.
A friendly shopkeeper warns us about the motorcyclists that whizz about the island. He fails to warn us about the 14-degree slopes. This is where I bust my knee. A guidebook says it takes half-day to get around the island by bicycle and 2-3 hours by motorbike. We must've been travelling at motorbike speed then.


We stop by a fort. I'm impressed how the Malays at Pangkor repeatedly turf out the Dutch, which presumably have the advantage in a fight with their fortifications and firepower. The ride around Pangkor inspires me with a secondary mission in addition to my primary mission of cycling to Padang Besar: ride round island around the three major islands off the west coast, including Penang and Langkawi.
Nightstop: Galaxy Inn

Wet Christmas
Day 7: Sat 25 Dec, Lumut - Taiping, 98 km
What a strange Christmas. Away from home, with my knee and butt hurting. In my plan, today is supposed to be a rest day, but TCW agrees to ride on. So it's an "active rest" day for me. I plod along at 20 km/h.

The map and terrain again don't match, but I'm on the right track somehow. While the map may be outdated, at least the road signs and milestones are up to date. Milestones are so important, they tell you how you are doing. I also figure out how to gauge where I am on a long and winding road by using my compass to match actual direction travelled with the map.

Our hotel, Panorama, is the best so far. It has its own soap and shampoo, not the ubiquitous "May" soap. There's even a long bath and drinking glasses wrapped in plastic. All for RM69. The receptionist says all Taiping hotels are full today, but a group had cancelled. Good thing there's room for us at the inn today on Christmas. We drop by other hotels to see what could've been. One of them is bright yellow on the outside but dingy and seedy within.

I walk to Taman Tasik Taiping, the oldest lake garden in Malaysia (it started as a tin mine in 1880). The lake seems to be inverted; it starts to pour. For RM2 at a kiosk, I get a bottle of water, shelter, entertainment by eavesdropping on a conversation between the storekeeper and a girl. As the shop closes for the day, I get a big piece of cardboard and plastic sheets for a drier walk back to the hotel.
Nightstop: Panorama Hotel

Cyclists in the mist
Day 8: Sun 26 Dec, Taiping - Butterworth (Penang), 186 km
It's so misty today, my glasses fog up and I use my fingers as wipers. Condensation drips off my helmet. Visibility is only for a few hundred metres. My knee is better today. But fortune isn't (or is, depending on your point of view) quite with us today:

  • A van of rowdy youths cuts into my path though I have the right of way. I emergency brake while the youths gesture ecstatically.
  • One of us kicks a traffic cone at a police roadblock. I serve as translator. The cop lets us go; after asking to see the culprit's passport, the cop cools down real fast.
  • My maps drop off my $5, approved-by-US-Navy ziploc bag. I cycle around looking for them; never before has litter in the streets looked so fascinating. I recover two of the three missing documents; the map that shows us the way for our next leg is lost. And along the way, I come across bigger inns which TCW prefers. One of them declines to let our bikes into the room; I'm happy to find a cheaper, cyclist-friendly one.
We head off to ride round-island in Penang, starting at 3 pm. That's sheer hubris on my part. I don't know the route, for a start. Or the terrain. The 10-degree slopes at Genting Hill are a grind. Soon, it's dusk. TCW is nowhere in sight, having streaked ahead. I decide to head back to the ferry via Georgetown.

What goes up must come down, and my gravity-assisted bike streaks effortlessly down at 57 km/h.
Georgetown is a maze. I ask an old man on a rickety bike for directions. After telling me a series of "turn left, turn right", he shows me the way. We amble along at 16 km/h. What a sight we must make, me togged out in my finery, while he squeaks along, with mudguard vibrating with every stroke. Ah, the milk of human kindness tastes good.

During dinner, some folks from home contact me. Only then do I realise what a tumultuous day today is. A tsunami had hit the region, including Batu Ferringhi beach, a few hours earlier. I did want to go there ... but failed to because I wanted to see the beach only during sunset. Had my legs been stronger, had the big wave hit hours later, ye olde Iron Horse could've become a sea horse. Strange how things were business as usual; the ferry to Penang was full, no one said anything about the big wave.
Nightstop: Hotel Ambassadress

Cycling privileges
Day 9: Mon 27 Dec, Butterworth - Alor Star (Kedah), 135 km

We stop by Mahatir Mohamad's childhood home, which is now a museum. It's closed on Mondays. I explain our situation in Malay, which I learn from a book. The officials let us through to walk the grounds, while denying the same privilege to a group in a car. Hey, we biked all the way from Singapore ...

Today has been a hard ride. Just as well the road to Alor Star is broad and straight; I have no map of the way out of Penang. There are strong headwinds, slowing me down to 19 km/h. Still, it's been a happy day. This morning, I breakfast on cream buns; for the past few days, it's been plain bread and water. And today, I break my personal distance record of 1,000 km. I also get a bus ticket to Singapore, no problem, though "how to get home" has been my biggest question.
Nightstop: Grand Jubilee Hotel

Across the border

Day 10: Tue 28 Dec, Alor Star - Kangar - Padang Besar - Kangar (Perlis), 142 km
When the road is flat, there's nothing to stop the winds except my poor head. I crawl at 19 km/h, until an excavator rumbles past. It takes up an entire lane. I easily reach 28 km/h behind it. I keep an eye on its huge rolling wheels of death, but I'm so happy following it, I turn off the main road to Kangar.
At Kangar, a motorcyclist stops to help as I check my map to find hotels. One of them costs RM140 per night. The one we choose is half the price.

We head for Thailand after dumping our bags. Enroute, a Malaysian official at a road block stops us. I ask him about safety. He says "no guarantee" across the border. We cross anyway. Some Thai cops beckon us over and offer us a cistern full of ice water. I drink and do a "wai". We also stop at a shop for drinks, where my sign language allows us to use RM instead of baht for payment. RM1 each for mineral water and a bottle of soya. A concessionary price?

We head back to Malaysia after drinks. It's my shortest stay ever in a foreign country. There's no where to go anyway; Bangkok is 1,000 km away, and roads stretch emptily in either direction.
Cycling back to Kangar, revenge is sweet. A tailwind propels us effortlessly at over 35 km/h. The Malaysian official seems glad to see me back.

I pass a herd of cows, which starts a stampede. Fortunately, they run parallel to me, unlike dogs which tend to run straight at me. In Kangar, we come across the most happening bikeshop I've seen so far in Malaysia: Kedai Toh Lee. Amazing range of bikes and parts. Perlis, with a population of about 217,000, has two cycling associations.
Nightstop: Federal Hotel

Tour de Langkawi

Day 11: Wed 29 Dec, Kangar - Langkawi - Kangar, 119 km
TCW decides not to cycle today, so it's a six-hour solo tour of Langkawi for me. My bike rides on the top deck of the boat and so do I. First stop is Tanjong Rhu Beach. It's one of the prettiest places I've ever seen. I ride past the airport next. This is Langkawi's version of Changi coastal road, with the airport on one side and the sea on the other. Heading south, I fly effortlessly over the road at more than 30 km/h, then shudder to a speed of 18 km/h as I round the corner to head north. As it turns out, there's a tailwind going south, which becomes a headwind going north.

Langkawi has hills, contrary to what the boatman tells me. From a downhill speed of 50 km/h, I slow in moments to 8 km/h despite pedalling. I play leapfrog with three whites including a lady in a red dress. The two guys are topless and turning lobster red in the sun.

I stop now and then to shoot photos. Langkawi is a beautiful place to cycle, in both senses of the word. Some roads are shaded, the place is picturesque, there's little traffic except in the town of Kuah, and food and beverage outlets dot the landscape. Further south, I ride past a village that reeks. Mud, debris and soiled household items are scattered about. Another village that the tsunami has smashed.

I have a piddling problem on the way back: I've been sold a ticket to a passenger ferry, smaller than the one I boarded this morning. I have to pay RM6 more. And my bike is stowed at the back of the boat, where it gets soaked. So, pay more money for far less value.
Nightstop: Federal Hotel

Bittersweet

Day 12: Thu 30 Dec, Kangar - Alor Star, 52 km
For the first time during the trip, I wake up when I like, instead of the usual 5.45 am. And instead of hitting the road at 7 am, I do nothing for a while, then traipse to the museum nearby, then around town. The tour is over a couple of hours later. As I cycle my last km on Malaysian soil on this trip, it's a bittersweet experience. I think about the promise of the ride, the research (on routes and stops, transport and accommodation), the frustration (why don't buses take bikes up north from Singapore?), anxiety and anticipation.

As I set out from the causeway about two weeks ago, I didn't know what to expect. Now it's almost over. It's a beautiful ride south. I don't even bother to have a map; my makeshift map holder has fallen apart anyway. An irrigation canal lies to my left, with trees giving shade. Across the canal, three kids on BMX bikes wave. They start a race, which is over in seconds, as they wave goodbye to the victor.

I get hassled at the bus terminus because of my bike; TCW has no problem as it's dismantled and bundled up (it looks like a big flat elephant). The driver wants me to pay RM40 to load the bike. We agree on RM20, then find out that this is not our bus. Who'd have thought two buses from the same company would head for Singapore half an hour of each other.

Epilogue
Day 13: Fri 31 Dec, Singapore, 21 km
It's a cold ride back on the bus, which has two aircon controls: off and arctic. Some passengers are equipped with blankets - their own. I tape up one of the vents desperately.

The bus driver offloads us before Singapore immigration. The officers say I've got to join the motorbike queue. TCW walks his elephant to get his passport stamped. It's started raining and the motorcycle queue is getting longer. I wait for both to cease. A cop questions me. As the rain eases up, I walk towards the queue. Another cop questions me. But bureaucracy has a heart; they open up the car lanes for bikers too. And at customs, an officer waves me on.

It starts to pour. What a soaking wet ending! Whereas up north, I get a cyclist's tan, complete with darkened lower thigh, fingers and stripes where the helmet straps run down my face. I also learn something from the ride, primarily, the importance of kindness. The old cyclist in Penang who showed me the way back to the ferry. The motorcyclist in Kangar who simply stopped to ask where I want to go. The hotel folks who give us bigger rooms and lower floors. The many stall holders who talk to us along the way. The countless motorists who respect our right to ride and live.

I've also got nice memories and photos. And a more seasoned butt.

Saturday, December 11, 2004

Attack and retreat

To Shenton Way, 60 km. I feel lousy and so is my performance. This is my second ride with the Night Ryders, and the second time I haven't completed a ride. The first time, my excuse was I have to wake up before dawn (true). Tonight, my excuse is, I've got a cold coming (also true). But that's never stopped me before. This ride, I surge forward, then fall back, again and again. After briefing TCW about our ride to Perlis, I break off with him towards home. He's unwell too, but still surges ahead of me, ahead even of the roadies. I strain to draft him. It's gonna be some ride with him for over 1,000 km next week. Let's see what holds up better: a steel steed (mine) or carbon (his). Given my advancing age, I figure it's time for titanium.

Saturday, December 04, 2004

Two ships in the night

To Pasir Panjang, 73 km. Saturday night. I'm surrounded by a sea of traffic gushing past me. Across on the far side of the road, I see the roadie's blinking lights, and he sees mine. We pass each other, like two ships in the night. I'm off to join my first ride with the Night Ryders. I recognise some fast and furious chaps from Friday East Night Ride. They're off like rockets on fat tyres, with T drafting a truck. My speedo reads 44 km/h but he's still pulling away. F lets me try his titanium bicycle with carbon cranks. I'm careful not to let my drool drip on his beauty. I meet some other chaps too, who talk about my bikelog. I've been wondering who else reads my stuff except a handful of regulars. Thanks for visiting.

Sunday, November 28, 2004

Rainbow in the sky and road

Nov distance travelled: 696 km

To Lima Kedai, Johore, Malaysia, 124 km. The rainbow arches in the sky. A beautiful sight, but the three of us don't have a camera to snap it. We also see two pelotons of cyclists wearing the usual multi-coloured garb; first time I've ever seen any in Johore. We wave to each other like old friends; they beckon us to join them. My ride is at a cracking pace; my two guests are from togoparts.com; one is a roadie, the other is on his first ride to Johore. They'd expressed interest in cycling with me in my year-end expedition. I hear both of them chafing at the bit behind me as I lead. Back in Singapore, I wave TCW ahead. He blasts ahead on his carbon Giant and soon he's out of sight. Dude, why do I stick to my ancient bicycle with ancient technology, when I have an ancient body.

Sunday, November 21, 2004

Fuming bikers, fuming bikes


To Lima Kedai, Johore, Malaysia, 124 km. I feel like an ant surrounded by furious ants from another tribe. I try to avoid their stings - their exhaust pipes. But no way I can escape the exhaust fumes. We inch along towards Singapore immigration. The same thing happens on the return leg, at 1 pm. The jam is so bad, the motorcyclists horn furiously. I spend the last six hours in Johore but am not elated. I feel down, as down as the flat tyre that greets me when I awake. The 3-hour shelling from Friday still rings in my ears. I feel so lousy, I almost turn back after crossing the causeway. But I press on. Hard. My first sit-down break, at Lima Kedai, is three hours into the ride. I also stop at McDonalds at Skudai, where I finish reading The Star. My legs are sore, my butt is sore, but I start to feel better especially after prayer at a scenic spot. Today is also my first ride with my digital camera.

Sunday, November 14, 2004

Recovering from recovery ride

To Choa Chu Kang, 67 km. Today is meant to be a recovery ride. I cruise down to Upper Thomson Road; there's supposed to be a slower group that leaves before 8.30 am. I don't see anyone leaving until 8.30. "Let's go," says a lone cyclist whom I guess is KT. I somehow end up second in the peloton for a few seconds. He's just warming up. Other roadies sweep past and soon I'm alone. Ah, familiar feeling. Time to take it easy. But I see some roadies ahead. I want to suck some wind, so I speed ahead. Soon, I'm leading my own little peloton, until I stop at the Shell station along Mandai Road to see some friendly people who stop there. The Ascender chaps are there too. I tail them to Adam Road, with them pulling me along at 37 km/h. One of them, Mr Trek OCLV, asks me to write something nice in my bikelog, and so I will. Thanks for the considerate handsignals and warning shouts.

Friday, November 12, 2004

Opposites attract

Fri 12 Nov:
To Tanjung Piai, Johore, Malaysia, 225 km. What a strange ride it is today, when what happens is the opposite of what I expect. I have to head north to head south, find out about a big town that's smaller in name than its neighbour, and spend only RM23 for the entire 200+ km ride.

Day ride for long weekend: I'm off work for five whole days, thanks to the Deepavali and Hari Raya weekend. I'd intended to cycle to Malacca and back over four days, but my Malaysian advisors say it's really dangerous on the roads due to the balik kampung phenomenon when people return to their villages. So I cycle to the uttermost end of mainland Asia - Tanjung Piai. (Even so, the sole resort there is booked solid till end Nov, hence the day trip.)
Heading north to head south: Tanjung Piai is the southernmost tip of Johore, but I have to head north to head south since the 2nd Link at Tuas is closed to bicycles. How inefficient for supposedly efficient Singapore.

Car jam at causeway: I'm at the causeway before 7am. Usually, it's packed with motorcyclists. Today, it's smooth riding; instead, the place is jammed with cars heading up north. Traffic jams the way into Singapore too; it's a working day today (but I'm on leave). Pedestrians walk into Singapore too via the causeway.

Dead dog, good dog: I'm 50m away from an open gate when a black monster growls and charges out of the gate. It means business. I step on my pedals so much, stones spin from the wheel. Dogs are rare in Malaysia; it's the first time I'm attacked after thousands of km on the road here. I pass a good dog by the roadside. It looks so peaceful and leaves me alone, until I see entrails spilling out from its behind.

Noise in nature: Tanjung Piai is a nature reserve. Quiet, with birds chirping, wind rustling, waves lapping the mangroves beneath the boardwalk, and monkeys chattering. Quiet, until a family descends with kids screeching louder than any living thing. I wonder who's worse - the kids or the parents.

When small is big: There's an interesting write-up in English about Pontian. I finally understand why Pontian Kechil is way bigger than Pontian Besar. The latter is called "big" simply because, once upon a time, only big chiefs were allowed to live there. And pirates used to ply off Kukup; now, it is a seafood town where plunder is from mahjong.
Baking, then freezing: It's a hot, sunny day. I'm applying sunblock in mid-afternoon. Minutes later, I ride into dark clouds. Buckets pour from the sky. I wait. Normally, I'd feel frustrated. Now, I feel grateful. After cycling over 120 km, I'd wanted to rest a while after lunch in the coffeeshop. I reach there just in time to be served the last meal before closing time. I'm there for barely half an hour when the doors start closing. The rain gives me a chance to chill out and fortunately, there's a petrol kiosk handy for me to take refuge. The bus shelter is useless in the driving rain. When the rain subsides, I start cycling. My teeth start chattering in the cold. I pedal hard; 28-29 km/h, compared to the sedate 20 km/h before lunch.

Dangerous driving at police roadblock: The police are out in force during the holiday season to reduce carnage on the roads. One driver who stops for the police sees me and pulls into my path anyway. I shake my head, the policeman looks at the driver and lets him go anyway. This is the second near miss I have today; the other one was also from a driver who failed to give way; at least, he stops in time and apologises twice. Malaysia drivers are leaps ahead of Singapore drivers. The Malaysia near-miss rate on this ride is one per 100 km. The Singapore rate is one per 20 km.

I'm glad I do this ride. Finally, I break my one day distance record . And this ride is sheer value for money, at about 10 sen per km. And Tanjung Piai, at the end of mainland Asia, is the last word for an interesting place to explore, with picturesque roads all over the place.

Cycling time is 9.4 hours. Total trip time is about 14 hours, with time to eat and see the sights. Average speed is 23.1 km, with 25-32 km/h on the flats.

Saturday, November 06, 2004

Crescent moon rising


To Clementi and Changi, 122. The crescent moon hangs low over the night sky, looking like a luminous slice of Fuji apple. 11 cyclists slice through the night air, with three mountain bikers among the Ascender roadies. It's my first ride with them, and I like it. They're friendly, don't dawdle and cycle at a constant pace of 30 km and above. Just two rest stops, and they don't even stop for a sit-down supper. We have two close calls on the way, each time from drivers who seek to deny us the right of way and the right to life. How high class the Ascender chaps are; no coarse language or one-finger salutes.
Photo courtesy of KA

Thursday, November 04, 2004

Rain-slicked roads

To Sembawang, 34 km. What's more boring than watching paint dry? Watching roads dry. It's been pouring these days; so bad that some roads are flooded. I get tired of waiting for the roads to dry. Well, slick tyres are good for rain-slicked roads, so I hit the roads. Four drivers almost hit me; each time, they are either cutting out from a side road or cutting in. Talk about statistical central tendency to be mean! The mean: one incident every 10 km. The roads are getting more dangerous; incident rate in the past was perhaps one incident every 100 km.

Sunday, October 31, 2004

Riding into the sunrise

Oct distance travelled: 706 km

To Changi, 94 km. Up before the crack of dawn, heading east into the sunrise. Lots of cyclists tear up and down Changi Coast Road, including people I haven't seen for a while eg AZ, GC and some Bikers 21. TYS, AL and I take turns to draft each other, then the roadies drop me. Well, I ain't the last guy on the way back. I abandon my tailing of three triathletes at 38 km/h to wait. It's a nice ride. I like cranking the pedals and feeling the visceral thrill of the bicycle surging forward. It's like flying headlong into the wind. At TYS' home, we watch digital photos of her ride to Barelang (Indonesia) and Mount Fuji (Japan). She cooks us soba for lunch too! Us guys snooze after that, while she runs errands. Men ...

Wednesday, October 27, 2004

When things ain't that bad

To Admiralty Road East, 39 km. I dislike cycling in the rain. Dirt gets all over me and, more importantly, on the drive train. It's cold, visibility is poor and brake stopping power drops dramatically. It starts to drizzle. One cyclist turns for home. The other three push on. It starts to pour. Should've turned back too, I chide myself. We seek refuge at Bottle Tree restaurant. And it's a really good ride after all. After it pours, it stops. We see a tree shaped like a bottle for the first time - it's several hundred years old. Fishermen line the banks of the river, and so are catfish. WH hasn't seen these sights before. She's happy, I'm happy. We have a nice chat at a coffeeshop. And R insists on giving us a treat.

Sunday, October 24, 2004

And that's like me

To Admiralty Road East, 54 km. She's a newbie who comes across my website and seeks advice on what bicycle to buy. Before I know it, she's got a Ghost and is exploring the neighbourhood by herself. That's just like me three years ago. So I offer to be a tour guide (just like AF did for me). I show her sights of Singapore she's never seen before. Twice, I nearly crash into her - all my fault; the last time I biked with a newbie was 1.5 years ago. After a few hours, I drop her off where we first meet and scoot for home as the weather turns bad. Which is too bad, since I want to log more km and chase roadies. I draft a truck at 44 km/h and run the gauntlet along Lentor Ave past SLE. Ah, that's what I call riding, three times faster than the usual newbie speed of 15 km/h. In Ang Mo Kio, a learner driver swoops in front of me. I overtake her and glare. She and her instructor are smiling. Solved! The mystery of why Singapore drivers do what they do to cyclists - they learn it in driving school.

Sunday, October 17, 2004

A series of firsts and almost the last

Sat-Sun 16-17 Oct 04:
To Batu Pahat, Johore, Malaysia, 319 km. My first solo round trip abroad. The first time I'm wearing contact lenses abroad. The first time I've logged a total of 15,000 km on my bike. And the first time that I (almost) have enough of cycling.

There's such a thing as too much of a good thing: cycling two American centuries (100 miles) in as many days. In Singapore, the longest distance (round island) is only 120 km. And one can eat and drink almost anywhere. Not so in huge Malaysia; I ride 160 km and I'm still in Johore. And as the fasting month has started, many eating places are closed.

Day 1 The trip starts badly enough, with a gridlock of buses just before the causeway. The thought of being crushed by buses crosses my mind. I see the roadkill of birds, chicken, cat and bat, and I almost join a smashed monkey on the road as I try to avoid it. The journey takes its toll; My speed drops from 30+ km/h to around 20, thanks to an incessant headwind. Also incessant is the thought: "why am I doing this". Riding solo takes mental strength to drown out such thoughts, besides physical strength.

I'm so tired of looking at the distance crawl by on my cyclo computer. I switch to average speed mode; my performance indicator now is not distance, but average speed. The computer tells me it is 23.3 km/h. The series of hills at the end of my century ride mocks me. At Batu Pahat, I feast on mee goreng, one prata and a cup of Milo. All for RM4. That's half the price in Singapore.

Day 2 I'm on the road before dawn. Asking for directions from two persons is a good decision that puts me on the right road. I mock the hills before me with an average speed of 23.8 km/h and follow the road home. Which takes me past two wrecked cars, one on either side of the road. What a smash it was. Nearer habitation, a dog ducks under a gate and runs after me. After Pontian, I cycle non-stop for three hours - the raging traffic around me fills me with adrenalin.

Dodging potholes with traffic whizzing past. One spill and that would've been the end of me. Who says road riding is tame compared to mountain biking? I must've gulped so much, my sore throat is gone. I brake at a junction. The rear wheel protests, my bike shudders and I hear a metallic sound. I pull over the side and note that my baggage has shifted on the seatpost rack. A grain of sand must've gotten into the brake block. And the sound is from my compass hitting the spokes. And I thought a spoke had broken. My waistpouch digs into my back. Back in Singapore, a jerk motorcyclist swerves into my path. Welcome home - as usual, I have to take evasive action in Singapore and not during the hundreds of km in Malaysia.

Wednesday, October 13, 2004

Alfresco dining

To Admiralty Road West, 39 km. The rain has stopped. It's cool and misty. The dark foreign talent gather after a hard day's work in the shipyard to dine in the open air. Under the trees, on the pavement, on the grass. Unlike their white counterparts in town. This Wed night, I cycle alone as no one is at the rendezvous point. Some motorists try to contact me, including one handicapped driver. At least, I think she's handicapped; she turns her steering wheel, but is incapable of turning on her signal light.

Sunday, October 10, 2004

Self-organised

To Choa Chu Kang, 73 km. From different directions they come, dressed in different colours and on different bicycles. At 8.25 am, helmets are donned, bikes are mounted and we're off. "No need for PAP to organise," says one cyclist of the Thomson Sunday Ride. This is my second such ride, the first being on 29 Aug. I'm still in the 30th percentile, but this time, I manage to keep the peloton in sight along Mandai Road. I pass scattered groups along the route. I latch on to a few roadies at Kranji, then shake them off. Soon, I'm alone again. Deja vu. Yesterday, I was among 20 riders who were left behind. Last year, we'd cycled at least 400km for training and on the actual ride for charity. Last night, we didn't make it the few metres up the stage to receive our Commissioner of Police Awards; the ceremony went awry for us. Why am I writing this? Because Flanker and Papa Bear asked me to.

Sunday, October 03, 2004

Green-eyed monster


To Choa Chu Kang, 88 km. When we reach the finish line of Hunt on Wheels treasure hunt, we weren't the first. Some of the places and clues are hard to deal with, and we wait for a team member to catch up. Several teams pass us by. Just 15 minutes separate us from the first team (their time 03:07:00). There are six prizes for 30 teams. We're third (our time 03:21:58; six minutes behind second team 03:15:59). Our prizes are so-so; the winning team gets $1,000 worth of prizes, including OGK helmets and CamelBaks. My satisfaction at being third withers when I see the winners with their loot. What a terrible thing envy is. There's reason to be happy: no one got killed or maimed and we did win prizes - including a hamper of cooking oil(!) and airhorns. I learn some lessons on teamwork too:

When you're in the team, you gotta work. It ain't called teamWORK for nothing. We can only move as fast as the slowest worker. Our slowest cyclist is sporting and doesn't complain about the pace; we race for over three hours without rest!
We win as a team, or lose as a team. They made me the team leader. Sometimes, I shouldn't have listened to their advice (they were wrong). Sometimes, I'm glad I listened to their advice (I was wrong). What's important is, we correct the wrongs and (literally) move on.
Keep the goal in mind. We saw the prizes after the race and one of us said: "Should've cycled faster." Yeah.
The race is organised by Yew Tee Zone 11 Residents Committee.
Photo courtesy of pcss38

Sunday, September 26, 2004

No, no and no

Sep distance travelled: 508 km

To Tuas, 82 km. No practice ride with NUS centennial ride team (see 5 Sep entry below). No lung-bursting straining to keep up with the Sunday Thomson riders. Today, I cycle with AF, who'd gotten me started on serious cycling in 2003. Today, we're heading for Johore via the Second Link. But it's no go; we're turned back by the police though there's been correspondence from the authorities that cyclists are allowed. What a pity. I practice cycling; it's easy to pedal, but harder to do it right.

Monday, September 20, 2004

4 minutes and 2mm

To Johore Bahru, Malaysia, 54 km. I take the afternoon off to visit the map office. For the first time, I pedal differently based on a one-liner I read in a book. What a difference the one-liner - and my pedalling - makes. Excluding immigration waiting time, I'm across the causeway in an hour. Just in time to see the map office close at 4 pm. I'm just 4 minutes late. "Tolong," I ask but sorry, something about the computer, no help can be given. At least, the tourist office is open, unlike during my visit on 18 Sep. It's peak hour traffice in JB after that, but that's way less scary than peak hour in Singapore, where I have a few close calls with buses and cars.
Tech note I drop by the usual bikeshop to get my headset fixed; it comes loose on a road ride within 10 km. Bikeshop Man adds a 2mm spacer and charges me $2. Now, my bicycle feels like a chopper, with a more twitchy steering. As it's a little higher, it's more comfortable though. What a difference 2mm makes.

Saturday, September 18, 2004

North and south

To Johore Bahru, Malaysia, 133 km. I head north to Johore to buy some government maps, for this year's epic ride to Thailand via the west coast of Peninsula Malaysia. After a wild goose chase, no thanks to someone who points me in the opposite direction, I find the map office. It's closed. And so is the tourist information centre. I head back empty handed and disappointed, and cycle south to National University of Singapore. I kill two hours successfully, taking a ride down memory lane. I join the training ride for the NUS centenary ride next year. There are a few close calls, one from a cyclist and several from buses. I meet LYC, who'd joined me for part of last year's epic ride to Thailand via the east coast.

Sunday, September 12, 2004

Road Race Six

To Nanyang Tech University, 64 km. My first official road race is today. I want to get a decent placing and take a taxi there. There, the racers have team tents, vans and supporters. Me, I'm alone. The last event - MTB category - starts late. So late that I keep extending my warm up until I've logged 10 km. As the race starts, people laugh and joke, going at barely 30 km/h. I fail to rein myself enough. The pack surges past me. First, I'm in front, then there's a gap in front of me, until I lose sight of them. I still can't figure out how they surge past me in Lap 1. I'm disadvantaged after that, since they get to draft while I can't. I catch sight of them in Lap 3. I reckon I'm a few minutes behind them when I cross the finish line. I'm 7th out of 12 who signed up. Some riders Did Not Finish. While my lungs were bursting during the race, my legs don't feel tired and I cycle for home within half an hour. Some roadies overtake me; one flashes a thumbs up. They were spectators at the race. I see them again at Mandai Road and give chase. Only then do my legs feel tired. I'm disadvantaged when it comes to hills.

Wednesday, September 08, 2004

Road race rehearsal

To Nanyang Tech University, 78 km. I want to take the day off because HR Dept says "use it or lose it". But I'm caught between two rocks and two hard places ... Anyway, I manage to get half a day off and off I go to NTU to check out this Sunday's road race route. It's not a fun ride as I'm still smarting from what happened in the office. And I wonder if I'll be disqualified for being overlapped this Sunday. I see two roadies training. I stop to check a map, then trundle one round. I'm kinda knackered after riding non-stop for 40 km on kinda deflated tyres (training lah). After round 2, I head for home. I spy a roadie (must've flown out of class) and give chase from a standing start. I overtake him but he gives me short shrift after that. What to do, he's young and fresh ...

Tech note I stop by to see Bikeshop Man to true my wheels after the smashing they got at the Subaru race . He won't tell me first how much it'll cost but gets to work. He's a real craftsman and does a better job than another guy who'd charged me $4 to true one wheel. Bikeshop Man asks for $10. He says it's half-price; he usually charges $10 per wheel.

Sunday, September 05, 2004

Familiar faces, familiar route

To Tuas, 97 km. Today is my first training ride for the National University of Singapore Centennial Ride to Kuala Lumpur. There are some familiar faces; people I met on 21 Aug during the NUS Cycling Club outing. The route is familiar too: Tuas. As it turns out, I'm in decent company. Bike leader cranks out 25 km/h. We sit on his tail. 28, 29, 30 km/h ... most of us are still on his tail, including a guy with "drumstick-type" thighs, creaky bike complete with kickstand and mudguards. The end of the ride is a free for all, as two of us break away and head back to NUS. I hear yesterday's ride has someone going at 8 km/h.

Sunday, August 29, 2004

Too fast, too furious

Aug distance travelled: 747 km

To Lim Chu Kang, 68. Someone asked me once: "Why do you ride so fast?" My reply (in Mandarin): "Yao kuai cai shuang kuai" (it's fun only when it's fast). Well, today is almost too fun for me. It's my first ride with the Upper Thomson roadies who meet outside OCBC Bank. I'm just about the only one on a mountain bike; the other 60 or so are roadies. A few minutes before 0830, they set off at a fast and furious pace. I strain to keep the lead riders in sight but it's all over for me along Mandai Road. I pass a group who stop there for a break, then they blast past me. Another lone rider passes me and I draft him, hanging on grimly like death. I see other cyclists ahead; the only reason I overtake them is because they're taking it easy. One hour of fun so far and I break with a handful of others at Choa Chu Kang. None of the lead cyclists have stopped. I meet the acquaintance of J, a Japanese riding a 25-year-old single speed. He's got several bicycles here and in Japan, and he stocks up spare parts when he finds them for his retro bikes. I also meet some Ascender cyclists for the first time.

Sunday, August 22, 2004

Ride of Silence


To Harbourfront (again), 58 km. This is a Ride of Silence, to make a statement. That cyclists have a right to be on the road like other vehicles and they certainly have a right to life. The silence is in honour of cyclists who have been accident victims, like a funeral procession. The seed for the ride was planted by Wendy Chan in May 04 in a togoparts posting and brought to fruition by Yukang. The route, from Indoor Stadium to Harbourfront, took us past a mangled cat, with chunks of meat scattered across the road. Poor cat and poor cyclists. I know, because I too have been an accident victim.
After the ride, it is celebration time in honour of a Bike Aid rider, and I meet the legendary founder of the society which started it all 12 years ago. Instead of just riding (and spending money), they cycle and raise money for charity.
Photo courtesy of FC

Saturday, August 21, 2004

Two firsts and one second


To Sentosa, 102 km. Today is the first time I'm taking part in an NUS Cycling Club ride. It's also the first time I'm taking part in an "amazing race" type competition. In my team is another "old" chap (NSJ) like me; he's from Bikers 21. We must be the oldest chaps around; the rest are undergraduates almost half our age. Our team of four is halved, since one of the team members doesn't even want to push her bicycle uphill and her boyfriend stays back to accompany her. I barely recognise the Sentosa off-road trails since I was last there for the Subaru race. We come in second. I like my prize (Campagnolo waterbottle) more than the first prize (socks). If it wasn't for NSJ, I doubt we could've won anything. He's a great navigator and I'm great at getting lost. After dinner, a few riders accompany me as I head home via Jurong and Kranji. Two of them break off along the way, including a China girl who's learnt American, British and Singapore English.

Sunday, August 15, 2004

Indonesia: from Harbour Front to the Indian Ocean

Sat 7-Sun 15 Aug
To West Sumatra, Indonesia, 401 km.

Prologue

West Sumatra is a mountainous place, with peaks that reach 2,900m into the sky. This means lots of long, winding roads that head uphill - and down. Past rivers, padi fields and through villages dotting the landscape, with ubiquitous little fires burning refuse. The Indian Ocean lies to the west, while lakes and mountains lie to the east. It is so mountainous, the Japanese build bunkers here during World War 2 to defy bombing.

The roads are generally of good quality, good enough for 1.25" slicks. There's the occasional pothole and gravel. And suicidal cat, chicken, goat, cow and a fat girl. Other risks include narrow roads, blind corners and buses that roar down the middle of the road. Still, it's much safer than riding on Singapore roads. After all, I don't expect animals to be fitted with rear view mirrors. And I see less roadkill here than during my Malaysia ride - perhaps there are fewer snakes or monitor lizards crossing the roads at night.

It's cooler too; as one rides higher, the temperature drops. The cloud cover helps too. And there is shade from the green canopy. Vegetation ranges from the tropical (the equator passes through here) such as lalang, coconut and durian to the deciduous at higher altitudes.

Little shops dot the route, which serve bottled drinks, usually minus the fridge. There's bottled water, Sprite and Fanta, but isotonic or other fortifying drinks are rare. Top

The people
The people give the place character. Beautiful scenery in a nasty place does not a beautiful place make. I like the people here a lot. They are warm, friendly and helpful, from ordinary folk to some officials we meet. It's a nice surprise compared to my experience elsewhere in Indonesia.


In West Sumatra, adults and children greet us cyclists on sight. "Good morning" seems to be an all-day greeting. I've also heard "hello mister how are you". And, as in Malaysia, kids get excited to see cyclists. Examples of how warm the people are can be seen in the daily log below.

There are foreigners here, but I don't see as many as in Kundur Islands. There are few Chinese and most of the time I'm mistaken for "Jepang" (Japanese). Occasionally, some will guess I'm from Thailand or China. There's no averse response when I say I'm from Singapura, notwithstanding one of their presidents referring to the island-state as a "little red dot".

Most of the people are farmers, living in zinc-roofed huts, though some villages have houses of stone built in Dutch-style, due to 350 years of colonial influence, which ended with the declaration of independence on 17 Aug 1945. Now and then, a satellite dish a fifth of the size of a roof stands in a compound.

The people seem to be a happy, hardy lot. They walk a lot. I see an old man walking barefoot on the asphalt in the afternoon sun. And as I struggle uphill on my granny gear, I pass a wizened granny trudging on foot, carrying a load on her head that's bigger than her torso.

Public transport is scarce. The occasional bus plies certain routes, with people hanging out of the door or perched on the roof. Outside of the big towns like Padang, I see only two taxis. A motorbike can serve as a taxi too, but bicycles are scarce, perhaps because of the long distances and steep slopes.

Anyway, the people live simply. In many cases, the toilet is a handy bush; shopkeepers don't seem to have toilets handy. And who needs a clothesline when clothes can be draped on a bush, on the ground or even on a railway line. Top

The plan
Expedition = excitement, and I apply for my leave months in advance. I was hoping for a team of four, all great travel companions and bikers. But one couldn't go because he found a job, and another couldn't go because he has a job. So it's just Bikerboey and me.

Bikerboey does all the planning , who did a recce of the place by car two months ago. All I have to do is pay up $650 and show up. She warns me the route is tough in places, especially a place called "Kelok 44", which rhymes with "die die" in various Chinese dialects. Having gone through Penang Hill and Mount Ophir in West Malaysia, I'm just a little apprehensive about West Sumatra.

I take a day off on the eve of the ride to pack and fuss over my bike. This will be the first time my bike becomes a flying Horse. I also pack inner tubes and even a spare tyre. And soft paraffin and a gel seat for my butt. All lessons learnt from my 1,000 km ride. Riding with a gel seat takes some getting used to. It's like riding on a punctured tyre - soft and squishy.

There's not much other preparation, other than riding the usual few hundred km each month, charging up hills and chasing roadies for fun.

Equipment-wise, I have my one and only Iron Horse (12 kg) plus another 8 kg of gear. To save weight, I don't even carry a shaver. Bikerboey has her Marin Pine Trail (estimated 13 kg) plus another 13 kg of gear - the weight of another bike in pannier bags! Top

The pleasure
Land, sea and air

Day 1: Sat 7 Aug, Singapura - Pariaman, 19 km
This is my first journey by land, sea and air. It is also the furthest I've travelled to ride. I'm on the road before the crack of dawn, at 5.30 am to be at Harbour Front for the Penguin ferry ride to Batam. We squeeze our bikes into a taxi boot for the ride to the airport to catch our Merpati flight to Padang in West Sumatra. Then it's another car ride to Pariaman.

At Pariaman, which is a coastal town, I dip my toes into the Indian Ocean. There's an election attraction going on - a game of bingo, with the names "Megawati" and Hasyim" on stage. A lady sings out the bingo numbers. A couple of youths and a policeman introduce themselves and urge us to play the game. Bikerboey makes a wager; the odds are naturally against her.

More certain is God's light show - sunset. The sun dips behind the clouds, but lingering effects can still be seen as rays stretch across the sky, colouring the clouds in multiple hues of yellow and red. The call to prayer wafts over the air from three directions.

Also in the air is the acrid smoke from burning refuse. Though fire is often associated with destruction, there is peace here. Aceh, Moluccas and other trouble spots seem a world away. The looting, rapes and murders against Chinese in 1998 are in another era. I see tudung clad ladies mixing freely with the hiply dressed. Back home, I don't see Ah Bengs mixing as well with the English-educated even though both are Chinese.

Lunch by the beach is instant noodles - cooked much better than I can. We have chicken for dinner; the serving is so small, it might as well be from a pigeon.
Nightstop: Nan Tonga Beach Hotel

In the dark
Day 2: Sun 8 Aug, Pariaman - Maninjau, 91 km
This is the first day for riding. I put on my sunglasses, but they are too literal. The work only when the sun is at its zenith. I can't really see what's in the shadows. Still, I charge down the road when it looks safe, and clock 47.7 km/h when I'm fully loaded.

There's a blackout during dinner, lakewide. Back in the room, Bikerboey is so bored, she snuffs out the candle. I scramble for my bike light, then realise the lights are already back on elsewhere.
Nightstop: Maninjau Indah

Tour de Maninjau

Day 3: Mon 9 Aug, Maninjau, 51 km
It's sunny but windy, so it's rather cool. A good day to ride around the lake, which is 8 x 16 km at its longest and widest points, compared to Singapura's 22 x 40 km. We hit a rough patch which stretches for some 10-15 km. That's no fun, being on slicks. At a rest stop, I'm glad to hear "lima kilo bagus". Once I hit the asphalt, I spread my arms and fly on the road again.

I pass school kids in white tops and maroon bottoms. "Hello how are you fine thank you", hails a schoolgirl. People live around the lake; there are schools, mosques and shops serving the villagers, who fish and grow padi. Water comes from the mountains; I hear the lake water is not potable.

I see a couple of white folk walking in the noonday sun, while a wiser ibu walks under the shade of a big leaf which she carries as an umbrella.

We finish the ride at 2 pm. It's just 51 km round the lake, not 78 as someone had told us. This will make a good race course - uphills, downhills and blind corners.


We amble about on foot after that and come across a bookshop selling used books in various European languages. Plus a bath house built on top of a hot spring. Bubbles float up from the cement floor while two kids strip to their underwear and then jump in.

PS: this is the first time I can remember being away from Singapura during National Day. Somehow, it feels unpatriotic, considering that I can see people flying the Indonesian flag on cars. So far, I haven't fallen ill, though the water could be cleaner. There're flasks of hot drinking water in the hotel, but inspection shows there are insects and other unidentified objects floating in them.
Nightstop: Maninjau Indah

Long and winding road
Day 4: Tue 10 Aug, Bukit Tinggi, 40 km
The uphill ride begins the moment we leave the hotel. As I ride upwards, the water of lake Maninjau is like a silken sheen. White clouds reflect off its seemingly placid surface like folds of silk.

The terrain is so steep, the road winds back on itself 44 times, hence the name Kelok 44. At each hairpin bend is a number in case you lose count. The road is 9 km long, and elevation is 1,150m. A motorcyclist draws alongside and extends his hand before me. A helping hand, I guess.

I hear it's tough, so I clean and lube my chain the night before. But it's not as tough as Penang Hill or Mount Ophir. At Kelok 44, there are steep climbs but the corners don't really drive you round the bend. And there's time to recover before the next climb. Or maybe it's because I'm powered by Stryper (by His stripes we are healed) in my MD player - I buy it specially for the ride up Kelok 44 and this is the first time I'm riding wired for sound (I'm not wired for the rest of the ride as I find the wires fiddly and I'd rather have my senses fully tuned to my surroundings).

I can use some hairpins myself, since going round the bend are buses, some of whom careen down the middle. Hair-raising danger is an arm's length away and I go off road to play safe when a bus gets too close for comfort. I'm already at the cloud line, and have no intention of meeting God so soon.

Still, it is heavenly riding - it is cool, the music is cool and red flowers fall in places. The lake and padi fields unfold beneath me. At Bukit Indah, we see the panorama at a picturesque restaurant that overlooks terraced rice fields - green treasure that yields its golden harvest that is then treated by golden sunlight by the roadside.

What goes up must come down and I hit speeds of 40 km/h just by sitting on my saddle. Just as well I don't hit anything on the way; I even overtake a motorcyclist. At Bukit Tinggi town, caution overtakes me and I ride unclipped most of the way. Traffic and pedestrians are all over the place. A girl sees me and avoid me, but most girls do that anyway.

My abominable abdominal condition afflicts me and I don't have a proper dinner. I reckon it's the water (regardless of whether is is hot, warm, in tea or other beverage), not the food. It's only water sealed in bottles for me. As for Bikerboey, even fruit juice, ice and uncooked vegetables poses no problems.
Nightstop: Benting Hotel


Batman
Day 5: Wed 11 Aug, Bukit Tinggi, 0 km
He takes off his shirt, says he's going to pray to his ancestors, faces the canyon walls and starts yelling. A cloud of bats rise from the treetops and start circling.

Our day starts - and ends - with animals. Today is non-biking day and we start with a trip to the birdpark cum zoo Taman Marga Satwa, which is built on the ruins of Fort de Kock. We come face to face with a forlorn orang utan. Its sad eyes peer through the bars of its cage. More spirited is a mother bird, which spreads its wings and tells us to back off when we approach its nest in a cage. Totally lifeless is an entire whale skeleton; it must have been 20 feet long.


Next stop is the market. The smell of food mixes with the odour of the horse-drawn carts parked in front of the foodstalls. Another form of transport is the bicycle cart, with a circular steering wheel instead of a handlebar. Besides cooked food, the market also sells raw food, clothes, snacks and tools, including mean-looking agricultural implements.

As we wander about aimlessly, we come across Rumah Keliharan Bung Hatta. I guess this must be the home of Mohammed Hatta, an independence leader who is from Sumatra and the peer of Achmed Soekarno.

Our last stop is supposed to be some underground Japanese war bunkers along Jalan Panorama. We get a little lost but a vendor runs from his cart, guessing where we want to go. The bunkers are closed for renovation. I hang around the barred entrance, peering into the darkness, then trudge back towards the hotel. A friendly native hails us in English and introduces himself as Lada. He says the bunkers are indeed closed, but with permission, we can go in since his brother works there. The workers look on but don't stop us as we follow his lead, ducking through a hole in the gate.

It is pitch dark. But Lada finds his way around, knowing which corner in this maze of tunnels to turn. He says he can "see" in the dark like a bat. In desperation I whip out my bike blinker but can barely see. This is his childhood playground. He says the Japanese are giving lots of money to renovate the place, including a restaurant. He shows us the kitchen and the jail. Another tunnel is lit up with flourescent tubes.

The tunnels were handmade by American and local slaves. No explosives, since the place is made of sandstone. Lada says the Japanese were cruel colonists, unlike the Dutch. By building the bunkers here, the Japanese "give Americans stress", says Lada, slapping his head. He adds that Americans are good at fighting in movies like Rambo, but not in real life. Well, who can argue with US technology? Those who argued at Iwo Jima, Okinawa and, more recently, Afghanistan, lost the war.

We head towards daylight, and I peer down a 200m drop into Buffalo Canyon. I spend the next few hours trying to catch up with the fleet-footed Lada as he somehow finds trails which only he can see. Up and down steep slopes. Traipsing across clear streams. Across bamboo poles over an abyss. A suspension bridge with holes in the planks.

The trails are no joke. Just one slip and I could fall and die there. At one spot, the ground gives way beneath my right foot and the soft soil sucks it up. Just as well as I'm left with my left foot. I'm doing this in shorts and slippers; in fact all of us are in slippers, since hiking wasn't on the itinerary. I bike, not hike and trickery is the only way to get me to hike. My guardian angel works overtime.

Along the way, Lada points out the sights, tastes and smells to us. He reaches out, plucks something from the foilage, crushes it and we play guessing games about what it is. There's a grass with anaesthetic properties for toothache (Bikerboey confirms her mouth goes numb), mint, cinnamon, coffee, mango, ginger and a white flower for liniment. He points out where oil naturally trickles to the surface. Iron ore. Naturally-made charcoal from wood which is compressed by the weight of the soil above it.

We see old Dutch and Japanese ruins, monkeys, squirrels, buffalo and bushes full of rhinocerous beetles, which take flight. And the bats. The beetles seem like a toy; other toys include flowers and leaves that pop on impact, grass that fly throught air like spears, grass that climbs up sleeves and leaves that "magically" break in two. Pity about all the litter underfoot though.

Lada used to be a park ranger in South Sumatra, then a guide in Central Sumatra. He learnt English from a Canadian couple. Life was good seven years ago. Then tourists stopped coming. The Bali bombings and Aceh strife in North Sumatra don't help. He now survives doing odd jobs. Still, he seems happy enough.

It is now dusk and it's harder to see where I'm going. He picks up a glow worm (as bright as a Casio illuminator watch!) and points out a firefly, which hovers to a stop near the worm ("they're friends", he says. He leads us through villages with barking dogs and villagers who seem to know him. We stop at a silversmith's workshop. He picks a bottle of water and guzzles it; he's only had a few gulps of water from a stream all afternoon.

We reward him with a big nasi padang dinner for his efforts.
Nightstop: Benting Hotel

The suicidal cat
Day 6: Thu 12 Aug, Batu Sangkar, 92 km
There are some short steep uphills but long stretches of downhills enroute to Batu Sangkar. Again, there are picturesque padi fields and little villages. The roads are narrow, two cars can barely pass each other. A bus barrels down towards me; any closer and I'll have to go offroad.

As I sit on my saddle, going at 40 km/h, a black and white cat flashes just in front of my wheel. Collision would've broken its back. I wonder what I would've broken. My guardian angel is again working overtime. My max speed today is 58.4 km/h; even some motorcyclists are more cautious as I overtake them.

At our destination, our bikes are refused entry at a nice-looking hotel. In the day, our bikes have to be outside the hotel. In the night, they go into the ground floor. But never into our rooms. I doubt the receptionist will do anything if my bike goes missing or is meddled with. We check into another hotel across the road, which costs us Rp60,000 (ie half the rate of the first hotel). The second hotel is almost full. Our room has no TV, fan, aircon, sink or shower. There's a tank of water to bathe from, plus a scoop.

We take a motorbike taxi ride (my first, without a helmet too, as we take corners at 60 km/h) to Istana Pagaruyung, a replica palace of the Minangkabau king. Minangkabau society is matrilineal rather than patriarchal. There's fascination with buffalo; the roofs and headresses resemble horns. The palace's slanted pillars and walls are earthquake proof, but not Dutch-proof; the original was burnt down by the Dutch in 1804. The rooms are mostly bedrooms; one has seven curtains to symbolise 7th heaven.

Sure looks nicer than our room, which faces a mosque. There's nothing else to do, so I tweak my brakes. I note two broken strands of cable. It's bedtime after dinner, since there's no TV. At about 4.20 am, we hear the call to prayer. Before that, I hear caterwauling cats and barking dogs; which Bikerboey sleeps through. We have breakfast in our room a couple of hours later (dried goods) and scarper to the next town.
Nightstop: Singkarak Sumpur

The suicidal chicken

Day 7: Fri 13 Aug, Danau Singkaran, 44 km
More uphills and lots of blind corners and downhills. Here, I meet the suicidal chicken which pokes its head in my direction but withdraws it when I cuss the accursed bird. Its pea-brain must be functioning better than the suicidal cat yesterday. It is also here that I meet the suicidal cow and fat girl. These are better classified as "attempted suicides", I guess since they move out of the way when they hear me.

Also successful in life preservation are the bus drivers and passengers who hang out of the doors and even sit on the roof.

At the lake, Bikerboey abandons her bike for a dip in the pool. I do a tour around the lake alone - my first solo ride. Estimates of the distance vary; one hotel staff says it takes an hour by motorbike; others say three hours. I don't want to be back after nightfall, so I crank up my revs.

This isn't really a place to speed; there are potholes, gravels and makeshift speed bumps made up of sawn logs on the road. The route takes me past farmers toiling in the sun. As the song goes, "planting rice is never fun"; it's back-breaking work. I also pass a man breaking rocks and people digging a trench. No machines here except hand tools. I take a photo of some farmers threshing rice two hundred metres away. One looks up and asks in English:" "hello how are you".

I don't have a map of the place and I bear Bikerboey's words in mind: take only the left turns and keep the lake in sight. It doesn't help that the road goes beyond the lake. I stop and ask some ladies seated by the road for directions. They point me the right way.

Still not knowing how far I have to go, I take a break after two hours at a hut by the sea. I help myself to some drinks in the fridge and am back in the saddle after 15 minutes. The sun is shining but it feels cool and hazy. A headwind blows. I complete the round trip in three hours. Nightstop: Yoherma Hotel

The valley of death

Day 8: Sat 14 Aug, Anai Valley, 46 km
A friendly, shrivelled old lady rips me off when I buy a 1.5 litre bottle of water. "Maybe it costs more uphill", says Bikerboey. The lady touches my arm and offers me more stuff to buy. I get a couple of bananas for roughage since cooked vegetables are hard to come by. Meanwhile, the lady offers Bikerboey free food! That's the high point of the ride - plus watching contingent after contingent of schoolkids marching along the road. Some have their moves better drilled than others. A passing kid practices his English on me while is pals jibe him. His quest for self-improvement will take him far in life.

It's literally downhill all the way for me after that. Like Bikerboey had warned, it's a steep drop. Merely by sitting on my saddle, I hit 40 km/h easily on the winding road. I pass a burnt out wreck of a car sitting on a pedestal - a stark reminder that fleeting carelessness has eternal consequences.

I ride on my brakes down the valley of death, hoping that the only things that are broken are my two broken strands of brake cable. This is like going down Mount Ophir, only there's way more traffic here.


We reach the resort after passing a waterfall. What an anticlimax. The ride is over. I've covered a scant 350 km/h. That's too slack. Bikerboey soaks her head in another spring while I explore the resort by bike. Some goats attempt suicide by veering in my direction but I manage to persuade them otherwise with a few choice words. The resort is so big and hilly, I hit my max speed for the entire ride here simply by sitting on the saddle: 60.5 km/h.

I retire to my room to watch my laundry dry while Bikerboey sits in the clubhouse to read her magazines. We take a long walk in the resort along the golf course after that.

In the evening, we head for the restaurant. It's unclear when dinner will be served as the cook has gone for a bath, or whether our walk is wasted since we're told we could have it at the clubhouse near our rooms. Meanwhile, the bloodsuckers (Aedes mosquitos) are out for my blood sacrifice.

I tell a housekeeper in the nearby villa that we're heading back to our rooms. He runs after me seconds later to say there's a power failure. That's the fifth night during my eight nights in Sumatra. He invites us to the villa, which apparently is supported by an independent power supply. Bikerboey settles down to watch basketball on cable TV while I check out the three verandas and four bedrooms of the villa.

How ironic. This is the poshest accommodation during my entire trip, yet I'm bugged by insects and going hungry. Dinner is delicious but simple nasi goreng (no fancy nasi padang). We head back to our room after that, which has no TV, cupboard or clothes hangers. It must be real boring here at night. A security guard bangs on the door to wish me "peace".
Nightstop: Anai Golf & Mountain Resort

The last day
Day 9: Sun 15 Aug, Singapura, 18 km
No call to prayer wakes us up in the morning, but oldies music does. A crowd at the carpark watches as Bikerboey packs her bike for the ride to the airport. They even ooh and aah as she slaps on velcro for her frame. I make do with bubblewrap and masking tape.

The driver speeds off to catch our one-hour flight from Padang to Batam. He's an experienced hand, taking both hands off the steering wheel to light cigarettes and put on his seat belt. At 80 km/h. Glad he's safety conscious.

Also safety conscious is the security man at the airport. He says I can't bring my tiny pliers on board. I had no problems taking it on board on the way in. No one asks me for my passport. Which is just as well, because the name on my ticket doesn't resemble what's on my passport. We sit around waiting for our flight, which is late. No one updates the flight information TV screen in the departure lounge, nor are the ground staff able to tell me anything; I have to leave the lounge to get information from the check-in counter and brave the security man again. An Indonesian passenger enroute to Singapore tells us what's going on and even when it's time to board the flight.

We have one last meal of nasi padang on Indonesian soil at Batam before catching the ferry to Singapura. Somewhere along the way, my handlebar grip is gouged. My headset is loosened somehow, so much so that my bike wobbles when I brake. And I wonder how my tyres got totally deflated during the flight since I didn't have the problem on the way in. And back in Singapore, someone throws away one of my bungee cords, which I need to secure my bag onto my seatpost rack. A friendly attendant helps me find it.

It's been raining while I'm on the ferry; during the ride, the only drops that fell were my sweat and from my waterbottle. Back on Singapore soil, I rush home in case it rains. I cruise at around 32 km/h until I see a roadie on a blue Pinarello. I blast past him and together we clock 40 km/h until I reluctantly break away as he's going a different route.

Epilogue
And thus ends the 401 km ride. Not a scratch nor a drop of blood shed (mosquitos excepted). The only part of the ride I truly liked was Danau Minanjau. Quite unlike the 1,000 km Malaysia ride, where I liked every part except one stop. I also get a sense of achievement, riding 1,000 km. I can cover 401 km in one month of riding. Cost-wise, the Malaysia ride was more cost-efficient too: about $250 for 12 days. Here, my nine days cost about $740. However, Bikerboey prefers the Sumatra ride, because "there're more things to see" and she likes mountains. She enjoys Buffalo Canyon too.

Wednesday, August 04, 2004

High speed chase

To Woodlands, 45 km. There are 11 of us today. We start cycling two-three abreast, then a race breaks out. What a whipping I get. Trailing behind roadies is one thing. Trailing behind guys on knobbies is another, especially two of them who chit chat and talk race strategy at 40 km/h. What takes the cake is another guy who is swift on platform pedals, single speed and on a foldable bike. ST is in good form today too, with her secondhand Giant XTC and 1.5" tyres. She's put her Mongoose out to pasture. D too has a second bicycle - a shiny red Cannondale. He trails behind today as he's injured and not on his titanium Merlin.

Sunday, August 01, 2004

Higher learning

To Bukit Timah, 73 km. Singapore Management University is built on high ground. So is Nanyang Technological University and my alma mater, the National University of Singapore. And this is why they are called institutes of higher learning - people have to make their way uphill. Today, I race with two roadies - and lose. The first roadie appears like a grey ghost; he's dressed in black and grey and rides a titanium Litespeed. It's all over in minutes; I can't keep up with him at 42 km/h along Mandai Road. He might as well be riding a single-speed since he doesn't change gear. The second roadie rides a Fusion; he's someone I met once during Friday East Night Ride. We jockey for position at 39 km/h, darting around buses along Bukit Timah Road; I'd say he wins since I don't stay in the lead for long.

Sunday, July 25, 2004

Vicious cycle

Jul distance travelled: 370 km


To Tuas, 108 km. He carries a heavy load on his back and sweats more because of the weight and heat trapped between bag and body. And he gets dehydrated and tired faster. So he struggles more to keep moving. And sweats more. And gets more tired. And so goes the vicious cycle goes. The rest of us don't quite get to cycle as much, as we stop and wait, stop and wait. And on and on it goes as we go on our journey to the west, waiting for he who rides the vicious cycle. He doesn't even drink on the move, because he uses bottles with screw-tops. Still, we see some scenic sights today, including jugs of ice water at Raffles Marina. I'm so trigger happy, I use up an entire roll of film. "Nice, nice," says N the bike hasher, who has little problem keeping up on his full-suspension Santa Cruz. And sweeper Bikerboey seems happy enough drafting behind me on the last leg of the ride at 30 km/h, after everyone else breaks away. Whatta gal - kayaking yesterday, nine hours on the road today, and a ball game after that.

Wednesday, July 21, 2004

Police watch dog

To Punggol, 25 km. I reach the end of Punggol Road. Five dogs lie in a row but they do not molest me. A policeman stands outside his post beside the dogs. Now, that's what I call "police watch dog". I wonder why the dogs leave me alone, since I am alone and vulnerable. And why am I alone on this Wed night ride? Because I leave the office late (as usual) and ask the Wed night riders to ride first while I catch up. As I cycle, I wonder if they are in front or behind me. As it turns out, I reach the rendesvous ahead of them. Since there is no one there, I head for home and don't even pass them on the way home. Still, it was a good ride - short and sharp. And no dogs at my tail.

Sunday, July 18, 2004

Perspiration at Bukit Chandu

To Bukit Chandu, 83 km. Finding this place was serendipity. To pay homage to the memories of war heroes at "Reflections at Bukit Chandu", I cycle up the hill. The reward is multi-media and static displays of Malays who fought the Japanese to the end. Some of the survivors were offered their freedom if they took off their uniforms, but they chose to die in them. They merely delayed the onslaught of the enemy, who'd biked down Peninsula Malaysia. There are photos of them carrying their 10 kg rifles, battle gear and heavy steel bicycles as they go off road. At the museum is a tin cup, the only keepsake left to a widow by her warrior husband.

I also discover the picturesque Pandan Reservoir; I have the whole place to myself. And come across two bikeshops (Heap Hong and Tan Bike Shop) for the first time. I meet WC at the latter. What an interesting solo ride today. I'd wanted to ride with the Bike Aiders, but heavy workload leads to heavy eyelids and I spend 11 hours in bed this morning.

Saturday, July 10, 2004

Strange ride down memory lane

To Sembawang, 40 km. The road sign is gone, but the road is still there. Sort of anyway. It just peters out. Over 20 years ago, I'd hiked through Jalan Ulu Sembawang to Marsiling. Now, signs tell me to get lost. At Kampong Wak Hassan, which is also a shadow of its former self, a police van with lights flashing passes me, followed by a jeep with a machine gun mounted on it. I see a tandem bike with front suspension. And at St John's Road, which is near Canada Road (no kidding), I see two bunkers. Why would anyone build military fortifications in a residential area? Tough question, but no answer. It's easier to answer the question why I'm cycling today instead of Sun: I gotta work tomorrow. That means I've worked the equivalent of eight days this week. To stay sane, I ride today. And drop by three bike shops too to cheer myself up. Today marks the day I've ridden my horse past 13,000 km.

Wednesday, July 07, 2004

Better late than never

To Sengkang, 34 km. I get off work so late, I almost don't even bother to drop by the meeting point for the Wed night ride. But I drop by nonetheless, and am rewarded with the sight of five riders. We wait for a guest rider, then set off without him. The ride is so slow, an "ah beng" on a creaky bicycle (and de rigueur thick chain wrapped around the frame) overtakes us. We stop several times to await our guest rider. I chat with H, who completed a 1,400 km charity ride to Kota Bahru and back some weeks ago. I listen wistfully. My life now is all work, no big adventure, no respite.

Sunday, July 04, 2004

Weird ride

Half island, 80 km. I oversleep again today, just like last Sun. And again, I miss a Bike Aid ride. Like in a weird dream, strange things happen. I notice that generally, blue collar foreign talent wear dark colours and ride dark coloured bicycles, while white collar foreign talent wear bright colours and ride fancy bicycles. At Kranji, I whip out my camera for a shot and a battery pops out. Two vehicles drive by. It looks like they miss the battery, but it gets dented and leaks. At West Coast, my second of three rest stops, I see a cyclist with a squeaky bunny perched on her handlebars - WC. What's the probability of meeting her like that? It's our first ride together, but only for a few minutes as we head in different directions. Back home, my contact lens tears as I try to remove it. I spend anxious moments trying to get the remains out of my eye.