- By Vin Cox
10th April. 74 miles cycled.
I pressed the panic button at lunch: Asked the team how to get out of Sumatra fast… Not that Sumatra isn’t great, no; very friendly people, beautiful landscape etc. Just such hard going!
Many punctures today on road very very broken or not there in places. Sometimes it had been washed away, other times it was never fully there to start.
Plan now to go for Kota Padang 230 miles away south. Ferry or fly from there to Java.
Today saw: Chocolate trees, rubber trees, bananas, coconut palms, pineapple, rice paddies (so many terraces), Dorian, chillies, and peanuts.
Took 1 mile off total due to search for hotel. Also disbelieve cat-eye today as I saw it go mad when I was slogging away super-slow (<4mph). Garmin okayish – just thinks I’ve stopped when under very thick tree canopy.
74mi @ 10.9mph
“The panic button” was my terminology for phoning home and asking my family to see if Guinness World Records would sanction my using a port other than the one registered in the plan to leave Sumatra. The pendulum had swung too far from speed to adventure, and if I kept going like this I might miss the record. I did find myself thinking “if only I had an MTB and less time pressure, this would be paradise”. I had to return to Sumatra, but for now I had to find a way to limit my losses. Approval from Guinness WR would take a while to get, and I’d still have to reach a port, so the rugged adventure riding would continue.
A loaded touring bike with tyres fit for the road is simply not fit for mud and gravel tracks. My shoes, with their carbon fibre soles and large plastic cleat were also not suitable for hiking with the bike. It did all remind me of my cyclo-cross and mountain bike racing days – but the Three Peaks Cyclo-Cross was never anywhere near this hot! I was barely a hundred miles from the equator.
I really enjoyed passing through the villages and small-holdings where people were working their strip of land between road and jungle. Chickens would dash for cover and farmers would wave their machetes at me as I waved hello to them – it could have been threatening, but I convinced myself they were just returning my greeting gesture. Children in Sumatra would usually recognise me as a westerner and shout “Hello Mister!”, except in one village where they’d been taught wrong and all shouted “Hello Miss!”.That was my diary from precisely four years ago. I’m writing up each day on it’s fourth anniversary as a motivation to get this long overdue task done. These days I’m to be found spending my working days at a brewery, my leisure time cycling, and my family time with my wife and baby daughter. I hope this entertains, informs, or motivates you.