The adrenaline had worn off. After 8 days I found a comfortable place to rest my tired legs. The town of Bengil, some 30km south of Java’s second largest city Surabaya and the end of the coast run. Finally I had the daring to have a good wander round town by myself, getting used to standing out like a sore thumb, engaging with all those who stared and then smiled.
Some celebratory grooming was in order as I searched for a haircut. Finding myself roving a semi deserted maze of market stalls. Each turn leading to a series of paths, all seemingly as ominous as the last. Asking where to go with all the right hand signals, holding some hair and making the scizzor action with my other hand it was easily understood and I followed the pointing till I found a hole in the wall which looked as if they cut hair.
A large boisterous woman greeted me and I asked how much? (berapa). Her answer was to point to my wallet “how much you got?” was my interpretation. Thankfully I was carrying very little cash and I opened it away from her sight making it obvious I was hiding my stash. She helped me empty my wallet of the 25,000 Rupiah ($2.50 AUD) it contained and when I showed her the empty space where the cash had been she said “ATM” in a loud voice and told me to sit down.
I tried to tell her to just cut it however she wanted “Indonesian haircut”. She became frustrated in a way making two other female customers giggle as she spoke loudly and pointed to a series of styles from a poster on the wall. Of course I point to the most impossible style I could find, a sort of Justin Beiber type fringe. I was joining in with the banter as she began to cut, talking the entire time to the giggling customers.
Even after a wash it was still the worst haircut I have ever had. Nothing less had been expected.
Still I felt a little more fresh around the neck area as I wandered back through the maze to my meagre accommodation.
An excellent rest after an extra day to sort out some blog writing. The previous morning I had been woken at 6am with a knock on the door. I reluctantly opened it to find it was the breakfast run and I was presented with a cup of coffee, two chocolate chip sandwiches and a hard boiled egg. The morning of departure I was ready for the knock and quickly opened the door as soon as I heard a sound, startling the breakfast staff in the process. A cunning plan for my own amusement.
Time to get back on the bike and head inland. Having the traffic stopped outside by my new traffic controlling friend with his whistle and red flag. Little effect is had by this method but it did create a large enough gap for me to enter the flow of traffic on the other side of the road.
Leaving the city and navigating my way off the main highway and onto the inland road towards Mojokerto. I have been joined by a scooter follower. Not at all an intimidating character he seems to be going the same way as myself. We try to chat for a while before I am signalled to stop at a large gate on the roadside.
I can tell he is inviting me up the long driveway. There is a group of school kids at the bottom, all more than happy to pose for a photo, so I assume this is a school. “Sure, why not?”
Up a long steep driveway the first person brought to me is the best english speaker. This isn’t a school at all, its an observatory. Here they monitor the sun for sunspots and solar flares using two large telescopes. For what exact reason I am not sure. There is no problem giving me the full tour of the installation perched up on the hillside.
All the remaining scientists have caught wind of the new arrival and congregated around my bike for a chat. Invited to stay for lunch its far too early in the day and I must continue on.
A beautiful view of mountains close to the road its tremendous to get off the dirty coast road. Fitness increased and my bike is humming along superbly I feel like I am flying. Sweat from my forehead has elevated from a drops running down my face to an almost steady stream before my eyes.
Before I know it I am nearing Mojokerto and the road develops sharp corrugations jarring both my bike and my body. I manage to remain rather calm, my mind easily distracted by the townscape in which I ride.
A quick stop for a drink at a little warung, I inadvertently have ordered an avocado juice. I had seen this already but wasn’t game to try (not a huge avocado fan). I watched as the avocado went into the blender with some condensed milk and something else I couldn’t quite see and then served in a glass drizzled with chocolate. Pleasantly surprised I drink fast before the ice can melt. Although I think with the right amount of condensed milk anything will taste good. Indonesian people love sugar. Even the small satchels given with a coffee are easily twice the size of the Australian version.
Thankfully the road becomes smoother on the other side of town, a Iight breeze on my back helps to keep me going as I push into the afternoon. My knees begin to ache a little, only a little and not enough for me to want to stop for the day.
A coconut stand looks like a good place for some final nourishment to keep me going. If only ordering one was a little easier. I point to a coconut and do the drinking signal (at least my version of it) and the chopping hand sign. Its retuned with a thumb in the mouth signal and a look of confusion, I don’t think I want the thumb in the mouth so I revert to my hands pretending to drink from a cup. Its no use and the coconut lady and I are at a stalemate. Oh well I will just sit for a moment.
Only moments pass before someone else arrives and does the thumb in the mouth and speaks in Indonesian. I now feel like a bit of an idiot, and soon I too am drinking from a coconut. The thumb in the mouth obviously wasn’t what I thought it was.
Riding all day into the afternoon haze I am soon invited for a drink in nearby Kertosono by a passing scooter. Andreas is part of the local MTB community and organises a place to meet, he will go ahead to fetch his bicycle. Before long I am there and waiting and then Andreas turns up on the most beautiful rusted vintage bicycle. Not at all what I was expecting, it never is…..
I am invited to his village and his home and offered a bed for the night. Best offer I have had so far and we ride two abreast down the busy village road chatting away. It’s a nice feeling to finally stay in someones home. Excellent food and a wash we spend the evening sitting outside his house house in the quit lane in which he lives. I meet one of his friends, Fendik, who brings some local food for me to try. We sit and drink coffee while Andreas rounds stones on his grinder to make rings for the market, his nightly ritual.
Andreas has hosted other cyclists in the past and himself had achieved some long journeys across Java on his vintage bicycle. I show him an app on my phone called warm showers. It is similar to couch surfing specifically tailored to the cycling community. I notice a host in Madiun, a reasonable distance from Kertosono, a definitely doable distance for tomorrow so I give them a call. Just like that I have another free stay lined up. The ball is now rolling.
Before sleep I get to participate in a small english class Andreas’s wife is giving to a local girl. She is a little shy until I try some terrible Indonesian and level the playing field.
Indonesian people are up early and thus am I. Andreas takes me for breakfast to a place only a local would know. It is here I first try Nasi Pecel. Its basically just rice and some vegetables with a spicy peanut sauce served on a bananna leaf. Famous in Madiun, my days goal, this lady sitting at a small table outside her home in a small village road was doing it just right.
Andreas gave me the run down on the direction I was headed and warned of section of hills not far away in the forest. He peddled with me back to the main road and wished me all the best, as did I.
The road was flat until I reached Nanjuk. However the forest which followed was anything but.
Up and down the small hills the traffic began to back up. No where to ride on the tar I am in the rocky dirt shoulder, head down and moving forwards.
People are everywhere in Java. Even on the less populated roads I find people selling fish hanging from long sticks. The smell of fish has never appealed to me, especially that coming from fish hanging from a stick in the hot sun.
Large busses are the most dangerous of all vehicles on these roads. They split the traffic like that of a fast moving motorcycle and are in a perpetual state of motion, not even stopping completely when picking or setting down passengers. The rocky shoulder of the actual road doesn’t provide the safe haven I had hoped for, having to move further to the side to let these steel beasts overtake anything and everything anyway they can.
Traffic is now at a complete stop, making my way to the front of the cue to a railway crossing in action. Barriers down bells ringing. Not everyone stops though, some smaller vehicles rounding the gates and crossing anyway.
My legs ache as I continue to push on to Madiun. The road flattens and widens, there is no wind to push me along and I am drenched from sweat. I can feel the strain in my body from yesterdays journey, which I had a sneaky look at google maps to find was 105km. No wonder I felt lethargic. The final 10km was the biggest struggle, the road headed south into Madiun kota (city).
Now was the real challenge, navigating through the city to find the address provided to me by my evenings host Mya. Still determined not to use a GPS to navigate I asked what felt like and endless number of people where to go by showing the information provided my Mya. It took about an hour just to get even close before recognising the landmarks in the directions. I was lost in the city but getting close. Soon I had arrived.
Mya had hosted a few cyclists with her husband before and showed me too my room and made sure I was well fed. Mya and I are a similar age and shared the same taste in music, 90’s grunge. She had organised for her friend Patmo to come and take me out for coffee after dinner.
This was the first time I had ventured out at night and am given a taste of what local young people get up to on a Friday night. Coffee and soccer.
Mya offers another nights stay, she loves her city and enjoys sharing with those who pass through. Unfortunatly I am still bound by my visa and have a long way to go. I don’t like to ride with any pressure from time but I do have bigger fish to fry, and that is to stand on the equator in the province of Riau on Sumatra. Time is not on my side.
Magetan is only a short distance away, maybe 30km, and will be all that I can handle before heading up the mountain of Lawu.
Soon the road turns south and a slow climb to Magetan. Even this slight gradient punishes my already overworked legs. With Patmo already waiting for me at the other end I hurry as best I can. Its Saturday and the road is busy with car and scooters heading for the hills.
Finding Patmo is easy, he waits for me at the Alun-Alun (central park) and says he has good news for me before following him up another steep road. We reach our destination and not a moment too soon. I couldn’t possibly go another km without a substantial rest.
I am introduced to Widia at her baby shop and the good news is another night in a locals house. Wonderful news, three nights in a row at my favourite price.
I leave my bike and am given a scooter to ride to follow Patmo up Lawu mountian. He is part of a community which cares about the environment, a rare thing in Indonesia, which Widia is also a part of. I am taken to Lawu’s basecamp to see where he collects the hordes of rubbish left by sight seers and hikers alike.
This would be the road I am taking on my BMX. I am not partial to a preview of the coming days, now on a scooter my mind wasn’t on the scenery or my path. I was more interested in going fast around corners and travelling on the wrong side of the road cutting through the traffic in true Indonesian fashion. Manouvers which make other road users cringe and swear in Australia are completely normal here, it was refreshing to say the least. And a hell of a lot of fun.
I was shocked at the amount of rubbish people leave behind when they travel up a mountain to enjoy the great outdoors. Even the provided bins organised by Patmo and his crew are completely ignored. It is genuinely a sad thing.
I feel increasingly tired as the day goes on and upon retuning to Magetan I ask Widia if she minds putting me up for an extra night as to rest before tackling the mountain. It seems no problem so we celebrate with a trip to her favourite warung for a coffee and some rabbit.
The rabbit was quite good, not a lot of meat and lots of little bones. Tasty enough for seconds. The coffee on the other hand was even more of a mystery than the rabbit. The cup full, yet upside down on the saucer. The cup is given a light stir on the saucer for the coffee to trickle out for a sip. Too fierce with the stir of the cup and….. well I am sure you can imagine the embarrassing mess which would follow. I managed success with the coffee and was warned to be carful not to burn my huge nose on the hot cup.
Widia lived in a nice clean village full of smiling faces. Her two children were especially happy, even her youngest able to understand english very well, although she was a bit shy at first as to letting me know this.
A walk into town in the morning I was in search of kerosene for my stove. I hadn’t used it yet in Indonesia but I had hoped to give it a run when I camp on the mountain. Easier said than done. First I learned the word for kerosene, minyak tanah. Still, after visiting a dozen shops I finally accepted my fate as to no kerosene and would settle on using gasolene (petrol) instead.
I find Widia again and she takes me to the local tannery. Dirty , and with a pungent aroma in the air we can easily walk around and watch the tanning process in action. Using the same methods which have been around long before automation the men who work here are up to their arms in whatever chemical it is they are using and very little protection from it. Still they all smile and wave for the camera as we wander around.
We head back into town to see where some of the local leather ends up becoming shoes, jackets, handbags and belts. Even asking to have a look out the back of a shop where they are actually making shoes is met with a warm welcome and many smiles by the workers.
I had already made friends with Romo at his ice-cream shop during the morning wander and am keen to return for another milkshake. Natural homemade milk and ice-cream, all done by hand. Romo certainly knows his stuff and provides possibly the best milkshake I have ever had. He joins Widia and I with his family for a drink and some tofu.
I have been eating loads of tofu and rice since I have been in Java. Something I would never have really considered back home. The tofu is deep fried which may defeat the purpose, never the less it is a safe and tasty decision when meal times come around.
After another day off and adding a bit of fat to my diet with some milk and ice-cream (I miss cheese), I feel strong yet again and am ready to tackle the mountain.
The road immediately rises out of Magetan. Enough so to force me soon onto foot. The foot hill is covered in agricultural land, every square inch is used. Men and women work the land with nothing but a few primitive tools and their bare hands. Not a machine in sight.
The sight up the mountain is spectacular and I can even spot two bush fires near the summit. This is of no concern to me at my slow pace, I could easily turn around and fly down the mountain at great speed if necessary.
The road became increasingly steep at a rapid pace and it wound its way towards to heavens. The steeper sections littered with many a warung perched over the mountainside. This was much to my benefit as my body had created an insatiable appetite and I felt invariably hungry at all times.
Farm land was soon left below as I climbed higher and higher up the mountain. The gradient becoming steeper round every turn. Even walking up such a slope required me to push of the balls of my feet leaning forward as far as possible, arms stretched out on the handlebars. Repeatedly walking as little as 20 to 50 meters at a time before stopping to stretch my back. My foot under the front wheel to prevent my bike rolling back down the hill.
I soon reached the turn off to Sarangan, the final village of the climb and the half way point to the top. As the day went on the stoppages became more frequent, eating at every opportunity to satisfy my immeasurable cravings.
The air was cool and crisp away from the people and the dryness of the low lying ground became ever more green and rainforest like. Still the road climbed, possibly getting steeper round every corner.
I had reached to top of the road and Lawu’s bascamp. A most satisfying feeling, a weight lifted off my shoulders. 8 hours, 20km, an unknown number of photos posed for for passers by (definitely a new record), and a climb from 500m to 1926m above sea level, this would be my first camp on this Island.
Patmo had shown me a safe place to pitch my tent on our scooter ride to the top. First gaining permission from the forest ranger and joining them for some food, I could pitch my tent.
My little green house had been missed, packed away in a bag for many months. Even though I was far from being deep in the forest I still had some time alone in the cool mountain air watching the sun disappear behind the horizon. I was camped on the imaginary line between east and central Java.
It had been the coolest night so far. High in the hills I actually had to use my sleeping bag to stay warm, even wearing a jumper I had in the bottom of my bag.
I noticed in the morning whilst lathering myself in sunscreen that the air pressure was forcing the liquid from its tube. A surprise at only 1900m. The summit of Lawu is a 5 hour hike away, the peak at 3300m. Not intended for bicycles.
The road turned away from the sky without hesitation. A perfect opportunity for some heavy metal music to send me down the mountain. I was now the fastest thing on the road, overtaking cars and leaving scooters in my dust. My eyes blurred from the wind in my face, I squinted and kept one hand firmly on my only brake.
The views on the west side of the mountain were spectacular. Even some of the steeper slopes were covered in luscious green crops. Its was difficult to stop to take a photo as I enjoyed the speed immensely. I couldn’t leave this view without a couple of photos and my brakes literally screeched to a halt at what I thought the most opportune places. I wasn’t the only one with this idea, every stop involved group photos with local youngsters and adults alike.
Even with the stops I was making incredible time. Only a small flat section disrupting my downhill run taking me nearly the entire way to Solo, 50km from my nights camp.
3 hours later I had reached the city if Solo, or Surakarta as it says on the map. Although this was the only place I ever saw this written. Solo is very close the special region of Yogyakarta which is home to Indonesia’s king and known for its bohemian population and art scene. Solo houses the kings brother, somewhere in this city.
Navigating into Solo’s centre to find some accommodation. I had tried to use warm showers again for a free bed. By the time I had located somewhere I had already found a little friendly (and cheap) place to stay. The afternoon had arrived as quickly as the day had passed. An afternoon walk around Solo to locate the local Nasi Liwet for some much needed sustenance ended up in me getting lost. I had no luck in finding the local food I was after but still managed to eat something. And I call it something because that’s what is was, unidentifiable to my pallet and eyes, with rice.
Lost without a map I used a bicycle taxi, two wheels on the front, one on the back, passengers sit in front, to return to my accommodation. I desperately wanted to have a go of riding, my driver would have nothing of it.
Upon return to the hotel and explaining my failure in locating Nasi Liwet the manager arranged to go and fetch me some. I agree on the proviso he joins me for dinner.
Nasi Liwet was rice with a little chicken and some sort of caramelised white pumpkin with a hardboiled egg on the side. My dinner buddy Budiono was full of useful information, teaching me a few new words like “Enak” (tasty). I had foolishly been using “Bagoos” (good) to describe food, “Enak” results in a much more pleasant reaction from a host. Budiono really did pride himself on providing exceptional hospitality. The comfort of his guest was of upmost important. We also shared some local Solo tea containing all sorts of herbs and spices which he loaded me up with several bags on departure as a gift.
I had come to Solo on the eve of the last day of Hajj. The biggest holiday on the Muslim calendar. I had seen many a goat being let to its fate, sate goat, the previous day and now the morning roads were rather quiet while I navigated further west out of the city.
I was heading into the midst of another mountain and the road climbed slightly towards Boyolali. Instead of another great climb I faced north and followed to road back to the north coast. There was no stopping now as I desperately wanted to reach Jakarta and give myself as much time as possible to reach to port of Dumai somewhere in the area of north Sumatra.
The road hugged the side of the mountain and traversed its shallow slopes. Short climbs were always met with a small downhill. Still I sweat profusely in the tropical humidity and I returned closer to sea level.
I had organised another free stay from warm showers in Semarang with a Hungarian fellow called Alfred, still a day and a half ride away.
As I neared Salatiga and the halfway point to Semarang I actually met Alfred as he passed on his scooter. A masked face appeared, “you’re staying at my house tomorrow night”. A bit of a shock, the reality is I am not hard to spot out here on these roads. Alfred tells me after Salatiga its almost all downhill into Semarang with only a few modest hills to climb. Music to my ears.
Alfred was not wrong about the road and soon I was heading to the coast at top speed. Semarang is another of Java’s larger cities. This was more than evident with the increase of pollution and the noticeable 3,000,000 inhabitants. Very much the most modern looking city I have been in so far with large commercial buildings filling the skyline.
It was time to purchase a scarf for my face to alleviate the polluted air, even if only slightly. The scarf was nowhere near as effective as the face mask which I commonly saw Indonesians wearing, but there was something enjoyable about the aesthetics of looking like a bank robber.
Down into the heart of Semarang it was finally time to turn to google maps to navigate to the final address.
I was several hours early for my meeting with Alfred as he would be working until approx 7pm. Only a km or so from his place I stopped for a rest in the street and the hope of finding a cold drink.
A small group gathered around a phone stall quickly engaged and invited me to sit with them. Oky and his mates were hanging at what was Oky’s phone stall. They wasted no time in fetching me a drink and something to eat. I felt very safe as I sat with the group, meeting friends as they came and went and enjoyed the banter that came along with boys being boys. Even with the little understanding of eachothers language we could all enjoy a laugh. Especially at the expense of one of the mates who wasn’t married, suggesting he preferred the company of another man to a woman. I joined in making reference to a transexual whome had recently passed by. Much to the amusement of the group.
I enquired as to what I had just eaten, “chicken heart” replied Oky. I was pleased it was post consumption this fact had been brought to my attention. Still it was Enak! (Tasty).
A few hours had passed with the boys before it was time for them to return to their wives, at least most of them. And I too was off. Finding Alfreds place was not of any great difficulty. Now I simply waited for him to return home from the comfort of a local restaurant.
Alfred lived in a very modern apartment building, he fed me and told me of his own stories riding around the world. All of which were positive. And although his couch was small I was clean and full and a good nights sleep awaited.
My biggest trouble is waking up early. Every chance is taken to sleep in, resulting in a shorter day on the bike and less km travelled. The sun goes down at 5:30pm and I hoped in time I could remedy my early morning woes. The morning in Alfred’s apartment was no different and it wasn’t until about 9:30am had I hit the road.
The north coast road would now take me the final 500km or so Jakarta. The road is wide and smooth, the wind on my back and the sun in my face. The closer I get to Jakarta the more pollution is in the air and I regularly ‘scarf up’ when the traffic is busy.
I reach a fork in the road with two signs both saying Jakarta. It’s a 50/50 gamble as my primitive paper map offerers no assistance in the quickest way. Left it is then. Soon I realise I am back in the hills and travelling through some sort of industrial quarry area. Many a push up a hill I begin to grow tired and fast. The heat is immense, the sun beating my body, draining what little energy I have. The road seems to only climb until once again the forked road rejoins my original path. I try to ask of any local accommodation and am pointed in my direction of travel, approximately 5km.
Still the road climbs and now road works bank up the traffic. Even on foot in the roads shoulder about a foot lower than the half finished road, I travel faster than the bottlenecked trucks and cars.
There I spot a ‘Bintang’ sign, half broken but still the possibility of a cold beer. A group congregates outside this potential beer haven and the sight of a white person brings much excitement.
Naturally I stop, the instigator is clearly inebriated, not a common sight on Java. He invites me to stay in his home, I agree knowing full well there is no way this is going to happen. Especially when I get the agreeing eyes the manager of what appears to be a karaoke bar.
I am invited by my inebriated friend to join in a bottle of so called strong Java spirit. I have heard this before. So we sit and share with the group taking turns doing shots while the traffic crawled past. The bottle is soon gone as is the instigator, his friends helping him start his vespa (he also has a vespa tramp stamp by the way) so he can safely get home.
The owner turns up and another bottle of the modest Java drink is gone, now we sing. They are very keen to hear me have a go and I am just as keen.
I am told there is a hotel just one km away or I can sleep here. A bit of a no brainer as I enjoyed the company of the local karaoke bar.
It was Friday night and the place grew busy as I grew hungry. My friend takes me to his home a few meters away for some dinner and then shows me back to the bar and the crowded store room where I could sleep.
It was very loud and hot, and the piece of cardboard I was given to sleep on did nothing to comfort my back. Soon I was back with my new friends sitting behind the counter watching the night unfold.
I began to feel a little naive as I sat quietly and watched. Early on I had noticed many girls arrive, and being a Friday night I just assumed it was the local hangout. Surely there was no big town for 50km each way and nightlife is limited. I could have been wrong, actually… I think I was wrong. I didn’t see first hand what was happening behind the closed doors, and nothing was ever actually said, but it was rather suspicious for these girls to join men for a singalong in these weird dark rooms.
It was getting very late, close to midnight, surely I could sleep in any hot, loud, dark storeroom now. I grabbed my thermarest and made a small space moving some boxes and a generator to lay down properly. The heat became worse and I was left alone, never once worrying about the safety of my bicycle in the doorway. I was in good hands.
In a twisted way I lay there on the verge of sleep grinning to myself as to where I had unexpectedly ended up. I though to myself, “shit, is this the highlight of my trip so far? An uncomfortable night in a hot store room of loud karaoke bar?”
At 3am I was woken to head back to my friends house for the remainder of the nights hellish sleep. The traffic still bumper to bumper. Now I had little difficulty in nodding off.
In the spirit of being Indonesian the wake up call at 6am is no surprise. A coffee is quickly shoved in my face and I can hear breakfast being fried up from the other room.
It is rare to find anything to eat in Indonesia which is either fried or full of sugar. I take comfort in the fact that the deep frying process is sure to eliminate anything which might make me sick, I remain illness free.
A lack of sleep creates a gulf between energy and ambition. I consider checking into the hotel apparently 1km down the road and getting straight back to sleep. 1km passes then 2, then 5. The phantom hotel was no where to be seen. It was of little concern, the traffic had lightened from last night and the road plunged down again and I rolled with speed for what seemed like a lifetime. In reality it was only a few minutes.
Batang was the next sizeable town followed by Pekalongnan just just a short distance further.
Somehow my legs were working fine, for how long this would last is a mystery and I didn’t want to push my luck and get stuck, exhausted out on the polluted highway.
Still just 10am when I reached Batang, the downhill flatening off a little. Surely I could make Pekalongnan a tiny 10 more km.
The breeze continued to softly push me along, I was nearly there. I could feel my head getting heavy even with my body still pushing on the pedals.
I had created a little schedule to get the equator and the ferry to Malaysia. Distances had been estimated and the maths for remaining days of my visa calculated. I had to hurry, and thought it not wise to sleep in any more karaoke bars.
Even after about 40km this would count as a rest day. Just on lunch I find what turned out to be a very comfortable lodging for the day, complete with valet parking for my BMX.
I tried to take a walk in search of food and ended up in a shopping mall down the road. It felt as if the everybody stopped and stared when I entered. A billy the kid style entrance to an old western saloon. Or maybe I was just tired and paranoid? It was obvious they don’t get many westerners in these parts.
I actually felt a little homesick for the first time. Slightly losing my patience with my foreign environment. I needed sleep.
A short mission in the evening to eat became the days highlight when I was offered a coffee with ginger and lemongrass. Slightly spicy yet still delicious there was the ever present scent of condensed milk on top of the other flavours. A Pekalongnan specialty.
The full moon was supposed to be out although barely visible through the night sky haze.
It was time to step it up and the city of Tegal maybe 70km to the west was in my sight. It was a cloudy day, the first for nearly three weeks. I had not felt a drop of rain either since arriving in Indonesia. Was the wet season finally on its way?
A flat highway through dry fields varied in its surface, the unexpected bumps and holes regularly disrupting my deep pedalling trance. Never the less I was flying yet again. Even a heavy cross wind wasn’t slowing me down.
The road turned north for a few hundred meters and into the wind when I was stopped by a friendly scooter rider. Another photo I thought, a daily occurrence. Slowly I was losing patience with this but after a few moments I snapped out of it. My friend didn’t want a photo, he simply was making sure I had a place to stay and offered me lodging in Tegal. There was even a mention of a local hot spring which my tired body was more than interested in. I grabbed Ali’s number and soon he sent an SMS with directions to his shop.
Tegal wasn’t the biggest or busiest place I had been too. Still I was easily lost. Kind people helped with the directing, still this would never take me further than the next turn off before repeating the process over again.
By 3pm I had found Ali and his shop. “Want to see my bikes?” An old vespa, a lambretti? Whats this? Two old Ducati motorcycles complete with pedals. And to think I nearly passed on this experience, the plot had thickened with Ali. This was the coolest thing I had seen so far.
“Ready to go?” No time like the present. I park my bike in his shop, a womens clothing shop, am handed a helmet and I jump on the back of his scooter for the run up into the hills to a place called Guci.
Ali was a brave man in the traffic, even taking off before I had a chance to hold on almost flinging me off the back. I am sure he was unaware of this.
Ali’s enthusiasm up the hill was much to my liking. Rarely stopping at red lights, riding inches away from other vehicles and spending more time on the wrong side of the road than anyone I have ever know. As we moved further away from busy road I couldn’t help but wonder where the hell I was going. A natural amount of pessimistic thoughts entered my mind regarding the validity of his intentions. Deeper into the hills we went, leaving the asphalt road far behind us. But very soon we were in a village high in the clean air and parked and a small house.
Ali had taken me to his own escape from the city to his friends Andi and Tegyueh in the village of Sangkanayu. Promptly fed by their mother and the tea flowed into a seemingly endless cup. Feeling once again completely safe and most welcome in a strangers house.
We were to wait until dark before heading for a hot bath in the natural spring. As not pay to get in Ali told me to pull the hood of my jumper over my head when we reached the gate to the mountain town. “Ready?” I covered my head as we raced through the gate never looking back.
There were many hotels at Guci, mostly catering to the Indonesian crowd, not a foreign tourist to be seen at the night time oasis.
The pools were most certainly hot as promised. Water flowed from holes in the rocks and Indonesians bathed, soap and all, in the natural hot spring. It is the most relaxed I had felt in weeks.
Ali had soon become a great friend and ally in Indonesia. Like so many before him I have a wonderful sense of camaraderie while made to feel like one of the family. It would be lovely to be able to spend more time but I must explain my urgency to move in the morning. Time has become ‘of the essence’.
The usual 6am rise when hosted is a good start for the morning, as is the wonderful breakfast. It gives us a window of opportunity to wander the mountain village. Green and clean, everybody has a smile on their face. I am taught two Jarvanese words “Mongo” for hello, and “Matur Nuan” for thankyou. These two words alone are met with the most animated reaction. Beats the whole “Terima Kasih” Indonesian for thankyou, any day.
Green tea, coffee plants and banana trees flourish in the village. A walk up a small hill for an amazing view of the misty rice fields below and a few cups of tea with local villagers, its finally time to go.
A much more relaxed ride back to Tegal down the hill. The air thickens as we close in on the city.
Ali asks me to help him run a few errands before I go and there seems to be no urgency for me to head off. I graciously oblige and as the day gets closer to the middle I begin to feel angst to continue.
By 1pm I am on the road and heading west. A sign tells me 330km to Jakarta. Its very hot and I cover my face with my bank robber scarf, into the slow moving traffic headed west. Already I am not ‘feeling it’ on the bike. The road works have slowed traffic with little room to pass on the unpaved shoulder and the thought of stopping in Brebes for the day, just 10km sounds very attractive. Even more so when I pass a very cheap place and simply throw in the towel for the day.
A mosquito ridden room for the night, two mozzie coils make like work of the ankle biting bastards which can haunt a man in his sleep.
The race was on. 300 odd km to Jakarta, it was clear I neared the population epicentre of the island of Java.
The first challenge was negotiating my way through the morning traffic. Like nothing I had ridden through before, at least not in Indonesia. I was enjoying weaving through the cars and trucks, splitting traffic and pushing my way to the front. I was at no disadvantage in the swarm being able to make myself as narrow as any scooter, and sometime more so.
There was the high road, half built, and the low road with about a foots difference. My great advantage was being able to pick my bike up and change lanes where as the scooter crowd with the same idea to push to the front, could not. This ended the road for many I was racing. Upon taking the low road a dead end presented itself. They were turning back or at least hoping to find another way through when I cheekily went to the front, pick my bike up onto the high moving road and pedalled off. Only turning around to wave at those I had left behind. Hahahaha!!! Suckers!!!
I was now on a mission. The wind continued from the north, slightly giving me a push, undoubtedly not hindering my performance. I had no intention of unnecessarily stopping today, food being the exception, or catastrophic failure.
The imaginary line bordering Central and West Java had been crossed, the road turned and followed the coast to the north. Even the wind, now in my face, wasn’t about to slow me down. I had rediscovered my legs and continued to ride late into the afternoon. The road sometimes glancing the sea.
I had no idea how far I would get but was prepared to ride until dark. After the sun goes down I have no place on the road, it has been the firm warning from all I meet. If need be certain refuge can always be found at a petrol station, a mosque or a police compound. I made sure to keep an eye out for any of these while I raced the sun.
The sun setting is my favourite time of day to ride without a doubt. As the air cooled slightly I seem to find within myself a new energy. With 15 minutes to spare I had reached Indarmayu.
It seemed like a bit of a dirty place, a picturesque river did flow through the centre. If only you could smell a picture. Like most, or maybe all, waterways along the north road are very polluted and carry a disturbing stench.
Accommodation wasn’t far and just in the nick of time. I had been staying in many a hotel or homestay, or friends homes. Most of them very cheap. Unfortunately there are very few places to camp on Java unless I stayed in the hills.
As it turns out I had ridden 120km for the day, very much nearing my record. Its all well and good to ride that far, backing it up is another story.
I had no expectation of how far I could go with only 200km to reach Jakarta. I was sure if I could get close enough today, there was no doubt of completing the final leg in one day regardless. The thoughts of just getting there would carry me home.
The fields lining the road were mostly dry, only a few seemed to be still growing. Again my legs turn the wheels at a rapid pace.
There are no stops, even requests for a photo from passers by “hey mister, photo?”, “C’mon then” The wheels keep turning and I feel a little rude as not to stop. I simply snap the photo and continue.
I ride into Cikampek, an industrial type town with many a factory and the matching pollution level. The sun will soon be gone, falling through the haze in the air. Finding accommodation is proving difficult. I can only find one place to stay and even from the external appearance I can tell this is a place which could lead to the possibility of catching something undesirable. I must turn to my phone and the Internet for assistance. A more disease free place is soon found, a 6km detour from my location.
Through Cikampek the traffic is now like nothing I have seen. It moves in every direction through intersections like a bee hive, all the workers climbing over each other in a bid to reach their destination. There is no easy way through, just go for it. I switch to some motivational music for the occasion and join the mass. I grit my teeth and force my way through. There is a very simple rule, whoever has their wheel in front goes first. My spirits lift with the excitement of it all and I am having a great time. I really do love being part of the chaos. Everything is moving so slow, the thought of getting run over never enters my mind.
Tailgating a small bus, the occupants, young Indonesian school girls, notice my masked face from the back window. Even over the blasting music in my ears I can hear them screaming as I wave. Each of them frantically waving back or holding their cheeks like a crazed Beatles fan. I scream back when I finally squeeze my way past.
A side road takes me to safety. I had pushed as hard as I ever had today and the road almost unrideable with the large pot holes and a wave of elevated tar from slow moving trucks. With the setting sun I am again safe from the night in another strange place. Another 110km day sets up the home stretch at 90km. Nothing can stop me now……..
At 90km I feel like I am already there, Jakarta is just down the road. With a little help from the friendly earth, a sizeable wind blowing from the east couldn’t have come at a better time. Leaving Cikampek wasn’t the challenge I thought it was going to be and soon I ride fast on the wide highway.
10, 20, 30, 40km without as little as putting down a foot on the road. I am totally pumped. Bakasi on the outskirts of Java is soon to be reached.
I am joined by a posse of school kids on their scooters which follow be into the Bekasi Kota, cheering me on as we overtake other people on bicycles, riding like a man possessed. The traffic is still bearable although soon I will be faced with the final 30km to Jakarta’s city centre and the afternoon rush hour.
I have to resort to Google maps for the remainder of the navigating. I will take the easy way out just to get out of this traffic and off this bike. I have no intention of getting lost, not now.
The final intense ride into the city takes me through and endless sea of cars, and trucks. Following closely behind the mass of scooters, wriggling and squeezing through every possible gap I can find. Occasionally getting a little too close for comfort, barely reaching out a single finger to pull my primitive brake system stopping just in the nick of time.
Constantly reverting to the path laid out by Google to reach my safe house and a much needed rest.
The pollution in the air was now at the maximum. My empathy went out to those who called Jakarta home. Over the past week or so I had wanted nothing more than to reach Jakarta as quickly as possible. Now that I was here I couldn’t wait to get out. My heart lies with the countryside and the wide open spaces. I missed being alone and was looking forward to cycling the slightly larger island of Sumatra with is 1/3 population of Java at 50,000,000. Surely I would enjoy moments of solitude in the thick jungle. Even if only moments.
Still I am here now and can enjoy a few day having a look around, sorting the next visa for Malaysia and perhaps a couple of days hiding out in a quiet air conditioned place. Making a new friend I am sure will be imminent as it has been throughout my entire Indonesian journey to date.
In the coming days I head to the port of Merak on the far north west corner of Java. My passage to Sumatra and completing the entire length of Java from east to west.
Unfortunately the current conditions in the north of Sumatra are dire. Illegal slash and burn land clearing methods have created an unsafe environment for people. This has been going on for some weeks and the air is dangerously toxic. The Indonesian army are on the case and I can only hope the conditions improve. There will be no shame in turning back as ports to the south can easily take me to Singapore via Batam Island. Still I must try.
To all the people who have become my friends, let me stay in their homes, given me food, stopped to take my photo, given me directions, a thumbs up out the window or even just a smile as you’ve passed. I thankyou. It is by no means a strong enough word to describe the feelings you have given while in Indonesia. Even the most concise thesaurus would not be unable to provide the plethora of suitable adjectives required to express my gratitude.
Only a scarce few have been mentioned in this blog. Everyday I have been helped in someway.
Indonesian people should be proud of themselves. The most populous island in the world living in a wonderful harmony, full of smiles. I know that life isn’t always sunshine and rainbows and shit does happen. Already I think my fellow Australians could learn a thing or two from Indonesian people. Maybe next time you plan your Bali holiday, take a short trip to Java and check it out. You won’t be disappointed.
