Merdeka!

https://www.facebook.com/bikebaju.official/

Melburnians often claim they can experience all four seasons in a single day. It might start out sunny in the morning, then suddenly turn windy, cold, or rainy, with hail sometimes following soon after. Melbourne's temperate oceanic climate and its location, where hot and cold weather systems quickly interact, cause this phenomenon.

Well, we, weekend cyclists, experienced the same phenomenon during our small weekend ride. The temperature remained consistently above 25 °C, but we did endure the various climates one would encounter here in Malaysia. We are referring to the BB Merdeka Ride organised by a sports garments company in connection with Malaysia's 68th Independence Day celebration. Yes, we are 68 years old, but we are still struggling to find our way in the right direction. Rather than moving forward, we seem to be walking in reverse!

A ballpark estimate of 1,000 participants took part in this event. Participants could choose between a 50km or 100km fun ride; there was no pressure, no timing chip, but a 5-hour time limit. As it was Merdeka (Malaysia's Independence Day), the event started to the tune of Negara-Ku, at the Selangor Fruit Valley, a tourist attraction located near Rawang. We all regrouped at the Sekinchan Coconut Farm before returning to the starting point, covering 94km and passing through Bestari Jaya. Batang Berjuntai is the former name of Bestari Jaya. The name change, when translated, means 'a dangling trunk'. In 2007, the authorities believed a name change was necessary to avoid the graphic sexual connotations it might imply. 

Pitstop @ Sekinchan

The different climates we experienced were like this. At 7 am, when we started, it was a little still and humid. It was about 25 °C. As riders began riding on the comparable flat terrain, the crosswinds provided a pleasant, cool sensation. The Sun decided to get up late that day. It was aware that many Malaysians would be out celebrating outdoor Merdeka festivities. From a humid environment, it became windy. The joyful ride, overseen by police and marshals, was smooth. We passed through scenic padi fields, serene rivers, and fresh morning air. The halfway point was at Sekinchan. A few stalls were set up selling light refreshments. The organisers arranged to provide drinks and bananas.

By 9.30 am, it was time to head back. The Sun slowly began to rise. It was mild, though. The ride home was more challenging, as everyone had clearly expended their energy. Most lacked the strength to keep up with pelotons that overtook them. Cramps started to appear. The sweeper vehicles were just waiting to pick up cyclists who threw in the towel, but many politely declined.

Back at the finishing point, all that was left were smiles, laughter, and congratulatory messages. Some lucky ones went home with goodies after winning at the Lucky Draw.

A weekend well spent.

 

(P.S. Why is it that every time the national anthem is played, my insides grow mellow, and my mind becomes all nostalgic with a hint of melancholia? Is that patriotism?)

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Not funny

It was a local cycling event with the usual thrills and frills. It was a fun event. It was not a race. People came in dressed in masks and capes. There was a chap who wore a Viking helmet with cowhorn-like horns to give a fiesta feel to everyone around. 

Close to a thousand riders thronged the much-delayed, newly paved expressway that would bring people all the way from Ampang to Putrajaya and beyond.

For the bystanders, it must have been a sight to behold. Rows of cyclists in tight-fitting gears all going in a single file must have tickled the onlookers to the bones. 

So there were a group of cyclists in front of me who were boisterously rolling along the highway. Manning the traffic was a group of Bangladeshi foreign workers. They, too, were fascinated with the event of the day. They, too, whipped out their mobile devices to record the race.

One of the racers in front of me quipped, "hey, give a good pose. For all you know, you would be appearing on Bangla Youtube!" (closest translation)

https://www.amazon.com/Authentic-Reproduction-
Viking-Warrior-Helmet/dp/B008E4DFYW

It was an uncalled-for conversation. Just like everyone else, a foreigner or a general worker also has their likes and dislikes. He, too, wants to capture a momentous moment or share a scene that he wants others to see. Just because he is from the working class and is from a country considered to be in the lower rung of socioeconomic status, his action is by no means a justification for mocking. 

Another thing, YouTube is universal. There is no such thing as a Bangla YouTube or a Myanmarese one, but the local language may be. Now, with subtitles and audio choices, the world is one. 

Unfortunately, most Malaysians are like this - condescending and feeling one-up against each other. We suffer from so much insecurity that we pin others down to convince ourselves that we are doing alright. It is a form of cognitive dissonance. 

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To the Land of Smiles!

Epic Ride 2025 - Cross Border

Now that cyclists in Malaysia (and Singapore) are labelled 'bad boys', as shown by the many disparaging comments from netizens, the only sensible option is to take our cycling elsewhere. Just as everything in life, this too shall pass. It all started when a group of cyclists riding side by side on a highway was honked at by a bus driver. Taking it personally, the cyclists stopped the bus afterwards and gave the driver a piece of their mind. The confrontation was recorded by someone and quickly went viral on social media. To be fair, it is cycling 101 to ride in a single file.

The real reason why netizens are up in arms against the cyclist is class envy. From its humble beginnings as an affordable means of transportation for the economically disadvantaged, the bicycle has evolved into a symbol of luxury and style. Nowadays, one of these niche machines may cost more than an average motorcycle. At a time when everyone needs to tighten their belts, the sight of these bourgeoisie flaunting their babies during the weekend, when the Joe Plumber has to work extra time to bring home the bacon, may appear like the most cruel thing possible.

To rub salt into the wound during the pandemic, when human contact was outlawed, cycling was the only recreational sport allowed; no running, hiking, swimming, or even travelling in the same car with one's own spouse. Cyclists could continue.

Starting point

Perlis, the northernmost state on the Peninsula, welcomes everyone this year. It is their 'visit Perlis year', hoping to generate income for the state, squeezed between two giants, Kedah, with its Langkawi, and Thailand. Langkawi has its duty-free status, while Thailand has, well, everything else in between. So Perlis ushered in everybody with open arms.

The 'Epic Ride- Cross Border' was celebrating its 10th anniversary. It included many repeat offenders in its entourage this time around. Many returned for this excellent organisation and its 'happy-go-lucky' attitude towards problems, as well as its approach with a pleasant smile.

The participants congregated on Friday evening, July 18, at Tok Mek Restaurant, Beseri, in Perlis, for a briefing and fellowship over traditional Northern Malay dishes, including ulam, belacan, tom yam, and rice. After mapping out the instructions, everyone was good to go the next morning. All in all, 52 cyclists took to their saddles, including four German riders, many Singaporeans and a couple of Indonesians.

Although the rest of the country viewed cyclists as a nuisance, here they were treated with respect. The State even had the Deputy Chief Minister flag off the cyclist quite early the following morning. That too, just because the Chief Minister was away in the capital. If not, he would have done it himself. 

Day 1 - Beseri to Hat Yai via Wang Kelian

A light breakfast of nasi lemak, the favourite Malaysian breakfast meal, and everyone was good to go. The stuporous post-prandial intoxication disappeared suddenly just about an hour after heading towards the Wang Kelian immigration checkpoint. A continuous, steep 2.3 km climb with an ascent of about 12% in some portions awaited us. This stretch saw hardcore cyclists being sifted away from the novices. Many got down from their machines to push their way up. That was the only challenging climb throughout the two-day ride. The others were mere rolling hills.

Grind, grind, grind...

The descent after the first climb was equally challenging, with steep, sharp declines and perilously sharp bends, adding considerable strain to brakes, tyres, and the rider's tenacity. Soon afterwards, we reached the immigration checkpoint. Crossing the border was a breeze with minimal fanfare - just show your passport, look into the camera without your glasses and helmet, and you are off Scot-free. No inspection of vehicles or no digital traveller card was requested.

We were already about 30km into the journey by then. The rest of the journey was more mental than anything else. The Sun was already slowly rearing its ugly head, and the roads were quite bare, with no shady scenic trees lining the roads. Cyclist had to keep a careful eye on their fluid balance and their caloric intake. The first proper water station only appeared at the 55 km mark at Ban Thung Nui. The coconut water that the 'Thailand Tourism Authority' sponsored lived up to its divine status conferred in many tropical countries. It was truly God sent. Hey, even the Tourism Board of Thailand was excited to see us and have us as their guests. Not our own netizens, how sad.

One aspect that warrants special mention is the state of Thailand's roads. The quality of Thai roads is definitely better planned and constructed from better materials, or at least a proper proportion, leaving nothing to be desired in terms of cutting corners. The WhatsApp University taught me that to make good roads, contractors have to ensure the base of the roads is completely flattened by a street roller, leaving no holes or stones, as these would be niduses for future cracks on the road and later potholes. Another thing is that the makers must use an adequate amount of tar that glues all the components of the road in place. Sadly, Malaysia, which once boasted of having the best roads in the world, can now just cry, living in the memory of the legacy that the British had left, as they have royally screwed it up in the name of race politics. Another notable feature is the presence of a seamless cycling lane (referred to as the third lane) on mostly dual-carriage roads throughout the entire ride. The third lane is not built for the sake of building, but quality is assured. There were no sudden undulations or visible potholes seen throughout.  

Pit Stop

In some stretches, there was hardly any activity on the road. At the back of their minds, cyclists wondered if they had taken a wrong turning somewhere. Luckily, the occasional yellow-red arrow sign that the organisers put up popped up regularly to give some assurance that they were on course. 

The second water station was located at the 80 km mark, near Ban Na Luek. Again, it was a mind game. Pedalling like an automaton, under the heat of the scorching Sun along pencil-straight linear roads, was a matter of mind controlling the somatic functions.

Finally, after 5 hours and 53 minutes, the first cyclist reached the finishing point at Sakura Budget Hotel, Hat Yai, where the cyclists would spend the night to unwind and rejuvenate their weary limbs, gathering enough energy for their return trip the following day. We had cycled a total of approximately 130 km and 660m of elevation.

Day 2 - Hat Yai to Beseri via Padang Besar

Rise and Shine. The Thais, as gracious hosts, had tables full of breakfast options, from fried rice to bread and Thai cakes. The only thing stopping the cyclists from overindulging was the thought of cycling back to base, with memories of the previous day still fresh in everyone's minds. At about 8:30 a.m., even the Deputy Mayor of Hat Yai was excited to see us and bid us farewell. Wait, was he happy to see us leave? 

The return leg was gentler. The terrain was flatter, with an elevation of 423m, covering over 88 km. The cyclists were invited to grace their presence at two pit stops. At the 20km mark, the water station at Tha Pho of Sadao was the place to savour some Thai mangosteens and local traditional delicacies. All of this was enjoyed while taking in the lake view from Sanan Lan Thong Grand Resort under the auspices of the Thailand Tourism Board once again. After a short break, we were flagged off again, and following a photo session, we were escorted by police to the main road, continuing our journey to a small town called Prik.

At Prik, Southern Thailand

The Chairman of the Prik town council was very excited to see us. The small town has an 80% Muslim population and lives peacefully alongside others, within the framework of the Thai constitution. The Chairman wanted us to act as ambassadors for better relations between the two countries, as I gathered from his Thai-Malay-accented speech, and was proud to show us the grand town administrative office, affectionately called 'The White House' because of its regal appearance and resemblance to the real one. After another photo shoot with the Chairman and his jing bang, we were ready to leave. 

The weather had been mild throughout the day, almost until we approached the check post at Padang Besar. As if Thailand were sad to see us go, the Thai skies wept buckets of rain. Again, immigration was a breeze. The final stretch within Perlis, sadly, was not. Like a bridge too far, the finish line was nowhere to be seen. Everyone constantly compares any small country to the size of Perlis. Even that minuscule piece of land is not so small, we soon realised. Almost 20 kilometres after crossing the border, we arrived at Tok Mek Restaurant, where everything had begun a day earlier. That marked the end of a fruitful expedition to the Land of Smiles, where cyclists were warmly welcomed. 

White House in Thailand?

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It was a lovely day!

At 'starting point'

Have you heard the latest news around town? The National Heart Institute (Institut Jantung Negara, IJN) is offering free stress tests. Unlike other medical procedures, this one is not conducted in a hospital; it is carried out on the streets. Yes, IJN organised its annual premier cycling event, IJN Ride. All you need to do is sign up, choose your category, and ride. If you have anything suggestive of a heart condition, IJN will take it from there.

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. 

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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What Do People want?

 

From Berita MMA, September 2024.

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From Srinagar to Ladakh: A Cyclist’s Diary

https://borderlessjournal.com/2024/08/14/from-srinagar-to-ladakh-a-cyclists-diary/

They say to go forth and explore, to go to the planet’s edge to increase the depth of your knowledge. Learning about a country is best done doing the things the local populace does, travelling with them, amongst them, not in a touristy way, in a manicured fashion in a tourist’s van but on leg-powered machines called bicycles. Itching to go somewhere after our memorable escapade in South Korea, cycling from Seoul to Busan, as the borders opened up after the pandemic, somebody threw in the idea of cycling from Kashmir to Ladakh. Long story short, there we were, living our dream. The plan was to cycle the 473km journey, climbing 7378m ascent in 8 days, between 6th July 2024 and 12th July 2024.

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Naysayers abound!

It looks like we are still immersed in the euphoria of our recent close to 500km ride from Srinagar to Leh, Ladakh. Friends and well-wishers continue wishing their felicitations and, in not so many words, tell us to thank our lucky stars (or the Almighty) that we were still able to complete the crunching climb of 7,000 metres at this age.

One of the fellow cyclists in the group did not take kindly to that phrase. He had put in so much effort throughout his life to keep fit. After leaving school and leading a more sedentary life, he decided to go back to his active ways after seeing his father suffering from various complications of diabetes.

From someone who jogged around the housing estate, he graduated to running long distances, hiking, and cycling. By a twist of fate, he found other fellow ‘madmen’ who shared his eccentricity amongst his neighbours.

Hence, he started the weekend sorcery of commitments to hiking, running, and cycling. The avalanche in the weekend noradrenaline rush was enough to keep the mind and body going over the week. All that came with a price, of course. He lost party-going friends, and he rarely got invited to functions. If the Cures were in love with Fridays, my friend was with the weekends.

Saturday nights were not the time to indulge and party all night long. Family birthday functions soon became a chore as he kept looking at his watch when it was past 10 pm. He had to limit himself to that one drink, quickly becoming a wet blanket and a bore to others as he wanted to catch that well-needed nap before the early headstart the next morning.

Along the way, well-meaning, unwelcome advice from friends and relatives alike also came. They often quoted a seemingly healthy youngish so-and-so dropping dead like a fly after a trivial activity. And they would sow the seed of fear and uncertainty. Life is already unpredictable enough. Do we need these doomsday prophets to spread more confusion about what lies ahead of us?

He believed that deep inside, these people have an innate desire to dominate and suppress. Unable to see others doing things which push the boundaries of possibilities, they discourage others. Seeing someone slimming down will pop their antennas to suggest diagnoses such as diabetes or occult cancer. They jump to offer a shoulder to cry on the moment you get diagnosed with a chronic illness. On the sly, they are happy you are sick. They have one negative point to run the other down over. It looked like they loved to see others sick. They must have been vultures in their past lives, patiently waiting for the dead to breathe their last breath before they devour.

So when these people congratulate you for work well done, they were the same people who gave you anxiety, questioning your whole trajectory of life as well as throwing a spanner into your well-thought path to self-improvement. Remember not to sneer at them, as no one knows what lies ahead. They may actually have the last laugh and say, "I told you so!"

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