The ride home

After Isma, the stringer from NST left, I had a light dinner at the gerai. A few off-duty security guards came over to have their dinner and we talked a little. When they got up to leave, they all rose to shake my hand and their supervisor even paid for my dinner. What a nice gesture - and not the first time I'd enjoyed such warm generosity too.

I was at the ticket counter half an hour before the scheduled departure time and the bus arrived a few minutes later. What followed was about the most insanely-hectic, sweatingly-frantic, rush-about-madly 20 minutes of my life.

Despite the ticket seller's claims the bike would fit, no problem, the bike would not fit. Much problem. The luggage compartment could have fitted the bike in if there wasn't already some stuff in it, and if the other passengers weren't carrying quite so much luggage with them. I offered to remove the front wheel - which, thanks to quick release hubs, was done in a few seconds. The bike went in, but precious little other luggage could fit.

So the bike came out again. I took off the rear wheel but it didn't solve the problem. The driver was inscrutable. Though stoic might more accurately describe him at thsi stage. Me? Take your pick from harried, frantic, rushed, sweaty, panicky... OK maybe not panicky. I somehow figured things would work out.

If only the darn other passengers would get out of my way as I rushed about...

In the end, the driver found a space in the spare wheel and battery compartment. Within this compartment hung the spare wheel and the battery rack. The bottom of the compartment opened to the road below, but the side did have a small gap into the next compartment and I managed to squeeze the bike in and wedge the back of the frame into that small gap and rest the front on the spare wheel. But first I also had to remove the bike rack - 3 allen screws came out in a couple of minutes, the fourth popped out and stayed behind in Kangar. My seat also came out and both rested on the spare wheel, held in place by the front fork of the bike.

For added security, the driver tied my bike to the frame of the bus and after we slotted the tires in to a low space in the luggage compartment, all was set.

A quick toilet break 'I'll just be one minute, I promise', I got into the bus and shortly after, we were off.

I had brought books and magazines along, and had my laptop with me but it turned out the personal overhead lights didn't work so no reading for me for the whole trip.

Much thinking though.

I was almost in tears as we drove out of Kangar. It wouldn't have been so emotional if we had not gone back the way I had come. But in mere minutes, we tracked back many kilometres along the road I had cycled just a few days before. I saw familiar junctions, signboards, buildings, shops. The darkness failed to disguise them. The smells and sounds were missing, air-conditioning and thick glass windows taking care of that. But the sights were enough.

Over a month on the road and despite my intention never to emphasise the destination, Kangar and Padang Besar had been significant. Now, in traversing the kilometres in diesel-fumed impunity, it seemed my humble leg and lung efforts were
being erased. The physical ride was over. And this bus was doing its best to diminish my journey. To reduce it to mere pages in a diary.

Where my bike had been my carrier, the indignity now was that it was a passenger. Like me.

I was glad to be going back to be with Mei, but I was immensely sad too to be leaving. Over the last few weeks, I had had an inspiring, enlightening, motivating time. Now, as the bus retraced my steps, the reality of my ride being over was stamped all over my psyche.

As a final jibe, we drove into Sungei Petani and stopped at the bus stand I had been caught in the rain at. We drove past the hotel I'd been in and I even picked out the window of the room I'd stayed in the week before.

Memories came rushing back as we sped the many kilometres to Singapore. I was glad the overhead lights were out. I looked out the window, looking for familiar landmarks. But soon the bus turned onto a highway, the scenery became unfamiliar and the kilometres rolled beneath our wheels even more rapidly.

As the occasional lights of houses and towns sped past in a blur of phosphorescence, my memories faded and I became more aware I was going home. But I was also leaving home. And that thought stayed with me for some time before sleep came and rescued me.

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