Thursday, December 24, 2009
Melaka Trip Day Five
@12:01 AM
161209@12:01 AM
Kota Tinggi to Singapore
Distance: 64km, Time: 3:25 hrs
This was the final league of the journey. Memories of the disastrous attempt to pump the tires in Yong Peng remained fresh in my mind, and even though I knew that the tires were under-pressured, I refrained from tampering with them any further. The way it looked under load was truly alarming though.
The return home was, on paper, 40km, but it felt more like 20km before I saw the first signs of the immigration checkpoint.
Home sweet home! Singapore felt so small after Malaysia, and it felt so much more dangerous after experiencing the amiable friendliness of the Malaysian drivers, but it felt comfortable in the way only home can feel.
And so, it is with positivity that I concluded the journey. Unmistakably, it is one of the boldest attempts I have made, and certainly one of the most memorable trips of my life. It certainly served the purpose of preparing for Europe later next year, and it also overturned many negative impressions that were forced upon me by people attempting to dissuade my convictions. Malaysia is not as dangerous as many would imagine it to be, and conversations I have had with other cyclists have also reinforced that view.
For now, it is back to work, and back to the drawing board to plan the next great tour!
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Melaka Trip Day Four
@11:03 PM
151209@11:03 PM
Yong Peng to Kota Tinggi
Distance: 130km, Time: 7:00 hrs
This is the day of hellish days. It’s perhaps one of the worst days on bike that I have experienced.
I woke up from the hellish hotel, having spent a terrible and fitful night, aware of the difficult road ahead for me to Kota Tinggi, which I estimated on paper to be about 140km. Just when I was preparing to head off by pumping up my bicycle’s tire pressure, the distinctive hissing sound from the rear wheel informed me that the tire has punctured. That is number one.
I pumped it up, headed across the street to Shell petrol station to use the air pump machine. This was when I realised that the speedometer was not working as it ought to. The spinning of the wheels was not translated into recorded speed on the cyclocomputer, and I suspected that the emitter on the fork had run out of battery. Not 5km out of Yong Peng, I felt the rear wheel wobble, and the metal rim touched down on the asphalt road. I changed the tire, experiencing firsthand the heat of the intense morning sun due to the lack of shade, made worse by the heat radiating off the reddish clay soil by the road side. The passing trucks and cars from Yong Peng seemed to mock me in my helplessness. That is number two.
I reached Ayer Hitam without further incident, and proceeded to pump up the tire once again with the assistance of the equipment in omnipresent petrol stations. At a pharmacist (of all places) I found the correct battery model required to replace the one in the emitter, allowing the speedometer to work properly again. Later in Singapore, I learnt that this problem was not due to the battery, but due to the great distance between the emitter and the receiver, which caused problems for the speed transmissions. While I was leaving Ayer Hitam, I chanced upon a road sign that caused the beginnings of panic.
This picture doesn’t show it, but 1km back, the sign included “Kota Tinggi - 168km”. This sign was wrong, but I didn’t know it at that time; the signboard showed the distance as it was back when route 91 was not built, so it is the cumulative distance from Ayer Hitam to Kluang, to Mersing and to Kota Tinggi. However, I thought otherwise, that at the rate I was moving, I will take at least nine hours to cycle to Kota Tinggi. The panic really set in when, half an hour later, I punctured yet again.
This is number three. At this stage, I have only one spare tube left, meaning that I could afford only one more puncture. A detailed study of both the tire and the rim was concluded by the suspicion that the rim tape was at fault. Somehow, the tape covering all the rim holes was shifting about, exposing the holes, allowing them to puncture the inner tubes; the theory was later confirmed during lunch with a call back to a bike mechanic in Singapore. I still thought I had 8 hours of cycling left to reach Kota Tinggi, and fortunately, I rolled cautiously into the town of Kluang without any more punctures. The doubts were beginning to creep in: it was 1pm at Kluang, 8 hours left to cycle, and this mechanical problem threatening to derail the entire trip.
And manifested it did, 10km out of Kluang, at a comfortingly scenic location. This is the last and final puncture I can afford; any more punctures after this point meant that I will have to hitch a ride back to Singapore on the back of a vehicle, using whatever means I have. The one and only good news I had was that the distance to Kota Tinggi was not as long as I thought: it was only 80km away from Kluang, which roughly translated to 4 hours of cycling out of 7 daylight hours.
It was a gamble with the devil. Two choices were being debated in my head: firstly, to head back 10km to Kluang and hopefully find some way to repair the problem, with a view towards heading straight back to Singapore. Secondly, I could simply chance the danger, and go to Kota Tinggi just like this.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. I chose the latter, to continue despite all the problems. This meant that I had to find some creative way around the mechanical problem that had been plaguing me all day. At my disposal were a bunch of tape and tissues and only one spare tube.
First, I took everything off the rim, including the faulty rim tape itself. Here, you can see that I stuffed all the rim holes (used for installing the spokes) with tissue paper. In the chance that the tape moved again, the tissue paper will prevent the puncture by ensuring the tube does not poke into the empty space underneath.
Secondly, I put 3 layers of black tape on top of the rim. This acts as protection and a second layer of defence if the rim tape fails.
Lastly, I put the rim tape back on. The inner tube goes on top, covered by the tire itself.
It is hard to emulate the psychological stress I was under at this point in time. I had been put through everything possible short of an actual breakage somewhere, and the only thing left was for rain to fall, or the last tube to burst. Coupled with the accumulated physical stress over the past three days, I had impressed into the mind a mental image of me threading a knife’s edge between safety and disaster.
Some days back, this stretch of plantations had been burned to make way for new seeds. The smoke still lingered in the air, creating a smoky and irritable haze on the entire stretch of road overlooking the devastation.
40km from Kota Tinggi, it rained. In my haste to escape yet another impending disaster, luckily, I found this row of shops near a block of housing estates, where I found my first bike shop in Malaysia! It didn’t matter that they did not have the essential items to help me; they were the first sign of comfort the entire day. I had them slap on yet another rim tape just in case, but unfortunately, they under-inflated the tire.
The last 40 hilly kilometers to Kota Tinggi was a haphazard mix of dreaded anticipation (of another puncture), pain, fatigue and, strangely enough, amusement and contentment. Despite the terror, I guess I actually look forward to walking this knife’s edge, and you can say that I actively put myself into situations where there may be such an edge to walk along. The adrenaline pumping through the veins makes you feel alive as never before, and the fear gives life true direction, a powerful desire to fight on for survival. It is on the knife’s edge that life becomes simple, where the shades of grey are dispelled and all before you is cast into clear distinctions of life and death.
The Kota Tinggi hotel is awesome, the best of the lot at merely 27RM. Highly recommended.
Melaka Trip Day Three
@9:28 PM
141209@9:28 PM
Melaka to Yong Peng
Distance: 110km, Time: 6:20 hrs
This day started with poor planning on my part. I planned to go from Melaka to Muar; tomorrow would be from Muar to Ayer Hitam; thereafter it would be from Ayer Hitam to Kota Tinggi, and finally from Kota Tinggi to Singapore. I am still not sure how I came to the conclusion that I will end on Wednesday afternoon, it must have been the combination of fatigue and the late-night planning that caused the miscalculation. Regardless, this error was only found when I was cycling to Muar, so I had to make a rapid decision to head to Yong Peng instead, transforming an easy day’s ride to a tough, tough ride.
Before I left Melaka, I took full opportunity to explore the history and sights of the town, visiting their History and Ethnography Museum at the Stadthuys, formerly the official residence of the Dutch Governor. I remain quite a history enthusiast, a remnant from my old Catholic High days, and it was this history lover in me that became completely absorbed into what the museum has had to offer.
This looks suspiciously like a Gunblade from FFVIII.
The bombed out St. Paul’s Church on the top of the hill, featuring a bunch of tombstones and a peaceful touristy atmosphere.
The only cam-whore shot in my entire trip.
These guys still use classical typewriters, hawking their typing prowess to locals and tourists alike along the busy river side, directly across Christ Church.
With that relatively brief exploratory period, I left Melaka at about 1pm. As you may have read above, nearing Muar, I decided to push for Yong Peng instead in order to cover as much ground as I could, making a Wednesday return to Singapore possible even with a Kota Tinggi detour. One of my main motivations was not to backtrack and see old sights, visiting towns which I had already bypassed, hence the desire to push inland. Since I was pushing inland, why not try for Kota Tinggi? I was actually aiming for Ayer Hitam, but practicality informed me that I would probably never make it. Yong Peng it shall be then, even if there is nothing in the Lonely Planet guide about the town.
Once in Johor, I felt much more comfortable on the road even if the shoulders aren’t quite as wide as the Melakan highways. I just felt better surrounded by Johor’s village clutter and bustle, rather than in Melaka’s empty and distant spaces.
This is an example of Chinese hillside graves. Melaka apparently has a whole lot more of these on Bukit China, but I spotted this entire hill worth of graves near Muar too. If memory serves me, there is also another haul near Kluang, which I wasn’t in the mood to take a photo of. The Chinese built these graves into the hill as a shield against evil spirits approaching from behind, but they really use a lot of space to do this. Hill graves are not done anymore these days.
A random temple off the road, there is only a dirt track leading to it.
Agricultural peculiarities can be spotted if you know what to look out for. God knows how they managed to produce abnormally dwarfish coconut trees and oil palms, but it really does make picking fruits a hell lot easier for the locals. This is especially so for an entire plantation worth of the oil palms. I suspect what they did is to grow the plant midway, before cutting it down and rooting it again in another spot. The energy that would have been committed to growing vertically is instead spent extending another network of roots, thus producing the stunted heights seen here. Strangely enough, this practice is not commonly seen throughout Malaysia, and is relatively rare in commercial oil palm plantations.
Due to the time I left Melaka, I only reached Yong Peng at quarter to 8pm; the sky was dark, and the relief in seeing the town lights was palpable. However, the dusty little town has little in the way of comfortable, or even reputable, hotels, featuring a grand total of two seedy looking hotels situated in a small corner. Without much choice, I picked one after sounding out recommendations from the townsfolk, and paid 27RM for a room with an unworkable air conditioning and a sluggish fan. The cleanliness was suspect and the room smelt strange and musty.
I slept restlessly due to the heat of the room and the poor ventilation. A warning to all aspiring backpackers: never, never, never even think of staying in Yong Peng; hotels in Ayer Hitam not 20km away are much better.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Melaka Trip Day Two
@1:42 AM
131209@1:42 AM
Batu Pahat to Melaka
Distance: 106km, Time: 6:30 hrs
The Fairyland Hotel I stayed in at Batu Pahat is probably the second best in the whole trip, and the most expensive at 30RM. Its location is also rather brilliant as it is located smack in the town center.
Along the way to Melaka, the Johor road proves to be a treasure trove of sights and sounds, with a dollop of culture served in hints here and there.
The picture above is a standard road-side stall that you see quite often in Johor, usually run by the family. It is not uncommon to see a small restaurant, with a house behind; the breadwinners go out to work, and the family members left behind does the restaurant business, catering to travelers and locals alike.
This is the Johor-Melaka bridge. When transiting from Johor to Melaka, you can tell the difference in how the states are governed by the nature of the highway. From Pontian Kechil till Melaka, all I have to do is to follow the federal highway 5 and not be misled off this beaten trail. In Johor, all the towns are built along and centered on the highway, and businesses actually base their livelihood on the traffic through these towns. In Melaka, however, the towns are like a separate entity all of its own. The highways act merely as a means to ease transportation to and fro, kind of like a fruit and plant relationship. It is more common to have to turn off the main road, go on for a couple of kilometers before you enter the town proper, so I felt that Melaka is somewhat impersonal, much more so than Johor’s roads are.
Compare and contrast: the clutter and close contact of Johor, versus the wide, empty and impersonal roads of Melaka. I’ll take the former any day. What this difference means for the cyclist is that the 50+ km of Muar-Melaka stretch is long, hot, boring and somewhat agonising. There is no tree shelter the entire time unlike in Johor, so the sun burns relentlessly unless the weather turns cloudy.
My hand is swollen from sunburn after two days of cycling in intense heat.
When I reached Melaka, I blindly followed Rough Guides in the choice of accommodation. The Discovery Café is friendly, but costs are doubled compared to Travellers’ Lodge and most other hostels around. The good part of it is that they have very nice owners who gave me free drinks and paos, later passing me a fantastically juicy pamelo, a godsent after such a long time in the sun. They are also located very close to the major attractions, so I guess I ought not to complain so much for paying 17RM. However, their accommodation is still somewhat seedy…
The bunk itself is down the alleyway, upstairs from the back of a grocery store. I locked my bike inside.
Sights and sounds of Melaka at night.
The Café is the only time where I actually met backpackers like myself, and other interesting figures besides. When I first reached, I met this American who is married to a Melakan Chinese, and he complained to me about how so few people speaks English in Melaka. His mother-in-law speaks Chinese which he had to pretend to understand, and when his wife is home, the television will remain in the Chinese channel which he watched dumbly. In the entire family (including relatives) only his wife and child speaks English. Kind of sad, because he gets to return to the United States only once in a long while, and that must be especially liberating.
A British guy also talked about how nice it was in Malaysia where you get to smoke anywhere you want, whereas back in the UK, smoking is banned indoors and you have to stand 25m away from building (in theory) AND have ashtrays with you before you smoke. He complained about how he was forced out of a purchase of a house here when Melaka was declared a “World Heritage City”, because the government decided to only allow locals to own properties in the inner city. He has a Melakan Chinese girlfriend whom he can communicate with face to face, but absolutely cannot do so on the phone.
It is also of utmost importance to the touring cyclist to note that 1.5L water bottles at the Café costs only 1.50RM, compared to 2.00RM even in the Jonker’s Walk night market.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Melaka Trip Day One
@8:21 PM
121209@8:21 PM
Singapore to Batu Pahat
Distance: 161km, Time: 8:45 hrs
I slept late and woke late; by the time I left the house it was past nine, so I had only myself to blame for having to endure half an hour of inhaling motorcycle exhaust at the Woodlands checkpoint. Actually, I doubt things would be any better if I had gone at, say, eight, because if anything, early morning is the peak period for Malaysian immigration.
Johor Bahru proved to be quite a tough network of roads to navigate, even with the previous experience of cycling in the town. Fortunately I only took two wrong turns, and things could really be much worse than that. Just as I was complaining to myself about how the signboards say everything that I was not heading to, I finally saw a road sign to Pontian on Federal Road 1. Everything else was rather easily negotiable; so long as you get out of JB, all roads are pretty much straight forward, and I never got lost for the rest of the trip.
One thing that is very nice about Malaysian roads is that they have got wide, wide shoulders that are as good as a free bicycling lane. Sure, there are various sections where the roads narrow down to two lanes, but even then it is certainly less cramped than Singapore roads are. At various parts of the road to Pontian, there are designated “Lorong Motorsikal”, basically a Motorcycle Lane which indirectly helps the cyclists too. In contrast, Singapore has the infamous Bus Lane where buses and cyclists fight it out in a one-sided war of dominance.
In Pontian Kechil, I had the cheapest meal of my life: Nasi Lemak with egg and free flow of water for 2RM. It is shockingly cheap, but eventually I found that this price is quite common in the more remote parts of Malaysia.
There are also these road kilometer markers that really helped me on the dreadfully tough first day, mostly as a form of encouragement that is telling me that I am actually going somewhere. Along the way, my favourite people are the motorcyclists, children, stall owners and teenagers (surprisingly few of them around). They are my primary “supporters” and are ever armed with a smile of encouragement. The teenagers are not the hooligans one would make them out to be in Singapore: they are the friendliest and fun-loving lot of them all. I cycled past a bunch of them fishing at the roadside ditch, and one spotted me, greeting “Welcome to Malaysia!”
The road to Batu Pahat became something of a race, against the time and the weather. It first drizzled near Pontian while I slipped into a housefly infested coffee shop for shelter, and later on, I kept feeling as though I am racing the rain clouds approaching from behind. Along the way, I kept taking note of these shelters.
There are plenty of these small shelters along the roads, and my guess is that it is actually motorcyclist friendly infrastructure, providing them a place to take cover if it did rain. Indirectly, it assisted the cyclist, and I kept a mental note of where the closest potential shelter was should raindrops fall. Eventually the clouds cleared somewhat, and by then, I was racing time in getting to Batu Pahat before darkness fell swiftly at 7pm. The danger here was that the roads were largely unlit, so cycling in the dark will be like cycling blind except for the occasional car headlights flashing by. Not a very pleasant experience. The “rain structures” eventually became noted by me for the potential to sleep in for the night should I fail to reach Batu Pahat in time.
Thankfully, I reached my destination without further incident. My wrists were hurting badly from the strain of almost nine hours of continuous cycling, but the legs felt surprisingly strong.
In the hotel (I paid 30RM for the doubles room with fan), I kept taking their boiled water due to this overheated feeling from both the dinner and overexertion. Water vanished down the throat at an incredible rate, and I slept, thankful that it was only 100km to Melaka the next day.
