Aside from the first day's ride, my reticence to ride in Bali was totally unfounded. The drivers were extremely respectful to us. They seemed to understand how to deal with vehicles of varying speed, an important skill where vehicles range from horse carts to SUVs. I was already regretting that we'd be leaving the laissez-faire land of Bali and its tattooed bathing beauties behind. The still unidentified Hindu festival was in full swing as we worked our way to port. Hindu school children in their celebration garb yelled after us as we passed them on their way to school. Some more obnoxious ones exploding fire crackers on the road in front of us.
A little vermin like boy chucked a little bomb at Andy. It exploded on his leg as he rode, startling him. Unprepared for the event, Andy's water pistol was unloaded. Retribution took another form when my water bottle accidentally unloaded its contents on the unsuspecting lad and his ammunition. His friends all laughed when I apologized insincerely. A very different experience occurred when we stopped in front of a school a little later. Children in their party-wear surrounded us within a few seconds. Screaming and handling our bikes they were easily coaxed into posing for a photo or two before we went onward.
Before reaching the port we stopped at a \"tourist object,\" a temple dedicated to a lover who had been murdered by his father because the dad had fallen in love with the son's wife to be. The unimpressive temple was up a long, sweaty, monkey-infested staircase. We'd ridden 80 kilometers in the hottest part of the day before reaching the ferry terminal at Gilimanuk. We boarded as the captain sounded the last horn indicating our departure. The bikes barely fit on the boat the deck was so crowded with cars. The narrow Bali Strait churned with wind and whitecaps. Despite the whether no one seemed fearful as the sluggish ferry chugged across the channel.
What was to be a 20-minute ride turned out to be far longer; our dock was occupied so we sat in a holding pattern for over an hour before finally coming ashore. Once in Java we had a Chinese lunch with a local cop who adopted us. He arranged for a bemo to be chartered so we could make it out to a National Park where we planned to spend the night. We had decided that alternate transportation was in order because we feared that the road from the harbor would be too trafficked to ride. The road turned out to be quiet and our fears unfounded.
That wasn't to be the last surprise of the day. Before we rode into the National Park, touted to be the most accessible in Java, we shopped for provisions. We were warned, \"Jalan rusak\", as we started down the road. There is that word again, *rusak*, broken. The park ranger wasn't kidding either, I had to stop three times to reattach and adjust my load in the first hundred meters. My packing troubles combined with the terrible road made me grumpy. Somehow the discomfort evaporated when I glided through swarms of white and yellow butterflies. The road disintegrated further. Large stretches were covered by black muddy water, others severely rutted and still other parts of the road were fields of boulders making the going very dirty and very tough.
Of the fifteen kilometers only the five middle ones were bearable. At kilometer thirteen, just after passing the first (full) accommodation, we saw a huge heard of \"barking\" deer the park's big natural attraction. There were several hundred off in the distance across the black muddy marsh. They bolted when I tried to ford the muck to get closer for a photo. Their golden hides disappeared into the brush as the sun dipped towards the horizon. One last mucky puddle stood between our resting point and us. There a muddy beach/bay packed with begging gray monkeys awaited us. Three buildings on stilts and a few out buildings formed the rustic lodge.
We asked to be shown the *yang paling mehwah* (the most luxurious) one and were told flatly \"*tidak ada*\", (there isn't one). What did we expect for sixty cents each? Bath water never felt so good as when I ladled the cool water over myself after we'd settled in. Once we'd showered we were surprised to see that others began to arrive by four-wheel-drive. A group of soldiers came to see the *sore* at the beach, still others here to night-fish. The lodge operator reluctantly cooked the noodles we'd brought down to the beach for dinner. Post dinner we fed the mosquitoes and played backgammon by the light of a borrowed lantern.
It was too hot to sleep in our room so we dragged the mattresses from the rooms onto the picnic tables, covered ourselves with mosquito nets and sweat ourselves to sleep. I had nightmares about backtracking out of the park along the same road the next morning. A nightmare that was to be realized the next day...