All good things

In retrospect, threads were becoming unwound.

A pain had developed in my right knee. The beauty of the surroundings muted by thoughts of a return to England for a friends wedding. Then news came that crossings at the Thai-Burma border had been suspended.

Listlessness reigned as the forward momentum that a bicycle craves stalled toward inertia.

I stood by a Wat scuffing stones and smoking. Decision eluding me. If in doubt keep on going had been my mantra but I lingered still. A bright hello interrupted my leaden musings as Thawi, a young monk, introduced himself and we got to chatting. On hearing my quandary he explained that it was simple. 'You can cross into Burma at Tachiliek' and offered to give me a lift to Chiang Mai. Just like that, the clouds cleared and the way forward was clear again. No need to retrace pedal strokes. Follow the stream, don't swim against it.

All that was left was to secure my faithful steed to his. 

Pride comes before a fall

Songkran a celebration of the new year is a joyous moment to be in Thailand and a wonderful tonic for a hot bicycle tourer. 

Dusty streets washed clean. The world become water station. Doused by buckets, shot with water pistols I raced west against a background of smiles: Cooled, refreshed and laughing.

Chiang Mai

An overnight sleeper took me north to Chiang Mai. Copying my co-passengers I scaled the narrow ladders and popped into my curtained pod and snoozed away the miles. 

No time for Bang kok

On a cool mornings ride through mist wreathed hills 

An elephant emerges swaying purposefully forward. I gawk delightedly.

It's only natural

Early morning weaving away from the Krabi coast. 

Diptocarping around

Ko Lanta faded beyond the horizon as the last boat trip of this coastal diversion led me towards Trang.

Islands and time floated by 

Island hopping

Back aboard a boat, now heading for Ko Lanta, my poor bicycle wondering when she will be returned to her element.

A blog Re-Andaman-ted.

After popping in to see my now slightly less bewildered Thai friends I set off north easing through flat lowland roads before crossing the Trang river and turning west under a rare cloud strewn day.

Racing toward riverland hills

Faux pas on another planet

Siam shimmered in the heat.

After the normal bureaucratic back and forth at the border I made my way out of the cool frontier hills.

Flanked by the lush green of Thale Ban National Park 

A secret garden south of no man's land

Perlis passed in a procession of sun browned paddy fields. Irrigation channels became quiet tracks to traverse Malaysia's smallest and most northerly state. The capital Kangar slipped by without a sideways glance as I rushed towards my 26th border crossing.

Bicycle blitzkreig

Thai visa in hand I fled Pennang before dawn on the first free ferry to Butterworth. A quick roti chennai later, I gave the bike it's head and whistled north.

The countryside opened out into a patchwork of farms spread across lush riverland.

Trusty Steed

One thing has remained constant during my travels. 

And that most faithful friend is well deserving of an ode

A bicycle born near Bristol

Heard a silent starters pistol

Solvitur Velocipedo

Cocooned in my forest lair by day, by night holed up in the sequestered serenity of the campsite's riverside glade. I passed my time beneath the 1600m peaks that closet the table land. Five trails led away from my tent; four into the forest hills. The fifth, least used, led back to roads and noise and people. Occasional forays that way into the tourist hub of Tanah Rata's main drag to procure food a fleeting, grating reminder of the busy reality just a tree screen away.

The stillness couldn't last. Altitude is a a cyclists hardest won currency; the urge for a spendthrift splurge rose irresistibly. With a glorious descent promise-note burning a hole in my pocket I packed up my camp and romped through Brinchang and Kampung Raja, the tableland's northern most stations. The scale of the developments was difficult to miss. The WWF's describing land clearance as "rampant" did not seem hyperbolic looking over valleys glaring back from reflective cellophane and glass.

Return to Titti Wangsa

Leaving behind Tamra Negara before dawn I ignored the temptation of a return boat ride. Instead I took the quiet roads south along the banks of the river Tembeling. Rushing south over the hilly landscape through isolated Kampongs and Orang Asli settlements. Stopping at a banana stand a cheeky older woman helped herself to one from my bunch with the arched eyebrow, incomprehensible innuendo and insistent stare of a practiced flirt. Inevitable palm oil encroachments followed as I closed in on the main road west from Jerantut.

Heat rose, humidity cloyed, but no solace from mid day sun was sought. Gripped by a mad dog's longing I pressed onwards unwilling to stop before I had retraced the Lipis river road section I had ridden two days prior.

With sweat stung eyes noticing afternoon shadows stretching I veered into one of the small road side cafes that dot Malay roads and rewarded my westward dash with shade and a cold drink. Touching the ice filled glass first to my forehead and then rolling it across my abdomen a sharp pain fired. Muscles knotted oddly under the glass and I became dizzy. The moment passed but I resolved to take a little more time over cooling off. 

Fortunately my race was almost run and I was a mere 25k from my planned destination. Returning to my earlier strategy of scuttling from shade to shade it was not long before I rolled into the shabby chic of Kuala Lipis.

  The already colourful Chinese frontage downtown, enhanced by New Year preparations. 

Pahang: Judge not lest ye be judged?

I left Fraiser's Hill wreathed in a thick layer of wet mist.

Ignore the spinal tap impersonator blocking the mist-obscured view fairly pulsing with highland cool 

The upland forest continued to titillate as I weaved down the hairpins.

Doolittle Fallacy

Suffice to say I didn't die.

I accelerated downwards for perhaps five feet before my heels hit ledge. Jarred forward by the impact my flailing hand clutched handful of thorns which finally brought me to a halt.

A shaky, undignified, but thankful stop.

Legs straight and rigid, both arms locked behind me from the shoulder, torso leaning forward at 45 looking straight down. I must've looked like nothing so much as a very out of place and inept ski jumper.

Tentatively I stepped back from the brink. Now feeling 100% keen to be down I carefully descended the blessedly flattening lower portion and hit the bottom.

Thank fuck, I thought eloquently.

I was shaken. Failing to follow the path to its conclusion called into question some of the qualities with which I had begun to identity: Adventurousness, stoicism, stubbornness. The confidence in my willingness to carry on regardless was suddenly in doubt. If I can't even reach a sodding waterfall... At least I could say with certainty that I didn't have a death wish. Having set out on this trip depressed that I suppose was no minor thing.

Retracing my steps looking around for turn off's missed, my certainty that this hadn't been the way evaporated. The path underfoot was undeniably there if over grown and tough going.

The phrase 'kids and oldies may find it tough' swirled. May???? Maybe I had just wimped out.

I got back the rainforest level and trudged back eyes cast down.

A beautiful Blue Necked Keelback appeared right in front of me. Delicate coils of luminous orange. The Keelback was calm, no flattening of its neck to threaten a strike with its small venomous mouth. Instead it paused and then gracefully waved its way to a sunny leaf strewn spot to bask.

I watched enraptured as he relaxed and, just like that, I felt much better.

Battle of the Bulge

Departure #2 was from a lovely spot called Hutan Lipur Sungai Sendat, a waterfall, just north of KL. Peter, keen to test out his new hammock, joined me. Arriving in the early hours of the afternoon we found it closed...

Fortunately Peter and I are on the same wave:

The best sort of travel always involves a degree of trespass. The risk is both the challenge and the invitation. ~ Paul Theroux

So we ducked under the police tape and were rewarded with a blissful place to camp for the evening.

False starts and faulty parts

Having arrived in Melbourne I then flew directly to Malaysia.

...

Wait that's not right.

There was a glorious intervening year spent cycling in Australia and New Zealand and staying with my sister and her family in Sydney.

Have no fear hardy handful of readers. The pictures of that leg are uploaded and copious notes have been prepared. A poorly spelt overly loquacious account of those antipodean adventures will be enumerated here.

A sneaky peak of Tas, Nz and Gippsland

Just not right now. My sluggardly blogging output has left me so far behind that the entries risked becoming more memoir than travelogue.

So with a waft of my cyberJedi wrist while murmuring 'those were not the posts you were looking for' I invite you to join me as we touch down in steamy Kuala Lumpur at the tail end of the rainy season.

Bicycle Sounds

I was recently contacted by Fil Corbitt. A talented podcaster from Reno.

Showing uncharacteristic poor judgment he wanted to do an interview with me.

Here it is:
 
Naturally I apologise to Fil and you for my relentless erring and umming, an odd pronunciation of Pasargadae, and even odder plummy accent. I put the later down to a spontaneous post-colonial reaction to talking with an American.

Musandam and bust

I was pleased to be waved through the border crossing at Dibba.

I was pleased not to have to pay for a new Omani visa.

I was less pleased to now be an undocumented foreign national. 

To complicate matters further, non-GCC nationals (me) aren't allowed to pass between border crossings here. Travelling from say Dibba, north to Khassab and then on to re-enter the UAE at Ash Sham was prohibited. 

A shame indeed, as that was exactly my intention. I'd read about dolphins cavorting in the fjords around Khassab and I meant to see them.

Bureaucracy be damned.

So I scooted out of Dibba to make camp.

An obliging acacia grove provided a discrete and comfortable spot.