A Barney in Bali--Day 13, 20JUNE2011 MON

The Bukit:


    After last night’s dinner I am so tired. I come back, get ready for bed, and rack out. I wake up at 0521 to the normal routine. I hear Randy outside. Over tea, we discuss the plan of action; we’re going to the Bukit. We go over road march procedures and even open up the map to give me an idea on where we’re going.
   
    At about 0600 the bikes are loaded, and we’re on the road. Traffic is light enough in the early morning, so I’m not clenching quite yet. I’m at full throttle next to Randy.

    He asks, “Do you want Dunkin’ Donuts!?”

    “Nah, let’s keep goin’!”

    I’m so worried about driving that I ain’t stopping for shit. When we drive off of the main highway the drive becomes breathtaking. I know that the Canggu Stretch has it’s beauty with the mountains in the background, hills, and rice fields, but the Bukit has it’s unique beauty as well. There are less shops, and the feeling is quite removed from the other towns that I’ve been to. It’s hilly, the road narrows, houses are spread far apart, there are a lot of curves, and there are stretches of isolation without a sign of development.

     The sights, the air, the lush vegetation, everything just strikes my senses at once. I can’t help but smile. I’m so happy that I’m actually GAY until we park. There’s a sign that says we need to pay for parking, but the lady opening her snack stand doesn’t mind our presence, and the guy tending to his cows doesn’t acknowledge us. Randy rushes; I follow his lead.




Balangan:

Balangan

     There are stairs that lead down to the beach. The first thing I see is the calm ocean. It looks dead flat. There is a cliff to our right. Once we walk down further, we see the other cliff to our south where the left hand breaks are. Thank the Lord, it’s not too big; I’m not gonna get my ass handed to me. I’d call it a Bali three feet, but the sections are fast and hollow. It’s Randy’s first time here too, so it’s a new experience for both of us.

    There are about four warungs lining the shore, and they’re pretty empty. Also, the line up isn’t jam packed. Randy leads us into one of the Warungs. He speaks Indonesian to the friendly host and organizes a place to store our stuff.

    “You want some Balinese coffee?” Randy asks.

    “Yeah, sure, why not?”

    How can’t it, this place is amazing. The warung has seats facing the ocean; we have front row seats to nature’s spectacular showing of wondrous waves breaking over the reef before us. We “oooh” and “aaah” to guys getting pinched in the barrel and shoulders that slow down for decent rides.

    “It’s fast,” says Randy.


    Yes, it’s fast . . . fast and gorgeous. I’m not intimidated by the size; I feel confident. Randy goes on to say that he knows he’s been pushing me a lot, so he wants me to have fun and surf any part of the break. I know he truly wants what’s best for me; I have an awesome brother.


    We chug down the coffee and take our time to get to the line up. I’m so stoked that I can’t get out there fast enough. The tide is low, so the reef is a bitch. Randy sets out ahead of me while I pause to snap a couple photos. I do my morning rituals and ask for protection and safety for the both of us.

    The reef dance is brutal. After all my reef mishaps, I respect it so much that every step is cautiously placed. Randy’s already in deep water; I get knocked down a couple times by the whitewash. I’m off balance and the process takes me forever. I’m knocked down again in thigh deep water, I jump on my board, and I paddle. I know the reef is shallow, so I paddle over the next two waves. I’m practicing a shallower paddle, so I can’t feel the reef. I figure it’s safe to do a shallow duckdive under the next onslaught of whitewater, so I gently push the nose of my board down. Immediately, I feel the hard, sharp reef across the middle knuckles of both middle and ring fingers; it was like grating cheese. It hurts. I’m shocked that the water got even shallower; I wasn’t even over a foot of water. I look at my fingers, I know I’m cut, but the bleeding hasn’t started. Never again, I think to myself.

    I’m at the line up examining the damage. It’s a small price to pay to be where I’m at; I’m still stoked. Randy’s sitting at the top of the wave, I’m in the middle, and a lot of people are spread out. These waves are nothing but lefts; a goofy footer’s dream. I try to paddle for a couple waves, but someone’s on my inside every time. I sit, wait, and grasp my rails, but something feels funny. I feel a dent underneath the left side. I feel further, and there are two gashes under my board on each side. Initially I’m in denial, but it’s plain obvious: my session‘s over.

    I don’t even flip my board over to look. I feel it, the damage is through the glassing and into the board. Water’s getting in, the longer I sit, the more it becomes water logged. A new set of emotions overwhelm me--no more stoke. If you can imagine, it’s another classic Bali Barney moment when I’m cursing myself. I hate myself all over again and can’t believe how fucking stupid I am. I think about the drive . . . that long drive to get to Balangan. All that just to split open my board on the reef before my session officially starts. Fuckin stupid ass motherfuckin’ idiot!!!!!!!! No one is to blame but myself. I float in the line up in self contempt.

    One wave, that’s what I tell myself. I need to at least catch one wave, and then I’ll paddle back in. I have to, it’s my only board, and the longer I sit the more damage I do. I look at the top of the wave, Randy, pulls in, and tucks into a barrel. One-one thousand, two-one thousand . . . his composure is so calm. He’s in the eye, still as stone, time slows down. It’s one of those impossible and fast sections that inevitably closes out, but he still goes for it. The barrel whacks him on the head on the third second, and he gets pinched. Another wave comes, the guy on my inside doesn’t want it, so I go for it. No, it’s not like my brother’s ride. I survive the drop, pump, but the wave is closing. I jump ship. I paddle all the way to the channel and ride the white wash. I shove my board into the sand to create some shade. I have more time to think about the unexpected turn of events.

    Much later, I see Randy paddling in front of me; he’s looking for me. He catches a wave and sees me as he comes off of it. He gets out of the water.

    “How long you been out here?” He asks.

    I tell him my story. Surprisingly, he’s nonchalant about it.

    “Eh, it happens,” He says. “You’re not used to surfing reef. I’ve done it too in Hawaii.” He pulls the board out of the sand, wipes it off, and assesses the damages. “Nah, that’s minor. No worries. It’ll be fixed by tomorrow.”

    Randy’s light mood about the situation calms me down. I’m not so sad anymore, and I try to move on with the rest of the morning. We go back to the Warung and Randy orders us two coconuts. A couple chops of the worker’s machete, and we got coconuts with straws in them. We drink, watch the waves, comment on the rising tide and how Balangan is set up so well. I grab a spoon and start eating the scooping out the green coconut’s yummy goodness. It has the consistency of egg whites.

   
    “They don’t like to eat the coconut when it’s dead,“ says Randy. “They think it’s gross.“

    Despite my Barney incident, it’s a good brotherly moment. Here we are at this beautiful place, led here by surfing; I’ll never forget it.

    We walk back to the bikes, and two local guys are right by the sign that says we have to pay. Randy and I smile, but these guys aren’t. We don’t say anything. Randy’s in a rush again, so I follow behind him. He tells me later that if we started small talk, they would’ve asked us to pay.


The Daily Ass Clenching:


    I need to drop off my board for repairs, the homie Kadek is the man for the job, and he’s at the Big Kahuna surf school in the surf ghetto. The calm drive of the morning is over, and the drive back is met by exhaust, honking, gridlock, swarms of bikes like ants, huge trucks and busses stationed liked buildings, and most of all . . . fear. I do my best to follow Randy. He drives on the shoulder; I follow. He drives against oncoming traffic. I let out an “Oh fuck!”, but I follow.

    We get off the main highway and drive through Kuta. I made it! I think to myself. I show Kadek my board, he says it’s no problem, and he can fix it himself. Mission two, we drive to get a loaner board. The surf ghetto is packed. Randy drives on the sidewalk, and I do my best not to endanger myself or the people around me. I lose him, I almost get smashed between a large truck and a street sign. I race through an intersection, and my front surf rack grazes a Toyota Yaris. If I was that driver I’d be pissed, but luckily the rack is cushioned. I’m knocked off balance but miraculously survive. I think about the similarities of riding in the street and surfing. I have to draw the right lines or eat shit.    

    I’m offered a fish, a 6’6, or a board that belongs to our friend from Maui. It’s a 6’3 with some kind of channel technology underneath it; I grab it.

    Now I’m in the internet café, it’s 2042, and I should be getting back. What a day.