Eventually I reached the turnoff to where the flags on the lamp posts had been advertising the Festival of Pulau Indah was and cycled a little further in. New houses were on my left - some occupied and some not - and at the end of the a long road in, I spied a large fairground.
Nothing moved, nothing stirred. The Ferris wheel was motionless, the Top Gun a stationary monument to machismo and derring-do. I went around the ground and noticed a few people walking about. At this time, I still had not had any lunch and was getting a trifle hungry. A group of security guards sat near the entrance, idly chatting. They confirmed my worst fears - that there really were no chalets in the immediate vicinity but there was a hotel near the Star Cruises terminal some kilometres back.
I walked around a little anyway - construction was going on everywhere. I climbed up some steps and came up on an embankment. Across the water, I could see Pulau Carey and the stacks of the Golden Hope Palm Oil Mill. To get here from there, I had travelled in a large loop of about 40 km. And there really wasn't much here at all...
Further up the road I came upon a fancy food centre with a banner that proclaimed a coffee shop to be open. It wasn't. Nothing was, except the washrooms. It was all new, but I noticed one of the panels of the palm frond shaped roof of a pavilion was already hanging loose.
With no real choice, I cycled out, just as it began to drizzle. Going out the way I'd come, back amongst the lorries and trucks, I spied a mobile hawker's van in a layby and I stopped. I was feeling quite tired and my earlier enthusiasm from the two very pleasant meetings on Pulau Carey were now a distant memory.
I ordered an Air Tebu from the stallowner and sat down in the shelter he'd erected under the trees. He'd laid out some tables here, and there was another table with some curry puffs and assorted pastries displayed in plastic containers. As I sat there, a couple of trucks pulled over and the drivers hopped out to buy some drinks. It was then I noticed the hawker's van had food as well and so I had a plate of rice with a mutton curry and some veges. Tasted very good indeed, though not for any particular culinary expertise on the part of the cook...
The stall was tun by two blokes and as has been the case, we started chatting. It's amazing how easy we slip into warm, friendly conversations when in out of town areas. And it always seems so natural too. Just then another truck driver sat down to have his lunch and as we chatted he joined in too. When I described the hills around Batu Pahat and PD, the truck driver laughed - he knew those hills well and thought they were pretty steep too. So now I don't feel quite so embarrassed!
The driver had come out from Muar in the morning, delivered his cargo, filled up with other stuff and was now on his way back to Muar. Each trip would take him up to 4 hours so it would be a long day indeed by the time he got home.
I've always had the greatest respect for lorry drivers, especially those who have to manhandle the old trucks sans air-conditioning. They've always given me enough space on my ride (except around here as there just isn't enough width) and have, on more than one occasion tooted or waved encouragement at me.These guys work hard and are the blood supply of the agricultural and industrial activity of the country. They're also almost never acknowledged - unless some tragedy occurs.
I got into Klang, wet, dirty, grimy, sweaty and smelly. It had been a much harder ride than I'd anticipated, mentally and physically. The bike and I were splattered with sand, oil and tar.
But it wasn't over yet. Klang has a number of bridges over the river that runs through the town and I think I went over each one twice trying to find my way to a hotel. I'd marked out the Goldcourse Hotel and I could even see it, but somehow couldn't get on to the right road towards it. I eventually found myself at the train station and asked a couple of taxi drivers for directions. They just had to say that I needed to go back up that bridge....
Anyway, I finally found my way there, only to find the hotel fully booked. I looked across the street and spied another hotel named simply Hotel B. How appropriate - the second choice proved to be the right one and even though I couldn't get the bike upstairs, they let me chain it up in a back room downstairs.
The Hotel B was a strange mix of good hotel appointments and low-rent hotel quality. There was a shaver and hair dryer socket in the bathroom for example, but the carpet was stained and didn't look particularly clean, even if it felt OK underfoot. Still, the bed was comfortable and my initial fears of being kept awake by the sound of birds - a swallow nesting area was right next door and outside my window - proved to be unfounded. I was later to learn that much of the bird noise is actually recorded and played back over loudspeakers to attract the birds... They switch them off at night obviously.
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Nothing moved, nothing stirred. The Ferris wheel was motionless, the Top Gun a stationary monument to machismo and derring-do. I went around the ground and noticed a few people walking about. At this time, I still had not had any lunch and was getting a trifle hungry. A group of security guards sat near the entrance, idly chatting. They confirmed my worst fears - that there really were no chalets in the immediate vicinity but there was a hotel near the Star Cruises terminal some kilometres back.
I walked around a little anyway - construction was going on everywhere. I climbed up some steps and came up on an embankment. Across the water, I could see Pulau Carey and the stacks of the Golden Hope Palm Oil Mill. To get here from there, I had travelled in a large loop of about 40 km. And there really wasn't much here at all...
Further up the road I came upon a fancy food centre with a banner that proclaimed a coffee shop to be open. It wasn't. Nothing was, except the washrooms. It was all new, but I noticed one of the panels of the palm frond shaped roof of a pavilion was already hanging loose.
With no real choice, I cycled out, just as it began to drizzle. Going out the way I'd come, back amongst the lorries and trucks, I spied a mobile hawker's van in a layby and I stopped. I was feeling quite tired and my earlier enthusiasm from the two very pleasant meetings on Pulau Carey were now a distant memory.
I ordered an Air Tebu from the stallowner and sat down in the shelter he'd erected under the trees. He'd laid out some tables here, and there was another table with some curry puffs and assorted pastries displayed in plastic containers. As I sat there, a couple of trucks pulled over and the drivers hopped out to buy some drinks. It was then I noticed the hawker's van had food as well and so I had a plate of rice with a mutton curry and some veges. Tasted very good indeed, though not for any particular culinary expertise on the part of the cook...
The stall was tun by two blokes and as has been the case, we started chatting. It's amazing how easy we slip into warm, friendly conversations when in out of town areas. And it always seems so natural too. Just then another truck driver sat down to have his lunch and as we chatted he joined in too. When I described the hills around Batu Pahat and PD, the truck driver laughed - he knew those hills well and thought they were pretty steep too. So now I don't feel quite so embarrassed!
The driver had come out from Muar in the morning, delivered his cargo, filled up with other stuff and was now on his way back to Muar. Each trip would take him up to 4 hours so it would be a long day indeed by the time he got home.
I've always had the greatest respect for lorry drivers, especially those who have to manhandle the old trucks sans air-conditioning. They've always given me enough space on my ride (except around here as there just isn't enough width) and have, on more than one occasion tooted or waved encouragement at me.These guys work hard and are the blood supply of the agricultural and industrial activity of the country. They're also almost never acknowledged - unless some tragedy occurs.
I got into Klang, wet, dirty, grimy, sweaty and smelly. It had been a much harder ride than I'd anticipated, mentally and physically. The bike and I were splattered with sand, oil and tar.
But it wasn't over yet. Klang has a number of bridges over the river that runs through the town and I think I went over each one twice trying to find my way to a hotel. I'd marked out the Goldcourse Hotel and I could even see it, but somehow couldn't get on to the right road towards it. I eventually found myself at the train station and asked a couple of taxi drivers for directions. They just had to say that I needed to go back up that bridge....
Anyway, I finally found my way there, only to find the hotel fully booked. I looked across the street and spied another hotel named simply Hotel B. How appropriate - the second choice proved to be the right one and even though I couldn't get the bike upstairs, they let me chain it up in a back room downstairs.
The Hotel B was a strange mix of good hotel appointments and low-rent hotel quality. There was a shaver and hair dryer socket in the bathroom for example, but the carpet was stained and didn't look particularly clean, even if it felt OK underfoot. Still, the bed was comfortable and my initial fears of being kept awake by the sound of birds - a swallow nesting area was right next door and outside my window - proved to be unfounded. I was later to learn that much of the bird noise is actually recorded and played back over loudspeakers to attract the birds... They switch them off at night obviously.
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