Mount Awful

Sat-Sun 10-11 Apr

To Mount Ophir, Tangkak, Johore, 117 km. I'm at the cloudline but I don't feel on top of the world, nor am I on cloud nine. So, this is what it means to have your head in the clouds. It is cool and I occasionally see wisps of cloud wafting over the road. This is small consolation as I continue to struggle the 17 km up Mount Awful, which is almost 1300m high.

This is worse than Penang Hill, which has more flat surfaces to rest on. Though I'd been up Penang Hill (over 800m high) with a 7-speed cassette, I find Mount Awful worse even with a 9-speed cassette. I surrender my bike at the designated end-point: lamp post 51. Some intrepid souls venture on to the top of the hill. I walk, and salute WM as he cranks his way up to the peak. Now I know why there was a bike named Alpine Star - it's for higher life forms like him.

Bandage and tears

What goes up must come down. I reposition my bandage on my knee, which fell off on the way uphill. The bandage is for whatever protection it can give my abraded knee; I don't need more souvenir scars after yesterday's high speed crash. I gingerly ride my way down at 20-40 km/h. Though I've done over 60 km/h downhill before, this is not the place for me. On my left is the abyss. On my right is fallen foilage. In the middle are sometimes potholes and gravel. Other riders zoom past me. I tell myself that as an older guy, my bones are more fragile.

I bounce my way downhill on my rigid bike. At some points, I stop and walk to cool my rims. I pass a cyclist who has a blowout. I've heard tales about boiling hydraulics and overheated inner tubes. Not to mention the guy with tears streaming down his face in tandem with blood streaming from his wounds after a bad fall.

The reward after this Sun ride on a sunny day: cold drinks at a fly-infested shed. The flies feast at the bandage of another cyclist. A few of us had shed blood after yesterday's plantation ride, but none of us needed blood transfusions. After my crash, I feel more embarrassment than pain. This reminds me how gravel behaves in a high-speed turn; I only cycle off-road 2-3 times a year and suffer multiple bloody souvenirs on multiple body parts. My helmet saves me; its thickness lifts my face off the gravel. I fall so hard, there are permanent ocher-coloured nicks on my water bottles.

One stunt pays off for me yesterday though - cycling across some narrow planks. I narrowly miss a spectacular crash as my semi-slicks explore the edge of the bridge. Like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, I say "cowabunga" too, as some cows in the plantation go berserk on seeing us. "Don't wear red," a biker says helpfully.

A ride worth waiting for
Yesterday, we wait about 45 minutes to cycle into Johore Bahru from Woodlands. Riding with so many cyclists is like cycling in a beehive, thanks to the buzzing of so many knobby tyres. At Johore, we wait again for the truck to take our bicycles to Tangkak. Someone figures the value of the 30+ bikes in the truck can buy half a house in Malaysia, while we make our way separately by bus.

I begin to understand why some people enjoy going off-road. Wide open trails are like wide open roads; perhaps even better, being closer to nature and with almost no traffic. And the speed can be exhilarating too: 25 km/h. I also understand why so many people stick their fingers in their eyes to wear contact lenses and sunglasses. this is my first ride in the Malaysian sun with shades. I understand why sunglasses are called shades; I feel cooler since things look cooler. But I ride downhill with my spectacles; inopportune blurring of lenses may mean I don't live to tell the tale.

My thanks to NH, JC and others who stopped to check on me, and to C for organising the ride.