There was gravel on my still-almost-brand new shoes, inside, and inside my socks. There was gravel on my sweater. There was gravel on my tee shirt under my sweater even though it was all zipped up. There was gravel on my capri pants, in my capri pants, and in my undies. There was gravel on my face, despite the helmet and visor. At one point one grain got into my left eye. There was gravel in my ears. There was gravel in my mouth and I was spitting out water like it was a dragonboat race.
But I’m getting ahead of myself here.

We’ve been going go-karting for years. Sometimes it was with office friends. Sometimes with dragonboat friends. Sometimes it’s both, since they were the same thing at one time. There was a track across the Causeway, but we heard that they’ve closed down or moved. But we’ve found another track in Melaka – Melaka International Motorports Circuit (MIMC), and one that’s more systematic.
You can do a 10-minute run on the track, or purchase a package. We got the Expert deal, which consists of 30 laps broken down into: 5 warm-up laps followed by three races of 7, 8 and 10 laps. You’ll need a minimum of six racers to do a Package race. The ideal was eight in a race; we had nine.
After some delay where they looked for a ninth go-kart and when we went for a tea break in the nearby town of Durian Tunggol, we were good to go. Shower caps are provided, in case you find the helmets in less than mint condition. Or if you’re cool-conscious like us, you can bring your own bandana.
Then came the ritual of selecting our go-karts. I don’t know how the guys chose theirs (with good measure of trash talking one another, apparently) but I just headed for lucky number seven. No particular reason. It was the first number that popped to mind.
Dusted the seat of sand. Climbed in. Got comfy. Familiarised with the grip of the steering wheel. That was when the official saw that I couldn’t really reach the brakes and gave me a pillow to sit on. Perfect.
I started seventh on the grid in the warm-up laps but did well enough — I even lapped BJ — to come in third, after Eam and R, the traditional winners whenever we went go-karting. I normally could out-drive the other girls, but somehow not the guys.
The track had gravel all over and grit bounced off the helmet visor as we drove. It even got in under the visor and into our mouths, so we had to drive with our mouths closed (with exception from the occasional curse from the guys).
The first race started. I was skidding and drifting around the chicanes. I was driving with a mission. When I rounded the last bend, I floored the throttle and shot down the entire stretch at full speed. There was even a soundtrack playing in my head. A mix between Coldplay Viva la Vida and the Speed Racer theme song. Go figure. (I just saw it on HBO the week before.)
And then the most amazing thing happened. I overtook Eam. And shortly after, Renga. It was so exciting. That’s never happened before. It was also quite pressuring. The music was playing louder in my head now, especially when the guy held out the “Last Lap” sign. But I had to shut it out. Not a time to get cocky. If I made a mistake, the guys would never let me live it down.
Came in first in the first race. Woo-hoo!
And the second. Yay!
Luke tried to block me in the first race but I snuck past him on the inside of one of the bends. He tried it again in the second race, and at a bend where K had stalled at the side of the track, but I managed to squeeze in between her go-kart and Luke’s without so much as a backwards glance. I lapped BJ twice in the second race. Whee!
And then during the break before the third race, it started to rain. The track became more slippery than a greasy fishball. I was careful at the start, but I spun off the track at the fourth bend. When R drove past, I swear he was laughing gleefully at me, and to the guys behind.
I looked around and tried to signal for help from one of the officials, but help was not forthcoming. I didn’t even think they could see me in the downpour. I can’t go down like this! I can’t!
No time to waste punching fist at sky dramatically, shouting: “Why?!”
I dragged my go-kart back onto the track (Damn, it’s heavy!) praying the whole time that the engine wouldn’t stall coz I wouldn’t know what to do then.
Luckily it didn’t. I floored the throttle and got back into the race. It was a very Hollywood moment. I could still win this race.
Now, I was really pissed. Now, I was really driving, albeit more carefully, with a mission. One by one, I overtook the others. BJ, Yas, Luke, K, K2. Now, the rain had turned into a proper storm and the puddles around the hairpins turned into swimming pools.
Water sprayed behind our go-karts. Copious amounts fountained in from the bottom of the go-kart. It gushed onto us while we drove. It splashed onto the visor, inside the visor, everywhere.
There was so much water, at one point I was spitting water out like it was a dragonboat race. Yes, puddle water got into our mouths too. I could feel water streaming into all of my clothes, into my inner clothes, but we were all already so wet, there was no point feeling conscious about getting drenched. Everyone continued swimming through the water in our go-karts. It was like the race had turned into a biathlon event. Water would splash onto the visor rendering me blind and the go-kart would skid under me but the deathgrip on the steering wheel made sure I was still in control and that I finished the race.
In the end, most importantly, I went from pole to last place, to completing the final race in a respectable podium finish of second place, after R. (Eam crashed out; he says the splash from R’s go-kart stalled his engine and he couldn’t get it started after. Pfft, excuses. Hee.)
It was the most fun we’ve all had in ages. R says he couldn’t stop laughing like a kid the entire ten laps of the third race. All the guys were psyched. And promptly went for another round. THe girls gave it a miss. Sat in the stands for a while, was trying to get one tiny, tricky piece of gravel stuck between my back teeth, then went to get a headstart on cleaning up.
I didn’t bring any spare clothes, so had to clean up what I had on. I literally had to remove every single article of clothing I was wearing, wash the gravel off as much as possible, wring the water out, and put it back on.
The track doesn’t have showers, which meant I used the hose in the ladies’ toilet, which, if you are familiar with toilets here — yes, that hose. If you are not familiar with toilets here — don’t ask.
Oddly enough, I’ve been in rougher situations. The toilet was relatively clean. I dread to think how gross it would be if it was not. (It would have been nice if the cubicles had hooks to hang my stuff on though.) It’s not Monaco, but things could have been worse.
So there we were, still riding the post-race high. I was cold but for the warm glow of victory. After you add up the points, I was Champion. That’s never been heard of. The guys will deny this when we get back, R protests as he says the last race was “winner takes all”, but they were so sweet to buy me dinner as agreed before the race. Sure, dinner was $10 per head, but it’s the thought I-won-you-lost-nanny-nanny-boo-boo that counts. (I’m just kidding. Hee.)
After we left the racetrack, we spent a shivering hour trying to get into town so we could buy some cheap and dry clothes, and get out of our wet ones.
Sadly, there wasn’t time to take in Jonker Street and the old town of Melaka — it was too crowded and jammed anyways — so we’ll have to return to Melaka again sometime. Maybe this time we’ll try to stay a night.
