ing loose nuts. He oiled the squeaky
speedometer, mended the indicator
and reshaped and fitted the headlight
cowl I’d bent when I’d fallen.
“Berappa?” (How much?). I was
charged the local rate of £1 and felt
mean at paying so little until just
around the corner I found I still had
the noise and the speedometer didn’t
work at all. The grinding, whirring
noise now seemed to be coming from
the clutch case.
Having been travelling for some
time I’d learned that a solution will
always manifest itself so wasn’t sur-
prised when later, a man on a motor-
bike led me, as if he knew I needed
one, to his mechanic. This mysteri-
ous man immediately pounced on
the clutch case and within the hour
had made a metal device which would
stop all four studs holding on the
clutch pressure plate from loosening
again which had been the problem. I
thought he must be divine and didn’t
mind paying rather more than £1 for
the job. He also mended the speed-
ometer by fashioning a sleeve for the
cable end from a piece of tin. The
wonderful thing about Enfields is that
they keep going after impromptu re-
pair jobs. To celebrate, a good meal
was called for but all I could find was
some tough black leathery pigs’ ears
in a congealed sauce with dried up
rice.
Indonesian food is usually delicious
but I craved some vegetables and as I
was finding increasingly, whatever I
wished for would come my way. Soon
I came across a street party and was
immediately invited to join in. It was
a little boy’s circumcision party and
the eight year-old chap was seated on
a chair looking as if he wasn’t enjoy-
ing his party as much as I was with my
plastic plate full of fresh vegetables
and fruit.
Calm since leaving the boat I en-
joyed lazy days, tootling along enjoy-
ing the views and sleeping in Javanese
guesthouses in pretty places knowing
TRAVERSE 91
my bike and I were safe.
Crossing over high ground, the tem-
perature dropped and the rain made
me grumpy but I found warmth and
comfort at a guesthouse in the hot
springs town of Cipanas. I’d bought
some cassettes to replace the ones
which had been stolen from the boat
and listened in bliss to Bach whilst
soaking in a large natural hot-spring
bath in my room’s adjoining private
spa and felt the luckiest person alive.
What a difference a few hours can
make.
Nearing the south coast, I was told
of a beach where turtles come at night
to lay their eggs. Its location was
known to only a few and I decided to
take the short-cut route. Not since
the valleys of Northern Pakistan had I
had such a rough, tough ride. All day I
took footpaths through jungle, crossed
sandy gullies and rode through rivers.
The track got worse the further I went,
ending in a steep, sharp rocky path
where I feared the tyres would be cut to