2013 Tour de Bali - Post tour

Seminyak

Hotel Puri Wisata

With the tour over and four days left before I head home, we base ourselves at the Puri Wisata hotel on the border of Legian and Seminyak.
A quick internet search and access to a reasonable Indonesian dictionary help me understand the meaning of 'Puri Wisata'. Puri means castle, palace or place of worship, and Wisata means journey. So I guess they named the hotel to mean 'A palace at journey's end'. In reality - but keeping in mind you only get what you pay for - in this case Puri means 'Moth-eaten, worn out, run down, and in need of some serious renovations', and Wisata means 'Can I drag your bag to reception!'

But seriously folks, it is in a great location. There is a pub and a Circle K next door, and it is adjacent to a major intersection, so there are always plenty of taxis available; the airport is a lazy 30 minute drive away. Even though the streets are crazy busy, it is a cool, calm oasis from the hot and noisy world outside. Yes, it could do with a good lick and spit to tidy up the rough edges, but with free Wi-Fi and breakfast, a large cool, shaded pool, and friendly staff, $15 a night for a twin-share room is not to be sneezed at.

Although this is not my favourite part of Bali, it does make the last few days of the trip easier in terms of finding a variety of food to eat, access to ATMs, ubiquitous free Wi-Fi, Internet cafes, and the ability to do some last minute shopping.
We are about a 10 minute walk from the beach, which means that the hotel is quite a bit cheaper than those with an ocean front view. Although I like beaches - and there is nothing wrong with this one, it is a very nice beach, world famous in fact - it is not the beach per se to which I am not enamoured. It is what the beach has become - a 24 hour party zone. That, and the fact that you become a sitting target for touts attempting to sell you paintings, watches, sunglasses, wooden elephants, massages and the like which make this a type of living hell for me.
The cheaply provided umbrellas, and access to cool refreshing beverages do afford a level of luxury and comfort, but this is generally not what I look for in a beach.

That said, it has been observed by me and pointed out by others, that this is all highly concentrated in the Kuta-Legian-Seminyak area. Although some people who have not been to Bali - or who have, but have not ventured any further than this tacky tourist strip - may have a vision that this is all there is, or that all of Bali must be the same. 

They are wrong.

The first two weeks in Bali were spent 'On tour', an organised mountain biking trip over 14 days. Eight riding days were broken up with a couple of rest days, one of which was used to access amazing snorkelling. The other non-riding days were filled with a climb up a volcano to watch the sunrise, river rafting, and canyoning. We found this a good way to do it for a number of reasons. There were no more than 2 riding days in a row - giving us a rest from the bikes. We saw a great deal of Bali - parts of which I'm guessing most westerners would not otherwise get the chance to see, and we spent time with two awesome locals - Ketut and Made.

Ketut - our riding guide - is a wiry mountain biking machine. If he can't climb up it, it can't be climbed. If he can't ride down it, it is probably a wall! He always warned us of tricky sections of trail, made an amazing clicking noise with his mouth to warn others of our approach, and was helpful in explaining Indonesian words, phrases, history, culture and geography. He is also a bike nut - he owns 10 bikes - so he is always up for a chat about bikes and parts.

Made was our soigner; he drove the team bus, set up and broke down the bikes for transit, organised lunch and other refreshment breaks, and was always ready to help in any other way. He was always cheerful, and constantly smiling.

These two made the trip. If Isabelle is the brains, these guys are the heart and soul of the operation.

During the tour we only had two days when it rained, and then not enough to spoil our fun. One riding day started with some light rain, but it soon cleared, and left the trails nice and tacky.
We saw cows - Indonesian cows are very short haired, rust coloured, and when young look like fawns - goats, pigs, chickens, ducks, herons, fish, water buffalo, snakes, geckos, lizards, cats and dogs. Most of which we ate at some stage.
We rode through jungle, vegetable fields, fruit orchards, cashew and clove groves, coffee patches, farmer's yards, lava fields, and streams and of course - rice paddies. We rode on or through dirt, rocks, mud, sand, concrete, tarmac, lava, and all the afore-mentioned animals manure (Hello AQIS!)

We had only one mechanical - a flat tyre on day three - and one stack each, neither of which required medical evacuation.

For me, this is one of the best ways to really see, and hopefully start to understand a place. Rather than stand there and look at it, do something in it!

For those playing at home we rode 280k in 27:26, ascending 3590m and descending 9792m

http://app.strava.com/activities/72498714

2013 Tour de Bali - Stage 8

Belimbing to Tibubiyu

From rice paddy to rice paddy

Stage 8; the last stage, the ultimate stage, the one after stage 7, the end of the tour. At the end of this stage we will be delivered to our hotel in Seminyak, where we'll say goodbye to Ketut, Made and the bikes which have served us so well over the past two weeks.

After a few team photos for posterity we start riding amid the beautiful rice paddies of south-central Bali. The first 11 kilometres take over an hour of ride time. We follow Ketut down though rough, almost invisible jungle tracks. I look for the flattened foliage left behind hoping there are no hidden surprises. At the bottom we cross a small boulder filled creek, the first of many. On the other side we push our bikes up a steep slippery, sometimes overgrown and almost indiscernible track. I follow Ketut hoping he has not lost the trail. How he remembers not only this trail, but all the others, some of which he does not ride for a year or more is beyond me.

In between dropping into creeks and hauling our sweaty, muddy arses back out again, we are rewarded with sublime, almost endless views across terraced rice paddies. At lunch we both agree that although the scenery has been fantastic, the reward for effort ratio is definitely in the negative. (I'm not sure if ratios can be negative, but go with me!)

The location Made chose for our lunch break is the best so far. Shaded by small trees, we sit on the side of a small broken tarmac lane. In front of us the ground drops away, and on the other side of a small stream rises in steps carved into the rich, pliable earth, and each one covered in a bountiful rice crop. A few workers ply their trade, planting young rice plants while we soak in the view. Above the paddies the ground is steeper and reverts to dense jungle. This is the archetypal view of rural Bali.

Made has gone above and beyond for today's last lunch. He has obviously noted my comments about how much I like sate, and especially sate kambing (goat), and I was touched by his gesture. Steamed white rice (Nasi putih) and the sate are individually wrapped origami style for take-away. As I slide the gristly, sauce covered meat off the skewers, I have no qualms discarding them into the undergrowth as they will be quickly reclaimed by nature. Unfortunately, many Balinese use this same method with all types of waste. We have seen many vacant blocks, roadsides, and waterways fouled with plastic detritus; the worst was disposable nappies in a creek we had just crossed. I fail to understand why they would choose to do this, and live amid such non-biodegradeble detritus, especially when they are in such a paradise.

Sorry, rant over - back to the tasty lunch with sublime views.

After finishing the meat, I poured the excess sauce onto my rice so as not to miss out on one mouthful of the peanutty spiciness. That was first course; second course is hard to describe. Nestled in a plastic take-away cup is a gelatinous mass of fruit seeds, cubes of jelly, and chunks of fruit, all swimming in a coconut milk slurry. The textures are unusual to the western palate, but the flavours were subdued and well blended. There were also rice cakes, flavoured with palm and coconut.

As usual the post lunch riding started uphill. Too much of my blood supply went to my stomach, employed in digesting the mini Balinese feast. Unfortunately, I am also asking it supply oxygen to my legs to get me over the next crest of the roller-coaster concrete double track. We bust a lung climbing, then recover and cool down bombing along country lanes hemmed by forest and fruit trees. The countryside is dotted with rustic houses and farm buildings. We scatter the ubiquitous mother hen and chicks in our wake, are howled at by grumpy moth-eaten dogs, and are waved to by small children. We pass the deer and fawn like local cattle tied in their stalls, slowly munching the fodder cut and delivered by the farmer. Occasionally we hear the grunts of, and smell the unmistakable odour of pigs. As we leave the forest, we are again surrounded by rice paddies. As we cruise on slightly downhill flowy double concrete tracks, we can see the ocean in the distance indicating we are close to the end; the end of stage 8, and the end of the tour.
As we turn the last corner Made is smiling and waving to us. He and the vehicle are ready to take us away from all this.

For those playing at home we rode 26k in 2:04, ascending 389m and descending 883m.

http://app.strava.com/activities/72498714

2013 Tour de Bali - Canyoning

Gitgit

Part three of our gravity fed non-cycling adventures

I have a healthy fear of heights, and having tried rock climbing - both indoor & outdoor - I know that I can be easily scared into a semi-irrational quivering mess. I can get to a point in a climb where I fear going on and can't return, swearing to myself that I will never again willingly put myself in a similar situation.

So why am I canyoning? Well, I thought it would be a merry jape, shits and giggles, akin to a child playing in puddles. I thought there would be a bit of swimming through deep, cool, crystal-clear pools, mixed with a bit of sliding into the next pool, maybe a little jump from a rock ledge a few metres above the water to add a frisson of excitement.

How wrong I was.

As we were introduced to the guides by the maniacally laughing Mika, soon to be named 'The Crazy Frog' - they were using this trip as an assessment to qualify for the next level in canyon guiding - I realised that my expectations were far from reality. The guides - a Balinese whose name I have unfortunately forgotten, and a Jordanian called Bashir - were both young, keen and professional as they explained the basics of our gear and how to attach to, and descend the abseiling rope.

When we entered the canyon it was a relief to get wet, wading and splashing though cool pools before the first 'feature'. This is what I had been expecting; a small chute maybe 3 metres in length, which we slid down into a very deep accommodating pool below. Next it was time to put all that extreme abseiling training into practice; a 4 meter drop over slippery, smooth worn volcanic rock, a bit tricky, but no real problem. As we progressed down the canyon the features became more challenging, until after a short break for a cup of sweet tea and some cakes, we were faced with a sheer 25m drop - with a waterfall.

At this point I was thinking back to those times where I promised myself never to do this again. My emotional brain was saying 'stop, this is crazy', and my logical brain was saying 'the gear is safe; the guides know what they are doing'. My logical brain won.

Onward.

The roping up and preparation were the worst, it was sphincter tightening territory. Once I was abseiling, and getting closer to the pool below I felt much happier. Or should I say, less unhappy.

One more 19m abseil and zip-line later and it was over. I can't say I was disappointed. I let my fear wash away, safe in the knowledge that I had survived. 

It was not what I had expected. It was far more intense and adrenaline pumping. I may not do it again, but I'm glad I did it.

Oh … by the way, the canyon was beautiful; the black-green walls worn smooth by eons of rising and falling flood water. At times the whole sky was covered by an umbrella of green foliage, cracked open by shafts of bright sunlight. Where the walls were soil, layers of geologic strata were laid bare, dripping profusely and losing groundwater in veils of diamond droplets. 

For those playing at home we canyoned for 3 hours and I peed in my wetsuit 3 times!

2013 Tour de Bali - Stage 7

Danau Tamblingan to Seririt

From mountain lake to infinity pool

We start this stage on the crater rim of Mt. Bratan - with views inward to the three lakes; Danau Bratan, Danau Buyan, and Danau Tamblingan - and outward into the clouds obscuring the north coast.

We dropped quickly on tarmac then slippery concrete and clay single track through clove groves. The tracks are partly moss covered and as slippery as greased ice because of the unseasonal rains.

As we leave the forest and slip through small villages, men are building bamboo ladders beside the road to harvest the cloves. 
A clove harvesting ladder is a work of genius and art. It consists of a single bamboo pole up to 15 metres long, into which the builder cuts rectangular slots at regular intervals, and then hammers bamboo pegs through to create the rungs. I saw one roped upright to a tall clove tree. Because the trees are not pruned or controlled in any way, the crop is small and sparse. A lot of work goes into harvesting this valuable crop.






We continue to contour around the hill on narrow tracks beside irrigation trenches, and as we bomb down country lanes, the heady odour of cloves drying on the side of the road greets us at every corner.


After a lunch with the additional pleasure of a spicy sate ayam, (Thanks Made) we have a few small climbs before some insanely steep concrete path drops. These lead onto silky smooth brown clay sinews of single track, which have us grinning like idiots. The ride concludes with a Euro smooth tarmac descent into Seririt. This gives us time to enjoy the views, relax a little and 'hallo' the locals.




I think we are the only people staying at the Bali Hotel Nibbana Resort, a compound of terraced bungalows leading down to an infinity pool overlooking rice paddies below and the ocean in the distance - sublime.

For those playing at home we rode 32k in 2:04, ascending 256m and descending 1509m

https://www.strava.com/activities/69880291

2013 Tour de Bali - Stage 6

Bedugul to Wongaya Gede

From red strawberries to red rice

Leaving Ubud behind, we drove north to Bedugul. It is uphill all the way, and we pass through rice paddies, sleepy villages, vegetable fields and forest. We check out a market which is obviously homogenised for the tourist trade - nearly every stall holder is selling the same products at over-inflated prices. We are offered watches, which if taken at face value must be some of the best in the world; they come with a 100 year guarantee!

The riding started on single track down through plots of carrot, spring onion, garlic, chilli, potato, cabbages & strawberry, then into classic dark, moist rainforest with soft deep soil, interspersed with roots and small drop-offs. Magic stuff. This was followed by big concrete and tarmac descents 'till we arrive at the recently proclaimed UNESCO area; a subac to control the irrigation system. Even though this is the same system used all over Bali to control the water as it gravity feeds through various farmers’ fields, this is one of great beauty and magnificent views.

We lunch on local delicacies; Balinese chicken, red rice, steamed spicy greens, stir fried vegetables and coconut, and Balinese sate.

After lunch we ride broken tarmac roads which contour around and then bomb down through farms and villages. Our hotel tonight is peaceful; villas placed within red-rice paddies. It is like being in a large terraced garden. The pool is fed from the paddies above, and drains into the ones below.

Our room has an outdoor shower which soothes as it massages away the pain of the road. It is cool up here on the side of the mountain, so there is no need for air-conditioning or fans in the rooms, and as we drift to sleep safely shrouded by our mosquito nets, we are serenaded by a symphony of frog calls.

For those playing at home we rode 28k in 1:55, ascending 357m and descending 1165m.

https://www.strava.com/activities/69880298

2013 Tour de Bali - Rafting

Ubud district

Part two of our gravity fed non-cycling adventures

We are picked up from our hotel and deposited at the top of a massive canyon. After being introduced to our guides, we are fitted with helmets, life jackets and paddles, and then descend the near vertical canyon on slippery moss covered concrete steps. The sound of the river below increases … and increases.
I estimate we walked down stairs for about 10 minutes, I wish I had recorded it on my GPS unit.

At the bottom we huddle on a rickety, rusty steel platform as the guides inflate the raft and go through a safety drill. This seems somewhat pointless, as they use an electric air blower plugged into a socket to inflate the raft. All the while we are sprayed by mist from below, and dripped on from above. Electricity, water, and steel don't usually combine well in any WH&S manuals I have seen!

This point is as high as you can enter the raging river; 50 metres upstream the river drops 20 metres between narrow vertical rock walls.

The guides are muscly and lean, and as the raging river below could quite easily crush the unwary or ill prepared, I have a quiet confidence in their abilities. Besides, what choice do we have?
The first fifteen minutes are the best, bouncing and rocking between vertical rock walls, dropping over large rocks, half filling the raft with water. It is dark - the colour palette ranges from black to dark green. Not much direct light penetrates the steep canyon walls. Moss and small ferns cling to the slick volcanic rock, worn smooth from years of abrasion.

The guides reverse us under a waterfall to be pummelled by the white water falling over 100 metres. Eventually the rock walls widen and give way to a narrow, jungle covered valley. It is very steeply sided, and I wonder how the vegetation clings to it.

As the rapids begin to reduce in ferocity, we begin to see other rafting groups join the river, and then more, until it becomes a procession. At some rapids we wait our turn to descend.

At this point I'm done - over it. What once felt like a potentially dangerous pursuit in a remote location has become another crass over-commercialised, touristy enterprise. The other boats are mostly filled with giggling young women with inappropriate footwear.

Where once we were required to help safely convey our craft - albeit under instruction from our expert guides - we are now merely passengers in a theme park.

For those playing at home we rafted 10k in 1:31, descending 302m

http://app.strava.com/activities/72500372

2013 Tour de Bali - Stage 5.1

Ubud

Through good luck and good fortune, the team have left our bikes with us 'till the next riding stage. We aim to take full advantage as they will afford a level of freedom not provided by the 2-hourly hotel shuttle bus into town.

After resting poolside post lunch, we saddle up and sans padded shorts and helmets, venture forth to search for good food and cold beer. Within 1 kilometre I spy what I have been looking for since we arrived, sate kambing (goat). The refrigerated, pre-skewered meat is quickly marinaded and then cooked over coconut husks reduced to charcoal by a swiftly turning fan. The chef - for this is a skill not learned overnight - then deftly wraps them, with an accompanying sauce, in grease-proof paper. Stapled shut, the neat little package is ready to take away for consumption. But I'm in no mood to take this anywhere; I'm in a mood to consume this straight away. The cooking smells have my juices flowing, and I will have my way with them; right here and right now!

Next stop is a taco restaurant - my travelling companion has a hankering. He says they are the best he has ever had - anywhere.

For old time’s sake I want to find a little warung makan I frequented on my last trip to Ubud. Although just off a busy street, it is just far enough for a little peace and quiet. I'd sit here in the afternoon, slowly sipping a cold beer and reading a book. Balinese life would play itself out on the street, kids coming home from school would reappear to kick a ball, or play chasey; people would park their scooters while they waited for a take-away meal; women passing would stop and chat with each other. To really observe, you need to stop and let the world spin around you.

It is just as I remember: only a few tables, a bit grimy, but the owner / cook is as always, cheerful. And she makes the best Nasi goreng this side of Jakarta.

Good times.

For those playing at home, we rode 7k.

2013 Tour de Bali - Stage 5

Ubud

From the luxurious to the luxuriant

This stage was different to the others; no heart-in-the-mouth slippery single tracks with vertiginous drops on at least one side, no tarmac broken to the size of cats heads bounce and skittle descents, or reach for a third lung bursting climbs. This stage was all about showing off the countryside to the north of Ubud.

After leaving the trendy art galleries and day spas behind, you enter in the bosom of the bountiful rice paddies on the edge of town. The landscape slopes slightly uphill toward the three volcanos which dominate the north of the island, allowing the irrigation system to gently drop the water from one paddy to the next.

Although the volcano's fury can be devastating, the Balinese owe the magnificent fertility of their fields directly to the fiery furnaces. They periodically spew forth the inside of the planet, bringing with it fresh minerals and trace elements, enough to sustain many harvests. They both destroy quickly and violently, and then provide slowly and gently for many years to come.

Last night it rained heavily, and as we cycle between the verdant paddies we are reminded that it is not just the soil, but the abundant water which sustains this crop. It fills not only the paddies, but the irrigation ditches, drains and streams. We ride along a ridgeline. Between us and the next ridge is a steep gully filled with coconut palms, fruit trees and jungle. The other ridge is just like ours, covered in rice paddies of various sizes, shapes, and stages of rice production. We pass farm workers who look different to the other Balinese in the villages and towns. Whereas the townies wear clean clothes and don't look worried about their next meal, these workers look harried, weather beaten, wiry and filthy. They carry a small handled sickle and a confused look as we pass by.

At the 'top of the ride' we are met by Made with refreshments, we then continue on by slipping through farm yards and fields of vegetables, every now and again we transfer from one dirt section to the next with a quick foray onto tarmac.

As we nip back through Ubud, we play dodgems with the tourist buses and local traffic, breaking all the rules and using footpaths to get around the jams. When we arrive at the hotel, Made gives us our lunch which he picked up from a local warung. We juxtapose the insane luxury of the swim-up bar with a cardboard box of local food.

For those playing at home we rode 32k in 2:29, ascending 456m and descending 456m

https://www.strava.com/activities/69130565

2013 Tour de Bali - Transfer day

Candidasa - Ubud

It is time to leave the coast behind for the hinterland; we may not see it again until we finish the tour. After Made picks us up in Candidasa, we are on our way to Ubud accompanied by a light rain.

Ubud has long been a centre of arts and culture, and as such has been an attraction for westerners for as long as they have been coming to Bali. We'll be staying here for three nights and using it as a base for more adventures. Our digs are a few kilometres from the centre of Ubud, but the hotel runs a regular shuttle service; we indulge their hospitality after checking in, and grab a lift into town.

We've heard about the famous Babi guling (Suckling pig), and as it is already lunch time, decide what better time than now to check it out. The restaurant has moved since I was last here, and is now reminiscent of the food court in a shopping complex - devoid of all authenticity. It is now a "Get 'em in, serve 'em quick, and get 'em out again" deal. The meal was no better, actually, not as good as many pork roasts I've had at home - two out of five stars.

After lunch we wander along Monkey Forest Rd., and I muse on how much busier it has become since I was here 3 years ago; more traffic and more construction. I used to enjoy staying here, and maybe the outskirts of town are still as beguiling, but the inskirts have become tragically over-commercialised. Tacky souvenir shops, western sports outlets, and over-the-top restaurants serving western style 'cuisine' are squeezed between traditional Balinese temples, houses and rice paddies. I fear that development will over run what once made this a special place to visit.

Be careful Ubud; don't shit in your own nest!

2013 Tour de Bali - Rest day 2

Candidasa

Today it is raining. A grey and sullen sky reaches down to the ocean obscuring all but the closest islets and rocky outcrops. Again, the sea is relentlessly dashing itself against the breakwaters and retaining walls as if to say "damn you earth that rises above me, I will crush you to sand and drag you down in me". Or some such...


When I woke he was gone. I vaguely remember some activity in the night, so he must have bitten the bullet and gone on the trek. Breakfasting alone, I take my time over Bail kopi and Nasi goreng. It is raining constantly and heavily now. I don't envy him if the weather on the volcano is the same. I know I made the right decision, I hope he did?

It is time to explore. Taking an umbrella just in case the heavens decide to open again - but without any firm plan - I head out for a look around. I've seen a temple on my map, so head in that general direction. Asked many times by locals if I need a taxi (Taksi) or motorbike I respond with "No thank you, I just jalan-jalan" (go for a walk). I find a Warung makan which might be good for dinner, and chat to some other restaurant staff about what time their happy hour is, milking them for the times in Indonesian in a vain hope I can memorise them; not for the cheap beer, but for the words in their language. Further along I slip up a rough side street trying to capture a photo of a fighting rooster (Ayam juga).

While there I spy a sow and her piglets, no doubt destined for the famous crispy skin pork dish - Babi guling. As I leave I'm barked at by defensive dogs, and greeted by an old lady mending clothes. She seems to not mind that I am trespassing on her turf.

Where the beach is closest to the road, there is a small parking area. A dozen or so small, semi- permanent warung makans vie for mainly local trade. I'm not hungry yet, but make a note to check them out on the way back. A group of local cyclists on a variety of mainly mountain bikes are just about to head onto the road. I accost one and enquire as to their pursuit. They have ridden from Denpasar, and are about to head back. 

Heading up a side road to where I think the temple may be I am confronted by a completely flooded road. My choices are to turn back, walk through knee deep water, or hitch a ride through. Thumb out; it takes but a half minute to flag down a passing motorcyclist who happily drops me on the other side. After walking another kilometre or so, I find absolutely no sign of the temple. My belly reminds how long it is since breakfast, so I decide to return to the seaside for a snack. On the return journey through the flooded road I hitch a ride in the back of a small pickup. The driver not only ferries me through the muddy brown waters, but all the way to the intersection, saving me a short walk.

Perusing the warungs, I settle on one which is semi-clean and has a laminated menu. A small bottle of water, eight chicken sate sticks, and a small Bintang (Satu Bintang kecil) sets me back $4. I might be back.

While waiting for my food, it dawns on me that to really observe,
you must stay still and let things happen around you; take your time, watch for patterns - there will be a reason behind them.
Satisfied that this snack will carry me through to a proper lunch, I head back to our digs to see if he has returned from his epic adventure.

Upon his arrival he regales me with tales of hardship and endurance, suffering and privations. We head out for lunch at the warung I discovered earlier.

After I fix a small child's bike and he buys some sunglasses, we head back; me to rest, him for another massage. Oiled and rubbed once again, he suggests a dip in the briny deep - well, briny shallow really. The water in front of our hotel is protected at low tide by a sea wall, and behind it the water is calm and no more than chest deep. A quick dip in the pool to release the salt, two more cold beers and complementary nuts, and we are just about set for an evening stroll and dinner. Rest days are hell!

2013 Tour de Bali - Stage 4

Besakih to Manggis

From shower to shower

We breakfast on the hotel balcony to the roar of what was yesterday pancake flat, but is now a boiling and angry sea. There is no wind, so the cause of this rage fuelled vendetta against the shore is not apparent. The sky is overcast and brooding; we may have some rain today.

When picked up by our team bus, we travel in convoy with Paul and Roberto ably piloted in the other Bali Trailblazers chariot by the reliable soigner, Gede. As we travel inland and up incredibly steep roads toward todays start point, it starts to rain. We have a lot of descending today, and I make a mental note to be particularly careful on the trails.

My trusty sidekick has a forehead slapping moment when he realises his riding shoes and helmet are still in the hotel room. When we arrive at the start point there is nothing for it but for him to return to the hotel with Made, retrieve his gear, and join the ride at our lunch break.

We start the ride in the rain, descending sections of jungle single track and rough roads through black stone quarries. Using the heavily laden quarry trucks as gates, we slalom down the rough rock-strewn roads. Leaving the noise of industry behind, we disappear into cool, dark bamboo forests and onto super-smooth single track. Approaching the lunch stop, a traditional ceremony blocks our path as heavily made up young girls, dressed in garish yellow-gold costumes cross the road to perform a dance to a clanging Gamelan orchestra. The girls finish, and are replaced by young boys dressed as warriors in equally outlandish costumes. We grab a few touristy snaps and then head for lunch.

 

When we are joined by my companion - and his riding gear, we lunch on the balcony of a rundown establishment with great views of the jungle covered hills and the Bali oil terminal on the distant coast. Paul, Roberto and I take great delight in regaling him with tales of our morning's riding exploits. Great swoopy downs, and very few and only short ups. "You would have loved it!"
Not long into the afternoon riding session, we encounter a steep, greasy, narrow hike-a-bike section. It leaves my lungs stretched to bursting point, my skin leaking like a sieve, and my patience a little thinner.

After a small break to re-gather out composure, we re-start to a groan from behind me. His bike's rear suspension has failed, and his 6 inch travel dual suspension bike is reduced to a very low to the ground hard-tail. That's two, what could be next? Luckily the rest of the ride is mainly downhill. Some sections are so steep, we are reduced to an exercise in controlled braking - a good skill to have, but not great fun.

We finish the ride in Manggis, and just as we are packing the team buses, it starts to rain again.

As the rain continues into the evening he is re-thinking the following morning's activity, a trek up Gunung Agung (3124m) to watch the sun rise. This is scheduled as part of our tour, but I never had any intention of partaking. The thought of going to bed early, then getting up at 1am to trek in the dark to the top of a volcano, with the chance of not seeing the sunrise, does not fill me with enthusiasm. I'll look at the photos!

For those playing at home we (I) rode 29k in 2:14, ascending 435m and descending 1326m

https://www.strava.com/activities/68380479

2013 Tour de Bali - Stage 3

Pidpid to Perasi beach

From the verdant to the virgin

We were picked up from the remote luxury of Ocean View Tulamben by the ever smiling Ketut and Made in the team bus and transported to Pidpid. We headed south away from the dry north east coast, and into the lusher interior of Bali. Today and tomorrow we are being joined by Paul, the six-four rangy Canadian, and Roberto, the five-six stocky Ecuadorian. They are both geologists working and living in KL for an American oil company. Their families have been packed off to their respective homelands, so the boys were out to play for a few days. Paul has the slow laconic drawl of someone who has spent time around Houston oilmen, and Australian miners. Roberto sounds like Tony Montana.

Today's riding was the best so far; smooth and flowy. We dropped and contoured, then climbing through farmyards for most of the morning. We’d cruise across the hillside passing between houses and farm buildings, alternately scaring chickens (ayam), dogs (anjing), cats (cucing), pigs (babi) and school children (school children). Then we would drop down verdant gullies flanked by stands of bamboo, only to pop back out into someone else’s yard. Surprisingly no one seems at all phased by five mountain bikers swooshing through their world, using it as a playground.

The ride ended at Perasi / White sand / Virgin beach, depending on which sign you read!
Upon arrival, we stripped back to the bare essentials, and splooshed into the welcoming sea to wash away the accumulated salt and road grime of the day. Lunch and a much appreciated icy cold (dingan) Bintang awaited us in the shade of the beachside restaurant (warung makan). Quenched and sated, we headed for our digs.

For those playing at home we rode 37k in 2:34, ascending 552m and descending 1258m

https://www.strava.com/activities/68200617

2013 Tour de Bali - Rest day 1

Tulamben

Remote luxury

After being lulled to sleep by the sound of the ocean, and the soft caress of the tropical night air we find ourselves on our first rest day with nothing to do, and plenty of time to do it. After breakfast we head into town to check out the local scene… there is no local scene!

The coast road splits Tulamben down the middle into a strip about one building deep on either side, and the main and possibly only industry is SCUBA diving and its associated services. There is a market every third day a little to the west of the town, which services the locals. When we rode past it yesterday it was finished and looked dry, dusty and rudimentary.

After scoping out somewhere for tonight's dinner, we went back to the hotel complex for the day's activities. By renting snorkelling gear: mask, snorkel, booties and fins, for the princely sum of $5 each for the day, we have set us ourselves up nicely for a day of exploring the undersea world at our doorstep.

I head off to check out the wreck of the USS Liberty, while he has his second massage in a little over 12 hours.

As I swim out toward the wreck, the sea floor littered with black volcanic boulders drops away and disappears just before the hulking wreck looms up from the inky depths. The feeling is quite bizarre; one moment you are floating adrift from all that is safe and normal in your world, yet when you see the stern of the wreck only a few metres below the surface you feel re-connected, a little safer. You can't rest on it, and it would be no use to you if you were floundering, (do you see what I did there?) but you do feel strangely safer. If you lift your head above the surface you can be alone in the big sea and the shore even though only 50 metres away, seems to be no help at all. Two completely different worlds, separated by the surface of the sea.

When I head back to the hotel exhausted from the exhilaration and physical effort, I find him still being oiled and rubbed by his nuggetty masseuse. Upon completion of his daily ritual we both head out to the wreck again. This time there are dozens of SCUBA divers on the shore preparing to swap this world for the ocean depths. I know you can't survive for more than a few seconds under water without some external assistance, so I find it interesting you can capture a little of the airy world, strap it to your back, and use it to survive in the watery world.

This time as we swim out to the USS Liberty wreck we float above some divers, their air bubbles released from the high pressure purgatory of the tank desperately racing to the surface. Some bubbles are few and large, like silver jellyfish; others are small and many like mercury spilled from a broken thermometer. Either way, while floating above the void, you can intercept their mad dash to the surface in some kind of weird reverse gravity air shower. We head back for lunch and a rest.

On the third dive of the day we forego the beauty of the wreck for the famous drop-off. Because the sea is calmer closer to the drop-off, we walk most of the way around the curve of the little Tulamben bay before plunging into the briny. The walk is difficult for westerners with soft namby-pamby feet as the beach is littered with black volcanic rocks varying in size from peas to basketballs. It is a pleasure to flop into the water and take the weight off. As we approach the drop-off and the sea floor steepens, we swim through a school of fish - maybe 300 in number - unperturbed by our presence, calm with their safety in numbers defence.

Above the drop-off, coral encrusted lava harbour an almost infinite variety of spectacular fish. Every time you look there is another with more vivid colouring and bizarre markings than the previous. It is like they all took LSD before playing with their mother's makeup. When you get to the drop-off, the feeling is like approaching the USS Liberty in reverse, at first you feel safe in the knowledge that the sea floor is only 3 metres below you, then it is gone and you are floating above an indigo abyss, pierced by shafts of sunlight which never reach anything solid. There are divers down there somewhere, because again I am bathed in their bubbles.

I forego the rough beach walk to the hotel, deciding to swim the whole way back. Thankfully it is not a trudge, but full of unexpected pleasures. I see more and varied sea life, Red Lionfish, Philippine Butterfly fish, Pipefish, and Angelfish, tiny 3 phase electric blue fish, Bump-head Wrasse, fish with uranium yellow markings, most tripping out of their tiny pesce little minds in their crazy makeup. I notice a trio of Clown fish hiding in a sea anemone and make a mental note to call Pixar. I found Nemo!

For reference, there is a coral garden in front of the Mata Hari Hotel well worth a view.

When I get back to our digs he is again in the clutches of his masseuse, manipulated by her strong little hands. That's three massages inside 24 hours!

Before dinner we head to the temple on the headland at the end of the bay. We had seen it from the water when we were diving at the drop-off, and were keen to check it out. Inside there are a couple cutting grass for their cattle. Their hard, twisted, leathery-skinned bodies tell the story of a life of hard graft for little reward. They nod and grunt at us as we take a few photos of the temple, headland, and sweep of the bay. The irony is not lost on us.

2013 Tour de Bali - Stage 2

Abang to Tulamben

From the volcano to the sea

This is the biggest stage of the tour: The Queen's stage. We woke to a white out in Kintamani; it looked like our hotel windows had ben white-washed during the night. It soon burned off and we were on the road to our start point. We started on undulating bitumen before gently descending 3 kilometres on jeep track. My riding partner managed to stack while waving good morning - Selamat pagi - to a group of construction workers. Much hilarity ensued. We descended on a finger of land; either side of which has been eroded to expose the chocolate-cake soil. The farmers can't really put a foot wrong here; anything will grow in these volcanic soils. They grow a variety of vegetables and fruits, and they cut fodder for their cows. Sometimes while riding, you will be confronted by what appears to be a large green bush moving along the track, only to find it is a mountain of fodder strapped to a motorbike making its way to the cow barn.

We lost height quickly, but as any mountain biker knows there is usually a pay-off. We climbed up and over ridges before heading north towards the coast. A smooth euro-style road climb delivered us to the lunch stop, and our ever reliable soigner Made waiting for us.

After lunch we descended down the bitumen road in a brake burning frenzy before hitting the single track again. Now we were riding on the northern shoulder of Gunung Agung - the mighty volcano in the north east of Bali. Rising 3142m directly from the sea in places, it dominates the landscape. As we contoured around and then bombed down rough jeep tracks, we were treated to groves of flowering cashew, stark lava flows, and local farmyards. Belligerent dogs and skittish chickens were scattered in our wake. School children, always up for a "Halloo mista" watched and laughed as we bounced and skidded our way through their village or front yard.

When we reached the coast road we had a smooth twenty minute ride to our digs for the next two nights - Ocean View in Tulamben.

Once again we found ourselves in the lap of luxury; our own private villa with a bathroom I have named 'the vast room'. It is about a quarter of the size of my house. After checking in and supping the complimentary watermelon juice, we bade farewell to Ketut and Made 'till Friday.

Now to the priority list: ocean swim, pool swim, massage, shower, beer and sate - sorted.

For those playing at home we rode 45k in 3:07, ascending 636m and descending 1948m

https://www.strava.com/activities/67705836