Back To KL (3)

Gan, our course instructor whom we had come to trust, offered to drive Meng and I back to KL. He too was heading home. Upon return to the mainland, we discovered that his van had a flat tire. It was said that local mechanics went around puncturing them to improve business. Changing the tire himself, Gan cut his fingers nastily on the jack.

He dropped Simon and Ed off at Tanah Merah, and we stopped at a rest station for ice-cream. All of them have a playground, prayer room and canteen. This was a peaceful pocket along the highway, filled with children's laughter, the last respite we would have this trip.

KL lay at the other end of the peninsula, 6 hours away at an average speed of 100 km/h. Malaysia's roads warn of high fatalities: sinuous and single-laned, they demand that drivers overtake slower heavy vehicles by momentarily entering the opposite lane.

It started to rain. There were no safety belts at the back. We entered the highlands of Pahang, climbing up into the limestone hills. The rain increased steadily, and turning along a mountain pass, we were buffeted by a windstorm so great that we had to pull over and wait it out. There was no longer any network reception.

The storm blew over shortly, and we continued along roads that undulated and wound around ancient rockfaces, skirting the timeless forests of Taman Negara. The view was breathtaking, and my heart soared with exhilaration until it realised that we were low on petrol.

The usually chirpy Gan was grim with concentration as he switched to neutral gear upon each downward descent to conserve precious fuel, revving the engine up again as the road once more rose in an incline. We fiercely cheered him on, but upon the final crest, the engine died.

The problem with 3 scruffy Chinese men hitchiking in the wilderness of Pahang is further compounded by the fact that nearly all the drivers there are Malay, and often with family. In the end, a kind soul stopped, and Gan got into his car, disappearing down the road.

Me and Meng stood by the van, and for the first time in our lives we were genuinely afraid for our lives. Robbers abounded everywhere. A convoy of lumber trucks swerved into the opposite lane, sounding to warn oncoming cars cresting the hill. It was mayhem, it was getting dark.

An hour later as the light began to fail, Gan returned with a full can, much to our relief. He turned the key. Nothing. The slope's gravity prevented fuel from reaching the engine. Once more I got out with Meng, and Gan shifted to neutral as the van rolled backwards down the hill.

We ran before the reversing vehicle, down that mountain road, frantically waving all approaching cars into the next lane. The van accelerated, and we ran faster to stay ahead. Sunset: on both sides of the road the dark canopy of trees poked through the clouds below us.

On level ground, the van started, and we drove on in silence to the petrol station. It was 8pm. Night was even more hazardous, as road-side lamposts are unheard of. In the darkness, it started to rain once more.

But our luck held out. The names of ghostly towns floated by: Kuala Lipis, Raub, Bentong. Then Genting. Then KL. Finally, KL. I alighted by a shopping centre, where Sean was waiting in his car. As I got in, I turned to the van and waved farewell to Gan and Meng. For some inexplicable reason, I couldn't thank them both enough.