Tired, smelly, wet and stoked
Day 15 – 15/03/15
Start - Service station prayer room (mushola), city in east Java Finish – Jakarta, Best western Hotel Distance – somewhere over 800km Words by - Swells |
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Morning prayers boomed from a close by loud speaker, the homeless kitten which shared my camp mat stirred, I glanced at my watch... 5 AM. Dan slowly rose to his feet and called it - back on the road.
Quickly vacating the moushola in fear of disturbing morning prayers, we rolled into the busy morning street as the sun rose behind us. With 730 k's of central Java road ahead of us we welcomed the open stretches of road we found just outside of town. The next 200 k's were easy to bank with throttles held open and traffic easy to dodge. We only slowed down for the occasional obstacle such as - regular broken down trucks with their obligatory tree branch dragged from the close by jungle to act as a safety barrier.
With the wind howling off my helmet I had time to contemplate an observation that sat in the outskirts of my brain mush. Since leaving Kuta and it's surrounding area I had not seen a lot of westerners, in fact I struggled to remember seeing any since arriving in central Java. English speaking locals were becoming increasingly few in number, which only served to increase my appreciation of anyone who knows a second language.
After 200 something k's the road ascended into mountains and took on a roller coaster style of ups and downs which slowed our progress considerably. With hungry stomachs we pulled into a simple bamboo hut built within meters of the road side. The hut (which was also the family home) clung to the side of a hill otherwise covered in a young rice crop. The family welcomed us in and despite the language barrier we were soon shoveling all types of food into our face holes. The meal served as nutrition for both stomach and mind, removing all remaining doubt about being able to eat a healthy nutritious meal which was nothing like the food I have become accustomed to.
Following the GPS we headed back into the mountains putting the k's away. 200 something k's later we arrived at the entrance to a large motorway. Sitting in the line of cars to join the motorway we could see the 4 lanes ahead easily flowing at 100 k/hr. At first a pedestrian on the side of the road started waving at us, then the guy in the car next to us wound down his window yelling "no motorbike, no motorbike" looking ahead we saw a sign of a scooter with a cross through it. The light turned green and we pulled of the side of the road. After a quick team meeting we re-routed the GPS and continued on our new, slower-than-a-motorway, scooter filled road.
Thick grey rain cloud had been building in the distance and were now right above us. Pulling over to don our rain gear we headed into a virtual wall of water. The locals took various approaches to riding in the rain, some slowed down, some put on silver onesies but most kept riding as if they weren't in the middle of a monsoonal rainstorm.
The Sherpa has been struggling in the rain with a yet to be diagnosed stalling issue and with half a foot of water in the drier parts of the road it wasn't long before the symptoms presented themselves. When stalling on a country road, you will find little area to work on a bike. In the pouring rain with trucks roaring past the Sherpa finally coughed back to life after 5 minutes of trying different spark plug lead positions - the suspected problem.
The rain eased in the late afternoon; another motor way presented itself and we innocently pulled on. By far the best road we had been on since leaving Australia, the remaining 300k’s were looking easy. That is until 10 k's later we were escorted from a toll booth and sat in small room by a young police officer. With the anticipation of our first "unofficial payment" we were surprised when an older police officer arrived and booted us out the small boom gate back door which lead to a busy neighborhood of tight slow streets. Pulling over to once again re-route GPS directions it became obvious that our initial 723 km estimate was going to drastically blow out now we couldn't travel on any of the planned motorways.
Committed to our destination we continued on in the early evening in the drenching rain with an unknown distance to go. The Senas which were providing helmet communication stated to have trouble in the rain, and with one unit down we adopted a fixed loose formation which ensured we would not lose a rider.
Constantly re-routing directions to avoid toll roads we found the smaller back roads provided endless entertainment. The closer we got into Jakarta the more and more homemade mad max style go-karts emerged from their homes loaded with kids out onto the street to join the traffic heading into the city. It seemed to be a competition as to who had the most wheels and axles.
The theory of riding late into the night was to avoid the traffic in the morning, a theory that we shared with about a million trucks. For what seemed like 20k's, trucks lined up two wide, edging their way into the city. Making slow progress finding our way through the traffic we were happy to find a motorway entrance which the trucks pulled onto - leaving us to navigate the remaining 100 k's on small random beaten up roads, in-and-out of housing estates, and into the city proper.
After 19 hours of riding we arrived at our destination tired, smelly, wet and stoked.
Quickly vacating the moushola in fear of disturbing morning prayers, we rolled into the busy morning street as the sun rose behind us. With 730 k's of central Java road ahead of us we welcomed the open stretches of road we found just outside of town. The next 200 k's were easy to bank with throttles held open and traffic easy to dodge. We only slowed down for the occasional obstacle such as - regular broken down trucks with their obligatory tree branch dragged from the close by jungle to act as a safety barrier.
With the wind howling off my helmet I had time to contemplate an observation that sat in the outskirts of my brain mush. Since leaving Kuta and it's surrounding area I had not seen a lot of westerners, in fact I struggled to remember seeing any since arriving in central Java. English speaking locals were becoming increasingly few in number, which only served to increase my appreciation of anyone who knows a second language.
After 200 something k's the road ascended into mountains and took on a roller coaster style of ups and downs which slowed our progress considerably. With hungry stomachs we pulled into a simple bamboo hut built within meters of the road side. The hut (which was also the family home) clung to the side of a hill otherwise covered in a young rice crop. The family welcomed us in and despite the language barrier we were soon shoveling all types of food into our face holes. The meal served as nutrition for both stomach and mind, removing all remaining doubt about being able to eat a healthy nutritious meal which was nothing like the food I have become accustomed to.
Following the GPS we headed back into the mountains putting the k's away. 200 something k's later we arrived at the entrance to a large motorway. Sitting in the line of cars to join the motorway we could see the 4 lanes ahead easily flowing at 100 k/hr. At first a pedestrian on the side of the road started waving at us, then the guy in the car next to us wound down his window yelling "no motorbike, no motorbike" looking ahead we saw a sign of a scooter with a cross through it. The light turned green and we pulled of the side of the road. After a quick team meeting we re-routed the GPS and continued on our new, slower-than-a-motorway, scooter filled road.
Thick grey rain cloud had been building in the distance and were now right above us. Pulling over to don our rain gear we headed into a virtual wall of water. The locals took various approaches to riding in the rain, some slowed down, some put on silver onesies but most kept riding as if they weren't in the middle of a monsoonal rainstorm.
The Sherpa has been struggling in the rain with a yet to be diagnosed stalling issue and with half a foot of water in the drier parts of the road it wasn't long before the symptoms presented themselves. When stalling on a country road, you will find little area to work on a bike. In the pouring rain with trucks roaring past the Sherpa finally coughed back to life after 5 minutes of trying different spark plug lead positions - the suspected problem.
The rain eased in the late afternoon; another motor way presented itself and we innocently pulled on. By far the best road we had been on since leaving Australia, the remaining 300k’s were looking easy. That is until 10 k's later we were escorted from a toll booth and sat in small room by a young police officer. With the anticipation of our first "unofficial payment" we were surprised when an older police officer arrived and booted us out the small boom gate back door which lead to a busy neighborhood of tight slow streets. Pulling over to once again re-route GPS directions it became obvious that our initial 723 km estimate was going to drastically blow out now we couldn't travel on any of the planned motorways.
Committed to our destination we continued on in the early evening in the drenching rain with an unknown distance to go. The Senas which were providing helmet communication stated to have trouble in the rain, and with one unit down we adopted a fixed loose formation which ensured we would not lose a rider.
Constantly re-routing directions to avoid toll roads we found the smaller back roads provided endless entertainment. The closer we got into Jakarta the more and more homemade mad max style go-karts emerged from their homes loaded with kids out onto the street to join the traffic heading into the city. It seemed to be a competition as to who had the most wheels and axles.
The theory of riding late into the night was to avoid the traffic in the morning, a theory that we shared with about a million trucks. For what seemed like 20k's, trucks lined up two wide, edging their way into the city. Making slow progress finding our way through the traffic we were happy to find a motorway entrance which the trucks pulled onto - leaving us to navigate the remaining 100 k's on small random beaten up roads, in-and-out of housing estates, and into the city proper.
After 19 hours of riding we arrived at our destination tired, smelly, wet and stoked.
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