Pocong Night Race

1st Fatbike / 7th Overall (1200 Riders)

Flybys

As happy as I was to hit my goals last week (I was shooting for 1st fatbike and top 25 overall; I got fatbike champion and 23rd overall), I knew that I was on the cusp of performing much better. Strava has a feature they call Flybys, which lets you see your ride in fastfoward and compare it to Strava users who rode the same trail. I must have watched the Kek Seng flyby ten times. Others surged far ahead of me in the beginning, I was stuck, on Strava little dot barely moved. By the time I got past the traffic jams, many people were almost 1/4 of the racetrack ahead of me. Though the end result was acceptable, watching those flybys made me realize how critical a good start would be if I was going to get better results in the overall category.

Dick move

So, I showed up an hour before the race, and pulled the Malaysian trick. I bullied my way to the second row of the starting line, and I refused to get off my bike or be pushed back. It was a frustratingly long wait, but it put me in the top 75 or so at the start.
When we got moving, I let nobody past. There was a few hundred metres of tarmac to start, and I managed to move even further up the pack. When we hit plantation roads, there was a climb right away, and I used the fatbike traction to cruise up the middle lane.

The Zone

Looking ahead, about 1km into the race, I realized I was in the top ten. I settled down and held that position. One girl (maybe a dude with long hair?) came barreling past me on the first DH section, going way too fast. I'm a very fast descender, and even by my standards, this rider was out of control. Sure enough, around the next bend, I watched as the rider literally bounced around on the trail, and knocked somebody off their line and sent them careening into the plantation. It was a flurry of Chinese curse words, and headlights slicing frantically through the dark.
I passed the melee and settled into a nice zone, somewhere around 7th place overall. I recognized one rider right away, in a group of four riders that passed me about 3 or 4 km into the race. He was one of the top juniors in the last race, and beat me. They passed me, but then slowed down. I think it's the fatbike effect, not wanting to be behind a fatbike but not realizing how fast I was going. I reeled them in on a steep, punchy climb, and passed all of them but the junior. Then he dropped his water bottle, and stopped to get it. I never saw him again.

Fireworks

The first section was great: fast plantation roads. CP1 was 12 km into the race. As we approached it, I was alone, but close to the rider in front of me. A round of red fireworks went off pretty close ahead. It meant I was close to CP1, and close to the leader.
I got my sticker, doused myself in a bottle of water, and pushed on. This next section was great for me. It was on trails that I had ridden a lot. Grassy plantation roads that wind around, mostly following the contours of the hills north of Sungai Ulu Tiram. I kept reeling in two groups. One was a group of three riders working together. The other was a single rider. I finally caught the single rider at CP2. He was faster than me on the uphills and on the smooth sections, but I really gained on him on downhills. There was one section in particular, a river crossing, where I all but passed him. He dismounted and ran across. I plowed into the creek, and powered up the other side. Go Fatties!!! Judging by the reaction of the four policemen watching the river, I was the first one to actually ride the crossing. From then I was on his heels until CP2. CP2 was at the top of a killer hill. Straight up into the night sky. Shimano took a break to drink his water. I doused myself and bombed through the palm leaves, down into some tight plantation roads. I never saw Shimano again.

Home Alone

I think that the three riders also might have stopped at CP2. I never saw them again. I was now really alone, but I was in great spirits: all my equipment was working, and I was on roads I knew and rode all the time.
Just when I thought we might skirt it without ever going through it, we dove into Ladang Ulu Tiram. This section was awesome. It's right in the heart of my usual loops, and it's a village I'd ridden through probably a dozen times this year. Even though it was almost ten at night, all the kids and families were out cheering.
It was slick, slippery, one lane tarmac. I bombed down a long straight road. I was hauling ass but caught snippets of Bahasa: "Tiga! Tiga!" I was in third place. And then "Fatbike. Wah lau wei!! Fatbike!" people love fatbikes in Malaysia, especially the kids.
I tried to put on a show, and I sped through town, sprinting the flat sections. In the main intersection in town I pushed a bit too hard and almost slid out making the turn. I recovered, and dove down past the temple over the bridge.
Cardiac hill was next. I knew this hill. Killer, but doable. I felt like I was in the TDF, with all the locals out cheering me on. I hammered the hill out of my saddle: pushing so hard, I peeled out a couple times on the pavement.

Hot Tempers and Bad Sports

We wound through some more plantations in a bit of a confusing section. The signage was not good, and the lights from the highway kept coming in and out with each turn, After a big loop away from the road, there was a long straight paved downhill, on a road I knew very well. They put CP3 at the bottom of the DH, which was confusing. I had to slam on my brakes, got my sticker, and plowed ahead. We went away from the road once more, a long lonely uphill. Two dudes scared me half to death, spectating in the most random spot, hidden by the palms until they were right next to me.
We hit the highway, peeled away again, and then hit the highway again.
I knew this road very well, I had a flat tire here a few weeks ago. It was a killer, long steep hill.
I heard bikes coming behind me. It was the team of three. I was pissed, because the constant loops had allowed me to look back, and I knew I wasn't being followed. Then all of the sudden there were these three dudes. They had cut off one of the loops. I knew it.
No time to think about that though. They would pass me, I knew, but I wanted them to suffer. I climbed that hill well into my red zone. I used all my tricks. Sometimes out of the saddle, sometimes on the nose of my saddle  with my elbows down on the bars, full roadie style.
I held them off until the top of the hill. They passed. It was a team, the Singapore Army Team. Three Malay riders. Matching kits. Serious faces. They seemed agitated. They were yelling at each other. Angry gestures. For a team that worked together the whole night, it was discordant towards the end, to say the least.
After they passed me, they slowed down right in front of me. Blocked me in. Still shouting. I knew we only had 1km, maybe 1.5 to go. I caught my breath, and was going to settle down and sprint with them. But they were so agitated, it was bringing me down, plus they slowed down so much, I just didn't need that much of a break, even if we were going to sprint. I thought I'd go early instead.
I veered left. So did they. I veered right. So did they. "Seriously!?!?" I thought. "Blocking me like this is the TDF!!!" It was unbelievable.
Finally, they parted ways a bit, and I shot through the middle of two of them. I slightly knocked one dude on the elbow. Shouting. Nasty words. I slowed down and apologized. Several times. In English and in BM. Nothing. The dude was glaring at me furiously. I snapped. I switched from apologizing to cursing at him in English.
After a volley of cursing that would have made an NHL enforcer proud, I slammed my bottle back in the cage, and took off in a sprint. I distanced them for a bit. More shouting behind. Then quiet, except for the menacing whoosh of a train of sprinters coming up behind me. I held them off for 1 km or so. I was in my fastest gear. I had to slow for a sharp right turn into the final stretch. They were coming so fast, I was worried they'd slide out and take me with them. I gave them room on the inside. They stuck the turn, two of them passed me on the inside. I sprinted towards the spotlights and the fireworks. People everywhere.
Two of the Angry Army Team beat me, but I did nip one of them to the line. They were processed quicker than me. No awards for them. I had to wait to have my name and info taken for being Fatbike Champion. Then a few rounds of photos.
I finally got a minute. I put my bike down and found the dude to apologize. Actually, he was in the wrong, doubly so: once for a shortcut, and once for that kind of lame gamesmanship. But, I was also in the wrong. Never should have rubbed him. This ain't Nascar. So, I found him. Once. Twice. It wasn't until the third time his hard glare relented a bit and he finally, albeit reluctantly, accepted my apology.
What a jerk.
Then I fished out my phone. It was off. I started it back up, but it was acting funny. For a dude who has become addicted to Strava, it was tough to realize that my best result ever was not recorded.
I need to get a dedicated GPS computer.
Oh well. . . . .
Waited around. Lots of pictures and congratulations. I met the Malaysian National Fatbike Champion. That was cool. Nice guy. 37 years old, just like me. One kid, a daughter, just like me. But I beat him by five minutes or so.
So, technically, I'm the fastest fatbiker in Malaysia right now.
That about sums up my recent races.
STOKED!!!