gear engaged, revs increased and GO!
Bounce! Spring! Brake! I’d done it
and managed to stop before shooting
off the other end. Actually, I found it
less wobbly than riding along planks
onto canoes in Cambodia. I took the
front wheel off and the Enfield was
lifted and fitted snugly into the tran-
som. I tied protective rags to the front
forks and stuffed oily rags into both
ends of the carburettor. Before cover-
ing it, I massaged the bike with grease
to eliminate salty air.
“Wish you’d do that to me.” the cap-
tain said, slyly.
Store cupboards overflowed with
enough food to last the two-month
voyage to Australia as we set off down
the Straits of Malacca towards Singa-
pore. With no land in sight on the sec-
ond day, we saw that what had looked
like a heaving heap of rubbish from a
distance was, in fact, five waving men
clinging to bits of polystyrene, drift-
wood and jerry cans. Of course we
picked them up and I raced about with
rice, bananas and tea whilst learning
that they had been cast away three
days previously by the scoundrels who
had accepted their money to deliver
them illegally to Malaysia. We moored
at dusk at Port Klang, now illegal our-
selves as we had already checked out
of Malaysia. Fully intending to deliv-
er them to the authorities, we’d got
fond of them during the journey and
instead helped them wade ashore. On
leaving next morning we were horri-
fied to see we’d moored right next to
four manned police launches!
Back in open water, we were repeat-
edly beset by sudden violent storms.
Panicking sails flapped noisily and
ropes whipped as rain hammered
TRAVERSE 89
against me during my night watch. It
was as if the Devil himself was trying to
rip them apart. The boat lurched and
bobbed, convincing me of certain cap-
size. Frightened, I clung to the mast
to avoid being washed overboard. The
skipper accused me of being a witch
and bringing bad luck to the boat.
On a calmer night watch amongst
the busy Singapore shipping lanes,
massive tankers as big as blocks of
flats slid past silently, their presence
apparent only when their looming
shapes blotted out the stars. Blissful
ignorance protected me from worry-
ing that if the captain wasn’t looking
at the radar, we could be run over and
they wouldn’t even know.
When ashore, looking unsuccess-
fully for the immigration office of the
first Indonesian island we encoun-
tered, the boat was robbed. Tools,