Fri-Sat 1-2 May
Batu Pahat, 323 km.
Day 1: Ride with abandon. There's supposed to be at least eight of us but the organisers abandon their own ride. That doesn't leave me all packed with no where to go, no way. I head for Batu Pahat, my first since Jan 07. A solo roadie passes me and I pass three mountain bikers heading for Kukup. The rolling hills near the end of the ride are tedious but keep the ride more interesting than the boring straight roads enroute. It is hard labour on Labour Day. 161 km is over my limit for a mental-strain free ride. At Batu Pahat, most shops are closed. I thirst. Guardian saves me with provisions. Loud singing from outside troubles me not as I plan a 9.5 hour siesta.
Day 2: Go away to come home. Obstacle #1: breakfast on peanuts (and I don't mean my salary) since Guardian sells no bread. #2: going down four flights of steps with fully-loaded bike. #3: a gate that locks me in the guesthouse. All surmounted. I tax my limited repertoir of songs in my head. I even keep my mind blank but there's too "static". Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb" it is. Malaysia is big, unlike tiny Singapore which bulldozes a national icon for motorists to save mere minutes. A dirty drizzle starts. I dodge puddles that may cover subterranean caverns. This is getting old. I'm getting old. I cycle under a cloud. My feet are clammy and wrinkled. That's better than the tortoise in crawl posture in death with a tyre-sized hole in its shell. Or the bloated cat with guts trailing. Or the snake, monitor lizard, chicken and assorted mangled-beyond-recognition road kill. Trucks pass me at unfriendly distances. A lady brazens her way from a minor road to test my reaction. A petrol kiosk owner asks me where I'm from and says I'm crazy. When he finds out I'm solo, he says "even crazier". Indeed. I get home without map or compass. Am I glad to see Singapore.
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