Back from Tioman Island (aka Paradise)

Wow!! I begged for feedback and got all kinds of it!! Mostly everyone said to lay off the grapes. Thanks guys. No grapes today, just weird shaped fishy tasting chewy things that once roamed the seas and now are roaming angrily in my stomache. It's weird eating fish and filshlike substances again...the karma is kind of heavy for me but damn it tastes really good!

"What took you so long to get here"? the groom said, smiling, as if I were one of the groomsman and had been holding up the wedding. We were shaking hands warmly as I congratulated him while he pointed out his new wife. It was the first time we had met. November is the end of tourist season here on Tioman Island and as everything shuts down for the monsoons, the tourist crowd was thinning rapidly. There was an excited buzz today that a wedding was happening and we were all invited. We, meaning anyone who happened to still be on the island. People I had never seen before would come up to me on the path (there are no streets in Salang, just paths that skirt the beach and hillside) and ask "Are you going to the wedding tonight"? Everyone who is anyone (actually everyone) was going and I wasn't going to miss the local style party.
It was 9:00pm and we followed the music and fireworks (yes more fireworks, Malaysians love them. Eating breakfast earlier that day a massive explosion went off 20 feet from my table...a group of old women wrapped in chadors surrounded by the sulpherous smoke sitting motionlessly as if nothing happened and me with a cup of tea in my lap). Anyway, along the muddy hillside was a group of huts slapped together for a large gathering, lights strung up festively and a palm grass stage where a local group was singing Malaysian pop tunes. Smoke hung in the humid night and about a hundred people were sitting around kind of dazed listening to the over-amped music. I walked over to the punch, looked around then asked someone where the cups were. The guy looked at me pitifully, like I had some learning disability and grabbed a half-full glass on the table, dumped it out and handed it to me. Trying to casually wipe the rim in the darkness I filled up the glass with a kool-aid red liquid. "Color right, flavor wrong", as some sweet but odd taste introduced itself to my tongue. I left the glass half full for the next guy. I had walked up the path with some friends I'd met earlier. Germans, Swedish, Swiss, and me the American, our group of 10 or so stuck out a bit as we hovered on the perimeter regressing to Jr. High status once again. I noticed one older man sitting next to the drummer waving for us to get up and dance. At the moment there was no one on flattened muddy "dance floor". So with some anxiety, and feeling that freedom you get when far from home, Heinrich my dive partner from earlier in the day, and I grabbed as many people as would dance. It was awkward at first. I was thinking that here was this Malaysian band, surrounded by Malaysians old and young and the only ones dancing were these crazy white tourists. But then I looked at their faces and apparently our spasmotic thrashing was big entertainment because they were laughing and taking videos. The old guy got off the stage and joined us and eventually the the place was jumping with dancers. Our work here was done. Dripping with sweat and smiling from ear to sunburned ear I went back down to chat with the groom. He was 33 and concerned about getting such a late start. But he also seemed ready and we joked about life as he knows it being all over. He and his family was sad for me not having a wife and kids, but at that moment I felt so right in the world...standing in a hot jungle, getting bit by mosquitoes, surrounded by people who were loving life and looking at a crescent moon through the fronds of a palm tree.
Tioman Island is one of those places that tourist brocures can't over inflate. The people, the water, the beaches and the jungle make it magic. Mokeys in the trees and 6 foot monitor lizards in the open sewer called a river remind me that I'm far from home. The fruit bats with their 3-4 foot wing spans, screeching up in the mango trees as the sun sets give it a mysterious and adventurous flare. I hated to leave it, but for some strange reason felt the pull of my bicycle. I guess the blisters on my ass had fully healed.

Cycling Sucks

Thank you all for leaving comments...it lets me know that someone is reading this drivel and keeps me writing...keep the feedback coming!
So, after months of planning and preparation I finally got in my first long ride of the trip, 123km to be accruate. Tire pressure: good, wheels trued: check, chain oiled: got it, weight evenly distributed between my 4 panniers: yes. Muscles trained and ready to ride with 60 pounds under my butt...DAMN, I knew I forgot something! Riding to and from work in downtown Seattle is one thing, even up Spring St. which I used to think was evil. Going for fully loaded one hour training rides in Kauai up Kawaihau Road is quite another...hot, sweaty and tiring. And riding into the country side that is southern Malaysia is a reality check. After 2 hours I was begging for the arctic Hawaiian breezes and dry air that the islands are known for. It's not that Malaysia down here is mountainous...and I can't even complain about headwinds. It's just freakin' HOT. And those training rides I longingly recalled as I was into my 3rd hour of the day? "Woefully inadequate" was the phrase that kept going through my sweat soaked head. "James", I heard that voice in my head that is part me and part drill sargeant call out "your training wasn't just inadequate, it was woefully inadequate". "Woefully inadequate". It sounded poetic almost. Eighteenth century English novelist language. "Woefully inadequate" could be Jane Austen maybe. Ah England, cool misty mornings, grey wet skies, a reason to be depressed...no, it wasn't working. I couldn't conjure the cooling effect of the more temperate climes. But that didn't keep me from trying. The mind does weird things when left to its own overheated devices and "woefully inadequate" became a sort of self-loathing mantra. "Why in the hell didn't I ride more before I took this trip"? "What am I doing here"? And yes, the classic, "Why did I leave Kauai" (without the dot com). My legs were starting to groan at the 5th hour of the ride but at least I hadn't made the mistake of not bringing food or water (I'm learning). But there are many mistakes to be made in this lifetime and it seems I need to learn a lot of them in a short period of time, and right now. This is the grape lesson. Most of us learn it by 6 or 8 years of age. Don't eat too many grapes at one time. They are really, really good, and juicy and sweet and when your'e riding all day long they are almost impossible to resist. OK they are totally impossible to resist when they are in your handle bar bag which is just inches from your fingertips and did I mention the heat. You don't even need to stop to eat 'em. Just pop them in your mouth one after another until...I think it was about the 7th hour into the ride when the stomache cramps began...and details at this point would just be fun for all my nurse friends so I'll mercifully change the subject from DIARRHEA to the road sign system in Malaysia.
It's actually excellent. Too excellent. In the spirit of 1930's American WPP and CCC projects the Malaysian government has created a jobs program that is clever and helpful if you drive a car. If you cycle, it's just cruel. Every kilometer there is a stone marker counting down the km's to the next big city. Great idea unless you drive at approx 20km/hr. "How could I have only gone 1 km?" became my new mantra not replacing but augmenting the old one. And seeing 78km to go, down from 83 km so long ago, doesn't really make you feel that good inside. Just about the same as the grapes. I have grown to hate good signage.
I really can't stress enough the power of the voices inside my head as I ride alone all day. The PDR pamphlet accompanying my mefloquine, anti-malarial pills, warns of severe depression and suicidal ideation as a not uncommon side effect. Remembering that did make me feel a bit better as the thought of slashing my wrists or just swerving in front of the next passing car kept occurring every time one of those #%@& km markers shimmered in the distance. I started to devise ways to avoid seeing the signs and forgetting the numbers on them. At first glance of something that could be a sign I would look in any direction but forward. Granted this might not be the safest of driving techniques but at least I hadn't commited suicide yet and that was saying something. Then I would try to think of random numbers or add things up in my head to try and forget what was indellibly etched into my memory...the number on the last sign. Pulling the conversion rate of the Malaysian Ringet to the US dollar to the 6th decimal couldn't erase the numbers on those stones. I was trapped in the hell of a tape loop counting down distances ever so slowly until a new equation entered my head. Did I have enough pedal strokes left in these once proud legs to see the km marker hit zero? This was Big Math and I didn't have it in me to do it. "Just ride like a machine" I thought, "keep those legs spinning and you will get there...I'm pretty sure of it". My mind is a fickle friend and can be a brutal enemy. At times feeling quite insane, and at others quite happy, riding solo has been a test for me and one I think I'm failing most of the time. I think of Willie Weir and all the other intrepid long distance riders out there. I think of the pioneers, of rock climbers, and Peary and the Arctic explorers. They weren't whining about a little heat and abdominal bloating! And if they did at least they didn't blog about it, begging the world for sympathy.
Eight hours after starting this ride, the mega-farm of palm trees that is southern Malaysia (so much for jungle and biodiversity) gave way to Mersing. It appeared like a long desired lover. Arms held wide and smiling she helped me off the saddle, fed me, and laid me down to rest. All the craziness of the day was washed away as I slipped into bed and slept like I haven't slept in years. More than the heat or distance (not that far really), more than the fatigue and more than my knee pain, it's my mind and its weakness that has me worried. I forgot to train my brain for this trip. No amount of research or planning or querrying of locals will help me with what ultimately comes down to...me.

Hell with Deepavali, it's Hari Raya time!

I keep wondering why I'm doing this. Adventure? Fun? Exploration? What is it that drives me forward (besides my bike) to find new experience? Two nights ago I wondered this all night long and fervently. I was camped out on a public camping beach among the piles of crap (plasic bottles, diapers, rags, styrofoam, more diapers) that the local brochures forget to mention. And as the sun began to wander toward the horizon and the crowd began to thin, I rode my unloaded bike up the road for dinner. Full and tired I got back to "camp" to see that the day crowd had given way to the throngs of the night. Hari Raya is a big holiday for Muslims as it celebrates the end of Ramadan. A really big holiday as it turns out. The beach was throbbing with people hanging out to the beat of a hyper-techno rave party. The sound track came from a car with a stereo system so powerful that the engine had to be kept on to power it. The kind of system that rattles your windows from blocks away. The kids in the car were parked next to a few tents with families who had small kids so I thought "cool, this will go on till 10:00, 11pm tops". I crawled into my tent and curled up with my book (thank you, Sheryl).
A tent is a strange, amazing, aural anomally that I think hasn't been fully studied. Sounds are amplified in unexplained ways. If you've ever camped out and heard rustling in the bushes or a twig break you know what I'm talking about. So by midnight as the pulsing beat seemed to be getting louder, mixing with the pounding waves and the people everywhere, I didn't freak out too much. Well, actually I did, but only because my foam ear plugs were totally ineffective and I could feel the sub woofer base in my chest. Crawling out of my tent I saw hundreds of people enjoying their national holiday a whole lot more than I was. Cars were lined up, headlights on, pointing into the surf, as families played soccer and laughed with their kids running around...little kids! Don't these people know what time it is? Don't they have to be somewhere and do something? Aren't they worried about how tired and cranky their kids (and me) are going to be tomorrow? Aren't they uptight and rule bound like me? What the hell is wrong with these people? Those were some of the nicer thoughts I had as the night was still young.
The fireworks were starting to come out now as it was officially hari raya (past midnight). These weren't the wheezy Singaporean ones I so wistfully remembered. M-80s we used to call them. Big booms all over the beach. Everyone had them and they were having a good time with them. Moving my tent had proven useless and I became resolved to a night of no sleep and surlyness. Too tired to read, the i-pod gave me some relief although the mixing beats from the car stereo and my earphones was weird. Having a tent up at the beach with someone lying (not sleeping) in it means one thing back home and I ethnocentrically thought this was universal. It usually means you keep it down or give them space or some other such polite gesture. Not so here as people walked by within a foot or so and laughed or shouted or lit fireworks.
I'm not sure what time it was when I noticed the thick smoke in my tent as I was too tired to check (and what difference did it make anyway)? There were fires all over the beach by now. At 4:00 am for some mysterious reason the hammering base beat stopped and I drifted off to a coughing shallow-breathed sleep. At six am and the music was back on in force (maybe they had to go fill up the tank) and I crept out of my tent stinky, sandy, smokey, and feeling amazingly horrible. The feeling that 'humanity was doomed and deservedly so, kill them all'...you know, that old chestnut. The irony of the having that feeling just a day after being helped by the 4 moped guys (and knowing that humanity was, at its core altruistic) wasn't lost on me and yet strangely, that didn't help. Rubbing my eyes I found the source of the smoke I'd been breathing. About 20 feet upwind was a family happily burning newspaper soaked in something that blackened the air. They were even cooking in that toxic goo. Smilingly sharing a breakfast of meat and rice. Wondering just how many years this night had robbed of my life I messily and hurriedly packed my gear as I thought about the 100km or so I was going to ride that day.

Deepavali party

(This blog is late and occurred before the last entry)
I awoke to a group of drunk revellers screaming "Happy Deepavali" as another breathy whistle brought me around. Deepavali is a Hindu celebration recalling a story from the Ramayana where good conquers evil. These guys were definitely feeling good but when they awaken tomorrow, evil will have triumphed judging by the slurred speech. They were laughing and lighting a strange kind of firework sounding like a very soft and wheezy bottle rocket without the "pop". It was the muted sound effect of a bottle rocket...even the fireworks in Singapore are sterile. I knew this campsite was too good to be true. I'm on an idyllic little corner of a beach on Sentosa Island which is the playground for all of Singapore: crowded beaches, water park, ski lift style tram, boat rentals. As I rode up to the park ranger booth I learned that my guidebook was outdated and that there is no longer camping on Sentosa. But seeing my disappointment the ranger instructed me where to set up my tent so no one would bother me. Happily cycling up the first hill I've yet to encounter I realized that for the first time in a week(save the excellent oasis of the Sing. Botanical Gardens) I wasn't surrounded by steel and glass and grinding traffic and shoppers, but by the color green. The effect was soothing and I took a deep breath...and coughed spasmodically. During these times, when Indonesia is burning, the air quality is measured and discussed more than the air temp. The indes today is 90-100 depending on which part of the city you are in. At 100 outdoor exercise is not recommended. At 200 the out of doors is not recommended. I can't emagine what it was like in '97 when the index hit >250 in Kuala Lumpur.
As I rode down the hill to the beach swarms of people were piling off of buses, standing in line for the live dolphin show and strolling up and down the promenade. Pleasant muzac was piped along the path every 100' or so from the hidden Bose speakers and each palm tree seemed perfectly placed. As it turns out each palm tree was perfectly place as was each grain of sand. It's an artificial beach...a Disneyland of beaches with salt water lagoons and mini island to swim to and a rope bridge to another island, and bars, and tiki torches. After a week in the city (and I'm embarrassed to admit it) it was alluring.
When I earlier mentioned that I had been awakened by partiers, it was more like nudged as sleep is too strong a word for the state I was in. Lying in my tent with nothing on but surf shorts, in a slowly growing puddle of sweat I was glad I had left the rainfly off to catch any breath of wind coming my way. Sadly there was none which accounted for the glassy water 75' from my tent. This sea, the South China Sea, acted more like lakedale back home than what I am used to in Kauai...sea indeed! The only "waves" noted were from the innumerable ships and smaller boats that passed by my tent all night long. More tham the heat or Indian Party Animals it was the constant drone of nautical engines that kept me awake. I forgot to consider that as Singapore has no natural resources (even the water gets piped in from Malaysia and then sold back to them bottled at a profit!) everything must be shipped in: food, water and the essentials of life like electronics and Calvin Klein. So on my front porch was one of the busiest shipping channels in the world. Think napping during a Seafare race.
And even though complaing about everything is a hoot, I must confess that sleeping next to a lapping sea, "awakened" by the calls of birds I've never heard before, (some haunting and some screeching) at the beginning of a journey that will lead to places unseen both internally and external, has moments of calm bliss. Or was that a cat nap?

Never ever do this

Never ever do this!! Never arrive in a foreign country as the sun is going down, without water, without food, and without money, assuming that these things can be obtained when you get there. Bad form, and like the naieve fool that I am, I did just that...in Malaysia. The pevious night was spent on a beach in Singapore which was interesting and I'll write about it later. Riding through the frenetic downtown streets of Singapore wearing a sugical mask, while making the act of inhalation a chore, at least filtered out the larger chunks of air pollution. Getting lost in the street "system" in Singapore was a big improvement over riding accidentally and probably illegally on the mega freeway that I had been on earlier so resting in the ferry terminal for the next 5 hours was actually fine with me. As there was actually nothing to eat but a warm breeze blowing through building I got more and more hungry, but knew dinner was a short 45 minute ferry ride away. But waiting for my dinner in Malaysi as it turns out wasn't the best idea of the day. Sadly it wasn't the worst decision I made yesterday either...that would have been travelling by bike without more than about 4 ounces of drinking water.
As the boat pulled into Malaysia the stark difference between it and Singapore was apparent. This part of Malaysia was a jungle paradise with only a dock, a customs office and, well, that was it. Inspired by the beauty I was happy to be out of the city and ready to go. All I needed was some food, some money to buy it with and a place to sleep. All I saw was misty jungle. Hmm. I began to ride down the only road available and was thinking about the Singaporean Christian group (with a minister from Kauai of all places) that I met on the ferry. They were staying at a resort nearby and I thought maybe this was a good backup plan for me if I couldn't find anything else. As it slowly got darker and darker I drank the last of my water and picked up my pace. It's funny how when you don't have water and food you get thirsty and hungry. The thought that I hadn't eaten since breakfast except for my last power bar 3 hours ago was nagging at me and my stomache. It's also funny how, as it got darker, I got more and more nervous...one might even say freaked out. I was cycling in a beautiful part of the world with rows and rows of palm trees and all I could think about was not wanting to have to stop and sleep under one without some water to drink. The road finally came to a T and in the last remaining light I took a right turn and raced up a hill in search of a resort. After maybe 4km I saw some bright lights to the right and headed toward them eventually reaching a town spread over the hillsides. It was a small town with every teenager out and about on their mopeds and fireworks exploding as Muslims are celebrating Hari Raya, the last day of Ramadan. No resort, no hotel and just a small town in the middle of nowhere. But at least it was a town and there were stalls with food and stalls with water and stalls with...
"Credit card?" she asked incredulously, shaking her head.
"Can I buy with credit card?" I asked again, knowing the answer.
I was sweating profusely and shaking now with fatigue. I had no money and this town, no this entire area, had no place to use my card nor an ATM for that matter. Note to self (refer to title of this blog). I must have looked like a martian in my helmet, with my tail light flashing and my head lamp stuck to my forhead because soon a gathering of the moped gang was surrounding me. With my incredibly inept Malaysian and their equally weak grasp of English we managed to communicate and they took me to a small shop where I could charge up the minutes on my telephone card. Oh if I only had a phone...I would have called up loved ones and said goodbye, collect.
I did know how to say "I need drinking water" and I followed one moped to a food stall. When he realized I had no money he pulled out a bill and said "I support". I was too thirsty to refuse. The water was beautiful and I drank it in two long gulps. Yes, the thought that I had to rely on this kids generosity (not to mention small income) because of my own stupidity did go through my mind. As we sat there trying to figure out where I was, what I needed and what to do about it he pulled out his cell phone and made some calls. We rode over to the first shop and the crowd was still there...now with two young guys who spoke english. Lots of discussion about what to do (no there was no place to put my tent in this town etc.) led to the obvious conclusion that they would form an escort of 2 mopeds and lead/follow me to the resort.
"Not far" Alif had said "maybe 12 km". I could do that I thought, barely, but I could do it. After 5km, at the sign that said 17km to our destination, and going really slowly, Alif pulled over and said that Zamrie would ride for me. Now riding a fully loaded 60 pound bike takes some practice, especially with pedals that need special cleats. I began to explain this but was too tired. Damn if Zamrie didn't jump on and weave his way up the next few hills with seat way too high making his hips hula back and forth with each pedal stroke. A kilometer later, his flip flops spinning wildly in low gear, Zamrie reached out to take Hanafi's hand and began the long tow to the resort. I haven't even mentioned the traffic or the car that was passing in the oncoming lane that almost killed Zamrie and the two on the moped, but the thing had a life of its own and we were moving 50km per hour and we were all laughing and enjoying the night. Later on, at the resort dining room we were all sitting down to dinner and ice cream when Alif's phone rang. When he hung up he had a smile on his face and said that the guys back home were jealous.

Why did I leave Kauai

Why did I leave Kauai

Finally on the road!

I just read last night that Singapore is by far the most well-laid-out and organized city in SE Asia. This does not bode well for me. With bike freshly assembled (minus a missing bolt needed to attach my fender) and a big smile on my face, I left the Broadway Hotel to go find a replacement bolt. "There is a bike shop right behind the Temple of a Thousand Lights" the front desk clerk explained as he pointed to the spot on my admittedly undetailed map. The Sakaya Muni Gaya Buddhist Temple is mentioned in my book so...great I'll go get the part and visit the temple too.
The first thing to hit me as I left the hotel was the heat. OK, no worries, I'm ready for it after all the hot and humid rides on Kauai. The next thing that hit, a second later, was the air quality...or lack of it. The Kauaiian sea breeze did not prepare me for the grey miserable haze that hung in the air. The pall was from the annual ecological fest over in Indonesia, hundreds of miles away. There thousands of fires are set to burn forests for more farmland so we can have more people so we can burn more forests so we can... but I digress. Smiling, and coughing now, I rode toward the temple maybe a quarter mile away. One hour later ( at a rate of 0.25 miles per hour if my math serves me) after Jalan Rangoon crossed Rangoon Road near Serangoon Road I found the bike shop. Roads begin and end with no signage and no logic. Then show up again same name different location. Crossing and recrossing my path several times didn't help much but the friendly people of Singapore did. So with the free bolt, nut and washer in my hand (thank you bike shop guy!) I walked over to the Temple of a Thousand Lights.
The lights weren't on but someone was definitely home...and that would be the Buddha; Almost 5 stories tall and 300 tons of Buddha. He was surrounded by hundreds of other Buddhas and smoking incence. At least the smoke in there smelled sweet and the cool marble floor felt good on my feet. A quiet calm amidst the grind of traffic I had just wrestled had restored my sense of well-being (thank you Buddha) as well as my appetite. I'm staying in "little India" and was happy to be having Indian food for my first meal in Asia. How to choose from the hundreds of hole in the wall places that all look the same? Randomly, of course. My favorite sign for the day was "Amma Mess" (say it out loud for full effect) but chose to eat somewhere else. A pile of rice was plopped down on a big piece of butcher paper next to a delicious blob of spinach. A small bowl of aromatic dahl soup and some subtle fried onion bread thing was also laid out in front of me and not a utensil in sight. Stoked to be eating local style I tried to remember with which hand to eat and for some reason my mind went blank. I knew it was specific and important "for hygienic reasons" and since I wipe my butt with my right hand (OK T.M.I. for sure, but I do use toilet paper!) I dug in with my left. The big smiles and looks I got from the few people who walked by warmed and encouraged me as I thought how this trip through Asia is going to be an amazing learning experience. If I just stay alert and be aware of... "excuse me" a voice interrupted, "but you should eat your food with your right hand". Next to me was an old Indian man with a wry smile and a right hand covered in rice and sauce. I was mortified, but instead of expaining to him my particular toileting techniques I inwardly laughed at my short lived self confidence not to mention my inexperience as we struck up a warm conversation of far away homes and loved ones.

What was I thinking?

It's 3:30 am and I woke up in a cold sweat (yeah it's a hot night here but...) thinking of all the little details that I haven't quite wrapped up. Pick up..., get a box for..., pay some last minute..., make sure all addresses are..., clean up..., did I pack the... My mind is an evil friend right now but I'm more upset with with the bladder that woke me up and told my brain to boot up and WORRY, about anything and everything. So here I sit alone and scared and wondering what the hell it was that drove me to the conclusion that I needed to travel (and not for the last time either I have a feeling). Not to travel like most 44 year old guys; the trip to Europe staying at some lovely pensione here and quaint B and B there, visiting the Louvre, Picadilly Square, Las Ramblas. Although I've seen those things and loved them, I felt like this trip was more of an inward journey, a quest for something meaningful, a desire to know more of myself through struggle...what my family likes to call my second mid-life crisis. No, I have to ride my bike through equatorial heat and insane traffic patterns (fighting the depression/suicidal thoughts that are common side effects of the particular anti-malarial that I'll be taking) to find whatever it is I am and we all are looking for.
Tonight however the Euro dream sounds sweet and romantic and, well, clean. I am stressing about the unknown and all the details of just how much unknown there is out there. And as I sit here in the dark pre-dawn hours I'm thinking the whole idea is really stupid and how I don't really want to go after all and how everyone IS right...it IS really dangerous and lots of bad things can happen and I will get sick and I will be alone and...and that is the reason most people don't go. Fear. Sure I'm scared. I'm scared of a lot in this world and I've been scared my whole life. My mind can mess up any situation and focus on the worst of the worst. Hell, we're trained to. It's how we've survived. Don't run out into the street, don't trust strangers, don't get stuck out in the dark. Bad things can happen to people and do all the time. I'm just so tired of living like they might happen to me and if I buy enough insurance somehow they won't. Security is a thin veil that doesn't exist. Eighteen years of ER nursing has taught me that. Like somehow if I don't go on this trip I'll be safer and my life will be better.
Well, I'm glad we've had this little chat. I feel a bit better now and am somehow emboldened. But maybe it's just fatigue...off to sleep.

Ramblings before the journey begins...one week now

The rising full moon on Kauai last Friday was kaleidescopic, neon, anything but subtle and maybe even embarrassing. I was riding my bike to my sister Martha and her boyfriend Peters house and nearly got hit by a car as my eyes were drawn to the moon like some cycling werewolf. God just busted out the bright pink hues and big brushes and went for the full "oh my..um..god I've never seen anything so beautiful, ever" effect. To the east a dusky sky all rose petal pink and a huge rising moon over the pinkish-purple Pacific. To the west, and I don't know what god was thinking here, the brightest combo of orange and red and hot Daisy-Duke pink clouds plastered with crazy Van Gogh brush strokes (not the early wild brush strokes of the "look I've lopped of my ear" self portrait years, no.. too subtle for this sunset, but the later brush strokes while in the asylum at Arles...think Starry Night) all above a setting bloody sun. Breathtaking, as was the hill out of Anahola, and a perfect primer for the Sufi gathering that was the reason for this ride in the first place.
This small gathering on the north shore of Kauai meets every full moon and sings songs from varied religious backgrounds while dancing in a circle around a couple of musicians. The love that is generated is so sweet and palpable that my smile was uncontrollable. Not in a deranged or chemically altered way but in that way when people of like mind and heart, feeling really connected and afraid of nothing, get to share in Universal Love. It's always there but where do I go? It was so good to feel that again. I've felt it before while in a small group of massage therapists/body workers in Seattle, gathering to share experience and learn the deeper work. I've felt it in a Men's Group I belonged to for years in Friday Harbor, Wa. A group dedicated to growth and support of each other as self-fulfilled human beings. Being there to listen as men opened up on levels that this culture believes men can't fathom let alone reach.
And as I stood at this little gathering of aging hippies and blissed out New Agers I felt connected to the groups I've been involved with in the past as well as all the other small groups of people that I know are meeting/singing/praying/meditating/crying/improving/writing... for peace and for self expression and for connection to something more intimate and better. It was as if I could see that we who care are not alone. There is a movement happening and it's not political nor organized. It's scattered and unfocused (kind of like this blog entry) and small scale yet incredibly powerful because it's all about human growth and love. I felt so good and happy standing hand in hand with these (no longer) strangers and knowing that I am connected.
Sunday on the other hand, when I found out my friend isn't going to meet me in Singapore as planned, I wasn't feeling so happy, connected and loving. But that was yesterdays blog entry.

What is it about Singapore?

Ten years ago I went to Singapore by accident. I was traveling in Eastern Africa on an around the world adventure and was thinking it would be cool to go see my cousin David who was working in Shanghai. For some reason Singapore (doesn't even rhyme with Shanghai but in my defense -a very weak defence I admit-does begin with the same letter) got stuck in my brain and that's where I thought he was living. I bought the ticket to Sin city and was excited to be going to SE Asia for the first time and also to be spending some time with cuzin David and family.
OK simple mistake, anyone could have made it and (well, most people couldn't have but I did) I got to check out a place in the world that I never would have otherwise...Raffles Hotel, Singapore Sling, giant plastic snowmen shimmering at night in the the equatorial heat, no crime, no garbage and sadly no cousin. No worries, great city, glad I saw it, won't be back. Never say never. My friend Steve just moved to Singapore a few months ago and it got me thinking that it would be a great jumping off point for my bike ride north through Malaysia. I am slightly familiar with the city and Steve said he would put me up for a few days and show me around. "Alright! Singapore let's do this right this time"
Just got the email from Steve. "...got the job done early won't be in Singapore for your trip, sorry and have an awesome adventure". What is it about Singapore? Why does it want me to keep coming back with absolutely no agenda or plan? What did I ever do to Singapore? What am I supposed to learn here? The last time I was there it was after a 9 month trip and was a transition, an easing back into a more affluent and "Westernized" world...if you call hyper-efficiency and super organized and 'cleaner than any western city I've ever seen' a gentle transition. So maybe this is a transition time too. Like a 4:00 AM blaring alarm clock waking me from the laid back and quiet/rural life of Kauai where people smile and wave to a metropolis of overcrontrolled, overcrowded, and over-sanitized where I'll be overwhelmed. Sounds like the perfect beginning to a new adventure!

Never use the word superfluous in two consecutive blog entries

Day two of blog...or T minus two weeks until liftoff for SE Asia. Just talked with my sister Samantha who says she will take me to Viet Nam via Bangkok all expenses paid... including flight! She wants a travel partner and I want to extend my trip for as long as possible...can't really pass that up and it will be good to see family again after a few months on the road. Also it'll be good to leave the bike behind in Thailand for a few weeks and rest my ass (yes, literally), not to mention allowing blood flow return to the bits that can go all numb and tingly. OK, maybe I shouldn't have mentioned it but there you have it...numbnuts. No not you, the condition where prolonged pressure on the pudendal nerve causes one of the favorite parts of my anatomy to feel as if it went missing, along with all my luggage and left behind, sad and lonely at the unclaimed baggage area of some forgotten airport. Speaking of genitals...sorry for the bike porn photos but c'mon, it's Campagnolo man. And the bike...well let's just say it's love. R and E cycles in Seattle is an amazing bike shop hand building beautiful bicycles in the basement. And any shop that sponsors professional bike tourers instead of racers has my vote.
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Kilauea lighthouse in the background after a short ride on Kauai. Bags are empty but look cool, no? Still in denial that I actually have to put shit in the bags to make them less superfluous.

Not yet crapping my pants (but I haven't left either)

Two weeks 12 hours and 7 minutes till my flight leaves Kauai for parts unknown. Actually not totally unknown. I've been to Singapore before, 10 years prior, and the Starbucks/Mc Donalds/7-11 lined spit-shined streets ( not actually spit as that would earn you a caning ) will be somewhat familiar. My friend Steve who is putting me up for a few days has promised to show me the underbelly of a town that doesn't have one. I like the way that sounds, way more rogue-esque than going out for a beer after work, but this is my blog after all and travel-blogs are supposed to exaggerate the mundane. As if going to a pub is some daring adventure in a city-state that sanitizes experiences as if they were public toilets.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Even if Singapore is just a landing pad for a bicycle trip that will take me through Malaysia, Thailand, and into India, it still isn't the beginning of this blog.
Today was the last day of my job as a zip tour operator. That is the beginning. When one door is closed another is opened. For the next 2 weeks I'll be studying up on my Malaysian, riding the last few hundred prep miles and ingesting anti-malarials. I'll also be packing and unpacking my paniers until the perfect and appropriate load to weight to "why the f*** am I taking this must have yet totally superfluous crap" ratio is reached.