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| At 'starting point' |
So, there it was. IJN Ride For Your Heart on 19th January 2025. The 115 km ride was scheduled to start at 7am. So there we were, waiting at the starting line in Anyara Hills, Semenyih, a new housing development. And waiting. The announcer had run out of announcements to make in his not-so-proficient English. The VIP was still not there to flag the participants. Despite being the State's Chief Minister with police outriders and controlled traffic for him to pass through, he thought it fashionable to arrive late. I guess he wanted to stamp his authority. When he finally arrived, ten minutes late, the participants gave him a befitting welcome. When the announcer, in his highly accented English, asked the participants to warmly welcome the VIP, they responded with pin-drop silence accentuated by the screaming of cicadas.
Just barely 400 metres after flag-off, there was a casualty. Two cyclists had crashed into each other's path. Shaken but not stirred, they were all right. It was a lovely day to ride. For someone from an area with a temperate climate, their idea of a beautiful day is the sight of the sun over the horizon and sunlight shining through their hair. Not in Malaysia, it is not. The sun showed its full glory by 10 am, and from then on, the temperature reached scorching late 20 degrees C. The idea of engaging in strenuous sporting activities at high noon is indeed a duel mostly avoided by Malaysians. But then, the world needs lunatics to set standards on sanity.
Miraculously, the sun shied away through the ride, all 115 km of it. Either it was one of those gloomy days, or the shamans employed by the organisers must have done a good job. Yes, it is an open secret (or maybe an urban legend) that Malaysian sports bodies have shamans (bomoh) on their payroll to control the weather during important sports events. In the 1970s, when Malaysia was flying high as a football nation, it was discovered that we performed exceptionally well when the pitch was wet. This was attributed to the pathetic training pitches and the players' experience learning to play soccer in their youthful years in paddy fields. So, the bomohs were summoned to perform their 'rain dance' to invite the heavens to pour. That resulted in significant victories for Malaysia in the Merdeka Tournament. Seeing our country bag double-digit goals against minion teams was a common sight.
The ride covered a route commonly used by cyclists around the Klang Valley. Cruising along the flat terrain of Ulu Semenyih, we were guided to the sleepy town of Broga, which in its days had seen much resistance given to British colonial masters. The ride paved us to Lenggeng, another town forgotten in the annals of time. The national highway and the appetite for the general public to get from point to point B in a jiffy essentially sealed the growth of this town. Still, life goes on. Not to be confused with another town in the State of Perak, which still garners attention from the users of the East-West Highway to Kota Bharu. Curious minds flock here to view the complete skeletal remains of the oldest man in South East Man, the Perak Man, at Lenggong Archeological Museum.
At Lenggeng, we took a turn to climb over the Two Sisters, as they may be fondly referred to. It is a bi-peaked formation that is part of the Titiwangsa range. The sisters were quite unforgiving, starting with a 10% climb. It covered about a 5 km distance followed by a free-wheeling decline, only to tackle another 5 km climb heading towards Kuala Klawang, the driest town on the Peninsula, in the district of Jelebu. Another free-wheeling afterwards.
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| Kuala Klawang @ Jelebu |
By then, we had covered about half of the total distance. After a short banana and bun break, we were good to go.
The next half of the journey included the much-dreaded Kangkoi-Peres climb to Hulu Langat. In essence, it covered a 13 km unforgiving trail, with the road mostly going uphill, punctuated by a couple of deceiving short breathers. The undulating roads created the illusion that the climbs were ending, only to reveal another ascent. It started at the 75 km mark. We expected it to be blazing hot by then. Surprisingly, it was a tolerable 27°C thereabouts, with no sun 'breathing' down our necks. Still, it was no pleasure cruise!
The 'we' I have been mentioning throughout the event consists of me, myself, and my inner demons. I had to train for the race on my own after a fellow partner-in-crime withdrew due to family commitments. It was a test of self-motivation and discipline whilst juggling work commitments and the cranky weather recently.
The inner demons were mostly curtailed as the external environment was kind.
These long, monotonous rides make me think. Besides giving me ideas on what to write in the next blog, they also humble me. Finding myself in the middle of mighty structures of Nature that have been around forever reminds me of the fragility of this existence. One minute we are here, and the next you are late (pun intended).
Just like life, we start the race with much pomp and glitz. Along the way, the cyclists break into pelotons akin to all the relatives who keep you company throughout life's path. Deep inside, you still have to manage the day-to-day, just as a cyclist must listen to his body, plan his caloric intake and hydration, avoid potholes, and deal with lunatics behind wheels—motorised and otherwise—who are hell-bent on causing trouble for cyclists just for kicks and the occasional change of gears in anticipation of a climb. Some things work mechanically, like pedalling, while others require vigilance. In other words, you are the controller of your destiny in life, cycling-wise and philosophically.
Once Genting Peres was conquered, it was a home run, really. Sliding down a 10-km decline from the 85 km mark, the subsequent section consisted of rolling hills. It was back to the starting point, completing a loop of 115 km, climbing over 1,420 m in 5h 25min.
Even when I hit the finishing line, I had so much pent-up energy that I thought I should have pushed myself more. But then, it is better to finish strong than to drag my sorry self half-dead. What's more, come tomorrow, I have to return to my daytime job.
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