‘Just down the road’ – a journey of self-discovery

A story 40 years in the making, parts of which have been told before but never written down in its entirety.

On January 2, 1983, I set off to hitchhike from Perth to Melbourne. I remember the date clearly because we had a big party at 29, Bruce Street, Nedlands, on December 31, 1982, to usher in the New Year, and since every guest brought extra booze, we had so much left over that we had to have a finish-the-booze party on New Year’s day.
Suitably prepped and inspired, I asked a friend, Bob Uzaraga, for a lift from my home in Nedlands to Armadale, the last suburb before the highway south began. He obliged and asked with concern, “Are you sure about this?” as he dropped me off by the roadside. (I am still not sure if he was more concerned about my well-being or his Walkman that I had borrowed for the trek )
I had a destination in mind, but no real plan. There were some former classmates from Kuching who were then in Melbourne so I would look them up and bunk with them. That was it.
I had AUD50, a rough idea it was about 3,000km away, I had their addresses from exchanging letters over the past couple of years. Worries? We worry about the things we know of, the dangers and pitfalls that lie in wait. I knew little, so had even less to worry about. So, as the Aussies say, “She’ll be right, mate!”
The first stretch of the trek was southward on the Albany Highway, which I had been on a few times before on trips to the popular southern seaside town of Albany. After an hour or so of sticking out my right index finger (the Aussie way, as opposed to the better-known American thumb), the first car stopped and gave me a ride and I was on my way.
Within minutes, we passed another car being pulled over by an unmarked police patrol. “He was flashing his headlights at oncoming traffic to warn them about the cops,” my host explained. Ah, so, I was learning something new already.
I was dropped off at Arthur River and waited a couple of hours for a ride eastwards in the direction of Ravensthorpe and, eventually, Esperance.
Heading east was exciting as this direction would eventually lead to the Eastern States! But it was still a long way off, and I had to spend a couple of nights by the roadside with just a sleeping bag. It was the southern summer so chance of rain was slim to none.
Aussie country towns can be separated by a hundred or several hundreds of kilometres but locals will always tell you it is ”just down the road”. So, getting to your desired destination is a matter of stringing together a series of “just down the road” parts.
A farm truck with bales of hay on the back, a Holden panel van, and a Ford Fairmont sedan driven by two elderly ladies, one of whom had pink hair, conveyed me eastward to Ravensthorpe, and then south-eastward to Esperance. Pink came up again when the ladies pointed out the pink lake that was an attraction near Esperance.
I booked into a caravan park in town even though I had no caravan, and not even a tent, simply because I had stayed at a caravan park before. For $10, I had a patch of grass for the night, and befriended the grandfather-and-grandson combination in the next lot. They were better equipped, having their car and tent, having driven all the way from Melbourne on their epic East-West bonding road trip.
Resuming the trip next morning at the edge of town, I met up with some fellow hitch-hikers and compared notes. Turned out they had chosen the much better option of a travellers’ hostel in Esperance where they had a bed in a dorm for just $5 each! I didn’t know that!
To continue to the East, I now had to go northward first, to Norseman, the last town before a 90-degree right turn takes travellers onto the Nullarbor. It was somewhere along this stretch that I learned that what I had been told about Nullarbor being an Aboriginal word was wrong and that it was, in fact, Latin. “Null” for no or none, and “Arbor” for trees. Learning never stops, and that was what I was learning, every day.
When hitch-hiking, you don’t actually get to go exactly where you wish to go to, you get to go wherever the driver kind enough to give you a lift happens to be headed, which was how I ended up spending a night in the quaintly-named town of Grass Patch.
“Head for the hotel” upon reaching a country town was the wisdom I had picked up by this time. Except in this case, the “hotel” meant the local pub, and town sizes were measured by how many hotels/pubs they had.
Grass Patch seemed to be a one-hotel town in the heart of wheat country, and I walked into it hoping to meet friendly locals but was greeted only by cold stares. This was a long way from cosmopolitan Perth, and in the early 1980s, the country boys did not often see Asian faces. They that had were thinking “Japanese”, and memories were still fresh of World War 2.
Awkward. I looked around frantically for an ice-breaker, and found it in WW2. There, on the wall behind the bar counter, was a framed certificate testifying that Tom Starcevic of Grass Patch, Western Australia, had been awarded the Victoria Cross for gallantry in the face of the enemy in Borneo.
“Is Mr Star … Starse . Starcevic … still alive?” I asked. Pronouncing the name was difficult, and I learned only much later that it was of Croatian origin. Had never heard of Croatia at that point in time.
“Yeah, old Tom’s around. What’s it to you?” was the less-than-friendly response to this unwelcome intruder, probably mistaken for a Japanese.
“Oh, nothing much, it’s just that I’m from Borneo,” I replied, trying to salvage the tense situation.
And, just like that, as if someone had flicked a switch, the atmosphere was transformed.
“He’s from Borneo!” the barman announced to the entire room, and then everyone was smiling, grinning, coming over to shake my hand and buying me beers!
After the warm welcome, someone asked where I was putting up for the night. “Would appreciate if you could point me to some comfortable spot by the road,” I replied.
“No, mate, you’re coming home with me!” he said.
And as we got near to his front door, he whispered “I have a confession to make, I have an ulterior motive for inviting you home.”
Oh no! Was this what all those warnings about the dangers of hitch-hiking was about! Thoughts flashed through my mind.
He continued: “I wasn’t supposed to be at the pub, it’s the missus’s birthday, you see. So I figured, if I brought a guest home …”
And so, I ended up as a guest, drinking Madeira wine at a family’s birthday party in Grass Patch, W.A.! Sadly, I cannot remember his name now after 40 years, but I do recall the wife’s family was descended from Alexander Forrest, a renowned Australian explorer who has a place in Perth named after him, Forrest Place, off Wellington Street.
My host drove a grader for the local council, and if anyone reading this knows the Grass Patch community well, please convey my regards and gratitude.
The next morning, they provided me with a chair and their daughters chatted with me as I resumed the attempt to catch a ride northward. This was the most comfortable way to hitch-hike, I learned.
A lorry picked me up and delivered me to Norseman after a relatively uneventful journey.
I went over to say hello to some fellow hitch-hikers sheltering under a tree and found out that there were from the Perth suburb of Leederville, where I had attended college a couple of years earlier, and that they were also trying to get to the East. (Photo is of that tree, viewed on Google Earth since I have not been back there since.)
My heart sank upon learning that they had been there a couple of days without getting a ride. Maybe it’s not such a great idea after all, maybe it’s just too hard. Self-doubt crept in.
But, having come this far, might as well try for a few hours, I thought. And if worse came to worse, I could head back west to Perth.
I observed that the other travellers were content to stay under the tree and stick a finger out whenever a car passed by, and it seemed no one would stop to give a lift.
Drawing on some recent experience in door-to-door encyclopaedia sales, I decided to try a more pro-active approach.
The tree was right next to a petrol station, the last one before heading into the Nullarbor. I walked over and started chatting with motorists fuelling up their cars. Most were locals who had no plan to drive to Melbourne or Sydney.
After a few hours, despair returned. This was not working, I was not going anywhere. But, “don’t give up, it’s a numbers game, you never know when success might be just around the corner”, was the other inner voice, speaking from the sales training and experience.
I chatted with a friendly couple with a young daughter aged about six years, and they were driving to Adelaide. But their little Holden Gemini seemed tiny so they were unlikely to give me a lift and so, I did not ask.
We said our goodbyes and they drove off. After going about 50 metres, the Gemini stopped and then reversed back to where I was still standing and his head popped out to ask: “Would you like a lift?”
And that was the moment “don’t give up, it’s a numbers game, you never know when success might be just around the corner” became real. I had, in fact, given up on that one chance, but was given an undeserved second chance.
Nullarbor, here I come! It was a long journey, very, very long, a perfectly straight across a largely featureless plain. The family stopped for the night at a motel somewhere in the middle, and I slept outdoors in my sleeping bag, re-joining them in the morning to resume the journey.
This stretch of the journey was when the Sony Walkman I’d borrowed from Bob and a solitary cassette, “Greatest Hits of The Eagles” kept me entertained and ingrained forever in my mind that theirs was my kind of road trip music, which remains to this day.
After many hours, we finally reached Eucla and then crossed the state border into South Australia and stopped for the night at Port Augusta where the family checked into a caravan park.
“Goodbye, thanks for everything and if you see me by the roadside tomorrow, please give me a lift,” was my parting words with this kind family.
Spotting a local about my age walking past, I asked: “Mate, could you tell me the way to the nearest pub?”
“You’ve found the right person, follow me!” he replied.
We became friends and he introduced me to more of his friends, one of whom was Boof, a six-foot-six mountain of a giant who was serving in the Royal Australian Navy.
“Oh, you’re heading to Melbourne? I’m going there in the morning,” Boof said at some point.
And that was how I got my next lift, on Boof’s Yamaha XS1100. Yes, a motorcycle. At a time when I was really, really into motorcycles, especially the big ones with litre-plus engines.
Boof even found a helmet and jacket that fitted my relatively tiny size, and we headed off for a two-day ride. We had to camp for a night somewhere near the South Australia-Victoria where there was brief drama when the first spot he chose to lay his sleeping bag turned out to be occupied by angry bull ants who objected to sharing with us.
After a total of eight days and seven nights, I was dropped off at a street corner about 200 metres from where my classmate Chin Khoon Ho was staying. I made my way there, knocked on the door and introduced myself to his surprised brother, Khoon Yong, who answered.
Khoon Ho was out at the time and when he returned, he said “Hi” to me and walked on by. After turning a corner, his head reappeared around the corner and he said: “Is that you? What are you doing here?” Surprise had been achieved.
It was only later I found out how lucky I had been, and how things could have turned out differently, in a bad way.
It had not occurred to me that, since I was on the year-end semester break, all my friends were also on holiday and might not be around. Also, students moved houses a lot, so many of the addresses I had cleverly compiled were, in fact, outdated.
The day I arrived was the last day that Khoon Ho was at that address, and I help him carry stuff as they moved out that very afternoon. If I had arrived another day, or even hours later, it would have been disastrous for me.
There were more adventures as I explored Melbourne, took a train to Sydney and returned by coach to Melbourne, caught by with the grandson from the Esperance caravan park who brought me for my first and only, ever, experience of surfing, passed through the picturesque Adelaide hills on the homeward coach journey just a couple of weeks before the calamitous Ash Wednesday fires of 1983. But guess that’ll be for another time.
p.s. I have to rely on modern technology from Google to supplement my ancient memory. The hitch-hike from Armadale to Melbourne was 3,500km, give or take, and would have been a 37-hour drive at constant speed.

New Life from Old Man

First, a disclaimer: I am not, by any measure, an expert on vehicle suspension. I have just been fortunate to have been a motoring journalist who had the opportunity to get up close and personal with some people who were professionals in the field, and who had been generous in sharing their knowledge.
Along the way, I have visited several facilities used to develop and manufacture suspension components such as coil and leaf springs and shock absorbers, and have personally used several types of systems in differing conditions, and the experiences have shaped my views, along with additional reading material readily available on the web if you know what you are looking for.
The first factor that affects a suspension system is weight. How heavy a load is expected to be carried by the front axle, and also the rear axle, is what an engineer needs to know.
Knowing the weight that must be borne will yield the strength of the spring, measured as the force (or weight) required to compress said spring by a certain amount. Such as newtons (or kilograms) per centimetre, or pounds per inch.
Then it starts getting complicated. Vehicle weight may vary because we, the users, add stuff to it. The front end load of a typical car will not vary much but the rear will , depending on how much load is carried, where in people or their belongings, or just junk.
Engineers have a particular headache with pick-up trucks because they have to be sprung softly enough to be driven around empty, and also stiffly enough to be laden with an extra thousand kilograms, all of it on the rear axle. So, it is only logical that a pick-up that is comfortable to drive around like a car will sag in the rear end when laden with goods, as pick-uos are intended to. Conversely, one that carries a full load comfortably will be harsh when empty. There is no getting away from the numbers.
On top of that, many buyers also use their pick-ups for adventurous trips into the great outdoors, and decide they need beefier protection in the form of stronger (hence, heavier) bumpers/bullbars, and maybe a winch to add progress through the rough stuff.
That adds around 70 to 90 kilograms on the front axle. It's like having a stout friend sitting on your bonnet. That is why a vehicle that was behaving nicely over bumps and ruts can suddenly feel wallowy after you have stopped feeling pleased with how great it looks with your new bullbar and winch.
The springs are the first line of defence against shocks. They absorb the often violent forces of hitting anything other than smooth pavement at considerably speed.
The problem is that the springs absorb plenty of energy, which must than be dissipated by oscillating. In layman's terms, that is the boing-boing-boing effect. The spring continues to alternately compress and extend for some time after the bump is passed.

Not sure if they came with car from factory, but still looking pretty good.

That's where the shock absorbers come in, although the term is debatable since the springs actually absorb the firat shock, and the “absorber” then dampens the oscillations. But if you consider that the damping action is also “absorbing” the residual enery of the boinging spring, then it's all good. So, we'll accept them as absorbers even if some people insist they are really dampers.
The absorbers have to be engineered with the correct damping rates to work with the springs. And there are two rates to be considered, one being compression damping, and the other, rebound damping.
To add more complexity, some springs and absorbers are designed to act progressively, i.e., they get firmer the more they are compressed or pushed, so they do not have a single, linear rate.
Some shocks that are optimised for comfort offer very resistance to compression. When hitting a bump, the shock energy is absorbed entirely by the spring and the absorber compresses easily. But when the spring rebounds, the absorber does its darnest best to slow it down. If all works according to plan, you get one compression of the spring upon hitting the bump, and one controlled rebound or extension to original height, and the drama ends there, allowing a smooth journey to resume, until the next bump or porthole.
That's the short version. The long version is a lot more complicated with many types of spring and damper materials and designs, and electronic wizardry thrown into the mix. I won't go there, but you can read more online. Just ask google.

We've come this far because I have just had a pair of tired old absorbers replaced on a recently-acquired Ford Everest 3.0l, which has been on the road 10 years, and covered just over 200,000 kilometres, and a friend asked for a review of the brand spanking new Old Man Emu Nitrocharger Front Sport Shocks, part number #60222.

Well, this is not going to be a detailed review because I have just driven about 15km since they were fitted. I have no idea how well they will hold up under varying, real world conditions.
What I will say is they are money well spent. That is the because the shocks that came with the secondhand car were well past their prime. I have no way of knowing if they had been replaced at some point or other in the car's previous career, but they were original Ford-issued shocks, embossed with FoMoCo (for Ford Motor Company). So, they could well have been 200,000km old!
Of course, new OMEs, or any new shocks, will yield an improvement. Before the renewal of shocks, the car felt floaty at speed, and the 3.0l common rail engine is capable of getting it up to a decent clip in a quick time.
But the story did not end there. The front torsion bars also seemed to have sagged significantly, to such an extent that there was hardly any room for upward travel before the arms hit the bump stop.
The good news is that torsion bar-type suspension can be easily adjusted, and should have been done earlier. But, better late than never, so they were adjusted at the same time the Emus were fitted, so that now there is ample upward and downward travel.
Also, a clunking noise when going over bumps was traced to a worn out steering idler arm, which was promptly replaced. This immediately yielded a much more precise and controlled dteering feel, which added to the improvement in handling.
In summary, a pair of new front Old Man Emus (note that nothing has been done yet to the rear end, which are still held up by original leaf springs and, yes, a pair of FoMoCo shocks), a slight tweaking of the original Ford-issued torsion bars to raise ride height by some 20mm, and a tight new idler arm to replace the knackered old one, has TRANSFORMED the car.
It handles and rides beautifully now, even with more improvements due to come.
 I have not yet renewed any of the many suspension arm bushes, anti-roll bar bushes, etc, that will be on the to-do list in future in the quest to restore that new-car feel.

Knackered steering idler arm.

Other possible upgrades on the wishlist include Old Man Emu torsion bars, should the current 10-year-old ones show deficiencies further down the road. But for now, the old springs are still holding up well so new springs are not necessary.
One thing I feel that OME is doing right, and a reson why I like the brand, is that they do not offer a one-size-fit-all solution, such as a “Ford Ranger shock absorber”. Their website http://www.oldmanemu.com.au/ offers a Suspension Selector which asks what front bumper your car has, whether it has a winch, and also what weight is regularly carried in the back, and a specific model of springs and shock absorbers will be recommended for YOUR usage.

It helps to know background information about your vehicle, such as the fact that the Everest, model code U268, was not sold in Australia, but it shares the exact same underpinnings as the Ranger J97 (often erroneously called the T5) so you know which model to look for in the selector.
By the way, I have had these OME shocks for too short a period to give an in-depth review so in no way am I suggesting they are "the best", or even better than other competitors out there. For the record, I have been using a combination of King springs and Koni shocks for my other 4X4s, all of which are Land Rovers, and have been satisfied with their performance and durability.
Oh, I have fitted a brand new set of the latest Michelin LTX Force, size 265/70 R 16, and they are awesome.

Good tyres are an important part of the ride, and Michelin's LTX Force are very good.

Forever Yung

Anuar Ghani is a lawyer and a veteran of the Sabah 4X4 scene, having been a key player since the Trans Borneo expedition series of the 1980s. He was a founding member of the Kinabalu Four Wheel Drive Club (KFWDC) and has served as its president. This was his eulogy delivered at the wake for his old friend, the legendary Fred Leong, who passed away suddenly on 29th November 2016.

My condolences to Alvin & Tammy, Alex & Cindy, Veronica, Kenneth Jayaraman and family, Patricia Leong, Stella and Tim Brophy, Evelyn Leong and Amir Datuk Arif, Maureen and Frankie Ho , and the rest of Fred Leong’s family.

We have all suffered a great loss, a father, a brother, an uncle, brother-in-law and a good friend.

I never called him Fred. He and I always called each other Yung. We both believed it means "Brother" in the sungai dialect and that was fine with us.

He was one of a kind. What made Fred Leong what he was?

Fred Leong grew up in Keningau. His father was Leong Ten Fook. His mother, Angeline Tann, was apparently very strict with him. I think she instilled a lot of discipline in Fred. "Kalau suruh bikin kerja, mesti bikin punya".

Sometimes Fred would be playing basketball instead of doing the chores and his mother would show up in the middle of a game, a match, and chase Fred off the court with a cane, in front of all the other players and coaches.

I don’t know whether such treatment made him the great man that he is, but it could be an explanation. This probably instilled the work ethic that made him a top journalist in his field. The "go to" guy for everything sports related.

He related the story to Wen, George Irwin's and Salamah's son, when telling him to be tough and not to be afraid of ghosts, or "hantu". Kids today are too soft, he said. He even gave Wen the name “Lisa” to force him to become more manly. And Wen decided he didn’t want to be called Lisa, and is no longer afraid of hantu.

Fred Leong was not so much of a father to his sons, Alvin and Alex. He was more of a friend and a person who gave advice, sometimes, mostly even when unsolicited.

He loved his two boys dearly and understood their strengths and weaknesses. He would talk to me often about them. He wanted his sons to learn from their own mistakes, to gain experiences.

He was very proud of both of you. He wasn’t much of a father. He was a great father. 4x4 has helped create a special bond between sons and father.

Anuar and Saran looking forward to a
large helping of the signature chicken
 rice cooked by Fred Leong at the end
 of Borneo Safari 2016.

Uncle Fred, as he is also known, was Kung-Kung to every little kid from Tawau to Lawas to Kuching. He knew how to make kids laugh, he would tell jokes, tease them, reprimand them when he was in the mood. If you want to know whether someone is genuine or good inside, see how kids respond to them. And every kid loved Uncle Fred.

Keeping his promise to the late Labo, Fred arranged for his daughter Deborah Saran to take part in Borneo Safari this year despite her being underaged. He fought for her inclusion in deference to Labo’s wish. And as usual, Fred got his way.

Talking about his way, he single-handedly created the 4X4 landscape in Sabah.

One day I said, “Fred, you are responsible for the formation of 12 to 14 clubs and associations in Sabah.” He said, “Yeah, why?” I said, “Don’t you think this is divisive?” He said, “Why not, why stop them from having fun? Anyway, not everyone likes to be controlled, let them have their own club".

Through this, and his unceasing and relentless news coverage of 4x4 events and activities in Sabah, Fred created the impetus and momentum that has brought Sabah 4x4 movement to the powerhouse that it is today.

Fred was well-loved everywhere. Sitting in his camp at Lawas, he gets duty-free whisky, sitting in Kuala Penyu, everyone was dropping crates of beers at our camp.

I don’t think Fred was a wealthy man but he was a rich man because he had many, many, many friends everywhere. He was the richest man I know. And what does it take to become a rich man like him?

First and foremost, if you want friends, you must be a friend.
He helped develop the 4X4 scene by helping every aspiring district to form their own club. He would draft their constitution, personally go to the ROS or Sports Commissioner to register or plead their case.

WRS, Tawau, Kota Belud, Tenom, Kota Marudu, Labuan, Sandakan, and many others owe their existence to him. The existence of SFWDA, the Sabah Four Wheel Drive Association, is due to him and Edward Lingkapo. He was also responsible for finding and raising and finding sponsors for the club and association.But  he was still upset that Keningau, his home town, haven’t registered as a club. So Lolou, Atun, Cheng, and Hamid, if you can, do please do so in memory of Fred Leong.

Thompson Teoh, President of  WRS told me how the WRS team got stuck in the jungle for 4 days and nights without food n water and it was uncle Fred who came and rescued and saved them.

I hear similar stories from the time he was involved in football in Sabah. But his true calling was in 4x4.

Fred Leong lived his life to the fullest. He never wanted to go home and would continue chatting away into the wee hours. He loved people.

He was a ladies man. We can only watch in envy and admiration when he comes along with some chick 20-30 years his junior. I think he learned the skill of mastering women because he was the only boy with 5 sisters. So I guessed he learnt early how the female mind works.

Apart from being good  at how to please the ladies, Fred was also a very good cook. His Hainanese Chicken Rice is legendary. At Borneo Safari last year in Kg. Kolorox, we ate his Hainanese Chicken Rice listening to stories of how he lost his virginity at 16 with ... I won't mention who here.

There was an Indian reporter who was enthralled by the stories and asked many, many questions. So, we got the juicy details.  Fred also cooked the best dish I ever tasted in my life at camp Togop Darat when he cooked Pelian in foil with hot river stones. With Fred, you will get lamb, prawns n chicken in the jungle.How he managed that was an art by itself.

Fred could also be very critical and merciless with his criticism. But one thing, what he says behind you, he will say it to your face. He could be direct and brutal, and sometimes petty. Sometimes, listening to him was like listening to a recorder.

But as Paul Si says, Fred has paid his dues, so we can accept his idiosyncrasies.

Among all his friends and achievements, I know one close to his heart are his “Lawas boys”, the Lun Bawang from Lawas. They are his family. He adopted them. George Irwin Leong, Rick Leong, Nelson Leong, Michael Leong, Yung Leong , Pariel Leong and the rest. To him, they were the most capable, most hardworking, most dependable group in the 4X4 community. He was very close to Labo and was working to making the first Labo challenge in Lawas in February 2017. I hope this can still happen. He was so proud of the Lawas boys including Salamah and Wina.

Fred, Yung, You have been taken to a better place. It will never be the same without you. We will all miss you terribly. You were the brother that I wished I had. And I hope that by calling me Yung, I was the younger brother you never had. It was a privilege and an honour to have known you. We all love you,   Yung.

Rest in peace, Yung.

Fred Leong - The Legend

Frederick Charles Leong (1952-2016) - The Legend

It's been 27 years, almost to the day, since I first walked into the office of the Borneo Mail in Kota Kinabalu. Aside from the fiery-tempered editor, C.C. Pung, the other person I remember well from that fateful first day was the equally straight-shooting and hot-blooded Fred Leong.
Coincidentally, I had just turned 27 then, so I have now known Frederick Charles Leong, also known as Dick, for exactly half of my life.
At work he did his job and I did mine. After work, we shared many good moments together. Those who know him, and me, would know that these were pretty wild moments. I was young, he was 10 years older, but then again, he never grew old. Some would say he, like Peter Pan, never grew up.

Two old timers from an ancient era.

I had been interested in 4X4 adventures for some years then, having covered the Trans Borneo series of expeditions that explored both my home state of Sarawak as well as Sabah. When those trips evolved into the Borneo Safari, Fred and I followed their activities with keen interest, as journalists and also as enthusiasts ourselves.
This interest culminated in my participation, as a journalist, in Borneo Safari 1992, with Fred's keen support and endorsement.
I recall he was already driving a 4X4 back then, a Daihatsu Feroza, when I could afford only to dream of owning one. Some day. (That day did come while I was still in Sabah, albeit just a couple of months before I packed up and moved off to seek my fortunes with The Star in the peninsula.)
In those pre-social media days when even mobile phones were a luxury, Fred and I did not stay in touch regularly, although we did bump into each other occassionally, on the job.

Happy times at Kuala Penyu, BS 2008

In 2008, one of these bumps took place at a 4X4 jamboree at Ulu Yam in Selangor, while Fred was a member of the delegation from the Kinabalu Four Wheel Drive Club.
It was then that he invited me to make a long-overdue visit back to Sabah for that year's Borneo Safari. And when Fred invites one to the Safari, he really wants you to go. Which means you don't really have much of a choice.
A few short weeks later, I was on a plane from KL to KK, and soon after, driving a D-Max as part of the Media team, with Fred as Chief Media. That was when I got to know Fred much better, especially a side of him that I had not seen before.
As Boss, he tolerated no nonsense. What he says, goes. And he commanded the total respect of the team he assembled and led, a team comprising many members whom I count among my closest friends in 4X4. Sadly, several of them, including the late Andy Wong, David Wong and Clarence Labo, have since passed away from illness.

(L to R) Andy Wong, Fred Leong and Clarence Labo.

One particularly memorable incident was when we had struck camp and moved off when a report came in over the two-way radio, pointing out that there was still a fire burning. Despite Fred's stern instructions on trash disposal, someone had decided to burn some rubbish and, worse, did not ensure the flames were completely doused before leaving. Furious, Fred made the convoy turn around and return to the site, and saw to it that every member of the crew scour the whole areas, leaving not one piece of litter. That was so Fred.
After a memorable Borneo Safari 2008, I returned to my base in the peninsula, and we communicated intermittently. He did ask me a couple of times to return for the event in later years but things did not work out because of my then work commitments.
It was not until 2012, when I had moved back to Kuching, that I returned to the Borneo Safari, and reconnected with Fred as if I had never left Sabah at all. Since then, I have not missed a Safari, plus made numerous other trips to Sabah. On several of those trips, I stayed at his apartment but even if I did not, there was never a trip when we did not catch up for his favourite activity (and mine, truth be told), which is shooting the breeze over beers. Lots of beers.
His sons, Alvin and Alex, who were just kids when I first knew Fred, are now all grown up, married and have families of their own. And, in many ways, they took over the roles that Fred used to play as he gradually took a back seat.

Doting grandpa Fred with Nathan, son of Alvin.

Fred had become a doting grandfather. But he was still, as ever, the inimitable Fred. Outspoken, firm in his beliefs, and ready to stand 100%, and loudly, by his principles and his friends.
We did not agree on everything. In fact, we argued a lot, and he seemed to enjoy these animated bouts as much as I did. Or maybe it was the beers that fuelled these debates which we enjoyed. But we had fun, we had great memories.
Along the way, we spent a lot of time doing what we enjoyed the most, messing around with our 4X4s, and exploring the hard-to-reach places that we could reach only by 4X4, and only with great difficulty.

Fred enjoys cooking ...

In the latter years, Fred decided he, as an elder in the fraternity, would no longer suffer the hardcore bits but would still pull the strings and put the pieces in place, and then drive into the last camp site to greet us as we emerge, muddied and wearied, and treat us to some of his fabulous cooking. Those who have not tasted his unique version of Hainanese chicken rice, well, you will never know what you are missing.
Stories about Fred would fill a book. Of several volumes. But it is not my intent to tell his entire life story, just a few anecdotes from the moments we shared on the journey, and the impact these had on me.
Just after 4.00pm on Tuesday, 29th November, 2016, at 64 years young,

And everyone enjoys his cooking.

“Angkol” Fred has driven his last safari, in his beloved Toyota 80-series Land Cruiser “Ninja”.
He was supposed to have flown over to Kuching the next day, to join me in the SAKTA (Sarawak 4X4 Adventure and Travel Club) Sarawak Jamboree.
In the off-roading fraternity, there have been many strong characters, each of whom have stamped their own unique mark and left indelible legacies. Still, we do not use the term “legend” lightly.
Fred Leong, you are Legend. Rest In Peace.

As Malcolm Jitam (left) said: "The total age of these 4x4 off roaders span back to time before the Spanish inquisition."

Borneo Suffering at its worst, and best

It was the best of times, and it was the worst of times.

We were chilling in an idyllic campsite in the rural heart of Sabah, with a cool, clean river to bathe in. We had great food worthy of a five-star hotel, because it was cooked for us by a chef who used to work in a five-star hotel. Steaming hot fresh-brew coffee in the morning, with home-cured bacon, sausages and eggs.

Mother hens and chicks, and mummy sows and their piglets, wandered all over, scrounging for grub. Pastoral scenes don't get much better than this.

Bacon and eggs, anyone?

Yet, we were not content. We were impatient. We couldn't wait to get on with it. We had to wait for it.

“It” was Borneo Safari 2016. Specifically, the hardcore section that some eager beavers complained was “only 40 kilometres” long. Some of us, who had taken three days to traverse just six kilometres in previous editions, reserved comment, looking forward with equal measure of trepidation and anticipation.

'Andy' the Landy - veteran of three Borneo Safaris (2012, 2014, 2016)

My Land Rover Defender (a four-year-old 110 named “Andy” in honour of a fondly remembered and dearly missed friend from earlier Safaris) and I, and co-driver Afonso Cerejo from Portugal, were embedded with Team Mitsubishi Motor Malaysia (MMM), which was sending in four of their new Tritons, plus four customer cars, and several other support cars of various marques and models. 
An added touch of glamour came in the person of renowned lady racer Leona Chin, also known as Malaysia's Drift Queen, who delights crowds by driving a Triton sideways.

With several members of the motoring media in our group, were placed in the convoy behind Team Isuzu, long-time sponsor of the event, who were behind the officials, photographers, competitors and the scouts who were blazing the trail.

2016 got off to a promising start, with a wide river to ford before reaching Kampung Tibabar, accessed by a track from the famous Poring hot springs, near the high-altitude interior town of Ranau.

Although the trail was mild by 4X4 standards (we came across several Perodua Kancils and Vivas), the river crossing yielded plenty of excitement and photo opportunities.

Day 1/2 Camp at Tibabar

The first night's camp at Tibabar was pleasant, if not exactly exciting. We set up camp, we dined, chatted a bit, and got a good night's sleep. That was about it.

The following day's move to Campsite Two, at Kampung Garung, added to the feeling that we could be in for some fun, with some mushy mud along the way serving as an appetiser. Nothing too hard though, and no winch rope had to be pulled out.

Kpg Garung was supposed to be home for a night, and then two, and then three. Team Isuzu, who had arrived there a day earlier, were on standby to move out since early in the morning, and then noon, and were still waiting by the evening when the plan was changed – they would stay the night.

Early the next morning, they packed up hurriedly and left bright and early for the entrance to the hardcore trail. The day passed slowly for the rest of us, chilling in the stream, until around 4pm, when the Isuzu rolled back in. They had travelled a grand total of about 2km, spent the whole day by the roadside waiting, and then decided to return to the village.

The trail was tough. The scouts reported making less than 1.7km of progress in their first six hours, and 3km in the whole of the first day.

We would just have to relax and wait for our turn.

Hurry up ... and wait

Welcome to the Borneo Safari, one of the toughest offroad vehicle events in Malaysia. Held annually in Sabah since 1991, the reputation has been a magnet for thrill-seekers, drawing about a thousand 4X4 aficionados to Kota Kinabalu for the grand flag-off at the tail end of each October.

Expectations are always high at the flag-off and, this year, participants were served extra helpings from the full menu. Even before it was over, there was already talk about it being “the best ever”, “the toughest in living memory” and “the most fun we've had in a long time”. (Having taking part in in seven Borneo Safaris – 1992, 2008, and every year since 2012, this writer would concur with these sentiments.)

This, from people who consider it fun to be forced to sleep upright in the seat of a cramped 4X4, simply because there is no space around the vehicle, or what little space there is, is shin-deep in gooey mud.

Whereas previous editions served up a couple of memorable moments interspersed with leisurely drives and pleasant camping, 2016 offered the full menu – torrential rain, mud galore, torturous holes and gulleys, and slopes so steeps that winches were mandatory for both ascent and descent, and even strategically-placed logs with a better-than-50-percent chance of slamming into.

3, 2, 1 ... BUNGEE!!!!!

The notorious “bungee jump”, alternatively referred to as the roller-coaster, will be remembered as one of the highlights as BS 2016.

After a torturous uphill climb that required strenuous winching, each car had to negotiate a tight turn with steering at full lock to the right, and then be lowered gingerly on a winch line from the car behind down a steep and slippery slope.

Released from this safety line about halfway down, each driver had to negotiate the remaining distance, knowing that a huge log lay in wait at the bottom. There was no room for error, and nearly half of all cars ended the bumpy ride with a close encounter with the log, sustaining varying degrees of damage, from broken lamps to crumpled fenders to bent chassis.

Handyplast moment - poor Andy is hurt. Bad log.

Wait, there's more. A lot more. A slanted track that sends your car sliding towards a tree. There is no way to drive across, you had to stop the car, and use the winch to pull the front end in the right direction, away from the waiting tree. Some did not make it unscathed, adding to their collections of dents.

However well prepared each participant was, no matter how much the cars were modified or upgraded in anticipation of the challenges, the strain was simply too overwhelming for some.

Minor breakdowns were promptly fixed by “McGyver” mechanics but several cars which suffered major breakdowns had to be left by the side of the track, awaiting rescue at a latter date.

Oh, look what I found!

A failed gearbox, shattered differential gears, broken winches and a wheel that parted company with its hub after all its six studs sheared off were just some of the equipment failures that prematurely ended the adventure for the unfortunate few who had to hitch a ride out of the jungle.

The recovery teams, all volunteers who had to face the same or even tougher conditions just getting to the abandoned cars, continued struggling up to three days after the eight-day Safari had officially ended with the grand closing dinner.

Before each year's Safari gets underway, expectations start forming based on tales from the previous year's event. 2015 had been significant for being the Silver Jubilee event but the action itself had not been spectacular.

The 2016 terrain and weather conspired to serve up a “perfect storm” of challenges that had everyone raving about the toughest, and naturally, the best Borneo Safari ever.

Not everyone who signed up got to savour the experience, though, as more than half of the field did not get the chance to even enter the hardcore trail because of delays at the front.

The hills are steep, but the co-drivers are strong ...

Unlike in most previous events when those at the front of the convoy had an easier time with the obstacles, this year's was brutal right from the start, and for everyone, regardless of position in the queue. Those at the front suffered as much as the rearguard, who suffered as much as the meat in the sandwich.

The slow crawl at the front meant a long wait for those in the queue, and many chose, or were compelled, to take the easy way out – an escape to the nearby village of Kampung Sorinsim, between Ranau and Kota Marudu.

Slipping and sliding, the Tritons in my group took on each challenge in turn and overcame each obstacle, one at a time.

Driving and winching and crossing rickety make-shift log bridges in the dark, with intermittent and, at times, torrential rain, with no end in sight.

The low point, as well as the highlight of BS 2016, came around 1am one night, when the convoy was forced to halt because it had come up to the tail end of the group just ahead, who were still struggling with a particularly tough obstacle.

Good night ... not the most comfortable bed, though.

Surrounded by the jungle, and with no space to set up camp and a steady drizzle falling, everyone had to try to sleep as best as they could, inside the cars. The discomfort of sitting upright while still muddy and grimy was no match for the sheer exhaustion.
Add to that keeping on the same socks and shoes that have trudged through water and mud for the past 48 hours, even as you try to catch some shut-eye, simply because the thought of taking them off and putting them on again is worse. And you cannot walk more than a couple of metres in slippers without falling over. 

If there had been any doubts lingering to that point, it would have become very clear by now – this was the real deal, this was the Borneo Suffering experience that many had heard jokes about.

From then on, it was hardcore all the way. Each obstacle passed brought us a little closer to the end, the eagerly anticipated gravel road that would signal the end of the torment. But the psychological pressure would not let up so easily, with many a false “last one” before we could relax by the beautiful river at Kampung Sorinsim.

Are we in deep enough yet?

Eventually, all would emerge safely, and converged on the Magellan Sutera Harbour resort in Kota Kinabalu for the closing dinner. Everyone who was there wore the event shirt with pride as they shared tales of common hardships endured, who did what where, and whose car suffered which mishap.

Very few came out completely unscathed, but all agree that the memories are worth every scratch and dent and broken shaft or window, or even overturned car.

A touch of celebrity - Mitsubishi brought along renowned lady racer Leona Chin, a.k.a. Malaysia's Drift Queen.

It was not all fun and games, though. There was a lot of waiting, made necessary because of simple maths. If a car took 10 minutes to clear one obstacle, a hundred cars would need over 16 hours! And there were many obstacles, and many cars. The biggest test for many was that of patience, and not all scored well in this aspect. But while tensions might have run high and tempers frayed, all these pale in comparison to the satisfaction on a shared accomplishment – we all made it against the odds, and we did it together.

These memories are shared with like-minded 4X4 enthusiasts from all over Sabah but many came from farther afield, including Brunei, Sarawak and Kalimantan, and some drive their vehicles from as far away as Jakarta and Banjarmasin. This year, the international flavour included thrill-seekers from the United States, The Netherlands, Japan and Portugal.

The growing popularity of the Borneo Safari over the past quarter century is evident from the numbers. Starting with around 25 to 30 cars in the early years, the official registered entries have swollen to over 200 cars a couple of years ago, to 350 vehicles and about 1,000 participants this year.

As the closing dinner drew to its conclusion, the most common refrain heard was “see you again next year”. 
But wait, there's more. The eight days of the official Borneo Safari might have ended with the banquet and the toasts and the backslapping on the night of Nov 6, 2016, but the action was not over yet. 
There were still broken-down cars left in the jungle, and the rescue and recovery efforts would continue for several more days until all were successfully and safely brought back to civilisation. 
   

Ah Ngiu chops some logs to help ease the passage.

One Life. Live It. (The Camel & I)

Yours truly, circa May 1993, somewhere near Tenom, Sabah.

I was a part of something big a long time ago, something that has had a deep influence on me ever since. It has been nearly a quarter century since I got up close and personal with the ultimate 4X4 adventure, the Camel Trophy, and it is still a part of me. In my own mind at least.
No, I was not fortunate to have been one of the participants vying for the coveted Trophy. After being captivated by the cool and oh-so macho ads for several years, the opportunity to be among those rugged adventurers came along in 1992, when I was about to turn 30.
I was living and working as a journalist in Sabah when it was announced that the beautiful north Borneo state had been chosen to host Camel Trophy the following year, 1993.
What joy, what excitement! I had just completed my first ever major 4X4 expedition, the Borneo Safari, and was already hooked.
But my own life was in a state of flux. An opportunity had come along that I could not pass up, a chance to work with The Star, a major national newspaper that also meant a big step forward in my career from the small regional newspapers that I had been working for (and enjoyed doing so, might I add).

With Team Italia (from left) Giovanni Formica, me, Francesco Rapisarda,
Matteo Ghiazza and a journalist whose name I do not recall.

Not only were the Camel Trophy selection trials set during a period when I was busy with preparations for the big move across the South China Sea, the actual dates coincided with the wedding of my only brother. So, I had to pass on it, and probably miss my best opportunity to be a part of this great adventure.
While still in Sabah, shortly before Christmas, my Sunday morning lie-in was shattered by the telephone. I ignored it, but it would not stop. So, I had to get up and answer it.
“Paul, can you go to Milan?” It must be some kind of bad joke. On a Sunday morning. I had already resigned from my job in Sabah.
But the voice was familiar, the nice PR (public relations) lady from Sabah Tourism Promotion Corporation.
“Can you go to Milan?” she repeated when I mumbled something unintelligible.
“Milan, as in Italy?” I asked. The furthest I had been sent on assignment in the past three years was Semporna (yes, that’s also in Sabah).
“Of course Italy, is there any other? More importantly, do you have a passport?”
Yes, I had a passport, and within 24 hours, after a lot of hurrying to collect air tickets and round up cash, I was on my way to Europe for the very first time.
It was the bad luck of my good friend Freddie Ch’ng who was supposed to go but had his house broken into and his passport stolen a couple of days earlier. Sorry, Freddie, your loss was my gain.
The reason for this surprising turn of events was the Camel Trophy. The Italians had invited the then Sabah Foundation chairman, Tengku Adlin, to go and give a talk in the northern city of Milan about the coming event, in particular about the “Lost World” of the Maliau Basin.
So it was that a son of Borneo landed at Malpensa Airport, dressed in full Camel Adventure apparel while, all around, the local signoras were bundled up in furs and the gents in great coats.
The airport was being renovated so the aero-bridges could not be used. We had to walk across the tarmac to the terminal. I had brought winter gear but it was in the luggage. Not a good start.
After a few more misadventures through inexperience, we finally made it to the Milan office of RJ Reynolds, where their PR Francesco Rapisarda manager showed me what the Camel Trophy had been all about.

Tengku Adlin (2nd right, front row) and the other local officials.

In the event just past, Guyana 1992, the clippings from newspaper coverage alone, excluding other media, was compiled into a book two inches (50mm) thick! That was how wildly popular the Camel Trophy was!
He reeled off more figures - more than a million Germans had applied to take part, along with several hundreds of thousands in each of the other European nations involved, including Italy, the Netherlands, Portugal, Spain, Russia, etc.
We were then introduced to the Italian team of Matteo Ghiazza and Giovanni Formica, who would pilot the Sandglow Discovery through the jungle trails of Sabah in the coming months.
Tengku Adlin gave a passionate speech about the wonders of Sabah that they could look forward to seeing, and we learned that state’s name may not be familiar to the Italians but they all knew the name of Sandakan. Well, Sandokan anyway, close enough. Apparently, it is a place featured in a popular series of stories for children so every Italian grew up dreaming of visiting Sandokan some day.

An icon of Camel Trophy, the pontoon raft in action.

For the fortunate four (two primary participants and two reserves) from each other participating nations, Italy continued to be a part of the story because a week of intensive training was held in the mountainous north of the country. But I was not a part of that and, in fact, thought that was about as close as I would ever get to the iconic event.
I was in Kuala Lumpur when the adventurers and crew flew into Kota Kinabalu.
Then, another unexpected phone call. Would I like to go back to Sabah? To cover the Camel Trophy?
And just like that, I was off on another adventure, this time even greater than Milan.
Leaving familiar KK behind, I could barely believe I was really going to be part of the great adventure as I rode the rickety train from Tanjung Aru to Beaufort where we joined up with the convoy of yellow (okay, technically Sandglow) Land Rovers, also riding on a special train, on our way to Tenom.

It felt like being in an Indiana Jones movie as we enjoyed the scenic views of the Padas Gorge from the flatbed cars and carriages reminiscent of the Wild Wild West while a couple of helicopters swooped up and down the railway, shooting video.
The next few days were spent camping near the river as the participants were put through their paces, competing in various special stages and exhibiting newly-acquired skills in setting up the inflatable pontoon raft that could ferry a heavily laden Discovery across the river.
To say I was happy would have been an understatement. I loved the challenges, the great outdoors, the camaraderie of the multinational participants and crew, as well as the local 4X4 enthusiasts from the Kinabalu Four Wheel Drive Club (KFWDC) who were drafted as officials. Many of them remain my friends to this day.
Riding on the roof of a Discovery as the convoy made its way back to KK for the finale was icing on the cake.
The Americans won the Camel Trophy that year and the popular and ever-cheerful team from the Canary Island were presented with the Team Spirit Award.

The Malaysian team did not do so well, coming 16th out of 16 competing teams. Some things did not go well that are best left unsaid as I prefer to focus on the positives that came out of the event, and these were huge.
I longed to own one of those magnificent Land Rovers but, for many years, it remained a dream that was out of reach.
I settled for buying and wearing the Camel Adventure apparel, boots, watch, and whatever memorabilia I could lay my hands on.
From the first 4WD, a beat-up Isuzu Trooper I acquired in Sabah just before the 1993 event, I went on to buy more 4X4s, and eventually owned only 4X4s and no saloon cars. As part of the job, I had chances to take part in other adventures, including numerous Ford Lanun Darat trips, the Trans Sahara 2004 with the Petronas Adventure Team, the Mercedes-benz Paris-Beijing 2006 and several Ford Adventures in Cambodia.
But, I never forgot the dream and one day in 2008, I managed to buy a used Discovery of my own so that I could build a replica. I called it “Humphrey” because the Discovery has a hump in the roof, and of course, camels, too. And it is ever so English, like Land Rovers.

'Humphrey' on adventure.

I have gone on to more memorable adventures after shipping it and myself back to my home state of Sarawak, to explore the highlands of Long Semadoh and Ba’kelalan, and crossed the border into the Indonesian part of Borneo, retracing parts of the Camel Trophy 1996 route through Kalimantan to Balikpapan, and visiting Banjarmasin, Sampit, Pontianak and other exotic places.
One is never enough, so I went and acquired a 1986 Land Rover 110, and then another, this time a 2012 Defender. Eventually, the newcomers were also repainted in that iconic shade of yellow, Sandglow LRC 361. So yes, you could say I liked the Camel Trophy.
Out of the blue, on the 25th of July, 2015, I received an email from a Mr. Nick Leadbeter, Chairman of the UK-based Camel Trophy Club, inviting me to be an Honorary Life Member. I am honoured, and I accepted.
The adventure continues even if the event itself ended with the old millennium.
So, what is it that made the Camel Trophy so special to me? Yes, it was a marketing exercise, with interested parties trying to get you to buy their stuff. But unlike the millions of other advertising stunts we are bombarded with each day, the event took on a life of its own, one that was larger than real life.
The beautifully shot stills and videos in the ad campaigns sold us on the idea that there was more to life than the daily grind, that there was a big, wide world out there that we could go explore, even in the late 20th century.
The reality was even better. Gather the fittest and brightest young men and women (military folks excepted) from around the world, give them identical vehicles and equipment, and let them loose on the wildest and toughest terrain out there.
While the “Trophy” bit shows it was a competition, and there were indeed competitive stages that pitted one nation against another, what really made the Camel Trophy memorable was the transport stages.
“Transport” may sound humdrum but just getting from Point A to B in the areas that Camel Trophy went to was truly an adventure.
Mud and sand, bogs and dunes, giant trees or not a blade of green at all, the organisers went out of their way, literally, to scout the world’s most inhospitable places. The Amazon, the Congo, Borneo, Patagonia, Siberia, the Maya heartland, all locales whose names alone would excite Indiana Jones as well as wannabes.
And the best, really best part, was the teamwork that got everyone and every car through each seemingly impassable obstacle. Russians working alongside French helping Japanese and Portuguese, all communicating with some English and a shared love of adventure.
When the finale was over and the trophies handed out, what really remained for the participants and fans was not who won or did not win, but the extraordinary experiences they had shared along the way.
Of course, the event was a big boost for Land Rover as well, even if the reality was that Camel Trophy actually began with three Jeeps! Over the years, unforgettable of the various models of Solihull’s finest have been etched permanently in the subconscious - a Landy can go anywhere, if the drivers are up to it. Which is why I ended up with three of them.
One Life. Live It.

Matteo Ghiazza blows his horn.

More vintage photos from Camel Trophy Sabah 1993

Today ... because one is never enough.

More pictures of "Humphrey - The Making Of ..."

An honour, gratefully accepted. Thanks, guys.