Cycling In Company

First Published in Options, The Edge Malaysia, Oct 10, 2016

An insider’s account of an annual Malaysian cycle-fest. 

It wasn’t just raining, rain was slashing in horizontally into the ferry in furious gusts. Outside, was the tossing brown sea, and beyond that, a homogenous grey.  On deck, I clomped around in cleated cycling shoes, with hundreds of other similarly drenched cyclists and several million dollars’ worth of bicycles.  We were on the last leg of our almost 500-km cycle ride, but we weren’t going anywhere: the ferry was docked at port to wait out the storm’s fury.

The journey began two days earlier at Kuala Selangor, where residents awoke to the sight of some 550 cyclists heading up north on the coastal road. This was the 19^th episode of the Pedalholics Cycling Club’s (PCC) Interstate, an annual cycle-fest that sells out within days, if not hours, of opening for registration, attracting cyclists from all over Malaysia as well as neighbouring countries. Decked in bright jerseys, helmets, cycling shorts and cleated shoes locked into pedals of high-tech carbon-fibre, aluminum or titanium-frame bicycles with skinny tyres, we must have looked like a cycling circus.

The sky looked ominous, and within minutes, it started raining on our maiden leg. Clumped together in smaller groups called pelotons, we cycled north under a lowering sky.

Cycling has been called the ‘new golf’, having boomed in popularity in Malaysia and Singapore in the past decade, with dozens of specialist cycling shops, showrooms and cycling clubs in major urban centers with a cycling population in the thousands.  Projecting a more youthful, dynamic and less elitist image than golf, sports cycling attracts a wide demographic, from women to older age groups, attracted to the idea of the glamorous lifestyle.

There's nothing glamorous about cycling in the rain. I was drenched to the bone, swearing away at having to cycle in soggy socks and shoes.  The country passed rapidly by, of small coastal towns, but I didn’t have time to coo at the scenery.  I was focused on the road a few meters ahead, at the ruts and irregularities and the spinning tyre of the bicycle in front, sending a steady spray of rain water directly at me.

Pelotons, comprising many cyclists, work as an organic whole that responds and reacts with its own discipline. Hand signals warn of obstacles, and as one, the peloton responds fluidly, curving out, splitting briefly, speeding up or slowing down like a single organism. Riding in formation is far more aerodynamically efficient than riding alone, with the front riders taking the brunt of wind resistance, peeling away after slogging away for a while, allowing the next rider to take his turn at the front.  It’s an unsaid rule of cycling etiquette that you contribute your own little bit for the benefit of the whole.

The sky cleared, and bit by bit, the road dried out, until later in the day, we were cycling in the fierce heat of the Malaysian afternoon, with heat shimmering from the tarmac.  We navigated by road signs and ‘tulips’ printed out by the organizer. At major intersections, the Ride Marshall’s car would wave cyclists in the right direction. The cars were easily recognizable, being Swire Motors-sponsored Volkswagens with printed logos and carrying Thule bike roof racks.

There were some 60 support vehicles supporting the cycling groups. We had ours, and at pre-arranged stop points, we would veer off the road and fall on our support vehicle with the ferocity of honey bees finding a pot of honey.  Support cars are driven by friends and family, so besides sustenance, they provide moral support and in extreme cases, an escape route for a cyclist too bonked to carry on, or one seized by the cramps.  Our main support vehicle, driven by the wife of one of the cyclists, was a magic cavern, with sandwiches, bananas and cakes and an ice box filled with isotonic drinks, cut watermelon, water and home-brewed herbal teas.  Besides refueling, these stops were much needed breaks, and sometimes, as at lunch, the pleasure of eating in some remote R&R or small shop somewhere off the map. 

By afternoon, we were operating like a well-oiled machine, humming away, a whir of spinning legs, working our way up north.  Where the conditions and traffic allowed it, we rode two abreast, otherwise, single file.  The terrain was mercifully flat, except for the hump of the occasional bridge over a sluggish, brown river fringed with verdant mangrove trees.

We swung inland into parts of the country I would never have ventured into otherwise.  As we approached Ipoh, the volume of traffic increased. Most cars politely let us have right of way. We cycled into Ipoh with relief, stopping briefly to take congratulatory selfies at the Railway station, before wheeling into the wonderful comfort of the Weil hotel, 196km behind us for the day.

To stand under a hot shower, shed of grimy cycling gear at the end of a long day, is like a kind of rebirth. 

The next morning dawned bright and clear, and we started on the second leg of our journey, a long 191 km to Bukit Mertajam, taking a long looping route with rolling terrain. It was much hotter than Day 1, and also scenically more dynamic. How much we miss when we sit in the cocoon of a car, the country whooshing by behind tinted windows.  I could feel every bump and rut, breathe in the cool, fresh air under the trees, or the choking dust near a cement factory, feel the pull of a passing lorry, the heat on my back, the wind in my face, and the fatigue of tired muscles.

For lunch, we pulled into the big food court of the Taiping market, where I sloshed down two bowls of noodles and several glasses of cold fluid. After slapping on more sunscreen, we ventured out onto the open road again, and more rolling terrain. The heat was relentless, and at the next stop, I stuffed ice cubes down my jersey.  Some support cars sprayed passing cyclists with a mist of icy water from hand-held sprays – welcome relief indeed in the mid-afternoon heat.

Our pace picked up, but there was a ragged rhythm as fatigue set in, a loosening of the peloton as rear riders began to fall off the pace.  There were solo cyclists, other pelotons, cyclists dropped from fast-moving pelotons, cyclists by the side taking a break by their support cars.

With the nether regions of my body beyond numb, we reached Bukit Mertajam, an hour later than the day before, riding into the beckoning welcome of the Light Hotel.  All the hotels, having prepared beforehand, had a large basement area for the bicycles, and requisite security. 

The next morning, I woke to the patter of rain on the window, and the glum view of Bukit Mertajam being lashed by rain.  By early morning, it had cleared to a dull drizzle, and we cycled in a group to the Ferry terminal, just some 5km away, only for the skies to open up again as we reached our destination.

In Penang, the rain brought down trees, caused rivers to burst their banks, flooded roads and damaged property.  By the time our ferry reached Penang, an hour behind time, the rain was a drizzle, but the roads were soaked and passing cars threw up sprays of water to drench us even further. It was cold, and the sky was dull.

The Knights of the Round Table (KOTRT) Cycling Club of Penang lived up to their name. They were warm and gallant hosts, staying with our group as we fell behind to patch a couple of punctures. They squired us along our route, positioning members at junctions, and most importantly, gave us crucial local advice – on where to eat.

The weather stayed dry, and our ride around Penang was spectacular, to Batu Muang, past Teluk Kumbar and up a sweeping elevated road, for a panoramic view of the western coastline.  The descent was sweet, taking us to the time-warp village of Balik Pulau for asam laksa and char-koay teow before continuing, climbing a zig-zag road past verdant forest and waterfalls, and cool air, to be followed by an adrenaline-pumping descent of sweeping turns and little traffic, leading to Teluk Bahang dam, where we stopped for pictures.

Almost there: A switchback to the coast and the Batu Ferringhi coastal road, with empty stretches where we could break into exuberant bursts of speed, finally to Gurney Drive and journey’s end at the swanky G-hotel.

An endurance cycling event engenders camaraderie and team spirit, but it also awakens the fierce spark of independence in the individual, a sense of accomplishment and the simple, unalloyed joy of living life to the hilt.  What better way was there of saluting the country than seeing it on bicycle, its backroads and gleefully cheering children, sluggish rivers and verdant padi fields, sun-dappled roads and quiet kampungs, slumbering in the morning sun? After all, our journey started on September 16, Malaysia Day.