Just another Sunday

It's Sunday, my bash day. I woke up early this morning, way before the alarm clock, around 6. That's not good. Something is wrong. Then I hear it over the roar of the worn out airconditioning: it's raining. In fact it's raining very hard. I can hear it rattle on the roof tiles over my head, and I can hear it gush out of the rain pipe downstairs. That's bad news, it can ruin my ride. Or not, and I turn around and close my eyes.

7.30am, the alarm goes off. I remember it was raining hard earlier, so I'm in doubt. And there's a simple rule for those situations: when in doubt, just go for it. No regrets. What if I go and it's all muddy and shitty and crappy and wet and I hate it? Nah, we'll deal with it by then. Imagine the other way around: what if you don't go, and miss the ride of the month? That would hurt for at least another 4 weeks. So get up, get in the shower, and get ready.

I mounted the bike rack already last night, it's a bit cumbersome, and not something to do early in the morning. Everything is already packed, I just take the bidon from the fridge, the mini-eski from the freezer, fill my hydro-pack with the full 3 liters, and chuck everything, including towels, a few jerrycans of water, and my toolbox, in the car. A quick sandwich plus a big peanut butter and chili sauce one to go, and a double espresso. Mount the bike, double straps, and go. A quick stop at BHP for a few soda's. They don't have much choice, but they do have ice coffee, that's good. Add a small bag of peanuts to it. The soda's go in the eski (the box has a 10cm layer of solid ice in it, that'll do the trick for a few hours), the ice coffee makes its way into my mouth.

Long live GPS: thanks to the hares publishing the RV point on the website (KLMBH bash directions), it makes my life in the early morning so much easier. And thanks for Google for understanding how GPS software should work: simplicity is the key. Reliability is a good second of course, I learnt that the hard way with that stupid Nokia Maps software: the russian chick giving directions is cool, but the routes make no sense whatsoever. "When possible, make a U-turn, and then, when possible, make a U-turn." I mean, WTF? Anyway, Gmaps works like a charm, and I race to the RV, where I arrive at 9 sharp.

Plenty of time to register, lube the bike, check tyre pressure, set the Garmin (yes, another GPS for the purpose of outdoor activities), and in general hang around a bit. Shake hands, ride around the parking lot, and admire other people's bikes. They all have much nicer bikes than me it seems. And so many brand new bikes! What happened to the crisis that they keep telling me about? Anyway, it's good to see this sport is so alive in Malaysia. And it's nice that there are quite a number of girls/ladies, and kids participating as well. Ok, a quick riders briefing by the master hare. Who wants to be the scribe, the usual question that is answered by a deafening silence. I've done that a few times already, so I don't feel guilty to keep quiet and give someone else the chance to volunteer. If no one raises his hand I'll do it, but they 'find' someone just before that. Good. On On!

Wow, what a nice environment here in Ulu Yam. Very different from the Broga and Semenyih scenes, where there's more plantation and rubber. Here there are more real forests, and bamboo forests, and grass lands. Very nice, I'm impressed. I'm suddenly thinking about dying, why is that? Is that the first stage of dehydration? Anyway, I'm thinking, when it's my time, then this would be a good place. During a ride, after a steep climb, then just drop off my bike, and that's it. Wouldn't that be a great last moment of absolute enjoyment of life? And they can just bury me on the spot. Please don’t think that repatriation of my dead body would help anyone, least of all me. Ok, now I’m getting seriously gloomy, I need some sugar. The last espresso flavored super glue (I mean power gel), goes down, and I can feel the burst of sugar in my blood. I feel a lot better, and a great downhill is coming up.

The dude behind me makes an awful crash when he hits a rock during the steep downhill. The sound is sickening, and without looking I know it will involved blood. Hey, the dude is lucky, he just tumbles in a bush of soft ferns. Good for him. On we go, now inside a thick bamboo forest with lots of water crossings. Wow, wow, wow, this is beeeeautiful. That’s the euphoria setting in, the second stage of exhaustion. But wait, I have a great remedy for that. I stop to sit on an old tree trunk and eat my peanut butter sandwich. Nothing can beat that. Some riders passing by look at me with hollow eyes. I know they would kill me for that sandwich if they would still have the strength for it. Not today suckers! I feel revived and climb back on Chameleon.

There’s lots of trail on this bash with bricks to make it more accessible for motorbikes. It’s horrible if you’re riding a hard tail. Now I understand how the riders of Paris-Roubaix must feel with 200 kilometers of cobble stones. Naturally it hurts my butt, but it’s much worse on the arms, strangely enough. Anyway, all in all it’s a great ride, and 2.5 hours after start I glide back into the parking lot. Exhausted, dehydrated, and feeling on top of the world.

What did I do the rest of my day? I gave my bike a very good cleaning, hadn’t done that in ages. Took everything apart that I could put back together without the help of a mechanic, and cleaned it properly. She’s now standing proudly in the kitchen, where she belongs, waiting for the next challenge. And that will be the Prez! Need to train for that one, I’m not having the stamina to do today’s ride twice, and then some more. Oh, and then I went to Fend, an ikan baker place in Kelana Jaya. Great food! And after finishing this episode of my adventures, my chicken is ready, and the rest of the evening will be in horizontal position on the sofa. Just another Sunday…

Woonplaatsverklaring

What a strange day this is..

It started off good. Alarm clock at 6.30am, woken by the annoying voice of this dude called Ben from Fly FM, talking nonsense as usual. One snooze only, and I'm out at 6.39. Quick choc flavor protein shake (with a single espresso mixed in to get rid of the plastic taste), fill up the bidon, and on the bike I was. It was just getting a bit light. It takes me 18 minutes to ride around the hospital, over the pedestrian bridge (with Malaysian style wheelchair access, meaning you can do anything but not get your wheelchair in between the poles) crossing the highway, into the wet market, pass the Indian butchers, down the wheelchair ramp, jump over the enormous storm drain that will guaranteed catch the last surviving persistent wheelchairs, against traffic, avoid the garbage truck (boy I love the smell of garbage in the morning), pass the Indian temple (as usual the incense burning my lungs), into low gear at the park entrance, and up the hill, over the top, then catch my breath at the entrance of the trails 4K and 2K.

7.11am, and I'm going in. I must admit I'm a bit scared. Why? Last time I did the 4K trail I was seriously harassed by monkeys. They can be quite fierce, and the last thing you need when you're alone in the jungle, is the sharp teeth of a herd of bloody monkey ripping in your flesh. Not sure if 'herd' is the right word (nice rhyme, nerd), but you get my drift. So I had to quickly retreat, and find my way off-trail (smart move, idiot) to bypass them. Today I came prepared with my can of pepper spray. I've never used it, and it would be an absolute last resort. Not because I want to protect the monkeys (to hell with the little buggers) but I might make a clumsy move and pepper spray myself. That would give the pesky primates a field day of course. Anyway, they are always quite deep in, so the first leg was trouble free, and my mood became more the usual endorphin-high that comes with racing down a dark trail over slippery roots. It had rained last night, so it was particularly wet and slippery. Not muddy, mind you, the jungle has an excellent drainage system, very much unlike everything built in the rest of KL by humans. Just super slippery, like a bucket of snot was poured over the trees and their roots, giving the extra thrill of the front wheel constantly feeling just a touch out of control. It requires a very subtle balance of braking pressure on front and rear wheels, and shifting rider weight fro and aft. Obviously, I do not have those skills, hence the thrill.

Then suddenly I can smell them: monkeys. A very strong and pungent smell that is unmistakably their mark. It's still too damn dark under canopy of the jungle, but I can hear them as well. Shit oh shit. I speed up and too my surprise for the first time I make it over a particularly steep, slippery, and rooty turn without even thinking about it. I let out a big "Jippie!!", and 2 things happen at once: the monkeys stop in their track, scared, startled, or at least surprised by my girly scream, and at the same time a few golden rays of early sunshine light the single track. I'm on top of the world, literally flying, and at 7.28 I come crashing out of the shrubbery, to the great annoyance of the senior citizens going for their morning walk. The world is just AWESOME.

Racing back home, hungry like a horse. Having breakfast while watching yesterday's Dutch news on vodcast. Another coffee while doing my e-mail, a shower, getting dressed, and then reality of the day sinks in: I have to go to the bank. Oh no! I hate banks. To make matters worse I also need to go to the embassy. No no no! I hate embassies! But I've run out of excuses, I can't postpone it any longer. Need to collect the ATM card at the bank first.

Surprisingly light traffic, I can almost reach 50 k/h, and before I know it I'm in front of the bank. One of the biggest nuisances at the bank is that there's no proper parking. At least that's what I thought. But I have to admit that was already 2 years ago. And today I arrive, and they have valet parking!! How perfect is that! What's more, they charge less than the shitty open parking lot behind the bank. Perfect. I go inside, and a girl approaches me. Now what, I think, must be some stupid survey or promotion for another credit card or something. I prepare to snub her, but then she asks me "may I escort you to your service officer, sir?" I'm stunned, and after a stupid "ehm, sure!" she brings me to a seating area with truly comfortable chairs, and asks me how I want my coffee. Just to annoy her (she is a banker, after all) I say "cappuccino, please", knowing she will bring me some horrible surrogate 3in1 crap anyway. 1 minute later she returns, with an amazing cappuccino! I am amazed! And now I understand why the bank costs are a bit high at this bank. It's actually worth it, I should come here more often! Hardly enough time to finish my superb coffee, because she's back already with my ATM card, and asks me if there's anything else she can do for me. I'm a bit in doubt, but then decide against asking for a massage, happy as I am already.

So far so good! One last stop before the office: the embassy. The last stronghold of true Dutch bureaucracy that I cannot avoid sometimes. And boy, do I hate it. Located in a miserable office tower on top of a miserable shopping mall, it's nothing less than horrible. They have tried to copy the looks of a bank from the 80's, including the bullet proof glass. Why on earth would they want to have bullet proof glass between me and the girl behind the counter? There's nothing there! Not even any person important enough to have diplomatic plates on their car. Definitely no ambassador of course. I know from bad experiences they open only from 10-12 in the morning, and not on Fridays, so I have planned this small window of opportunity well. I need to get a so-called woonplaatsverklaring. The word alone is solid proof of red tape. Who invents such a stupid long word for something so simple? What it actually means is an official form saying that I live in KL. Why is there a need for such a stupid declaration anyway? Because I need to renew my driving license, another great example of hidden unemployment gobbling up your tax money. The worst thing is, they charge me 30 bloody euro's for the paper, that they issue based on an envelope from SPAM mail from an electronics shop in my area, where I had to fill in my address for some warranty. Unbelievable. Remind me to go to the Queensday reception next year to drink and eat my fair share (and some more). Now I understand how they finance that extravagant party with fresh herrings flown in by diplomatic mail bag. Bastards. Anyway, the whole thing takes only 30 minutes (after all, they do need to type in my address, and typing skills is surely NOT a requirement upon application at the embassy), and I'm on my way to the office. Finally.

At 11am I arrive in the parking, and to my surprise the lobby is packed. I wonder what's going on there. Security is plentiful, and they smile and salute at me. Good man. I hop in the elevator, and exit at 19. Once in the office, I have not unpacked my bag yet, or a sudden excruciating loud piercing bell shatters all my hope for a fruitful day. FIRE-F***ING-DRILL. Please proceed to the assembly area in an orderly manner. That's 19 floors down by stairs, thank you very much. Of course the stairs are jammed. Narrow staircases from last century, that never works. So it takes about 20 minutes to get downstairs. In case of a real fire we would all be burnt to a crisp by the time we reach the food court at first floor. I am repeatedly reminded by the fascist fire wardens that it's a really bad idea to use my iPod while walking down the stairs. I don't understand. Why is that? Is it dangerous? Well, yes, they say, it is dangerous, and maybe I would not be able to hear the public announcements. Well, don't blame my innocent iPod for that! It's that bloody fire bell that keeps frigging ringing like it's happy hour! Speaking of, I feel like having a beer once I'm downstairs. Is that what they call a Pavlov effect? I'm also not supposed to use my mobile phone, they say. I might trip. Who's the one tripping here, warden?! Would you please calm down a bit?

Anyway, all good things come to an end. We do a headcount, everyone is accounted for, and I don't bother to wait for the all-clear sign from the bomba. I've done my best to play along, now I really need to do some work. That's the advantage of having 2 offices. I can go to level 54 in KLCC and finally do something useful. Unless they start the fire drill here as well.....

my second blog entry

Jippie. This is a pic of my banzai tree b4 it started to get bold.

my first blog entry

Jippie. It works.

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