Up early, I hit the road yesterday after a casual pack up at a relatively lazy 8am. After torrential rain the day before, I needed an hour or two of sunlight so I didn’t pack a soaked tent. If not for attempting to dry the tent I’d have been riding by 7.
The trip to the beach down south had taken me off the direct west route, and meant I wasn’t able to push through to my next scheduled destination last night, but intended to camp somewhere along route.
Meanwhile I also took another recommendation and rode up Mt Bromo, an extinct volcano. Shortly after entering the national park I pulled up to check if I’d need to double back and how much time that would cost. Bah – no data, and I hadn’t downloaded the Java offline map, so was left guessing. The real problem was I couldn’t resume my original navigation. I was flying completely blind. No worries, I’ll just have to back a hunch again and chose to continue. I was riding well into thick cloud with very poor visibility. All in all the conditions, lack of navigation, and remoteness all had me a bit unsettled.
I made a call I’d ride on for about half an hour more tha I remember my route was planned to take and simply cut losses and double back if there was no further information or success by then.
Right on that half hour the road peaked, and there in the middle of nowhere was a cafe. I had a bit of a look around (nearly getting bogged and dropping the bike in a rice paddy), and then stopped for a cup of tea.
Just as I pulled up, another similar style bike pulled in. “Nice bike!” I said, not even sure if that would be understood. “Thanks!” came the reply with no hesitation. Delighted to encounter a bit of English just when I had no Google, I made small talk just long enough before it was polite to put my question.
Andi is a born and bred local, and whole works with an NGO organising protests to prevent these amazing forests being logged and mined. He’d even been down to Red Island Beach to protest the gold mine where I’d stayed the previous night.
I explained to Andi where I was going, and asked if that would require doubling back or if I could ride through to the other side of Bromo. Not only did Andi know the answer and confirm my preferred outcome (I could ride on), but he said he was going that way too and his home was not far off route, in Batu. “I’ll lead the way and you can drop in for a drink before you ride on,” he offered.
Although grateful for the answer to my question, I didn’t feel I needed a guide – as I’d have mobile reception down the other side of Bromo. But now I generally lean in if there’s not a good reason not to, so dutifully followed Andi around the caldera and down the side.
We stopped just once to take a couple of photos. If I were on my own I’d have done more stopping than riding. It was the most breathtaking ride I’ve ever been on. In parts the narrow single-lane road was the sharp knife edge, with cliffs either side down into the volcano. Wouldn’t want your brakes to fail riding here!
Say again? Wouldn’t want what to fail? Yes, right. Brakes. Need those riding down sharp, steep, winding calderas. Yep, brakes are good.
Now this beauty of a bike hasn’t missed a beat in 6,000 or so kms since I left Melbourne. Even though I’ve stacked it quite badly once and dropped it countless times while manoeuvring at close to standstill. Rides beautifully, and nothing – nothing – has gone even slightly wrong.
So it was quite a shock, and more than a little disconcerting, when tailing Andi down one of those steep descents, the back brake simply stopped working. Binary. More like something had switched off than a disk pad had worn out. Just nothing. The brake lever lost all resistance, and depressed right to the max without impact on the bike’s trajectory. I was on it with the front brake, of course, and plunged through gears for the engine’s max help in slowing. Signalling madly to Andi in front of me, we pulled up right there, in the only spot for kilometres previously or hence where that was possible.
The brakes were hot. But that’s no surprise, nor really any concern. A little less expected, I found nylon fishing line wrapped around inside the brakes. That’s not super-excellent. Managing the risk of heat burn from the disk and slicing fingers with the nylon, I pulled as much as I could and gave the disks a few minutes to cool. We tested it briefly and decided the “binary switch” had been turned back on, so tentatively got back on the bike and completed the descent. Carefully. Favouring front brake and gears to slow, but nonetheless learning gradually that all seemed well. Someone reading this with more mechanical knowledge than me will probably already be able to tell me what happened and whether there’s residual risk. But I’m just glad to have had the brakes “switch off” when I had time and space to slow with front brake and gears, and not simply careen into the volcano, perhaps to add a bit of newer ash when I hit the bottom!
The two and a half hours of our “90” minute ride was otherwise unadventurous. My cuppa and bickie at Andi’s was a solo affair due to Ramadan, but was followed with an invitation to stay the night. Since it was still a torrent of bucketing rain, I was happy enough not to put my tent up and gladly accepted. Andi’s wife Dianne (pronounced “Deane” arrived home from her day’s accounting work for the government agriculture department. The Ramadan fast is a daytime-only fast, so we shared a 7pm meal at the local restaurant. I tried to pay as a thank you for hosting me, but they would have none of it. Every Indonesian I have had the pleasure of met has been so helpful, generous, and hospitable. Thank you, Andi and Dianne.
Still very little sleep last night due to the blaring of multiple mosques, and I was eventually up and out by about 7am.
Riding now towards Central Java, I’d got through some of the most intense traffic I’ve ridden. Thousands of bikes just weave in and out of each other with traffic flow like water around rocks. “Lanes” are a figment of imagination, even where there are lines painted on the roads. The trick is to relax, and not stress. Actually I find this traffic strangely appealing, except for the assumption that oncoming traffic will just slam on brakes if someone ahead wants to push in.
I came across a bike wash, and mine – last washed in Dili – was in need. I’m writing this journal entry while two blokes spend half an hour washing polishing. They’re very thorough. Although perhaps if I’d realised how long it’d take I’d have waited a day or so. No matter.
I have another 8 hours riding ahead of me, for something like 350km of road. Nothing moves very fast on Indonesian roads.
Tonight I’ll be staying with Om Jeffry Polnaja in Central Java, from whom I anticipate I’ll learn a thing or two about how I could manage the rest of this road trip better than I have so far. But I need to get there first, and I think the boys are about done with the wash, so I’ll finish up here and write again another day.