(Originally Posted On February 1st 2004)PROLOGUEAcknowledgements: First of all I would like to thank Wai Ming, Elaine Ho, Suresh and all the other people involved who have painstakingly organised this trip for us. Their dedication and effort will be remembered by us all. The following parodic story was inspired by the events that took place that day at Paya Indah. No hard feelings, ya?
CHAPTER 01: THE BASIC IDEATo get everyone in the MYF to go to some (so-called) "Beautiful recreational park that offers you plenty of beautiful scenery to watch and lots of activities to do" wetlands park on the first day of February 2K4, which, coincidentally is a Sunday. Managed to get around 36++ suckers to join the bandwagon to Paya Indah. I was one of the big time suckers who voluntereed to drive my Supra there. Six other big time driving suckers joined me.
CHAPTER 02: THE PROMISED LAND(The fake French Version) Les Bootiful Wetlande' with de trekking le jungle, une mode cycling ala Le Tour De Paris, sight-seeing mucho la excitinge sessione' pour 30 ++ suckerere', les Champs Elysses Le Arc de Triumphe' tour with extrêmement le handsome' Monsiour Pierre Toulouse Lemans tour guide, bootiful Madam'oseille Tiffany Peronne de ooh la la superbe' menu ala carte with omelette du' fromage, horse d'ouvers et beaucoup plus. (Je sais que c'est Français horrible que Je parle, poursuivez-ainsi moi) =)
(The thankfully simplified English Version) The Beautiful Wetlands with jungle trekking, one way cycling ala The Tour of Paris, a very much exciting sight-seeing session for 30 ++ suckers, The Triumphant Arc tour with an extremely handsome Mr. Pierre Toulouse Lemans tour guide, beautiful Ms. Tiffany Peronne's ooh la la menu ala chart with cheese omelette, horse d'ouvers and much more. (I know I speak horrible French, so sue me) =)
CHAPTER 03: THE JOURNEY TO THE PROMISED LANDThe journey was supposed to start at 0945 hrs in the Sunday morning. As usual, I was still kinda stuck in the Seremban Highway (and they call it a highway!) and I was really sorry for coming late. The battle plans were drawn out; each road was thoroughly scrutinised and carefully examined. Nothing was left out, including the toll rates, the weather condition, the levelness of the terrain roads, the position of the moon and stars, and the speed of the wind blowing in knots. Once everything was double-checked, the jorney began, via the KL-Seremban Highway. Exit at the Balakong Interchange, then straight heading towards PutraJaya. Get as many roadkills as we can, particularly old-granny-crossing-the-road type of roadkills, and shoot at anything that moves.
CHAPTER 04: THE HALFWAY PIT-STOPSomewhere after the Mines toll at Balakong, the convoy stopped to pack lunch - KFC - for all of us to eat there at the swamps. I had to go get petrol for my car, along with James Foo. Therefore, the convoy had to split, with the rallying point for the remaining cars to regroup being the Shell petrol pump station some 0500 metres distance away. While waiting for the chickens to be ready, all 9 people from 2 cars had to seek shelter in the station itself, away from the nuclear sun. Mandy used her cellphone occasionally to phone and ask how long more before we could get our asses moving again. The danger is the electronic cell waves could trigger a massive Hiroshima-like nuclear holocaust at the little petrol station itself, and risk end up on the menu of the day as crispy fried delicious JDream. Add the petrol station next door and we'll have crispy fried delicious Penisular Malaysians on the menu of the day. The convoy finally regrouped after some 20 + - minutes. The Super Sunday Race begins...
CHAPTER 05: THE DAYTONA GRAN TURISMO RALLYYou can't blame 6 adrenaline-charged kids (the remaining one, Wai Ming, was not so keen to be fast and furious) for executing stupid road stunts after they have watched 2Fast 2Furious. Extreme overtaking one another, skid marks on the highway, drifting stunts, burning rubber all over the roads; it's all part and parcel of life in the fast lane (no pun intended). The basic manouvers would include me occasionally overtaking Suet Nee, James Foo and James Wong and vice versa. Just to show them that even though I drive a low-powered locally-made car, I still can outrun them most of the time.
CHAPTER 06: ENTER THE MYFERSThe arrival at last, precisely at 1200 hrs, after a near-disasterous 7 vehicle pile-up along the highway. Good on time, just nice for lunch. Unfortunately though, after some twisted facts, we soon found out that we were not allowed to bring our food inside to be enjoyed while sitting on the rolling hills, breathing in the cool air and looking at nature at its best. Instead, we had no choice but to finish up our food while sitting next to dirty drains, breathing in the toxic gas from the exhaust pipe just inches away from me, and looking at nothing but red ants and endless car number plates. I only managed to stuff in a plate of meehon and two pieces of chicken before calling it quits. Talk about eating right only when the perfect ambience setting is on.
CHAPTER 07: RE-ENTER THE MYFERS & THE SAD TRUTHWhen we finally cleared all access to go into the swamps (after much hemming and hawing), we went in... only to find out that what they had actually printed on the leaflets was different than what we saw with our very own eyes. Hell lot different. In fact, until today I still wonder why they had the audacity to charge us twenty bucks per person to go ino a place not unlike the searing deserts of Tobruk during WWII, with sparse vegetation and grasses dotting the landscape. Not a single tall tree was in sight; so there goes the promised jungle trekking, never going to materialise. Welcome to Operation Desert Storm, where sands heated by the midday sun form the only visible pathway, and algae-filled lakes are the only source of liquid should all 36 ++ MYFers get lost in the Sahara plain. I certainly would rather die of thirst than scoop up a mouthful of Staphyloccus-infested waters to my mouth. Make that two mouthfuls. Welcome to Hell...
CHAPTER 08: THE SARCASMSo this is what they advertised in the leaflets, nice park, lovely lakes, lots of things to do. Yeah right. And my house's toilet bowl is the actual link to the Matrix. Well, there goes my twenty bucks. Might as well have started a bonfire and threw those twenty bucks into the fire for all it was worth. I have to admit this; this place plain sucks. It lacks aesthetics and the power to captivate our hearts. It lacks creativity, and I have seen more life in a graveyard than this place; it's practically dead! Now where are my RayBans?
CHAPTER 09: LES MOUNTAIN-BIKING, NON?The only consolation however, was to go mountain-biking. All 36 of us. Pronto. So off we did to the bike sheds, where a lot of pathetic-looking and highly unkempt bikes were waiting for us. No doubt these bikes have been in disrepair since the time Earth was formed. Looking at the condition, we knew that the better bikes have been taken by other people. So I finally settled for some bike with the words "Matrix" imprinted on it. Hey... proof that the Matrix is everywhere, even at this place. Well, the bikes that was left came in all sorts of conditions, with all sorts of injuries and defects; some had brakes that didn't work, some had no brakes at all, some had broken pedals, a few had damaged gear shifts, and most of them had loose chains. Mine had a potato chip wheel condition, broken gear levers and a loose chain. Throw in a saddle bent at a wrong angle and you have a recipe for potential disaster. Anyway, most of us had badly-angled saddles, so what difference does it make?
CHAPTER 10: THE TORTURE PROCESSCycling on hot sandy trails under the burning sun is certainly not what I had in mind. And what could possible be worse? Cycling on a demented bike full of wobbly parts under the sun. That was akin to suicide, only hotter. And what's with that saddle bike seat constantly gnawing its way into my butt? Man, that hurts. And I wasn't the only one to suffer from the attack of the killer saddles; all my other friends were victims to the butt-gnawing evil saddles too. and with each bump, my bike's saddle was getting more and more angled. It wasn't long before the whole thing was bent steeper than the steep slopes of Mount Killimanjaro / Everest. May God have mercy on my butt...
CHAPTER 11: LE TOUR DE PAYA INDAHSo it was on, the Le Tour De Paya Indah, although, I'm not so sure what's so "indah" (beautiful) about this place. There were bikes... and nothing else much. Sad to say, but the only living, moving, disoriented, and crazy that day were us, a bunch of eccentric, loudmouthed, noisy college kids. If there was anything far more murderous than a volcano, tornado or earthquake that destroyed the peace, serenity and the overall nature at Beautiful Wetlands that day, that would be us too. Saw a stork locked inside a bird hut. Poor thing was alone, but we daren't go near it for fear of bird flu. Actually it wasn't all that bad, cycling under the hot sun. I've been under worse circumstances; lost in a semi-desert location on my mountain bike with little or no water, lugging along a heavy rucksack, and virtually no sense of direction. That incident happened when I was way back in Form II (yup, still geekish and slightly nerdy) and had a lasting impression on me. We stopped halfway to rest at a traditional Malay house and take some lasting pictures of ourselves totally suckered of our 20 bucks, and to remind ourselves not to return here even if the fee was free.
CHAPTER 12: THE HIPPO CONSPIRACYNot surprisingly, the only animal that we saw that day (apart from that stork), were the hippos, who didn't seem to take much interest in us. It was said by the keepers that each hippo eats about 60 kgs of vegetation per day. That is equivalent to the hippos eating one JDream's body in a day. That train of thought certainly made me back away from them which, coincidentally, the male hippos were in heat (That means they're sex-hungry during this time of the year), and sex-hungry male hippos should not, I repeat, should not be bothered or made fun of... much. Well, don't disturb them all the same anyway, unless you want to go home with your body wrapped in a Malaysian flag and a piece of cheese stuck up your ass. I only thanked God for making hippos herbivores, so that means the 60 kg of food would definitely not include me, but then again, who knows what a sex-deranged male hippo would do; it might even happily chew on my lifeless body for all it might care. Remind myself to bring anti-hippo mines along the next time (if there will be a next time)...
CHAPTER 13:THE CASUALTY LISTMost Common CasualtySore butts - 98% (Most MYFers)
Heat Stroke - 1% (Someone's bound to have it)
Flipping from the tram injuring self - 1% (Wai Ming)
Most Complained AboutHot weather - 99%
Rain drizzling - 78%
Bad bikes - 100%
High prices of drinks - 82%
Cheated of 20 bucks - 59%
Most Extraordinary InjuryWai Ming flipping backwards from the moving tram. (Wonder why he did that)
* * * * * * * * * *EPILOGUEAfter the (semi) disasterous outing, there was still one more place to visit (since it was only 1530 hrs when we left the Wetlands); The PutraJaya HQ something-something. The irony is, this place, which has practically free admission, was way much more beautiful with more stuff to see compared to the strickly disease-ridden Wetlands. So the all of us just settled our butts down and ate what was remaining of them bird flu-ridden KFCs. It started to thunder and flash in the distance and we all thought that it would definitely be a very good idea to pack up and leave for home.
That was the events that happened for the first of February 2K4.
