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.

A Barney in Bali--Day 12 (double sesh), 19JUNE2011 SUN

 Me VS Bali Traffic:


    Randy lines up his connections for me to rent a moped, but it’s in Kuta: the surf ghetto. Trust me, this place makes Venice Beach look like Brentwood. I hop on the back of his bike, and he gives me another tour showing me where all the bars are.

    “This is where it’s happening at night,” says Randy.

    I really wouldn’t mind checking it out, but I’m on some TB meds for nine months in which I am to stay away from alcohol at all costs. Clubs and bars aren’t really my thing nowadays anyway.

    We get to Big Kahuna surf school where all the homies work. Kadek greets us, and we find the guy who rents the mopeds. It only comes out to a couple bucks a day. The moped is a piece of shit, but it’s an automatic, and it will get me where I want to go (hopefully).

    Now I follow Randy through traffic, and I lose him because I’m too slow. He makes a right turn which I don’t see because a truck obstructs my view. I make the right turn late, as a couple cars honk to my unexpected action. Later, he makes another right turn, but I miss the opportunity gap. I forget to put my signal on, and just as I turn, a taxi has to brake to prevent a collision. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! I think we all reach a point where we question if there is a higher power, but in situations like this, when you know for sure that your ass should’ve been toast, you can’t help but thank someone or something for saving you.


One More Time:


    It’s about 1400, and we arrive home. No, Randy arrives home. Me? I’m ready to kiss the ground for the fact that I survived the ride. The Bukit is now out of the question because the traffic will probably cause me to have a mental breakdown. No more riding on the back of Randy’s bike; it’s time for me to learn how to get myself around this place. The options are Canggu now at mid tide, or Canggu after the high tide drops. We both had a shitty morning session, and I know that I’d like to end the day’s surf on a better note, so we head out.


    I’ve been there enough to know how to get there. The whole time on the back of the bike I’ve tried to remember shops and landmarks to know my way around. Randy leaves me in the dust again, and I’m trying to adjust riding with a surfboard attached. I can’t see him anymore, but I’m confident that I’m on the right track. I see a sign that reads “aqua.” I think to myself, Yes, I’ve seen that sign before, it’s familiar, I’m on the right track. The road I’m on keeps going and going, and next thing you know I’m in a crowded intersection that I’ve never seen. Fuck my ass. I turn around. I turn around a couple times. I realize that I must backtrack to the beginning of the road. When I get to our usual parking space by the cows, Randy is standing their waiting.

    “What happened?” he says.

    “Oh, I missed a critical turn, but I made it!”

G-string 4 da boys.

     He paddles out in front of the sand bar while I prep my gear. The wind is strong in the afternoon, and the sand bar is washy just like it was in the morning. This is not a day of ideal surf conditions, but we’re frothing for waves.

    I skip my usual pre-surf ritual for the first time since I started doing it. I tell myself that no one, not even God, or Mother Ocean herself can improve my surfing, only me, so I skip the theatrics.

    Randy gets his usual wave count. I catch a left that closes out, get worked on the inside, and then spend a lot of time fighting the current after that. It’s hard to stay in position the whole session. On top of the current, there is a rip pulling everyone out too.

    An Aussie family is in the line up: A father, two daughters, and two sons. Their youngest son, who probably weighs barely a hundred pounds, takes a wave at the peak. Randy goes next and takes a set wave. A body boarder lets out a hoot to acknowledge his wave. I watch the back of it waiting to see the spray, but there’s nothing. Then I see Randy on the inside holding up something. It’s the other half of his board.

    During my pre-surf ritual I pray for the safety of others I am surfing with. I feel a little guilty now for not doing it, or it could just be a mere coincidence what happened to Randy’s board. Sign? Now I’m in the line up scratching for a wave to end the session. The spot has good lefts, but a right hand shoulder surprisingly forms. I don’t expect much from it, but I take off anyway. It actually holds shape, but it starts to wall up. I set up for a sharp bottom turn, baby kiss the lip, and ride the whitewash to shore.

    Randy says that his wave started to curl over the shallow water, the nose purled, and he had a feeling that the board would give. His 5’11 Patterson will be repaired and sold to its future owner. It’s only the third time that Randy has had a board break under him ever.

    I’m not really satisfied with the day’s surf, but not everyday is guaranteed to be good, even on the North Shore and even in Bali. I’m just grateful for being in the water so much.


A Surf Tourist:

    I don’t get lost on the ride back. To no surprise, Randy leaves me in the dust again, or should I say I lose him because I am so slow. Despite the separation, I find my way home. It’s actually exhilarating to ride in the streets. I was spoiled with my brother, but now I fend for myself, and I enjoy the sense of adventure and accomplishment to successfully make it home unharmed.



    We go out to an Indonesian place for dinner, in town. I struggle to keep pace with Randy, but we somewhat make it there at the same time. The ambience is that of a top end lounge. It’s right on the street, and the interior is quite modern. I order an appetizer (fried egg omelet type thingy), a salad (vegetables and tofu with peanut sauce), a main course (beef with potatoes and rice), and a water. Randy convinces me to try the Indonesian spices because they are good for back pain, but I find myself sweating profusely half way through the meal.


 
     Randy leaves with his plate for Jessica, but he tells me to stay behind and take my time. I order a dessert which has fried cassava with coconut shavings and brown sugar on top. I also order a scoop of vanilla ice cream with that. To top things off, I order a Bali chocolate coffee. I’m so stuffed that I have to take a shit at the restaurant before my dessert arrives. I eat, take my time, and people watch, as the restaurant has an open air view to nightlife and traffic. My bill comes out to 96,000 Indonesian Rupiah, which is $11.21 USD. Anyone that knows me knows that I love food. I always wanted to go to a country where the dollar goes a long way and just SPLURGE!





     Traffic is light, I think about going for an evening cruise, but my stomach is so full that I figure it best to just head back. The $2/day moped rental is a blessing. My Bali adventure has expanded outside of the water and into the streets. It should be an interesting

A Barney in Bali--Day 12, 19JUNE2011 SUN

My writing haven: 24 hr. chat cafe, Cappuccino with a scoop of vanilla.

 
Return of the Ass Clencher:



    As I’ve mentioned before, the internet here is pretty slow. I had a hard time chatting with my girlfriend on line, so in a fit of frustration I headed out the door, on foot, to find an internet café.

    Randy stopped me and said, “Just take my bike.”

    Jessica said, “Should we give him one of our phones?”

    “Nah, he’ll be all right,” Randy replied.

    There are men in this world . . . real men, men of action! And I’m not one of them. No, I’m Mr. Cautious. Before venturing out on his bike I should have had not only my brother’s phone number, but his address, a prepaid phone, a preplotted map marking my destination and return route, a piece of paper with useful Indonesian phrases, and the phone numbers of all the emergency agencies I need. But in this case, I took his keys and jumped on the bike without all of the above. Back home I have a two stroke Yamaha YZ125 that I ride in the desert with my dirtbike buddy Sebastian. I would learn that riding in the desert and a third world country are totally different.

    Not used to a four stroke, I was really slow at letting out the clutch and gave too much gas, but I got it moving. Okay, left side of the road, left side of the road, think left side of the road, I thought. The chat café was literally just a couple blocks away, but the major intersection was unavoidable. Taking precaution, I didn’t drive too fast in the neighborhood. I must’ve looked weak and afraid because a dog on the side of the dirt road started barking. I looked back, and the little fucker was chasing me. What the fuck? So far for driving slow, I thought. I picked up my foot to make sure I wouldn’t catch rabies and made the left turn onto the street. Shifting gears, worrying about traffic, using my turn signals, keeping appropriate speed, and maneuvering between vehicles was a bit much to take in on a Saturday night. When the light turned green, I made the right turn and parked at the Chat Café.

    It was my first time on my own since being here, and the freedom was refreshing. The place was modern and westernized. I sat in a comfy leather couch and logged on. Wifi . . . such a creature luxury, but gawd damn do I love it. Internet so fast, the pages loaded faster than I could dig my asshole. Finally, I was able to chat with Lauren. I told her I had risked life and limb for our relationship.

    It was a pricey restaurant/café compared to the other places that my brother took me. I immediately splurged. I started with the chocolate shake (which did not pass American fatty standards), a mixed fruit smoothie, a cappuccino with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and a calamari appetizer. Total: $10. Yeah . . . expensive.


Vacation or Training Camp?:


    Last night my brother gave me the option on where to surf. It was either going to be the Bukit or Canggu again. He made the dilemma clear to me. One, the Bukit would be big. The swell was forecasted around 8 ft. with 15 sec. periods. He made it clear that if the Bukit is big, I may find myself in a bad situation over the reef. Waves at the Bukit stand up really fast. He also said, we could surf Canggu where it won’t be as bad, but at the same time the Bukit would get me out of my comfort zone. What’s a Barney in my shoes supposed to say? I’ve already had the reality check to know that my surfing is not up to Bali standards. Eight feet and reef, I thought. I also didn’t want to disappoint my brother, as anyone that’s a “younger brother” could understand. I told him I’d do the Bukit.

    He said, “All right, but it’s a long drive. If I paddle out, you’re gonna have to paddle out too.”

    He gave me that stern facial expression: no smile, serious as a heart attack, and straight. It immediately sent me back through time to my high school days; I was sixteen again. He would come home from college, throw on the boxing gloves, and knock me around the garage until my grandma would come down asking us what all the noise was about. “If I paddle out, you’re gonna have to paddle out too” is what he said. Last night I had the worst sleep since I’ve been here. I thought to myself, did I come here to have fun or to have this kind of pressure on me?


Inaccurate Forecast:


    Because of the tide, we choose to surf The Gu so we could check out the Bukit around noon. When we get there, we see the end of a big set roll through. After that, the sets are about the average size for that place. It’s definitely not eight feet. For Bali scale, it’s four at the most. The break in front of the Warung has lefts with barreling sections that appears on the good waves, but it‘s getting crowded, and it is just “one left“ that everyone is fighting over. The sand bar in front of us has a left hand barreling section also, but it’s less consistent. Since the sand bar has two peaks that randomly work, I tell Randy that I’m willing to surf there.

    I practice kicking my feet while paddling for waves. This morning it feels much smoother. I actually catch a left at the peak, but it’s walling up fast. I pump down the line until it closes out. If it barreled, there was no exit route. Randy watches me scratch out on another wave.

    He says, “You’re getting your rhythm down.”

    “Yeah, I feel like paddling at the surface while kicking seems to help.”

    The morning session is just over an hour, and I can’t even recall if I got more than that one wave. No rides this morning are remarkable, but that’s most likely my fault of course.
   
Effort:

    Back at the bikes, Randy tells me that he’s watched my paddling, and that I’ve been doing it wrong. He says that I paddle like I’m swimming. He’s in fact right, I do. No one’s ever told me that I’m doing it wrong. It feels good when I do it, so I don’t know any better. He says he’s seen this for some time. Well . . . now I know.

    Randy also asks me about my duckdiving, and how he notices that I’m caught on the inside a lot. This is true. I’ve always written about my duckdiving problems, and it still is a problem. What I do is use my foot to push on the tail. Randy tells me to use my knee instead. I’ve tried this, and I just can’t get it down; I feel as if I have no leverage.

    At this point, we are both frustrated. Not only am I frustrated with my own lack of abilities, but now I must see my brother get frustrated over my lack of abilities as well. He says that I don’t follow his advice, but I tell him I truly am trying.

    He brings up options on where to surf the afternoon. I tell him I don’t want to, and that I just want to get a moped rental and do my own thing.

    I’ll leave out the details of the conversation that followed. This is obviously getting into a personal realm. I appreciate how he tries to push me to surf better, but this is my first time here. I don’t know. I guess I sound like a fucking bitch right now, but fuck . . . it’s Bali. It’s not easy out here, but I guess I’m not trying hard enough. I guess all my wipeouts, eating shit over the reef, and getting caught on the inside means that I’m not trying.

    I just want to hit the reset button. All I want is to have fun by catching fun waves, even if they are small.