East Cost 100 Miles - Beyond The Peloton

And yet suddenly I have no words to share from the recent event. Not a even a single. Lost most of it. Was it non-dramatic over in Kuantan? It was, definitely, but it did go as planned, Alhamdullillah, without any surprises.

Yes, I gained a few more valuable experience. Bits and pieces put together after the ride. Will share the story as we go down the paragraphs.

Alhamdullillah everything went well. The mission was simple. To cross the finish line within 6 hours without pain and suffer and regrets. The target was set based on the training yardstick. If we could've spent a bit more on strength input, we might target for a better time. Hence, we just stayed rational and logic, avoiding any 'Benson & Hedges Golden Dreams' of being in the first peloton till the end.

The great stuff from the weekend was the outing with buddies itself. The story beyond the peloton. The camaraderie. It has been a while since a road trip, I think the last one was from last year's KCR160 in March.

We left KL early that Saturday morning, an attempt to beat the jam. We failed since the Saturday's public holiday attracted even more traffic leaving the city, creating massive queue at Gombak Toll Plaza. We ditched the highway and enroute ourselves to the old Gombak Road, our weekend cycling route. Driving through it ain't exciting though, compared to climbing it on 2 wheels.

Eventually reached Kuantan after skipping almost every overcrowded rest area. Even queuing for the toilet made it looked like getting a football ticket. We checked in at our beautiful homestay at Indera Mahkota for  a quick clean-up. The 4 rooms semi-D was gorgeous. Perfect for 17 of us and 17 bikes. Did you said SEVENTEEN??! First come first served, baby! Almost felt like a bangla-kongsi with air-conditioned bedrooms.

The luxurious kongsi

Then it was the bib collection a.k.a. meeting up with other fellow cyclists with some chit chats thrown in before we indulged for the biggest behind the scene drama.

Half of us

Ana Ikan Bakar Petai is one of the favourite local joint for seafood in Kuantan. An early dinner, as early 5.30 in the evening was our plan. Simply to avoid the expected crowd. True enough, we made the best decision. Should we came in half an hour late, we'll be standing and waiting for empty tables while wiping our growling tummies :]

The war started right away. With 10 cyclists ready to carboload, the menu was humongous. We appeared to be eating equivalent to 20 person. And there's not even an inch of empty space on the table. Masak petai for the Golden Snapper, masak 3 rasa for the other 2 Red Snappers, a sea of fried squids, spicy delicious Tom Yam, telur dadar and free flow of rice. We were monsters in disguise. The war rages on like there's no tomorrow. The battlefield was scary and yet no one seemed to be withdrawing. Until to the last piece, we can barely lift the spoon and fork to feed anymore. It was devastating. The sight of a waiter passing our table with a plate full of fried squids was already traumatic.

The dark side of us

The real us

We headed back to the homestay for the final preparation especially the bikes. Now everyone wants to be the pro-mechanic. Twitching bikes here and there. Garmin calibration. Hydration measurement and electrolyte grading and hydrate. Gels strategy. Tyre pressure gauging. Chain lubing and hydrate. Timing chip setup and hydrate. You name it. The whole house packed like a F1 pit-stop backdrop. It dragged until mid-night.

The next morning, ample wash-room facilities made life easier for morning routines. Some even taking the effort of waking up super early just to enjoy the luxurious morning 'moment'. Quick breakfast with anything we can grab on, Nescafe for me as usual for that particular 'umph!' feel. We rode to the start line a kilometre away at Malaysia International Islamic University.

Almost half an hour before flag-off, we received a surprise turn up from our long lost friend Nik Enaikay, a legendary runner blogger. Now he's into photo-blogger. Great to see him.

We don't have any special plans. Trying to keep together was impossible since the 2000 cyclists were packed for the first 30 km rolling start. In that particular distance, disaster occurred almost at every 5 km. All stunts right before my eyes. Horrific.

There were crashed from fallen water bottles. Crashed from pot holes. Crashed from tangling wheels and wheels. And even a herd of cows almost triggered a crash when they attempted to cross the road!

I dare not distract myself from the front view and all hands on the brake levers and shifters. Full alert for any mishaps. The cruising speed was devilish, tops almost at 45 kph at times, especially at the nostalgic Pantai Sepat. Sprinting legs were stung whenever the peloton got strung after every corners and inclines. It was super-interval for the first hour. It was pain trying to latch to the first bunch.

No more solitary at Pantai Sepat

Upon completing Pantai Sepat and the kampung road, I got a side stitch. Argh! Perhaps from the rock and roll tempo pace. I had to let go. By the this time, the peloton was released from the pace car and hell broke loose. I grasp for any smaller groups that I can latch to but to no avail, the side stitch didn't help.

As the pain subsides moments later, a group of 7 riders passed by and a foreigner invited me to form a descend pace group. We took turn leading and the speed was managed at a very pleasurable one, I was smiling again rather than crying & startled during the last hour. This small group hold the pace together for at least 10 km before suddenly a huge peloton of nearly 150 riders, I think, caught up and engulfed us back into a sea of cyclists. However the speed remained calm for a while for self recovery. Phew!

The rolling starts after 80 km and that was where most of us was in our own war. When the pain from overboard zone pace started to be fruitful. I had to be a bit selfish, latching up to even a tiny group of 2 cyclists! Shame on me. Then we turned slightly bigger to 7, but soon as we hit the KOM stage, we were back to 1 again. The KOM stage was lonely, and Nik was there to capture my miserable looks. Thanks Nik for the priceless answer.

Bro, mana water station??
Entah la bro. Aku pun tak tau.
Thanks for the honest answer Nik!

Lucky the KOM was short, but the the third water station (WS) was 10 km away! With 3 bottles with me from the beginning, my plan was to skip the first 2 WS. It worked but the mental game played along through the lonely path.

At WS-3, familiar faces waited. Alwin and Azahari. Ziff caught up slightly before. The sense of camaraderie gave a tiny sting of hope of being able to ride together again like our normal weekend ride. And our conversation which was mostly about the 'initial super-interval stage' became lively.

Sponge Bob friends

Again, the tiny excitement melted once we hit the partial end of the East Coast Highway. It has the complete package for a century meltdown with accumulating miles, accumulating pain, energy dissipation, heat from above and below, headwind, exposed and straight climbs. The trauma of Guthrie Corridor hit us. It was mental game again. We barely converse. Silence hits the surface.

It lasted for 13 km one way and we have to return the same way on the other side. The front riders have turned back and tormented faces were streamlined along the way. The three of us took mercy under a bridge for a moment and continued on towards WS-4 at KM133. Now this stop represents the best of it all. A sponging facility! At the time of the day, that was the most brilliant idea. We indulge ourselves into it. Squeezing the sponge, slowly releasing the freezing water through the helmet and down our spine. We took refuge under a van's rear door while deciding to wait for the rest of the buddies which we saw will join soon.

Det and Akmal arrived moments later and we continued to parade ourselves for the remaining 30 km with two more humps and a rolling pass. We knew that sub-6 is already in our grasp, hence another brilliant idea from Alwin to stop for a thirst quencher at a Guava juice stall. Priceless.

We rolled in towards the finish line together somewhere after 5:40 hours of riding time, smiling, no cursing and enjoyed the shower from the fire hydrant's spout. Ethically collected our medal and cert and of course lunch while resting and honouring our taxing day. Suddenly the camaraderie went dead, perhaps due to incompleteness of the bangla on bikes circle.

However, it went lively back again right after we headed back to the homestay and the so called post ride talks, joke and 'lambungs' flew all over Indera Mahkota with a loud bang from the 17 of us. While washing our bikes we added more talks and laughters. We excelled, we ran out of luck and we enjoyed the century distance in our own way.

Wait! The war finale ain't over until the post ride meal is official. Another round of smaller scale war due to diminishing appetite but a plain white rice with a bowl of hot Tom Yam was the best to tease my pale taste bud.

Lost of words nya la haiiii...