Muar Video 1

Here's a short video taken while resting at a bus stop on the way to Muar. The yellow things are rain covers on the panniers - I gave up using them later on as they were too fussy to put on and my stuff was all in plastic bags inside the panniers anyway.

Day 15 Oct 29 P Carey - Kelang Part 2

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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Day 6 Muar Part 2

I wandered around Muar on foot again today, and realised it is a large town indeed. I am just an anonymous transient here. Nothing captivated me except some odd details including the conversion of the top floors of many buildings into nesting areas for Swallows. Much easier to harvest the nests than clambering up long bamboo poles in dark caves, this industry seems to have..uhm... taken off.

Some buildings had huge rooftops converted specially for the purpose while others had just their top floors set up. Everywhere I went, the song of the birds was audible.

I also saw my first Mat Rempit type here - a bloke on a small bike, complete with pillion, holding a wheelie for about 100 metres up one of the main streets, in the midst of other traffic. Crazy...

Muar is yet another old town whose charm and old-style beauty has been painfully disrupted by modern erections. I don't understand why we insist on putting up drab, faceless buildings when we could be doing so much better, for not much more. And surely, in the long run, the returns are clear? One example of this, which I still have a chuckle over, was a set of old shophouses, interjected by a bland modern block of three multi-storey units right in the middle. What was amusing was that all the old units were tenanted and prospering, while Wisma Blandsville was empty and shuttered, looking for particularly brave tenants.

The cook at Darul Masyhur is getting used to me. I've had a string of teh halias here, each one no better than the previous. Fortunately his chapatis and curries are palatable. I appreciate the shop for its convenience and the opportunity to sit and watch people coming and going. For the most part, if I cleverly cropped out the image of the Hotel Kingdom from the top of my view, I might just as well have been having my teh halias in parts of Petaling Jaya or KL.

While I'm enjoying life free from nasal occlusion for the first time in a few days, the rain has tried its hardest to put a damper on things, spluttering down for awhile then disappearing only to reappear a few hours later. I didn't mind, really.

On one trip out, I found both a new sarong as well as another Indian restaurant. The fare looked more appetising and I'm sure the teh halias would have proven to be much more authentic too, but by that time I'd had quite enough of wandering the streets of Muar and was more than ready to head out of town.
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Day 6 Muar Part 1

I hear that Muar used to be a very nice little town. Note I wrote 'used'. Although there is nothing obviously wrong with Muar, as far as I can tell in two days, I failed to find anything outstandingly great either.

Like most big towns, Muar is a mix of the old and the new. In many ways, the new has pushed the old to the periphery, or hemmed it in amongst blocks of anonymous, featureless, personalityless concrete and glass.

The Hotel Kingdom is an anachronism. It was started in the 70s, though first impressions suggest an age altogether more ancient. I am getting used now to the process of unpacking and bringing my things upstairs, and the Kingdom even afforded me a little entranceway so I would not be the focal point of attention as I unloaded and huffed and puffed up and down the stairs.

Once upstairs, I realised my first impressions might just as accurately be applied to the staff. Two old men, one behind an old fashioned counter complete with large leatherette-bound registration ledgers and a now disconnected telephone switchboard, and the other dressed in a pressed white shirt and black tailored trousers... and slippers, attended to me.

They were both friendly blokes and my total lack of Hokkien and Mandarin and their lack of Catonese and limited English made the whole process of signing in much more romantic and memorable. It turns out the room rate is RM 38 and I'd have to give them at least half-an-hour's notice if I wanted a hot shower as they'd have to switch the main heater on.

The room has a two-seater grey vinyl couch with a laminate table in between the seats on which was placed a red plastic tray bearing a plastic water jug and two tapering coffee-shop glasses, two single beds, some brass hooks set in a wooden plaque on the wall, and a cheap laminate dresser cum wardrobe. Pale sky blue paint, peeling parts, pale blue curtains and a green and white mosaic floor set off the whole perfectly. I love it!

My room fronts a street with moderate traffic. Muar has its fair share of the large-and-loud exhaust pipe fraternity and it seems that every hour or so one member of that group has to rumble, pop, snort and fart along this street.

Directly across from the hotel is the Darul Masyhur Indian Muslim restaurant. Like the Batu Pahat Rest House restaurant, I chose this one to be my frequent haunt. The Teh Halia is not particularly inspiring but I'm a lazy bugger and a little halia is better than none. I can't find any other Indian restaurants nearby.

The noise from the traffic and the patrons of Darul Masyhur has now become a burble in the background, neither intruding nor disrupting thought nor sleep. It abates early and starts relatively late, so the nights are quite peaceful.

Being a biggish town, Muar is relatively impersonal. Besides a short conversation with the proprietress of the Darul Masyhur about my trip and some with the old folks in the hotel, I haven't really engaged with anyone here. Which is fine with me. I decided then that I would do one of my favourite pastimes - observing.

I spent a few hours yesterday and today walking around Muar. I was surprised at how late the morning starts here - by 8, the streets were still relatively empty. I had breakfast at a hawker centre around the corner. I'd had lunch there when I arrived yesterday and that was far better than the pseudo Penang Laksa I had this morning. Why would I order that, you ask, considering I shall be having the real thing in a few weeks? Well, truth be told, I thought I was ordering normal laksa...
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Day 5 Batu Pahat - Muar

Distance: 56 km
Max Speed 29.7 km/h
Average while moving: 17.3 km/h

6 am start, cool and crisp morning air... I wasn't going to make the mistakes of the last few days!

Mr Teo had said it was about 30+ km to Muar, but a check of the map showed it to be more likely about 55km. Distances must seem shorter in a car. Nevermind. After the 75 km ride here, 55 in the early morning, and with no hills, should be fairly straightforward.

I was up very early, packed all my stuff then took a glass of water and the remaining bun from the coffeeshop near Rengit out to the patio. A number of lights had been left on around the rest house so I wasn't all in darkness. There was no one about and in that quiet time before even the faintest traces of dawn, even the insects seemed hushed. As I munched on the bun, the call to prayer sounded in the distance, muted by the early morning mist. A second from a different mosque followed shortly after and I figured it was time to go.

A final check, front and rear lights on and I pushed the bike out onto the road. Two ladies going out on their morning walk were the only signs of life up on this hill as I set off into the darkness.

I rode into town and here a few cars and motorcycles were already about. I sensed some curious glances, but no one called out. No one smiled. Too early in the day? Or perhaps the bigger towns sow the seeds of indifference. It didn't bother me though - the morning air was crisp and I felt good. The stiffness was leaving my legs and I was physically and mentally set.

Once out of town, the dark stretches became a bit of a problem. As I warmed up, my glasses misted ever so slightly and the headlights of oncoming cars cut my vision dramatically. I stopped once to try and wipe my glasses, but it seems Nike Dri Fit clothes are useless at that task, smearing rather than clearing.

I pressed on out of Batu Pahat as the town began to shake off the last vestiges of slumber. Here and there roosters crowed, the populace stirred and people began appearing in their gardens, on their motorcycles or bicycles, and always, in the background, I could hear a soft murmur from the mosque. It took me a few minutes to realise the morning Azan was taking a very long time indeed.

When I thought I caught some words in Malay, I realised it wasn't the Azan I was hearing after all. A quick calculation and I worked out it was Friday and I was probably hearing some sort of Friday morning sermon following the Azan. As I passed the last reaches of one mosque's speakers, it seemed I came into range of a different one's. And so it went for a few kilometres, the tinny monotone providing a calming accompaniment to my breathing.

I must have done about 20 kms in that first stint before stopping to rest. By this stage, the sun was up and the mist had cleared. I pulled up at a concrete bus stop - one of those with the ubiquitous and utterly incongruous Grecian columns. A Malay man of about 40 was seated there, one foot up on the bench, his slippers down on the ground below him. I smiled at him and he smiled back.

He asked the usual questions 'Where are you from?', 'Where are you headed?', 'Alone?' To this last question, I now tell a lie 'Ya, tapi ada member ikutlah, kat Melaka, KL, Ipoh' 'Yes, but I have friends joining me in Melaka, KL and Ipoh' Never hurts to be cautious I guess.

We talked for awhile about where I'd been and where I was headed and, as with everyone else whom I say it to, he laughed when I said 'my wife thinks I'm mad to do this.' Initially reticent, he warmed up soon enough. As we talked, another man rode up on his motorbike and joined us. And so we passed a few pleasant minutes.

When I finally decided it was time to go, they both wished me well and a safe journey - something I'd heard from almost everyone I'd had a short chat with. It never fails to warm my heart.

At one point I stopped outside some sort of factory. A glance at the drain by the road and I was sickened. Now it's not unusual to see green water in roadside drains - algae or other plant life often forms. This, however, was a thick, sludgy brown. And worse, there were dense bubbles on the surface lending the whole the look of some toxic effluent. Needless to say, I didn't stay long.

Much later, I was greatly revived by my encounter with two friendly gentlemen at a coffeeshop in Seri Menanti. I have written about the DAP and UMNO friends elsewhere.

I reached Muar at a little after 11, a little damp from a persistent drizzle in the last 10 km. Using the guidebook Lili gave me, I rang the first budget hotel on the list and found they were just up the road a little.

So here I am, at the Hotel Kingdom.
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Thoughts while pedalling: Why am I doing this?

If you don't cycle, you might wonder what goes through my mind when I'm on the bike. Now I don't know what the 'standard' is, or indeed if there is any particular norm. I do know that by nature, I subscribe to what I call the Dirk Gently method of thought.

Dirk was the principal character in a couple of Douglas Adams detective stories. He believed in the interconnectedness of all things and would often simply go where chance and fate would lead him believing that he may not get where he wanted to go, but he would wind up where he needed to be.

My thinking is kinda like that too I guess. Case in point: one morning I mentioned to Mei that I knew I had something on the next evening but could not remember what it was. I finally recalled the event and sms'd her. She thought I'd checked my diary but the truth was that I was at the coffeeshop opposite my office having a cup of coffee when a guy with a goatee walked past. He registered on the edge of my consciousness and I had this thought that he looked like a designer. From there I started thinking about design work in general, then thought about my recent interview on Asia Business Report when I gave an opinion on Sony's brand image, and then I started on what other stories I could dig up that might be newsworthy, then thought of the (then) upcoming global brand forum, and finally remembered my friend Nantha who was in Singapore from KL for that and it was indeed Nantha whom I was to meet the next evening.

Rather convoluted I know but that's my thought pattern. And I usually get where I need to be as well.

One of the stray thoughts I had while cycling to Batu Pahat was about an interesting recent short conversation I'd had with one of the guys I work with, Andrew Wilson. In preparing some material for our work, we discussed the concept of 'Influence'. What exactly is influence?

My first considered response was that it is the ability to effect a particular decision and action in someone else. As we delved deeper into this, it became clear that influence is a little wider and more complex than this. You can influence thought without action. You can influence action without thought.

You can influence through contact. And you can too, with no direct contact.

And then there are the forms of influence - the whole spectrum from direct coercion through to inspiration. Andrew will doubtless have more to say on his Whole Manager blog soon.

As I cycled however, I realised that the idea of influence indeed underpins the whole notion of this ride. It is in fact, a very good study of the whole concept of influence.

As things stand, I have a number of goals (listed here in no particular order):
i. Get from South to North
ii. Meet people and interact with them
iii. Discover things, especially values we think we've forgotten
iv. Get back safe and sound
v. Write about people - especially positive things
vi. Have a good time
vii. Get fit
viii. Don't get broke - literally or figuratively
ix. Meet old friends
x. Take pictures and videos and collate material for a book a film whatever
the list goes on a little more.

What isn't on that list is any direct desire to change people. That is not to say I have no such wish. The truth is that I would be lying if I said this is a strictly personal journey.

The very act of planning this has made some of you think about the whole idea. You would have thought about what you'd read, considered my motives, weighed up my chance of completing the journey, and even thought about why I bother. By doing this, you have unavoidably examined your own natural instincts, your bias and your prejudices. You have challenged your own perceptions.

I have influenced your thoughts. I have influenced you.

Now, I may not have made any palpable difference in the manner in which you approach your life. Influence need not, as I have begun to understand, necessarily create the influencer's desired result. In this case, it doesn't matter.

I have a relative who is so cynical he could freeze an egg in boiling water. Whatever that means. He is cold about the prospects this country faces. I think his attitude is wrong and I go back to the notion of 'If you change the way you look at things, the things around you change.'

Cynicism is a particularly devious condition. It weakens not just the people who encounter it, but also the person who bears the crutch of cynicism. I choose not to be cynical.

This morning, on the way from Batu Pahat to Muar, I stopped at Pekan Seri Menanti in Johor and had breakfast in a little Malay coffee shop. What struck me was how there were Chinese and Malay patrons, sitting down with each other, enjoying a good chat over their teas or coffees. I sat down with two gentleman who, as things turned out were DAP and UMNO men. Chinese and Malay. And they sat there, discussing things, laughing and joking with each other and with me, sharing their concerns for the country. And in this little shop, everyone greeted everyone else. They all shook hands. Malay, Chinese, whatever: it didn't matter. Heck almost everyone shook hands with me!

I stayed for one hour, risking a warm arrival in Muar for the sheer pleasure of seeing my Celebrate Malaysia! ideals displayed right before me. Cynicism? Bah! Who needs it?

The ideals I professed to be searching for are indeed out there. I like to think that my ride is influencing some people - maybe you. This morning, I sat and was instead influenced by a couple of older gentleman.

And for these two reasons, I am doing this ride.

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