Sandakan at last

Sandakan, some 220km from Ranau, along the Sulu Sea, was a very significant trading post for the British Chartered Company in the first half of the 1900s. It is also sad that in Australia, Sandakan is well known for the WW2 Death March. With such a rich history, it was only fitting that it had to be visited and explored.

We had originally planned to cycle there but the lack of time made jumping on a bus a necessity. Uncle Lai, our new found friend, had kindly made 4 bookings for us last night and we rode 1 min to the non-descript bus stop along the trunk road. After a magic show where we made our foldies disappear into bags, we waited for our transport to arrive, hoping that our foldies could fit into the luggage without much fanfare.

5 mins before 0900, a big orange bus pulled up and its friendly conductor stored away our bags easily in the cargo hold. This is indeed one of the many key advantages of travelling with foldies, where multi-mode transportating is its forte.

The 4 hr bus ride started off smoothly but when vomit bags were handed out, it gave us a clue to what the roads ahead were like. Borneo has a past reputation for head hunters and this thirst for blood was amply displayed by the choice of onboard movies where utmost violence was the order of the trip. It was entertaining for a while but trying to listen to tranquil music of water and streams on the MP3, but seeing swords, guns and blood sputtering everywhere left me feeling somewhat schizophrenic.

Nevertheless, the windy and narrow roads and the relentless heat esp near sea level made us glad that we were in airconditioned comfort and not on the blazing saddle. Mike, ever the fatherly figure, went around the bus like a First Class Steward sharing his delicious rambutans with fellow travellers, asking nothing but a kiss for payment. Such is his jovial and generous persona and that really made the long trip most bearable.

Upon reaching the Sandakan Bus Terminal, the lazy part of us wanted to take a taxi to the backpackers. But when the taxi vultures wanted a princely ransom for an easy 4km drive to town, we robbed them of their moment by unfurling our foldies, much to the amusement of the bus crew. They could not believe that bicycles could come out of small bags, just like white rabbits out of black hats.

Of all things, our last ride into town in Borneo had to be another steep climb through the cemetary area, a choice made no thanks to the "brilliance" of GPS technology. Its priority was the shortest route but failed to consider elevation and altitude, something that we cyclist do!

After a much needed cold shower and the obligatory laundry, we wasted no time to have a nice aircon lunch and explored colonial Sandakan.

Although ravaged by the war and now overgrown with the bustle of modern development, there was still enough historical evidence of its grand past. We climbed the 100 steps to reach the Istana and the home of Sandakan's most famous authoress, American Agnes Newton Keith. Her house Newlands is now a tourist attraction.

You can always count on the colonial masters to choose the best location and with its commanding view of Sandakan Harbour high on the hill. I can only imagine the regal and splendour the Orang Putehs enjoyed then.

We enjoyed a lavish English tea there with scones, butter and jam plus a blueberry crumble and played a game of croquet for the first time, along the well manicured green lawns.

A stroll through the many pre-war shops in the town centre ended up in more feasting, this time sampling exotic Indian curries and picking up some Malay sarongs as gifts.

Sandakan is also famous for great and cheap seafood and it did not disappoint. We were recommended to go 5km out of town to Ocean King Seafood Restaurant which is pleasantly perched out on the sea. A banquet of steamed fish, shark fin soup (we ordered the sharkless fin version where crab is used instead), stewed prawns, braised tofu and stir-fried greens for the 4 of us costs only US$48 with drinks.

Our adventure to Borneo had come to an end too quickly. This is indeed a most beautiful part of the world that deserves to be discovered and savoured by more travellers, and especially bicycle tourers. I think about the words of Agnes Keith written in the 1940s. They aptly sum up our brief but memorable visit to Borneo and I share her fondness for this most fascinating place.


It was a good life, it was a life of joy to remember, it was my first four years in Borneo, it was the Land Below the Wind.


Heartfelt thanks too to Mike, Kevin and Cil for being the best ride buddies one can ever hope for. Your laughter, determination, helpfulness and concern are inspiring...

Cooling off at Poring Hot Springs

Finishing Under Challenging Konditions... what were you thinking?

After the hard ride yesterday, we slept in a bit longer than usual. Ranau is a sleepy but pretty town that reminded me of Banff, Canada in the sense that it offers a bird's eye view of splendid mountains, in this case Mount Kinabalu. Right next to our Orchid Hotel was a Muslim Eatery that served decent Roti Chanai, Fried Noodles and Nasi Lemak. That washed down with Teh Tarik made for a very satisfying breakfast.

Our agenda today was an easy one. Ride 22km to Poring Hot Springs to soak those aching muscles in thermal waters and then cool off at the nearby waterfall.
Unfortunately, it was a scorcher with blazing sun and at 10km mark, we had to cool off at a roadside durian store. It was providence that we met Uncle Lai and his wife Joana. We had a great time eating juicy rambutans and chatting with him about his life story and his experiences of living in Borneo. Durians were going to be our reward on our return leg. Turned out, he and his wife are Christians.

Sufficiently rested and feasted, we turned off the main highway to a quiet road towards the Hot Springs. This proved most enjoyable as it was a nice gentle gradient that we could simply glide down for about 5km non-stop. Celia learned the art of making herself more aerodynamic and enjoyed flying without wings on the Le Cuppa foldie.

Shortly after our second break, a group of cyclists from Spiceroads appeared and we quickly gave chase. As they zoomed past us while we were taking shelter, I had to pedal very hard on my tikit to catch up with them. Soon, I caught them on the mother of all hills and I saw almost everyone getting off to push their Mountain Bikes. Their support Landrover honked to encourage us and I was determined to test if foldies, with smaller wheels, were indeed better climbers.

I'm not sure if the technical theory had any merit but it was great to overtake all these cyclists one by one as I huffed and puffed my way up that hill. The death march ride yesterday had somehow made me stronger and I had to fly the flag for Bike Friday!

It was nice of the restaurant owner at Poring to allow us to park our foldies there and we unfolded them and placed them at the back together with his junk. Somehow, the broken distorted bikes look like part of the unwanted "furntiture" literally. Now, who would want to steal these heap of scrap metal?

Soaking into the hot mineral waters of Poring was indeed a most rejuvenating experience. Being a Sunday, it was chockers with locals and tourists. Then, a short 10 min hike saw us sheltered under the cool rainforest canopy just by a small waterfall. The dip there in its cold, crystal clear waters gave our bodies a natural wake up inital shock that was most stimulating.

What intrigued was a fish massage that followed. Lots of small fishes would nibble at the dead skin of our feet which was a rather strange but pleasant experience.

We were feeling rather lazy to cycle back to Ranau after such a relaxing time but it was getting late. Halfway back it poured kittens and we took shelter at a roadside shed. When the monsoon persisted, we decided to ride in the heavy rain which was very different from being burnt earlier on.


Just at sunset, we made it to Uncle Lai's Durian stall and tired and soaked as we were, we had the energy and excitement to sample his delectable collection of Sabah Durians.

As it was pitched dark, Uncle Lai kindly agreed to take us back to our hotel in his 4WD pick-up but we managed to persuade him to join us for a nice Chinese dinner first. We made a friend that night.

Honda had an ad once that said, "You meet the nicest people on a Honda". I think that definitely applies on foldies too, don't you think?

Our death march towards Ranau

I did not sleep well. The thought of today's ride got me worried as we were not sure of the actual distance from Tembunan to Ranau. Information on the net for this route was scarce and by our estimation using google maps, it came up to about 100km alongside, sometimes through the undulating Crocker Mountain Range. Throw in bad roads, with warnings of very little shops along the way meant possible dehydration. This was a bad dream waiting to pounce on us.

A forummer wrote these words of assurance... "Personally, this road is not that dangerous except for the occasional landslide and road collapse during rainy season." Problem was we came in the rainy season!

We started off at first light after a simple breakfast of instant noodles and eggs.

The morning rain only served to dampened my spirits but I put on a brave and chirpy front for the sake of my ride buddies. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss and I wanted as much bliss as possible before the onslaught began. It started as a tranquil ride, passing through lush green rice fields and quiet streams. We were tempted to stop at the Mat Salleh monument but time was precious and it as not until 9km into the ride that the first hills began.

It started quite gradually but it was like a slow and long torture. One by one the gang started to get off the foldies and began the "march". The reward after all the hard work was speedy descents and this was very much the order of the day. Cycle up until your legs gave up, get off to push uphill sometimes for kms on end, then fly down.

It was worrying that our average speed was a mere 10km/h! Not having a Granny Gear on our foldies is certainly a BIG disadvantage but even Kevin's Dahon Speed TR with a 19" climbing gearing could not save him from getting off the saddle.

My tikit with a specially designed 44t chain ring could spin up most hills but was found wanting past 30km/h sadly. Much as our pride can muster, I concede that there are some hills that demand our absolute surrender.

The saving grace was that the useful road markers indicated that our ride distance was a mere 63km and not 100km as we originally planned. That really lifted our morale and our spirit. It was also good to know that there were at least 3 Kedais (shops) and the first one after about 15km brought us much relieved as we watered ourselves with 100+ Isotonic drinks. Mike single-handedly nearly finished a 1.5litre bottle all by himself after tackling those hills.

Refreshed, we continued on for more saddle torture on the climbing routine - as high as 1500m and descending to 700m at times. At about noon, barely surviving and on the verge of hallucinating, the nicely paved road gave way to broken rubble. "How long is this bad road going on for?", I wondered. We did not know. It was quite impossible to ride as even pushing the loaded bikes uphill was tough.

Slipping and sliding, we pushed on as far as we could and then collapsed in sheer exhaustion and misery by the gravel road side, with dust floating everywhere. We needed energy replenishment and we devoured our bread and tinned chicken curry hungrily. Yet, it is through times like these that forge us together.

Pressing on another 5km, we came across another Kedai where we received much kindness from a Dusun matriach. Her delicious fried noodles and ice cold drinks brought much gladness to our overheated bodies. When we lay down on the wooden planks, she brought up some pillows for us. Her generousity overwhelmed us to the point that we joked with her, that both Mike and Kevin made really good son-in-laws for her young daughters.

It seemed that the last 20km proved easiest. Perhaps we were all so numbed that pain didn't matter much anymore. This was also where the downhills were breathtaking, with one particular one panning the side of the fame Mount Kinabalu.


But with all downhills, the punishing uphills came again too soon and it was rather opportune that we passed by the Ranau War Memorial. Here is the site where all the emanciated POWs from Britain and Australia are remembered. Out of 2000 soldiers forced marched out of Sandakan by the Japanese Army, only 6 survived and this was the worse single attrocity that Australia ever suffered. We felt a sense of solemness and humility as we rode past such a tragic chapter of human history.


We made it finally into Ranau about 330pm but there was still this last steep hill we needed to conquer before we could reach the town centre. Pushing slowly totally exhausted, we felt a great sense of achievement. We had lived to tell the tale of this most difficult "death" march/ride... and I slept too well that night.


CGOAB has an account of this "toughest ride" backwards and its comforting to know we are not the only ones to find it extremely gruelling...

Tembunan to Ranau - 63km (tough ride with 3-4km of broken roads at time of writing).

Freewheeling down to Tembunan

William our friendly driver arrived 5 mins before 7am, and we were all ready for him. The 4 foldies, this time without their boxes, fitted easily into the MPV taxi leaving us with more than enough space for the drive to Gunung Alab. The decision to transport (US$45) proved wise as the 55km journey was a never-ending climb of one hair pin after another.

Misty clouds shrouding mountain tops with deep, green valleys distracted us from the possibility of losing our breakfast. Finally at 2000m and 15c, we arrived at our destination and unfolded our bikes in the "heavens", as well as fuelled up with hot coffee and noodles.


What we didn't expect was a 20km downhill run that was the perfect start for our Borneo adventure. The only part of us that got tired were the fingers - having to brake consistently to tame the 40-50km/h high speed descent of our overloaded foldies.

Kevin unknowingly cruised downhill with a broken front spoke!

Piercing through the cold wind in dead silence save for the spinning of our wheels is a delightful experience that must be savoured at least once in a person's lifetime.

We stopped at Rafflesia Sanctuary for a rest. These are one of the world's biggest flowers but I hear they stink pretty bad.


Soon, the descents became gentler and we knew the plateau was near. A quick right turn at the cross junction saw the heavens opening up lightly. Yes, we had not very cleverly chosen the start of the monsoon season for this trip but it was refreshing nevertheless. Our abode for the night was the Tembunan Village Resort Centre, a quaint resort by the river which had seen better days. It had a nice suspension bridge which we had fun crossing on our foldies. It was not easy!


Tembunan town itself is pretty sleepy and takes 1 min to finish exploring by bike. What intrigued us was a Pasar Malam or Night Market which offered fruits, veggies and all sorts of local delights. Because it rained, we ended up spending the whole day there just relaxing and feasting on cheap eats and fruits - 15 US cents for a small packet of coconut rice or fried noodles!


Waiting for the weather to clear with good company is one of the gems of bicycle touring. I really appreciate all the laughs with my ride buddies Drs Mike, Kevin and Cil, and look forward to more hearty moments in the days ahead.

In the evening, we discovered that Kevin's TR had a broken front spoke. That explained why his front wheel was wobbling down those long descents and we were grateful it held up. A quick repair solved the problem.

Later, Mike got hold of some local brew this region is famous for. The fermented rice wine was "interesting" and we had a most invigorating massage done by a Kadazan lady named Betty. She belongs to a tribe that came over 1000 years ago to Borneo from China. Getting to know interesting cultures and people are truly fascinating. Little did we realised that this was most needed for tomorrow's gruelling ride. But for now, we dozed off to bed happy and remembering the great freewheel descent that ended too quickly...

Kota Kinabalu to Gunung Alab - 55km (up, up and away to 2000m)
Gunung Alab to Tembunan - 33km (mostly downhills to 1000m)