The race

Around the corner from our hotel was a little holiday-hire place with a blue scooter and two oversized helmets. For a measely amount and a signature on some forms written in a language I don't understand, I was tossed the keys and warned that there was just enough gas in the tank to make it to the next petrol station.

And so we embarked.

With a full tank of fuel we set about taking wrong turns, flying through the jungle, struggling up hills, dodging roadkill and banana skins and revelling in the wind that lifted the helmets half off our heads, laughing all the way.

Come late afternoon we returned to the hotel and realised that there would be a grand race that evening. Not wanting to miss it, we donned some long sleeves and met by our tiny blue steed in the hotel carpark from where the race was to commence.

And without warning it began! Out of the hotel carpark, taking a short cut through the next parking lot, up and over the footpath, the wrong way down a one-way and we were ahead almost immediately. One red helmet and one white, flapping in the wind as we giggled at our initial daring success.

But our confidence overwhelmed our sense of urgency until we noticed that we were losing our illustrious lead. The hard thing about being in front is having no one to follow, instead having to rely on nothing more than some scratchings on a piece of paper, waving in the wind, with no more right to call itself a map than we had right to call our scooter a steed.

Is that the turn off? The sign says this way! Is this the long way?

I can't read this, it makes no sense - follow the signs! Oh, wait. This is taking us the long way! We can't go back now...

And with that there was a renewed vigour in my twisting wrist, riding the throttle in the fading light. We could see our racing partner ahead, chasing down the finish line with a steadiness that seemed unbeatable, inevitable. But there was power beneath our bottoms yet.

That was our prize. This was our race.

With a flick of the wrist and the mercy of a downhill run, we leaned into the corners, roaring with hysterical glee over the scream of the engine, blind through intersections, around slow traffic, darting through pedestrians,

there's the turn off!

sliding now with the sand and gravel into the final destination. Did we make it?

Did we make it?

We both turn, look our over the white sand, past the gentle lapping of the bright blue ocean and know that we had, indeed, won the race.

I grabbed her hand and we ran over the sand to claim our well-earned reward. The most beautiful sunset over a perfect beach, with tropical islands silhouetted across the horizon and the pinks and oranges of a quickly sinking sun sliding off the few pure white clouds, filling the sky with colours aplenty.

The sand was still warm from the last of the sun's rays. We sat, sank our toes in and breathed the perfection.

With the last of the light we returned to our trusty two-wheeled friend and leisurely trundled towards what would be an amazing seafood dinner, cooked in the local Langkawi style, enjoyed at a tiny table looking out over the beach.

We smiled.

The day had been ours.