I had just returned to Kuala Lumpur nary 24 hours ago, after testing the (then) new Ducati Monster 821, in Chiang Mai, Thailand. Yet am now back on the road, headed toward Phuket, Thailand, with Arprilia Malaysia and aAprilia Riders Club (APRC) of Malaysia.
The 30 of us had congregated at the Sungai Buloh R&R area to start the ride at 8.00 pm. But as with any plan made in reference to “Malaysian time,” it finally got underway at 9.00 pm. But Aprilia Malaysia had put me on the awesomely capable Caponord 1200, so I didn’t complain.
We had great time riding in the coolness, in addition to the lack of heavy traffic and arrived at the Shell service station at Juru in under two-and-half hours to fill up the tank and drain our bladders.
However, the Caponord had been feeling strangely heavy when turning and switching lanes. It was also as thirsty as an English rugby player at the pub after a game. I discussed the issue with En. Amir, the Marketing Manager of Aprilia Malaysia at time. He suggested that I check the tyre pressures, which I did and found them underinflated by a stupefying 40 kPa.
Hence I was the last into the lavatory.
Then I heard a huge rumble from multiple V-Twin and V-Four motorcycles. My instinct told me to get out there but how does a man stop when he’s started to… you know… go.
Any man would tell you, the scariest thing on Earth isn’t the cockroach, or the movie Deliverance. Or his wife. It’s this little contraption called the “zipper.” Every man could attest to at least one haunting experience with this miniature saw at some point in his life. So I yanked mine up, balancing between haste and fear, then ran outside (after washing my hands, of course) only to see the rear light of the Shiver 750 I’ve been following disappear out of the station!
Panic Mode kicked in: On went the helmet and jacket without being fastened, and gloves stuffed into my pants. Argh! Where’s the bike key?! It’s not in the jacket! No, It’s not in any pants’ pocket either! Did I drop it? No! Shoot, it’s being in the ignition all along!
Started the bike in first gear, dumped the clutch and the bike almost wheelied out of the station.
But there was no one in front of me. It’s as if everyone had engaged lightspeed as soon as they cleared the station.
Oh…. Why didn’t I ask about where we were headed next?
Still in panic, I decided that the convoy must’ve been heading directly to the border and will most probably stop at the Gurun R&R.
The Caponord had no issue with its throttle bodies being slammed wide open and we flew at more than 220 km/h down the unlit Prai – Alor Setar Highway with fully packed panniers and all. I blasted by every vehicle – the drivers must have thought they were buzzed by a UFO.
But there was still no one to be seen. I pulled into the Gurun R&R and apart from a few Yamaha RX-Z’s and 125Z’s there was not a single Aprilia. What the…? Could the convoy have gone beyond 240 km/h? I made call after call but no one answered. To make matters worse, the only petrol station here was closed.
Salient decisions just wouldn’t ensue under such extraordinary duress, so I got back on and shot straight to the border at Bukit Kayu Hitam. 80 kilometres away.
I got there in less than half-an-hour.
Still no one and the border was closed! Oh dear. What have I done? More calls ensued for the better part of an hour, and still no one answered. The “Twilight Zone’s” theme music started playing in my head.
Then I remembered overhearing one of the participants saying that we’ll be crossing the border into Thailand at Wang Kelian, 68 kilometres to the northwest, after passing Padang Besar. I got back on the bike and pointed it back south toward Changlun before turning west onto Route 79.
Nothing had prepared me for riding down Route 79 at 2am. It was pitch black like in the bottom of a cup of extra black coffee! And if that’s not bad enough… I kept seeing something white waving at me from the roadside along every few kilometres. It’s was like in those horror movies – you don’t stop but the aberration leapfrogs you!
Now, I know seeing a ghost would be scary, but what scared me more at this moment was getting left behind while everyone had crossed the border. And if that wasn’t enough to pull that knot tighter in my stomach, the fuel gauge was down to the last bar.
I kept hoping to see a petrol station but all that occupied my eyes were total blackness. And those damn white things waving at me! When will this end? There’s not even one car, much less a bike down this road.
Then it suddenly ended at a T-junction with an overhead bridge going across. I had made it to Padang Besar, Perlis. I headed into town and saw the familiar red, white and green 7-Eleven sign. Who would have thought that this convenience store that overcharges their customers and whose bathroom is inaccessible would make me feel just as euphoric as a pilgrim who had travelled on a stagecoach through Red Indian territory in the Wild West before arriving safely at the town.
I went inside, grabbed a drink and some buns, and went back to calling. I got through to “Sinbad” this time (he was the guy who handed over the Caponord yesterday). So it all ends well now, right? You think?
He said, “What in the world are you doing in Padang Besar?! We’re stopping for the night in Changlun! Turn back!”
Oh no. Uh uh. No way. Nope.
That meant that I had to run the gauntlet of white waving things along Route 79 again, and the bike was almost out of fuel and all petrol stations were closed. So I told Sinbad thanks but no thanks, I’ll just spend the night in Padang Besar and meet up tomorrow morning since they’re headed this way.
We bid each other goodnight and I went around searching for a hotel. There wasn’t any. I stopped to ask the locals and they confirmed the town doesn’t have any hotel but there were motels and homestays.
I called all of them, but only one answered and they were full. I stopped at each and confirmed them to be fully occupied too. Oh. My. God.
What to do then?
I turned back to 7-Eleven and sat outside their shop, on the five-foot way. In my state of delirium, I hoped that cute cashier would pity me and take me back to her parents’ place, but it never happened. I did manage to catch some sleep.
My body was full of mosquito bites later in the morning, but I was otherwise safe. Another phone call to Sinbad at 6am confirmed that they were having breakfast and will soon head to the immigration checkpoint.
I rode to the nearest petrol station, filled the fuel tank until it overflowed like a waterfall and headed to Kaki Bukit.
I managed to turn into the Kaki Bukit town to grab breakfast and a few beautiful shots of the Caponord in the sun’s golden rays. Hey, it wasn’t so bad after all.
The convoy finally came around 8am and we hooked up, before riding to Phuket for a memorable time. It was during this time that I found out there were two other riders behind me, including the sweeper back at the Shell Station in Juru. Besides that, the convoy into the Juru Auto City (just a few hundred metres from the station) for dinner before continuing with the ride to Changlun!
And what were those white things waving at me? I related the story to some of the guys and they laughed. There were sugar plantations all along Route 79 and the farmers would put up flags to separate their plots.
Maybe this story should’ve been called the “Lost Journalist,” instead.
Lessons learned: 1) ALWAYS, ask where the convoy will be heading to next. 2) Ask where the convoy will be heading to, at the next stop, ALWAYS. 3) ALWAYS, ask where the convoy is heading to, ALWAYS.
