The first day south from Malacca is such slow going. We have to stop so often to avoid heatstroke and to drink enough. And still the afternoon is like torture. We have a big headwind which amplifies everything. We have virtually decided to head for Singapore.

Near our day’s destination we are riding along a quiet main road, and on the other side I see a huge replica bike which triggers memories I had completely forgotten. We rode this route going the other way in 2006, and stopped to take a picture of me beside this bike. We stop again and think back to those times: The first time I had travelled so far, how exciting it was to be here, how nothing seemed impossible. It lifts our spirits somewhat and gives me pause about packing it in here. We arrive in the next town to a motel, and the owner comes out to greets us and makes us feel really welcome. The mood is shifting slightly.

We stop at a cafe halfway through the following day. It’s full of school kids who try to discreetly take pictures of us, but they are teenagers and don’t manage discretion very well. I position myself under a fan before a woman comes over and shows me to a side room with air conditioning, while Richard queues up to get himself a coke and me “teh ais,” which translates as “iced tea” but in Malaysia the standard tea is made with oodles of sweetened condensed milk, and I could happily drown in it.

The next couple of hours are the best cycling we’ve done in Malaysia. Lots of people wave and shout greetings at us. We have a big tailwind, there is little traffic and the road is lined with huge trees, a kind I haven’t seen before, and it means we are shaded from the heat and actually enjoy riding along. I want to find out the species of tree and who planted them so I can start a new religion and give thanks. It’s still not easy, but we do a complete 180 and commit to staying in Malaysia.

We cross the peninsula through Kluang to Mersing, not wanting to go any further south and get sucked into the black hole of concrete and traffic that is Johor Bahru or, quite honestly, to give us any more chances to change our minds.

We see the aftermath of a road accident on the long winding road through the hills. I pass close to a very young man laying in the road who I don’t think will have made it. There are a large number of people there to help, they are urging us to pass through, and it feels disrespectful to stay and look, so we pass silently on.

Once over the other side in Mersing there’s no going back.

The hazy day dawns and we head for a small coastal road. Along the way I see my first ever dusky langur (leaf monkey) who is absolutely beautiful, and probably cheeky. The road closely hugs the white-sand beach, which is lined with food stalls and coconut palms. We have some gentle climbing back inland a bit, which actually is really nice (for me, not Richard.) We pass a large troop of macaques, who all disappear into the jungle apart from the alpha female, who parades along the side of the road. This species of primates has a female leader of each group, a role she then passes down to her daughters.

There’s so little traffic that the downhill back towards the sea is great. It’s a rare thing in Malaysia to have quiet roads, so we make the most of hogging the lanes. But it’s been a long way with nowhere to stop or anywhere to get drinks, so we’re both already flagging by the time the sun rips through the clouds in the afternoon.

We divert onto another coast road, weaving through roaming goats and cows. This lower part of eastern Malaysia is much more rural and more natural than the west, which is dominated by huge palm oil plantations and bigger cities.

There are long stretches going north where there is only one main artery and we have no choice but to take it, with lorries and tankers screeching along beside us. Though drivers do try to give us space, the roads here are narrow with no shoulder, so there isn’t much room to give.

We get through the days with the mantra “little and often.” We are stopping almost as often as we see somewhere in the shade. It’s important to get out of the sun as much as we can, and drink as much as we can. We’re doing short distances and it’s demotivating to see the days slipping by without making big progress, but it’s the only way to manage the heat, which is almost inhumane. Even with this, the last couple of hours are like riding through a burning tunnel breathing in hot soup, and it feels like this is going on forever. There are a couple of bright spots (more dusky langurs) but mostly we are just hanging on and getting through it. I have only one really baggy t-shirt, and it’s the only thing I feel comfortable wearing. Everything else just clings to me with the ungodly amount of sweat, so at the end of each day the t shirt comes in the shower with me and gets a wash ready for the next day. I know I’m going insane when I feel almost as sorry for this shirt as I do for myself.

We’ve learnt that the best accommodation options are small local homestays, because people actually take some pride in them, which means a higher chance of them being clean. We book ahead one off the beaten track away from the road, and the owner messages in advance that we can arrive whenever we like. This is a godsend, since we can leave early and get our cycling done before the furnace really breaks out. We’ve come armed with pot noodles, knowing that it isn’t near anything, but the owner greets us and offers to drive us somewhere to eat. He first gives us a tour of the nearby fishing village, explaining how much the industry has declined in recent years because of over-fishing. He asks the fishermen if we can go on board the boats. Afterwards we go to a local outdoor self-serve restaurant, and I try curried stingray, sambal eggs and some stir fried veg, and it’s amazing. Over lunch he tells us that this year it is hotter than usual, which doesn’t help the reality, but makes us feel a bit better about how much we’re suffering. He refuses to let us pay for our food, and even offers to get dinner for us later. The following morning he has a set breakfast delivered and adds on some samosas and cakes for our journey.

That evening, sitting in a launderette getting our stink bomb clothes properly washed, a man tries to talk to Richard haltingly: “I want to talk, but no English.” He keeps apologising that he doesn’t know the words, but is trying to communicate something. After a while looking at his phone, he turns and says “Muslims not all terrorists.” It’s heartbreaking he thinks we might think that. He passes us later in his car as we’re riding back, in a huge commotion of beeping, waving and happy greetings.

Richard reads the weather forecast before we leave the next morning, as if we don’t already know what’s in store. It’s going to be even hotter today, with the usual advisory not to go outside at all in the afternoon. Hooray. At the end of the day we climb, not big but it just saps everything I have left. I’m not even sure I’m alive at this point and the world is spinning. We arrive at the day’s room stay, and thankfully it’s a lockbox situation because I don’t think I can form words and meet anyone, and I really smell.

In the morning there’s some shuffling outside, and I open the door to find a bag of food. Opening a door to find a bag of food is the kind of thing that occupies my dreams. Someone has delivered a breakfast of spaghetti and some sandwiches. Breakfast in Malaysia is usually nasi lemak, which consists of coconut rice, hard boiled egg, dried anchovies, cucumber, peanuts and a rich and sweet sambal (chilli paste.) It’s glorious. But bringing us Western food is really thoughtful, so I can’t be that ungrateful.

The next couple of days are through some enormous towns. The traffic is insane, but mostly in nose-to-tale jams, which makes navigating a bit easier and safer for us. We’re at the part of the coast where the road we take is the only one there is, and it’s awful. The roads are badly maintained, and there’s a few times I’m sliding around on banked up dirt on the sides of the roads with lorries hurtling alongside.

We haven’t had a break for a while now, and it’s taking its toll. Every day we hope will be a place we want to spend more than one night, but even though the room stays and home stays are better than hotels, all of them still have ants or cockroaches. We arrive at a “beach resort” which could mean anything. I’m hopeful, but it’s a dingy, dirty, infested cabin and by far the worst place we stay. And it’s a crowded field.

We’re sick of being here now, and decide to break with tradition. Instead of short days to maintain our sanity and invite less skin cancer, we’re going to do two last big days, just to get it over with sooner.

A playlist for the ride: