Chapter 9: Southbound to SingaporeConcerns in Mersing
The rhythm of the journey faltered when I noticed Ernest’s feet and
ankles swollen, his steps heavy with discomfort. Weeks of surviving
on little more than rice had left him depleted, and I feared something
more serious as I watched his condition worsen through the day. We
did what we could: multivitamins, generous meals, and rest, hoping
nourishment would restore what the road had taken.
Mersing became a place of pause, not for sightseeing but for
recovery. Ernest tended to his health and his bike, while I turned to
my own small necessity: a new saddle. The old one had carried me
faithfully but was worn beyond comfort. As I fitted the replacement, I
couldn’t help but laugh at the hope that this one might not become,
quite literally, a pain in the ass.