Malang to Surabaya: The train it is

Monday May 18, 2009, 5 km (3 miles) – Total so far: 232 km (144 miles)

On this our second last day of the trip, we had 4 options to get to to Surabaya city where would catch our flight back home the day after. Frankly I haven’t really figured out the best way to do this till today. Sometimes the best thing to do was to let things be. We had the whole day to get to Surabaya. Question was how much did we want to ride and tolerate a traffic choked highway? And how much would the alternatives of a minivan, taxi, bus or train cost?

The train was the fastest, if not the cheapest. Rp 4500 / 45 cents for the human and Rp 5000 / 50 cents for the bike. 2.5 hrs to cover 90 kms. Funny how the bicycle is held in higher regard. These were the official prices and we were issued tickets for both.

Paul thought that this was very unlike me, leaving things to the last minute. In fact, he was quite miffed at my lack of interest in finding a way to Surabaya. After checking out, I rode a slow 9 kmp/h only to stop at the Tugu Hotel to use it’s 5 star bathroom on the way to the station. Miffed or not, when the porcelain bus comes a calling, the GPS in my head and cramps in the bowels both locked on to the Tugu instantly.

Relieved, I came out to find Paul still clipped into his pedals and waiting to take off on a 2 minute time trial to the station. We still had 20 minutes to spare and it was great that today was a day for the solutions to find me.

Siti (bless her heart) at the City Hub Hotel checked and gave me the train schedules within 10 minutes of me asking, handled all our phone messages the past 2 days, and stepped out to bid us goodbye this morning. What a gem, all of 18 years old, who has 12 hour working days.

I had reservations for a nice final hotel stay in Indonesia’s 2nd largest city. It would be nice to get there early and get to see some of Surabaya. Paul agreed wholeheartedly when I mentioned ‘bike shop, bike box’ as a pre dinner activity.

Surprisingly spotless station at Malang

It turned out that taking the train was the best option. While it was not the Orient Express, it seemed to be passing the traffic choked roads into this city of 3 million people at warp speed. Then the rains started and there was a rush to close the windows resulting in more suffocation, as you know when the temperatures dip a little all the manly folk will light up. Not that they weren’t lighted up before.

The cast of notable characters on the ride, besides ourselves, were a karaoke man, a couple of teen MC Hammer wannabes, the one legged guy and an endless stream of hawkers peddling snacks, drinks, soft toys, school notebooks (the battery-less kind) and newspapers.

Even before the train pulled out of Malang Station, the karaoke man was jostling for space with our bicycles. Set up a speaker, plugged in a mike and started his rendition of squealing whatever. Some hawkers would place their wares on your lap and walk away, a soft sell tactic. They would then return and collect whatever they could not sell. The most interesting item was a honey bee (bees intact) male enhancement potion in a dirty bottle. The label had a woman with a big smile on her face. No sale. The snack peddlers had consistent sales throughout, but the one legged guy collected the most in one fell swoop and sat out side the reeking toilet to tally his takings.

We got out at the end of the line, Kota Semut (City of Ants, I wonder why?) Station, and out into a mass of people, rickshaws, motorcycles, and everything else from 2 to 16 wheels with well working horns. Amazingly the Ibis Hotel was a mere 2 kms away. I recognised it’s pink 10 storey ‘tower’ through the drizzle and we rode a very wet riverside road to get there. Locked the bikes in the employees parking zone and checked in with dripping panniers. Once we acquire the bike boxes this evening, the bikes will be stealthily rescued from their basement prison, brought up by the rear cargo lifts and snuck into our rooms to be packed in carpeted, air conditioned comfort. I know of no other way.

The rain came down in buckets again at dinner time. So much for eating at the open air food carts that throng the main road at Chinatown. There were none. We had a good recommendation from the Graha Sepeda bike shop for a nearby eatery before heading back across town in a taxi to our hotel.

With my bike safely cocooned in cardboard, I headed out at 11 pm to walk the wet streets in search of dinner # 2. The pickings were slim but I managed to find a Muslim noodle stall that was still open. There was a line of taxis parked nearby, a sign that the food must be good or cheap. They were both. 55 cents a bowl plus steaming hot Java coffee. Incredible.

Hauntingly wet in Surabaya's Chinatown

The Sunday Ride: Out with the big boys

Sunday May 17, 2009, 55 km (34 miles) – Total so far: 227 km (141 miles)

We got up bright and early this Sunday, as I knew the Ijen Cycling Club riders will have some sort of a ride going on. 2 organised rides a month and they still haven’t covered all the trails aronud their town. Depending on your perspective, that’s a good thing. Word of mouth from some cyclists on the road did help too. To be doubly sure, I went down to the Semeru Bike Centre, tapped my friend Amien on the shoulder and almost gave him a heart attack. ‘”You again….when did you arrive??” We caught up after 6 years and over a few bottles of beer, way past the shop’s closing time.

Today’s ride was considered easy, over in a mere 3 hours, but for us city folk, it turned out to be a great sociable morning out with about 40 or so club members. It didn’t matter if one was riding, for a better term, a piece of crap or the best and the latest, dressed for a race or for the market, as the pictures show. Of late, the women cyclists have dwindled to a sad, zero. Afraid of the blazing sun and it’s effects, I’m told. That was my only complaint which I hope will be rectified soon, the lack of women, not the sun.

Goofing around before the start

A 45 km round trip along the flanks of the 2650 m high Mount Kawi just out of town. There was an easy route and a more difficult one which ended at the same place, an empty soccer field. Bringing up the rear was the club van, with dedicated bike and wheel racks, a whole lot of sweet snacks, the main meal of rice, chicken curry and slices of beef rendang, a spicy coconut infused slow cooked delicacy. 2 hot pots of coffee and tea. We gladly paid up our token Rp 20,000 / $2 fee for this ride.

The climbs began in earnest once we passed the city limits. Although still asphalt (the Indonesian term is rather cute, they call it ‘Hot Mix’ for obvious reasons) there were diversions through some remote villages where cobblestone paths then gave way to slick moistened volcanic earth. These were manageble in the middle ring but once the inclines got steeper, using the inner/granny ring proved futile. You would just loose all momentum and with front wheels sliding out and SPD pedals jamming up. Time to walk and enjoy the scenery of the cane plantaions and imposing cloud shrouded Mt Kawi around us.

When the mobile kitchen pulled up after 20 kms of riding, I took the cue from the others and plucked a giant palm leaf to sit on and set it on the ground next to my bike. The helmets came in handy as a deep bowl, just don’t spill any curry in it. The chicken and potatoes seemed over cooked. I figured that made it easier to digest and that was exactly the answer the caterer gave me. These guys don’t miss a thing.

After a 2 hour uphill slog, cold rice and chicken curry never tasted so good.

Might be getting too old for this cycling crap....

All too soon, the ride was over in 3 hours, then came the fast and tight downhill ride back to town. Everyone was a bit cautious after that crash at the start. That caution lasted a whole 5 minutes, as the pack started to spread out, disappearing round bends at 40 – 50 kmp/h.

Paul and I stayed right at the back, no chance of being rear ended, though we started to overtake most of them, closer to town.

In the next fortnight, while I am typing this, is the real biggie. Malang to Bromo, an all day ride and the exact same route we did 2 days ago. Recalling all the downhills, that’s going to be almost 75 kms of absolute hill climbing with a surprise thrown in at the end, more climbing offroad in the last 10 kms.

Maybe I should do some research on long term rental rates for one of those old colonial villas in Malang.

Soon after a nice lunch, the heavens opened up again, what a drastic change from a few hours ago. High thread count cotton bed sheets, here I come………our 5 am mornings were starting to take their toll.

After dinner, we met up with one of the local riders who knew the ins and outs of Malang. We drove by some really rough parts of town in the dark and ended up at the local massage district. The kneading and plummeling matched those in Thailand, painful today but you’ll wake up with a new body tomorrow. I had a masseuse of similar weight (67 kgs) walk over my back, buttocks and legs, hanging onto a pipe over the bed. She managed to get rid of 95% of my aches and knots. What a sensational relief. I’ve been to many spas too, but somehow their forte lies in scents, scrubs, aromatherapy and landscaping. These no frill places which use recycled hospital beds and torn curtains have people with very skilled hands and feet. Another deal of the decade at Rp 35000 an hour. I slept for 9 straight hours that night.

Malang: Camera trigger happy

Saturday May 16, 2009, 25 km (16 miles) – Total so far: 172 km (107 miles)

A new hotel room at just $15 / Ro 150,000 a night

Malang is experiencing a revival of sorts. It’s common to hear the phrase, ‘Tempoe Doeloe’ really an old colonial way of spelling ‘Tempo Dulu’ which is ‘Old Tempo’ or ‘Times of Old’ Cities like Yogyakarta and Solo in Central Java have the same revivalist spirit going on. For the visitor, these are exciting times. Parades, town fairs, exhibitions of an era gone by are held a few times a year. I will miss one in Malang by just a few days. For us cyclists, I would have to time a trip when collectors of old bicycles and vintage cars take to the streets. The riders even play the part, dressed up in stiff cotton uniforms of the Dutch traffic wardens and policemen. To the real Dutchmen in decades past, this town with cool weather and clean air, was the Paris of Java.

In between breakfast and lunch, we cycled 20 odd kms in search of the local bicycle shops for Paul to brush off the dust from his Visa card. After gawking at suspension systems and endless Shimano stuff, I took off to see some old and new hotels, side streets, and generally try to take my mind of all things cycling related, for a few hours at least.

Malang's bird market, also has dog, cats, monkeys, poultry, rabbits, snakes, fish etc for sale

Wonokitri to Malang: It’s getting hotter already

Friday May 15, 2009, 75 km (47 miles) – Total so far: 147 km (91 miles)

Wonokitri

Lots of downhill riding and braking today. Almost 40 kms worth. To start off, a lot of climbing in and out off deep beautiful valleys before the road peaked high above Ngadiwono village. Then it’s a loooong downhill to Nongkojajar, passing through some very dense jungle, the last remaining bits of uninhabited forest on Bromo’s outer slopes. From Nongkojajar on, a winding but not too fast road runs 20 kms alongside apple orchards and cornfields as the elevation drops drastically. Having been used to 14 degree C nights the last 4 days, the humid lowlands were beginning to feel very sticky.

The last 20 kms into Malang was just pure highway hell, for cycling. So we got the works today. The good the bad and the ugly. Not to belabour the point, but if we did both Plans A and B at one go, yesterday, nerves will be frazzled.

Nothingness took a back seat on this, our last morning in the mountains. In it’s place were beautiful panoramas of the mountains and clear skies around Wonokitri. The place has prospered. Remnants of rusty zinc roofs 2 decades ago, while photogenic, have given way to remodeled homes of richer families whose members worked overseas or have benefited from tourism. While our room was small, we had the upstairs living room to lounge in and take in the views of the surrounding volcanoes of Arjuno and Penanggunan, slowly revealing their peaks as the sun burnt off the fog and mist.

Java has 27 live volcanoes, so many volcanoes, so little time, sigh.

the down hills are exhausting too

Paul has vanished into the hills, standing as usual. He just lives for these gravity challenging inclines. I do too, especially in the other direction. I catch up with him eventually, a dozen times, looking fully rested and sweat free, doing mundane stuff like tying his shoelaces or adjusting bungee cords. Thanks for waiting, man. Photography and sucking in fresh pine scented air is hard work too. We carry on again after I am mercifully given the usual 120 seconds to take a break. I pretend to take a leak again, buying some more minutes, to savour the views.

I get my just rewards on the downhills, riding alone again. I can’t help it, I have more stuff and gravity is a good friend if not treated recklessly. Mind the potholes and slight unseen bumps of lumpy tarmac, tuck in the knees and hope that you don’t have to practise your body rolls. Unclip the left pedal if that feels better.

There were some straights where you just let go, not the brakes totally though and let flight take over. I glance at the speedo passing 65 kmph, that’s enough, as this is when I’m reminded that a good hospital is in another country away. Paul likes his downhills below 40. My turn to wait

This scene was actually taken form the 20 km highway to Malang. In the foreground where I’m standing is also the highway dustbin, strewn with litter, mud and the occasional dead mammal. There was no real shoulder to speak off. If there was, it would be broken, filled with broken glass and other booby traps masquerading as pools of water. At one point it all seemed senseless, 3 hours of daylight left to cover 20 kms. I stopped to look at some rice fields, now I had to deal with big trucks tooting their air horns, seemingly concerned with my chosen moment to be stationary. Is there a problem, colourful tourist on a fancy bicycle ? Yes, you and your air horn are the problem !

Paul, need I say more, was way ahead, taking a whole lane with traffic backed up behind him, everyone maintaining 37 kmp/h, uphill.

Shy and not so shy

As the hill station town of Malang lies at 1000m asl in a valley surrounded by mountains, the last 10 kms were a breeze, we were going downhill and pretty much overtaking larger vehicles without too much effort. Friday night here proved to be dicey, without room reservations we looked at al the usual places . They were of course, “Full, try again tomorrow, no guarantees” The last resort, or so I thought was the Trio Indah 2. A hotel that aims to be indah/beautiful with a Trio in it. Go figure. Also 2 as in there’s a No.1, someplace else. $30 bucks, plus a buffet breakfast.

I was not a happy camper, sure it’s better than cycling in the dark, still looking for a room. Then came a most redeeming feature in the hotel receptionist. I asked her if there was an internet cafe nearby, and was given directions to it. In the parking lot, a 5 minute walk away, we were faced with this huge banner,

If not for putting a deposit, for the next 2 nights, and buying internet time at 20 cents an hour! I would have gone right back to give her a hug and a kiss.