6.00 o'clock in the morning on a public holiday. The city is silent and sleeping. Undeterred, certain gung-ho Team Absolutees are up before sunrise and loading their bikes, wives, friends and themselves onto and into (as the case may be) their vehicles, shooting off in the direction of the rising sun. Others peel themselves from their beds with aspirations of burning off some of that old Christmas turkey still lodged in their bellies.

And…while our fellow Muslim friends are "breaking-fast" for Hari Raya Puasa, some men and "wimmin" dressed in tights conduct their own "break-fasting" ritual at the Changi Point Hawker Centre - downing oily wan ton noodles and other sinful numbers to charge up for the grueling day ahead…or at least, until they refuel during lunchtime. Others took "charging" off their biking agenda, ever ready to "brake fast" to avoid an endo replay.

At 8.30 am, more than 20 bikers lined the wooden seats of 2 bumboats with their metal appendages and from Changi Jetty II, sailed off "overseas" to a foreign land. 45 minutes later, they were greeted by stable weather conditions at Tanjong Pengarang, Malaysia…and the Pengerang immigration department. After the Malaysian authorities were convinced there were no illegal immigrants in their midst, the pack of riders started off the first leg of the journey along the coastal road.

For the benefit of some of us who still wonder who our comrades of that day were, here is a feeble attempt at an introduction :-

After some easy cruising on concrete, we finally turned left, off-road and resisted the temptation of harvesting rambutan at a little village. Dutifully following in Keith's tracks, we combed the palm tree plantation, gliding on the relatively straight and flat trails.

Then…we branched off onto wide undulating orange earth surrounded by seemingly open fire combat tracks on both sides. After scaling a couple of slight inclines, we stopped for a water break at the next (and only) shaded spot in the hard desert. There was a flurry of activity at this oasis : I asked newcomer Mart "so, how was the ride?" and Mart retorted "you…promised….me…. only….(breathe)…"one"….hill,….you ******". Skin was making a giant stone pizza delivery. Heinz Beans and Beef displayed their MTB trekking skills to no end. Others were content simply to hide from the scorching sun.

As we continued, it all came back to me...flashbacks…"You can do it", Beyka cheered as I approached the only downhill that brought an abrupt end to my previous Pengarang trip. I crossed the line in slow-motion with the "Chariots of Fire" theme song running through my head. Yes, I did it. I survived the gravel monster!!!

That ecstatic feeling vapourised as soon as the smell of rubbish set in. Holding our breath, we scooted out of rubbish-dump land and onto the trail parallel to the main road, which led our hungry tummies to its calling : the ultimate eating station at Sungei Ringgit town. On the way, we found the skull of a canine…or so we assumed.

After a light appetizer of Baluku, we headed for the kill at the local Seafood house. In a feeding frenzy, the food on all 3 tables were gone in seconds. Cocopops, with the Western tastebuds, happily chomped down his de-licious Mary Brown chicken and distributed some jet-propulsion food : durians. And to think that the prick of the durian will kill you, just then, a worn-out tube exploded in the heat of the sun. Viagra [and ?…] volunteered to change the tube belonging to Mart, who later purchased from the local tyre dealer a new set of tyres and tubes for the price of only S$10. What a find!!!

Shortly after, one group of impatient bikers led by Oldman sped off, leaving the remaining bikers Absolut-ly clueless. The second group finally caught on, only to find Mr Orangina and his friend meditating under a tree along the way. Meanwhile, Mart, Paul and June checked out the town. The rest of us headed for the beach resort some 30 minutes away. Beyka, Legstrong and Skin went skinny dipping, while the rest squatted and bike-talked.

En route to town, Orangina left his glasses under the tree. While the "speedy Gonzales" bikers waited for his return, the "slow coaches" had a headstart - against all odds, we had to catch the last ride home scheduled for 4 pm. "Only 30 minutes away" did we hear someone say? Keith assured some that 7 km to the jetty translates to about 30 minutes. More than 1/2 hour later, we still could not smell the sea. T'was the miscalculations of a mad biker.

Our motto was "cheong until you drop dead", fighting against the headwind on the road that never ends. No doubt, the Absolutees made it in good time, followed by the rest, slowly but surely. Overheard : "I died twice in this strip", said anoyher newcomer, Paul. Beverly did not get her butt pinched this time by unruly locals on motorbikes, thanks to her personal guard, Mr Ng. Beef, having passed with flying colours, got the loyalty award for sticking by June all the way.

The boats left about 4.30 pm, carrying stoned bikers with tanned faces, tired limbs and their rather clean bikes. Not only did the heavens not piss on us, we were blessed with excellent weather and good company. One last comment : Keith, the weather forecaster, should keep his day job.

This page was last updated on 05/30/02.
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