Some time after the hills, I'd finished off the three slices of pizza I'd brought along. It helped restore some energy but I still needed a proper breakfast stop at Sungai Pelek, a little distance after Sepang, and after the third state boundary had been crossed. Unlike the previous two, the entry to Selangor was without adornment nor fuss. I would later conclude it was a portent of things to come.
The little coffeeshop I stopped at was an Indian shop and I enjoyed my Teh-O and a Roti Telur Bawang. The old man doing the cooking was an earnest, energetic chap who flipped the rotis on the hot plate by hand and was constantly on the move. His keyed up demeanour and the fast-tempo Hindi music blaring from the little stereo on a shelf lent a frenetic air to proceedings completely in contrast to the laid back small-town look of Sg Pelek.
Still, I was feeling quite relaxed, no doubt due in part to being suitably replete with my carbo-laden meal.
The guys in the shop asked where I was headed and seemed impressed when I told them of my plans. As with all my encounters in smaller towns, they wished me well and gave me an encouraging smile as I left.
Just out of Sg Pelek, I took a wrong turn and ended up in a brand new housing estate. The roads were smooth and flat, the houses mostly with manicured gardens. It all looked very middle class and I found it a little incongruous. I wonder who lives here.
I reached Tanjung Sepat just about 11 and decided to stop here until it was cool enough to ride on. The coffeeshop I was in was yet another Indian shop and I was treated to more Hindi music which I did enjoy. The shop sat just off the main trunk road and at a junction with a minor road which went in to the Chinese town that is Tg Sepat. I suddenly became aware of the sheer numbers of little motorbikes and scooters whizzing in, out and along the main road. I thought I'd discovered the small-bike capital of the world and here is a set of pictures I took, all within one minute, while seated looking at traffic going by. It fails to show the sheer variety as well - I saw mothers with kids on the way to school, men delivering large canisters of cooking gas (3 or 4 at a time!), even a bike towing a cart!
At one point an African looking chap, quite well-dressed and carrying a large shoulder bag, crossed the road and strode up to the shop. He sat at a table a little behind me so I didn't pay him much attention until I heard him talking loudly. I turned around and found he'd laid out the contents of his bag on the table - fake Timberland belts, fake G-Shock watches, fake perfumes, the works. He was loudly bargaining with one of the shop staff and I wandered over to have a look. I had no wish to add anymore weight to my panniers so didn't buy anything. He eventually packed up and left after about an hour or so, after having done some business. With his bag once more on a strap around his shoulder, he strode off down the main road.
I continued on my way at about 3 as the sky was not too clear and the weather not too hot. The way in to Morib was flat, long and straight for much of the way. While the hills of Negri Sembilan were tough physically, these plains were harder mentally - it's no fun being able to see for 3 or 4 kilometres ahead of you at a time, at a horizon that seems never to get any closer. On some occasions I found it easier to just look down a few feet ahead and let my mind wander onto other thoughts.
I finally got in to Morib and to my horror discovered a number of closed-down resorts and chalets. So I carried on, all the way to the beach and turned onto the road to Banting, thinking there might be something there. In what suddenly seemed to echo my PD adventure, I realised I was heading out of town and turned around to go past the beach area again. I eventually asked someone at a Government house and he told me to go back up the road for about one and a half km which I did, only to find the bungalow units they rented out all booked out. Eventually I turned back and headed back to the beach yet again and decided to check in at the more expensive looking place I'd seen earlier but had wanted to avoid - the Impian Morib.
The place was new, and horrors! was full of teachers from Melaka on a course seemingly run by relatives of the booming-voiced instructor I'd seen in PD! Still, the room was clean and neat and had everything I could ask for. Except, as it turned out later, a good internet connection.
Dinner was room service and I could hardly eat it. Someone explain how it is possible to eat dry French Fries without any Ketchup or Chilli sauce... grrrr...
Morib was to throw up more depressing things later...
The little coffeeshop I stopped at was an Indian shop and I enjoyed my Teh-O and a Roti Telur Bawang. The old man doing the cooking was an earnest, energetic chap who flipped the rotis on the hot plate by hand and was constantly on the move. His keyed up demeanour and the fast-tempo Hindi music blaring from the little stereo on a shelf lent a frenetic air to proceedings completely in contrast to the laid back small-town look of Sg Pelek.
Still, I was feeling quite relaxed, no doubt due in part to being suitably replete with my carbo-laden meal.
The guys in the shop asked where I was headed and seemed impressed when I told them of my plans. As with all my encounters in smaller towns, they wished me well and gave me an encouraging smile as I left.
Just out of Sg Pelek, I took a wrong turn and ended up in a brand new housing estate. The roads were smooth and flat, the houses mostly with manicured gardens. It all looked very middle class and I found it a little incongruous. I wonder who lives here.
I reached Tanjung Sepat just about 11 and decided to stop here until it was cool enough to ride on. The coffeeshop I was in was yet another Indian shop and I was treated to more Hindi music which I did enjoy. The shop sat just off the main trunk road and at a junction with a minor road which went in to the Chinese town that is Tg Sepat. I suddenly became aware of the sheer numbers of little motorbikes and scooters whizzing in, out and along the main road. I thought I'd discovered the small-bike capital of the world and here is a set of pictures I took, all within one minute, while seated looking at traffic going by. It fails to show the sheer variety as well - I saw mothers with kids on the way to school, men delivering large canisters of cooking gas (3 or 4 at a time!), even a bike towing a cart!
At one point an African looking chap, quite well-dressed and carrying a large shoulder bag, crossed the road and strode up to the shop. He sat at a table a little behind me so I didn't pay him much attention until I heard him talking loudly. I turned around and found he'd laid out the contents of his bag on the table - fake Timberland belts, fake G-Shock watches, fake perfumes, the works. He was loudly bargaining with one of the shop staff and I wandered over to have a look. I had no wish to add anymore weight to my panniers so didn't buy anything. He eventually packed up and left after about an hour or so, after having done some business. With his bag once more on a strap around his shoulder, he strode off down the main road.
I continued on my way at about 3 as the sky was not too clear and the weather not too hot. The way in to Morib was flat, long and straight for much of the way. While the hills of Negri Sembilan were tough physically, these plains were harder mentally - it's no fun being able to see for 3 or 4 kilometres ahead of you at a time, at a horizon that seems never to get any closer. On some occasions I found it easier to just look down a few feet ahead and let my mind wander onto other thoughts.
I finally got in to Morib and to my horror discovered a number of closed-down resorts and chalets. So I carried on, all the way to the beach and turned onto the road to Banting, thinking there might be something there. In what suddenly seemed to echo my PD adventure, I realised I was heading out of town and turned around to go past the beach area again. I eventually asked someone at a Government house and he told me to go back up the road for about one and a half km which I did, only to find the bungalow units they rented out all booked out. Eventually I turned back and headed back to the beach yet again and decided to check in at the more expensive looking place I'd seen earlier but had wanted to avoid - the Impian Morib.
The place was new, and horrors! was full of teachers from Melaka on a course seemingly run by relatives of the booming-voiced instructor I'd seen in PD! Still, the room was clean and neat and had everything I could ask for. Except, as it turned out later, a good internet connection.
Dinner was room service and I could hardly eat it. Someone explain how it is possible to eat dry French Fries without any Ketchup or Chilli sauce... grrrr...
Morib was to throw up more depressing things later...
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