Liwa (Sumatra, Indonesia)

For an updated version of this post, go here.

I woke up this morning and hit the road. Destination: Liwa. The trip was only supposed to be 32 km but I missed the turn off and drove about 20 minutes out of my way. Magellan would be disappointed. Parts of the road were dinged up but it was a nice ride none the less. There is a rise in elevation and the air is a bit cooler. Add some meandering s-curves and you have a motorcyclist’s delight. I cranked it up to about 45 mph. ’Almost blew my face off.

Liwa is not along my intended route but I want to see Bukit Barisan Selatan National Park. It is ranked by the World Wildlife Fund as one of the planet’s most biologically outstanding habitats. I’d have to be an asshole to drive past. So to Liwa I went. The Lonely Planet has scant information on the park. It recommends that you enter the park near a different town further south (Kota Agung to be exact) but I was told I could enter at Liwa. Problem is the guidebook has nothing on this town so I had to go in blind. How crazy am I? I went to a town not outlined in the guidebook (What next? A holiday in Cancun?). Soon I’ll be living in the bush with nothing but a loin cloth and a hankering for bush meat.

Liwa to Bengkulu (Sumatra, Indonesia)

For an updated version of this post, go here.

June 18^th, 2009 - It is difficult to describe in the words the looks people shoot my way as I cruise on by. How about an analogy? I am from a rural area of Upstate New York. Let’s say you and I are standing by the side of the road having a chat when from around the corner comes a Masaai Warrior in full battle dress galloping along on a hippopotamus. Imagine the expression on our faces. Of course I am exaggerating . . . . a little.

Liwa to Bengkulu. Eight hours on a motorcycle. I think I need an ass transplant. Leaving my pooper aside today was an excellent ride. Much of the route runs along the ocean and parts are sandwiched between the water and the jungle. There are worse ways to spend a day.

I stopped along the route to have a bite at a small food stall near the beach. After a quick meal I took a stroll. The beach is comprised entirely of stones rounded by the motion of the sea. Many of them are fairly flat which means they are ideal for skipping. I cannot remember the last time I regressed to boyhood so I took the opportunity. Skipping rocks in the ocean would require a level of skill I do not possess but luckily there are pools of water that collect on the other side of the elevated stone beach. I skipped rocks in the midday sun until I started sweating through my clothes. I am not sure who enjoyed it more, me or the locals who watched me as I played my silly game. Imagine that Masaai Warrior dismounting his hippo in order to throw rocks in the water. When I was about to leave, one of the young onlookers (a teenage male) approached me and asked if he could join in the skipping fun. I think his friends dared him to talk to the honkey. I was tempted but I had to keep moving as driving at night with a crappy headlight is not so much fun.