Kuta Lombok to Bima Sumbawa and return.

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In June this year I set out for Flores and beyond, but as things transpired, unforseen circumstances intervened and I had to be satisfied with a much truncated trip.
I set off a couple of days after we arrived in Kuta. My KLX had been serviced at Ryun Motors and was running sweetly.
I motored out of the yard and headed east, past the Mandalika Moto GP circuit, on the road to Awang.

It wasn't long before I was out in the countryside, the quiet road snaking its way between fields of tobacco and corn.

Awang is a small port - a backwater really and as such a back door entry point for - whatever. The road turns here and hugs the coast. In quick succession I crossed three river estuaries each spanned by a solid triangulated girder bridge. Crocodiles had recently appeared in this area after an absence of many years. Just as well swimming is not a popular pastime among the locals

After a leisurely two hour ride via Tanjung Luar, Labuanhaji, Tanjung, Koreleko and Pringabaya I reached Labuhan Kayangan, the Port of Heaven, from which the ASDP ferry to Poto Tano in Sumbawa, departed

To be continued

 

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I love Indonesian ferries. They are absolutely vital infrastucture that helps stitch together the world's largest archipelago. If you lose your passport as a result of a maritime disaster, your replacement comes at a substantial discount if you're an Indonesian citizen. What could be fairer than that? Besides that, you stand a much better chance of surviving a ferry capsize compared to a plane crash. On Malaysian Airlines the flight mag has "Prayers for a Safe Flight" pitched to the adherents of the world's major religions - feeling confident are we?

Ferry trips give you an up close view of the lives of everyday Indonesiams. Families returning home after visiting relatives, small traders hauling goods by motorbike, truck drivers taking their island's produce to market, students coming and going to university, young people seeking work in Lombok and Bali - and on it goes.

There is a canteen selling coffee, pop mie, snacks and dhurries. There's always a video going, music blaring and sometimes buskers or a blind singer doing his best to get by. Have you ever heard someone flapping their gums about what an interesting flight they had whilstt on holiday?

 

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The crossing to Sumbàwa takes just 90 minutes. I always find a spot out in the breeze to enjoy the view as we glide by rocky, barren islets of varying shape and hue

Poto Tano, the gateway to Sumbawa if your heading east, used to be a speck on the map but I've seen it grow over the years - it now has an Alfamart. I'm not sure if that's a sign of progress or just another example of corporatisation obliterating everything in its path. Alfamarts and other chain stores are EVERYWHERE now. Small Mum and Dad retail businesses can't compete when there is a nearby ashphalted road that delivery trucks can access easily.

 

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It was a great feeling to cruise out of the ferry's guts and have my front tyre kiss Sumbawa's bitumen again. The sun shone brightly and the fishing boats bobbed on the tranquil bay . I was headed for Homestay Agal, in Alas - about an hour's ride west. Here's the sunset as seen from Agal Homestay.

 

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At Agal I re-aquainted myself with the very gracious manager, Agnes Amelia. Spotless, large rooms, excellent facilities, friendly staff, excellent breakfast - all boxes ticked. I noticed a bolt missing from my luggage carrier so a staff member located some wire to effect a temporary repair so I could get on my way without futher delay.

Next stop was Lesehan Teluk Santong for ikan bakar - barbequed fish. I'd been stopping by since 2008. Back then it was just three berugaks (pavillions), sitting on concrete stumps whilst being caressed by the warm waters of Salleh Bay - now there are fourteen, but the food quality and service is still first class.

 

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At Teluk Santong, I met up with a couple of intrepid Australian riders, Ron and Melissa, who'd piloted hired bikes from Bali to the Timor Leste border, and were on their way back west. They'd visited lots of islands, including Pantar. It would not surprise me to learn that they were the first foreign riders to do so - well done Ron and Melissa.

 

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I bade goodbye to Ron and Melissa and at this stage my plan was to ride over to Flored. I figured I'd make for Bima and hoped to get there before nightfall. But it was already nearly two in tbe afternoon, so I knew it was going to be a close run thing.
After passing through Empang you reach a spot which is now home to a thriving " swimming with whale sharks" excursion. After that the road begins to climb high above Salleh Bay and you get this:

And this:

 

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Years back, the above spot, known as Nangga Tumpuh, was notorious for landslides: it was always deserted. Nowadays, enterprising traders have set up and you can refresh yourself with coffee, roasted corn, bakso and assorted snacks. I took a short break before motoring down the sweeping bends that lead to the Soriutu valley:. Turn left, at the tee-intersection in town and you head to the Tambora Peninsula, its brooding volcano usually breathing quietly behind a blanket of cloud: turn right and you head to Dompu and Bima. As a result of Tambora's tremendous 1815 eruption, the land in this part of Sumbawa is super fertile and this below

is typical of the scenery encountered.

 

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It was a great feeling to cruise out of the ferry's guts and have my front tyre kiss Sumbawa's bitumen again. The sun shone brightly and the fishing boats bobbed on the tranquil bay . I was headed for Homestay Agal, in Alas - about an hour's ride west. Here's the sunset as seen from Agal Homestay.View attachment 94788

That should read "about an hour's ride east"

 

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Dompu and Bima Regencies are the most populated area of Sumbawa so traffic was noticeably heavier and more commercial in nature - lots of vans and black smoke-belching trucks. Calculating passing moves to avoid being engulfed by oily black smoke is an inexact science!

Bima Bay

 

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The afternoon wore on and I realised that, with the traffic on the winding road that cut its way through the hills beyond Dompu and cut through busy market towns like Sila, I was going to run out of daylight for sure.
It was then that I remembered a hotel on the shore of Bima Bay, about 20 minutes before the town proper. I couldn't remember its name so pulled over to check Google maps. A minutes search, in rapidly fading light, threw up the name, "Kalaki Beach Hotel": it was just 25 minutes away.
By the time I spotted it, darkness had set in. I rode up the incredibly steep and rutted roadway to the reception. The place looked deserted. I called out and the manager, Amir, appeared. There were plenty of rooms and no guests. If it had water and a bed that was all I needed.

 

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Amir lead me from reception and, via the very steep drive, we reached a two storey block of rooms. We entered a dimly lit corridor. I got the impression that Amir was trying to remember which room had been made ready to receive an occupant.

The selected room was qunitessential basic. Small, single bed, wheezing A/C unit. Crustations of mineral deposits clung to the fittings in the dimly lit, brown-tiled bathroom. The water pressure was adequate and the toilet seat was broken but I'd stayed in worse digs over the years

Bay by Night.

Kalaki Beach Hotel is quite isolated so unless you have your own wheels eating becomes a problem. But not for me. I remembered from previous trips that there were a string of eateries fronting the bay closer to town . A few kilometres away a pulled up outside the only one open - Monday night in Bima is obviously very quiet.

The only couple there had just finished their meal, so I ate alone. My ikan bakar was sensational. The fish was succulent, the flesh infused with the most piquaint of spice mixes - I suckef the bones dry.

The husband and wife team operating this little sliver of paradise hailed from Banjuwangi in East Java. They were delightful people and I really look forwatd to seeing them again.

Small trader aboard the Lombok Sumbawa ferry.

 

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When I returned to my digs I parked up outside the well lit reception area then trudged up the steep drive to my room. I never saw a soul. Using my phone torch, I located my room, showered and crashed. I'd only just entered the street of dreams when my phone rang. It was my wife with the news that her charter flight to Saudi Arabia had been brought forward and she would be leaving in ten days time. So the die was cast. Flores would have to wait. I'd head back across Sumbawa to see her depart.

Anyone for a banana?

 

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Next morning I rose early to tell Amir I would be off. It was still dark. Rather than lug my gear down to reception, I thought I'd ride up to the next level. Amir saved my bacon. Not thinking straight, I fired up the bike and set off. Steep incline, cold engine, travelled 5 metres and stalled! Slippery, wet driveway, brakes locked up and I was sliding backwards at an uncomfortably rapid rate. I managed to keep the bike upright and a quick thinking Amir, - much more quick thinking than me! - raced down from above, got behind the bike and arrested the slide. - heroism is not confined to the battlefield. Thanks Amir.

You can travel from Jakarta to Bima in luxury these days. How things have changed since the 1970s.

 

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I was back riding west along the corniche that girdles Bima Bay. Slicing through the cool morning air, I devised a plan. I'd make for Sila, then turn right and meander through the Dou Donggo highlands before finding a path back to the main highway just shy of Dompu.

Fishing boats in Sspe Harbour.

 

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I filled up before reaching Sila then took a right. The road was good then pitted, bumpy then smooth - a classic secondary road. I passed through tiny hamlets, saw lines of smartly uniformed kids marching to school and observed shopkeepers sweeping their steps. At Bajo village I swung a left. The road headed srraight west into the highlands.

On the road to the highlands.

 

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I hadn't eaten breakfast. There were no eateries in the hamlets I passed through. It began to rain. I spotted a tiny shop sporting a display case full of donuts and assorted snacks. Nirvana! I was soon seated before a plate of delicacies and a steaming black coffee. Bliss!

 

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It wasn't long before a small crowd of locals gathered. The Dou Donggo, (hill people) speak an archaic form of Bimanese. They maintained their traditional beliefs called "Makamba Makimbi" intact until the 1950s when Government policy insisted that citizens adopt an official religion - strange but true. So Catholic and Protestant missionaries and Muslim Imams set to work to gather up souls. My coffee shops companions were keen to emphasize that they all got along harmoniously in their little enclave tucked away in the hills.

I asked about a German priest who had been living in the atea for years but was told "he has gone to God." I saw a couple of large churches both Protestant and Catholic. Later, I spoke with one young man whose fathet was a Catholic from Flores. He confirmed the views of my coffee shop companions

In Dou Donggo land.

 

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The ride back down to the highway was very pleasant - undulating hills, green valleys, fertile fields. Before long I was back on the highway. I managed to locate the turn to by pass most of Dompu town and after a sweeping upwards climb I pulled up at Nangga Tumpuh again for a break - and the view!

I got going again. I reached Teluk Santong for a late lunch - barbequed fish with lalapan (cabbage leaf, runner beans and eggplant) and tempe (soya bean). I was surprised to see the walk ways between the berugaks under water. No such thing as sea rise - just ask any politician or coal mining magnate.

At Lesehan Teluk Santong.

 

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I fired up the bike again. My plan was to spend the night in Sumbawa Besar at a new homestay I was yet to visit. Just shy of SB, I took a right that would take me close to my destination which was tucked away in a housing development. The narrow road became increasingly busy as I approaced the city proper. Traffic was bumper to bumper. And then my clutch cable broke. There was no where to pull over, so I kept moving making cluthless changes. But then I came to a major intersection where I had stop. Fortunately, I managed to find neutral so was able to push the bike across the intersection.

I took a look at the problem and, to my surprise , discovered the cable wasn't broken at all! The nipple had somehow managed to escape from the clutch actuating arm. With the help of a frienly local and my Leatherman tool I was able to re-attach the cable. A much larger pair of pliers appeared and the owner used them to close up the gap in the slot - enough to prevent any further disengagement. In Indonesia help is never far away.

Islamic Centre between Bima and Sila.

 

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Bis Homestay was a winner It had a large coutyard where I could do some routine maintenance. The room was spacious and clean, the bed was comfortable and the neighbourhood was quiet and residential. There were no eating options, apart from an Alfamart, within walking distance, so I set off to find sustenance.
A few kilometres distant a found "Bakso Level up". These lovelies were a lot of fun. The food was excellent too.

 

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After a good night's sleep and a decent breakfast, I was motoring out of the gate to commence the ride to Sekongkang in Sumbawa's S-W corner.
The ride to the south coast takes you across the island's spine via the Lunyuk River valley. It is just superb.

On the way to Lunyuk.

 

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On the outskirts of Lunyuk township I stopped and had lunch with these lovely people.

 

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The ride from Lunyuk to Sekongkang is spectacular - cultivated Garden of Eden, towering forest, deep river gorges and wilc coastline

 

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I spent a few days relaxing by the beach in Sekongkang before making my way back to Lombok via Kertasari and the coast road. Next year I shall return and travel as far east as possible. There are roads I want to travel , sights I want to see, beaches I want to walk and people I want to meet.

 

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Outside the entrance to Poto Tano ferry port I met these three legends reconditioning the gearbox on this inter- city bus. They'd come out from Bima, 260km east, with all the necessary and had been working for three days under a hot sun to get the job done. Shorts, flip flops and resilliance carry the day - every time. Respect.