Kuantan calling, on Bessie’s first long-distance solo ride
The week had started out great. My sleep the night before was satisfying, uninterrupted by visions of me being chased and manhandled by smoulderingly hot Amazonian women. By 7am, I was already up and working, thumping away at the keyboard.
But by 10am, I had grown restless, agitated. I hopped on the bike and went off to my favourite makan (eating) spot. The short ride felt great, but it wasn’t exhilarating. Something was missing.
I wrapped up lunch and cleared some stories while at it, and then made my way home. By the time I hopped off the Kawasaki Versys-X 250, I was damned near depressed.
I realised that it had been nine days since my last ride. I was long overdue for some stick time.
The debate on where to go was ‘settled’ fairly quickly, since Ahmad Razlan Alias and Captain MK Ganesan would be in Kuantan, Pahang, that week. I figured a quick hop on Friday to link up with them was just the tonic I needed.
Since snapping my left wrist about a year ago, I hadn’t really given Black Bess – my Royal Enfield Interceptor 650 – a proper shakedown. I’d ridden her plenty of times since then, but only on short hops for some grub, and the occasional runs through Kuala Klawang.
My biggest issue with Bessie was her weight. At 218kg wet, she’s no Mia Farrow. Moving her around at a dead stop can be daunting, if not downright dangerous. But on the asphalt, at full chat, she’s a darling.
I checked the total distance to Kuantan from my starting point – 281km didn’t seem so bad. I figured I could probably do it with minimal rest stops. Kuantan it was, then.
As is customary before any ride, I made an appointment with the ‘boffins’ at Royal Enfield Petaling Jaya on Wednesday for them to give Bessie a once-over, just to make sure everything had been buttoned down tight, that there were no loose bolts, pinched wires, frayed cables, and that her engine oil was at the optimal level.
I also decided to bite the bullet and finally have the flyscreen installed on the Interceptor’s front end. I had had trouble nudging and maintaining speeds of above 100kph because the windblast on my upper torso was just too much. Thursday night was spent packing.
I got up at 5am Friday and began suiting up. After that, I began hitching up the Ortlieb dry bag on Bessie’s behind, lashing it down with three bungee cords. Once I was comfortable that everything had been secured, checked that the tyre pressures were good, and that the tyres were free of foreign object, I climbed on her, turned the key, watched the needles on the clocks cycle, and pressed the electric starter.
She roared to life and settled into a deep, throaty, soft rumble. I let the powerplant warm up a bit to allow the engine lubricants to flow unencumbered through her innards. I twisted the throttle and heard the reassuring ‘braaaapp’ coming from her unbaffled, twin S&S pipes.
With the final ‘last chance’ checks completed, I ‘cleaned up’ the kickstand and began my rollout. The clock read 5.40am.
I opted for an early push-off because I had wanted to avoid the traffic build-up near Puncak Alam and Gombak. I didn’t want to risk tangling with an ornery driver on his way to work.
Gombak, Genting Sempah, and Bentong flew by in a blur of green, greys, and browns. It was after I passed the Karak toll plaza that things got interesting.
I hadn’t factored in that the entire stretch, which sits low in a valley, would be socked in by heavy fog at that early hour of the morning. I glanced at the clock and it read 6.30am. My mesh riding jacket and armoured pants were marginally effective against the 100kph windblast. Visibility was low, down to just a few feet, and the morning dew had begun to cling on to my clear visor like white on rice. I throttled back, just to be on the safe side.
Road works near the Temerloh stretch further hampered my progress. I was getting impatient. Not a good thing when you’re riding alone, under less-than-favourable meteorological conditions.
Fortunately, a signboard indicated that the Temerloh RnR was just up ahead. I couldn’t pull in fast enough.
After doffing my jacket and helmet, I grabbed a plate of pulut kuning with chicken rendang and a tall glass of iced tea from one of the stalls, and settled in for breakfast.
The clock read 7.45am. I had time to kill. The plan was to relax and wait for the morning sun to burn off the layer of fog that blanketed the valley. Can’t do much about the ongoing road works, but the clear viz would be a much welcomed improvement.
As I slowly chipped away at the mountain of pulut kuning and chicken rendang in front of me, I took stock of the potential hazards up ahead. Highways often lulled you into a sense of complacency – the straight tarmac are an open invitation to plug the burners and let her rip. People don’t think about the cows, buffalos, cats, dogs, proboscis monkeys, hippos, anteaters, pangolins, and wombats that could dart out from either side of the road – and right into your path. A recent video clip of a trailer’s wheel that had dislodged from the vehicle and hit an unsuspecting motorcyclist, kept playing in my head. I reminded myself to constantly look ahead, and at the opposing side. Because you never know.
Riding along rural kampung roads poses a unique and different set of challenges, and requires a divergent riding style. Here, you need to be aware that motorists don’t necessarily abide by the same traffic rules you’re accustomed to. They switch lanes, change directions, make U-turns, come out of junctions and overtake without a care in the world, and according to how they’re feeling at that particular moment. Add loose children, rabid livestock, and God-knows-what-else into the mix, and you could be swimming in a snake pit.
It was time to saddle back up.
By 8.58am, I was 26km away from Maran. I was making good progress. As expected, the fog had lifted, burned off by the sun’s jackhammer rays. Kuantan was another 102km.
The rest of the trip went by in a blur, and before you knew it, I was making my way to Hoi Yin Restaurant in Kuantan for some of their scrumptious curry mee.
I arrived at 11.26am and Lan and Capt had already had their fill. Over some iced tea, we made plans to shoot 43km north towards Cherating, to where Capt was holed up for a few days.
His retreat – Payung Gateway Campsite – is located on a secluded sliver of land sandwiched by the South China Sea, and Sungai Cherating. It offered a welcome respite from the hustle and bustle of modern life. Somehow, Coke Zero tastes better when you’re lounging on the patio, caressed by the soft sea breeze.
By 6pm, and under a fading light, I decided to call it a day. I still had about 40 minutes of riding to do and I didn’t particularly relish doing it at night, and at peak hour, when folks were rushing home from work.
As predicted, traffic in Kuantan back to my hotel was horrendous. My head was constantly on a swivel. The relief was palpable when I pulled into the carpark, kicked the sidestand down, and shut off the engine.
That night, after a particularly long cold shower, I went out like a light. It had been a long day.
