Cop Stop

In Malaysia, you often get roasted by Ferraris. When we rode our bikes up the highway from Singapore to Kuala Lumpur or somewhere like, we generally cruised about 140–160kph. But in the early mornings, it wasn’t unusual to be blown into the dust by a convoy of Singapore-registered Lamborghinis, McLarens or Ferraris doing well over 200kph. The road, the sun tingeing the tropic mist over the palms, the empty outside lane all encouraged a bit of caning it. FYI, the speed limit is a modest 110kph.

As a result, it’s not uncommon for Singaporeans to get stopped by traffic cops in Malaysia. This is usually because the vehicles they stop are genuinely speeding. But sometimes the cars or bikes are stopped not just because they are flashy bastards breaking the speed limit, but because their shiny new vehicles mark the drivers out as being cashed up. Well, more cashed up than an average Malaysian traffic cop, for sure.

Accordingly, from time to time cops stop a car or bike and threaten to fine the driver just because they can, and because it delays their trip. As well, although it is not always the case, one or two, or maybe even a higher number, of the boys in blue have been known to turn a blind eye to an alleged offence because the stopped driver happens to accidentally pull out a banknote or two from their wallet as they extract their licence. It happens.

And because it happens, and brings immediate and paperwork-free rewards, some cops could be plausibly accused of lying in wait for approaching groups of Singapore-registered cars or bikes. Then, on a particularly revved-up stretch of highway they flag speedsters down in the hope of an accidentally surreptitious note or two coming their way. Many is the time we were passed by a group of Fast Italians only to see them all stopped on the hard shoulder a way up the road, busily transacting with members of the traffic police.

It happens to riders on bikes too. But it was never really a hassle. Almost every time I was stopped (and I was stopped dozens of times), the conversation went like this:

“Do you know why we stopped you?”

“No.”

“You were speeding. We have you registered on our speed gun at 134kph!!”

“Can you show me the speed readout?”

“No, it is in the car/on the last bridge/back up the road a way.”

“Well I wasn’t speeding then.”

“Yes you were; No I wasn’t; Yes you were; No I wasn’t . . . etc etc” for an unspecified length of time.

The reason this banter and repeated denial worked and didn’t see us immediately spreadeagled over the bonnet of a cop car is simple: most Malaysian traffic cops don’t have radar speed guns. So the proof of speeding therefore lies not in the conventional “excuse me sir, look at the readout on my new, calibrated, high-tech laser speed measuring device”, but in the officer’s experienced assessment of over-the-limit riding based on noise, blur, likelihood, size of bike — and potential wealth. Not hard data.

The other big giveaway in the cops’ claims of law-breaking was the speed they generally gave. Anybody riding a bike up the North-South Highway at only 130–140kph would be thought of as piss-weak weedy. So to be stopped for something as pathetic as that meant the cops definitely didn’t have a radar gun, and had no idea of our actual (much higher) speed.

The argument would then swing to and fro, with threats to take you to the nearest police station, to an ATM, to the cleaners and more, all wheeled out in succession. The canny biker would always just deny it repeatedly, knowing full well the chances of having been clocked by a real speed trap were very very slim indeed.

The longer this to and fro could be prolonged the better. As we stood by the roadside, time-wastingly denying the alleged offence, a procession of other, fast, rich, equally stoppable cars and bikes would roar by — all escaping a potentially lucrative shakedown from our inquisitors.

In virtually every case, the men in blue would eventually glance at each other and nod agreement that this was a lost cause then gruffly tell us they would overlook the transgression just this once, and let us go. They would caution us to ride moderately and carefully on the rest of our journey. We would politely thank them before zipping off up the road with licence, reputation and wallet unblemished.

However, a couple of occasions things did not go according to this smooth plan, and are worth mentioning. Once I was pulled over by a couple of mean looking cops hiding behind a toll booth, doing random stops on all kinds of vehicle. They didn’t do the usual half-questioning intro. Instead they looked hard at me and my fly-spattered, ticking, heat-blurred bike, walked around it looking intently at rego plates, tyres, bags and everything else before coming up to me and addressing me directly.

“Is that your bike?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you just come from?” This was way off normal procedure.

“From Tangkak.” I wondered uneasily what they were looking for.

“What’s in the tank bag?” Crikey, now I was a really worried. They poked around inside it, turning over both my passports. Nothing else but 100-Plus energy drink, a raincoat and spanners.

“This is a Yamaha Fazer, yes?”

Falteringly: “Yes.”

“How fast does it go? I have a Hayabusa and I’ve had it up to about 280 but then I chickened out, but I’m sure it had more to give.” Phew. A biker. Relax, talk about the joys of riding in Malaysia, remount, ride off smiling. I think they were looking for drugs from a tip off, but no matter, they weren’t looking for me, or a contribution to their tea fund.

The only other time I was stopped and didn’t get the standard procedure was the day before Eid, the end of Ramadan.

Traditionally, Malay families give each other gifts of shiny new stuff to celebrate the end of fasting; this can make the festival a seriously happy-making yet expensive affair. As it happens, I wasn’t riding that fast at all, just enjoying the day and the view. A cop pulls me over. The usual: “You were speeding.”

I took a brief moment to size up the situation, then grinned at him.

“It’s Eid soon, yes? You have a family? How about 50 ringgit?”

His broad smile and nod was enough to make me as happy as whoever got the Eid gift my small donation had just made possible. A true win-win situation

That was the only time ever in what must have been dozens of pull-overs that I ever gave a cop any money, but it gave me great pleasure to participate in such a time-honoured tradition.

He waved until he was lost in my mirrors as I rode, smiling, back to my own Eid celebrations Singapore.

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