My brother visited me for a few weeks of cycling in Thailand and Malaysia.  Our time together was good, and I think he picked up a tiny bit of my enthusiasm for cycling. Still, after three weeks, it was time for him to go back the US, to family and friends and soccer and girlfriend and all the rest. He’s happy to be leaving. I’m happy to be alone again. I missed the adventure of solo travel, of taking each day as it comes, of stopping when I want and going where I please, of not answering to anyone but myself.

 After he is home, the question is: where to go? Just an empty road ahead and I can go any way I choose. Perhaps I’m guilty of insanity, but I decide to head for the Cameron Highlands.

While I was biking around Ipoh, the city I would be starting from, a black car pulls in and stops directly in front of me on the otherwise empty road. I continue past as the man inside waves at me, so he pulls up again and rolls down his window.

“Where are you from?” he asks, then, after I answer, he continues.

“I like you very much.” Hmmm.

“I want to kiss you.” Sigh, not again.

“Can I kiss you?” No.

“Why not?” I have a boyfriend and he doesn’t want me kissing other people.

“Where is he?” Ipoh.

He rolled his window up and drove away.

  The joy of being independent, free and on my own was just a little less heady. I remember how very vulnerable I am.

***

The next day I load up my bike with lots and lots of extra water. Tanah Rata is at 1600m, I’m currently very close to sea level. I can do the subtraction in my head, and start early for what will be a long day of climbing.

The road starts flat - 30km of easy riding to lull me to a sense of security. It’s also hot as hell, with absolutely no shade or breeze. As I sweat through my shirt, I consider the upside. At least there’s no headwind!

 All too soon, of course, the climb starts. It’s slow and gradual and hothothot. It’s not too bad except for the buckets of sweat pouring off me, the weak and shaky feeling in my arms, and of course the prospect of seven more hours of this. Fortunately, after a few kilometers I either get used to the heat, or perhaps the altitude has kicked in, and I feel much cooler and more relaxed. I just keep pushing my way up.

While I was lost in thought, a truck driver pulled up and waved me in. “Very big hill!” he told me, holding both his hands out to signal how big. I smiled and waved, and continued biking while he looked on presumably shaking his head at the crazy lady. But I knew I could make it.

The last fifteen kilometers were the hardest, steepest, busiest, and most lacking in shoulders. They also included a couple of depressing downhill sections.  I didn’t get into Tanah Rata (where I would be staying) until nearly 5PM.  Still, success!  I spent a few days sightseeing around the region - it was beautiful, full of tea plantations and strawberry picking fields, which brought me back fond memories of picking berries in the pouring rain at 5AM as my first summer job at the age of 13… or wait.  Maybe that didn’t bring back happy memories.

When I left Tanah Rata, I figured the ride would be pretty easy. After all, I would descend approximately 1500m in 120km (as there are no places to stop until Gua Musang.) Going up? Hard. Going down? Easy.

 Unfortunately, I was wrong. Sure, that first downhill wasn’t bad - glorious really, as I hit 60km an hour and then some - but it ended. And then those small changes in elevation that google map had showed didn’t seem so small. The road is up and down, very up and down, and extremely difficult to pedal. In the heat of the day, my strength was sapped. I look ahead and saw hill after hill after hill, 80, 70, 60 km left to go, my T-shirt sweaty, my hands slippery, the roads mostly empty, and no sign of shade anywhere. The only thing to do is carry on, to push through, and so I did.

About halfway I came to a little store with what looked like a bus stop. Shade! I stopped and took out my water, then wandered into the store. It had empty shelves and some bits of nothing I wanted for sale. I went back to sit in the shade and drink my water. A Malay teenage, his hair fashionably long under a trucker hat, came up and sat with me. He chatted a bit in Malay, and I grinned and nodded and had no clue what he was saying.

 Eventually, I had to leave. I waved goodbye to the storekeeper and took off on my bike… up up up another hill. Then down. Then up. I noticed a sound, the putt-putt-putt of a motorbike going slow behind me. It was the teenager. Seeing me, he slowed down and followed silently. Up up up… I’m too slow, he passes.

I reach the top, and he’s there waiting, silently again. As I speed down the hill the putt-putt of the motorcycle stays close behind me. The road is deserted - there hasn’t been much traffic today - and another hill is coming up.

As the terrain makes me slow down, he passes and the dance repeats itself. After another big hill, he’s there again, silent, facing away from me, sitting in the motorbike, doing something. It’s a rhythmic, jerking motion - I ride by without looking, all the hairs on my neck raised and my adrenaline rushing. Maybe it was my imagination making him a bogeyman in trucker hat, and he’s an innocent just opening a water bottle or playing with his cell phone. I’m relieved he doesn’t follow.

***

An hour or so later I’m still riding, still uneasy, and still desperate for shade. The sun is high and the road is radiating the heat back at me. The hills haven’t ended and I’m sweaty and disgusting looking. A blue Toyota pulls near me, and, as with the man in Ipoh, the person inside waves and then drives out ahead of me and stops again when I ride by. This spot happens, conveniently, to be the only shaded section of the road in kilometers, so I decide to take a break. A chubby man steps out and begins the standard interrogation in English. Then he gestured up the side of the road and out of sight of the road. “Come here.” “No.”

 He moves in closer to me, asking how old I am and some other standard questions. I back away. Then, a question I haven’t heard yet - “Do you have enough money for your cycling?” Umm, yes.

He continues. “I can give you money.” No, really, I have enough. I tell him I need to go now.

He moves closer, again. “If you need money, I can pay” and makes a universal symbol (which you can all imagine!), so I knew this time I wasn’t misinterpretting. “No, really. Thanks, I’m leaving now” and I biked away.

About 15 minutes later he passed me on the road, driving quickly this time.

Malaysia is not an easy country to travel as a solo female in. Unless you aren’t against making some money on the side I suppose! It’s difficult, though, because you can’t ignore everyone or you’ll miss out on wonderful opportunities - meeting a fellow Malaysian bicyclist in Ipoh training for a race, friendly restaurant owners when I stopped for lunch, and a pack of teenagers who escorted me on their motorbikes through a supposedly dangerous section of road near Kuala Lipis. You don’t want to shut genuine people down, give off the reputation of the unfriendly or arrogant foreigner, but neither do you want to leave yourself too open.

It’s a difficult tightrope to walk, and I did my best. I was glad I had my days of solitude again, but I looked forward to meeting my friend, who in a few days would fly into Kuala Lumpur and meet me for another bit of cycling.

***

Oh yes, I did make it to Gua Musang that night (in a hard, long day of biking) and carried on the next morning en route to Ipoh. This portion of my trip was draining physically and mentally - from heat, hills, and a lack of roadside facilities, in addition to the various encounters along the way - but I felt I’d accomplished something. I’d challenged myself and came through gunning for more on the other end. After biking with my friend, I’d be returning home, but I wasn’t ready to end my trip yet. I wanted to face more challenges ahead.