The day we didn’t die

Today was the hardest day of riding we’ve done. Exhausting, challenging, yet we survived it. Let me tell you about what happened.

We woke up in our anonymous beach resort, breakfasted and decided to stay in Canggu for the last few days of our time and booked a hotel. (This was a mistake, but more on that later.) Eventually, replete, we packed our bags, and we got on the bikes.

The road started like it had finished the previous day. Mildly busy on the road, but not overwhelming so. However, the whelm increased the closer we got to the tourist areas. We found ourselves behind a succession of large slow trucks.

This wouldn’t have been too bad, but we kept getting pushed by cars and trucks behind us, who would tailgate to within a metre or so at 50kph every so often. As much as it’s advisable to do by motorcycle, we held our ground and overtook where we could. Sometimes we would twist the throttle, utter a prayer to the gods of Bali through gritted teeth, and overtake on the right when there were clearly no cars (and few motorcycles) coming. Sometimes we would slow and overtake on the left between the vehicles and the verge of the road. It was, in a word, intense, and took a lot of concentration. Locals are used to this kind of traffic, and overtook with seeming ease, regularly on blind corners with trucks coming and a rough road. For we bule, it was more difficult.

After an hour or so of heavy traffic, we turned right and went down a series of picturesque side streets. For a while, this was pretty relaxing after the trucks. The closer we got to Canggu, however, the tougher this got. There were many tourists on motorcycles, many of whom riding for the first time, judging by their lack of of skills and helmet (for which they compensated by aggressive riding and rude gestures.) A few made obvious mistakes, causing us some moments of mild panic. I’m by no means hating on new motorcyclists. We all have to start somewhere. But perhaps it’s a good idea to get some lessons before you leave home if you want to ride in a strange country.

We wound our way to Mooz guesthouse. To our consternation, it was seemingly abandoned. The front door was locked. Our knocks didn’t elicit any response. Peering through the windows revealed an empty space. We waited half an hour, and I was talking to Booking.com customer service when a guest randomly walked out. She kindly went and got a young housekeeper, who spoke to the manager. It turns out the owner is in France and has left the place in the hands of his nephew, who hadn’t checked his emails this morning. Sigh. There were numerous guesthouses around that did seem better organised. However, the problems were quickly rectified once inside, and we found ourselves in a quiet, attractive bungalow. Dalma had to teach a class, so once that was done, we went out for an early dinner and were in bed by 8 pm.

Well, it was an exhausting day. Don’t judge us!