The moonlight barely penetrated the cloudy night as a stiff night breeze rifled through the trees. Somewhere beyond the darkness, the sound of bubbling brook was clearly audible. We were already a quarter of on hour along a sinewy ascent on an open abandoned trail that was heavily rutted after starting out through a small village. It was the third gradient of the night that came in close sequence without much of a breather.

Looking back and front, the pack of 11 was clearly broken up as only darkness would greet the solitary rider. The blinking red lights of the FRBs have disappeared beyond the crest of the hill and the remainder of the pack has yet to come into view from below. It brought little comfort when the only sound breaking through the murky night was the sinister rustle of the forest.

 

Sanity was restored when the pack pounced upon the first and only check of the night. We were out in open country now under the cloudy skies, the lights of the village below merely a flicker from our elevation. There were five tracks branching off in various directions although instinct would have told you the one that led up another long steep climb was the likely candidate. And indeed it was. Bloody hares.

The trek up was quickly despatched as we inched inexorbaly closer to the clouds. Just before hitting the summit, the paper took a sharp left. It was apparent that we were about to leave the wide open climbs of rutty logging tracks and move on to. Singletracks. There was little our Cateyes could beam beyond the drapy leaves to give an inkling of what to expect. With a little crouch, the first rider embraced the uncertainty beyond nature’s curtain – and what followed was a swoopy narrow singletrack along the side of a very steep cliff to the rider’s left. The hares had put up hazard tape along some sections to ward off riders from finding out what lay at the bottom of the chasm.

The singletrack ended abruptly enough by leading the riders straight into an abandoned concrete building. It was as if by design that the building was built right smack in the middle of singletrack. What Trail Gods are we dealing with tonight. What greeted us in the building was beyond description. It was lit up by candles in circular arrangement. Up against the wall was a gigantic witches pentagram engrossed by, no doubt, blood of a dead chicken. But some of us were not perturbed - lit up our cigarettes and sipped away from our Camelbaks and talked cock as usual.

15 years ago, this structure was the old boathouse in Mimaland. For those who are mature enough (a.k.a. old enough), this was the premier recreational park before the days of Sunway Lagoon. Located high up on the hills, many a childhood were blessed by the memories the place created : from the largest swimming pool in South East Asia with Big Splash (longest water slide in S.E.A), to Jurasssic Park (complete with fake dinosaurs) to the House of Mirrors to boating. And it had a killer burger stall to boot to fill up the tummies after those long lazy swims on a Saturday. But now, nature has reclaimed most of it, virtually all the tarmac roads swallowed by undergrowth. The buildings are empty and hollow through years of disuse and only lent towards a ghostly existence that night. Only Stephen King music is missing.

The riders cycled through the Boathouse and rode past the once majestic Main Entrance. Now barricaded with debris and old wood to prevent trespassers. Obviously the egress in through the jungle singletracks was the only mode of entry to this haunted park now. The hares lighted up candles along the path, giving the surrounding structures and the abandoned van an eery appearance.

The first of many false trails were stumbled upon immediately: a path that led straight into the lake. Since our puny LED’s could not shine beyond all of six inches in front, it was easy to fall into this trap. A snap u-turn and the riders quickly found paper leading on a clockwise loop of the park. It was very quick going at this stage as everyone pounded the pedals at full speed, taking in the surreal experience of riding along tarmac-converted-to-singletrack. The riders knew there was a huge body of water to their right and a huge body of jungle to their left – not that both were very visible at any point in time. All the while, the sound of gushing water was very audible, though yet again, invisible to the naked eye.

Abruptly enough, the paper ended up a tree. Falsie 2#. A backtrack led the riders to another trail of paper leading to a northeast ascent. About halfway through the climb, the paper died an unceremonious death. The pack decided to wait whilst the rider ahead decided to trek alone up the ascent. About 200 metres away from the pack, Mr. Foolishlybrave heard, something beyond the nearby bush. Not the slithery rustle kind of sound but the heavy crush on the ground made by something equally heavy. With the speed of Steve Peat, he quickly bombed down to the pack and organised reinforcements. With 4 additional riders in tow, Mr. Quitebravernow went up the trek again. But this time the conclusion was clear. Falsie 3#. A falsie within a falsie. Bloody hares.

The correct path branched further northwest with paper leading up a gradual climb. Although it was not apparent at the time, this was the old path road leading to Big Splash. Back in the old days, it was quite an uphill slog to the swimming pool complex in a Mazda 808. But mountain bikers have better horsepower than a Mazda 808 anyway so the hill was quickly despatched. The riders were not quite at the pool complex yet when the paper was murderously killed again. Y.A.U. Yet Another U-Turn! But the big pay-off of having to drive through Thaipusam traffic on a Saturday evening was just about to begin ….

Monster Downhill.

And it was loooong. And smooth. And wide. And steep at sweeping corners. It was as smooth as baby’s bottom but coated with a little but too much talcum powder. A downhill that felt like an eternity that just went on and on beyond the next turn and the next. With the moon hardly peeping through the clouds, it was just man, machine, puny lights and balls (Editor’s apologies to Adele who was the solo female rider!). What little illumination the riders had only serve to show how much their goggles are being dust-blasted by the powdery surface. But a blast it was with somes biker hitting in excess of 50km/h in plain darkness along a sweeping downhill with the rear tyres often milimetrically loosing traction. What little fears the riders may have had with unseen ruts running across the trail was quickly demonised since the speed they were carrying was surely enough to ride over most monster drains!

We were greeted by the kampung folks at the bottom, who must have been surprised by the train of 11 coming from out of nowhere. They would have been more amused had they seen each and every faces of the 11 for the silly grin that was surely plastered on each face after that brilliant downhill.

Keywords for the ride? Creepy. Nostalgia City. Dead Witches. No MOAHs. 6.7kms. Illegal logging. Things That Go Bump In The Night. Monster Downhill. Tasty Nasi Goreng!

Wonderful ride hares! Hope the Nite Rides will become a more common affair in the future!

:: Spooky pictures in the TribalGallery

:: visit Kuala Lumpur Mountainbike Hash

 

-Adilawi