Hi Gram,

First of all, I want to tell you that travel life isn’t always peaches and unicorns. Some days, things just don’t go right, and today was one of those days.

A group of us had decided yesterday to head over to Nusa Penida for a day of scootering and sightseeing. Of course, getting a group of people to the same place or moving in the same direction is like herding cats, and today was no exception. By the time we finally made it down to the Yellow Bridge beach/port area, we were already about an hour behind schedule. A couple of people were stressing, but we all managed to board the boat for a quick ride to the other island.

Nusa Penida is much larger than Nusa Lembongan, but it’s less developed and less populated. Boarding the boat isn’t like walking along a dock as it is back home. Instead, you wade out into the water and climb aboard from the back. When we reached Nusa Penida, the captain expertly turned the boat and backed it in, so we disembarked the same way—stepping into shallow water and walking up onto the beach.

As soon as we gathered on the beach, we were surrounded by men renting scooters. Without a game plan, a few of our type-A personalities started negotiating for group rates. Already flustered from getting everyone to the ferry and across the water, I let myself feel rushed and just grabbed a scooter without really checking it out.

Within the first few hundred meters, I realized I’d made a mistake. The shocks were non-existent, and the brakes were soft and weak. What I should have done was tell the group I needed to swap it out. What I actually did was grumble to myself and clench my butt cheeks, hoping we wouldn’t need to stop too fast as I followed the line of friends ahead of me.

The ride to our first stop, Angel’s Billabong and Broken Beach, was pleasant. The sun was shining, and we cruised along like a line of ducklings. But by the time we arrived, I knew I couldn’t make it through the day on that bike. After taking some photos and walking some steps, the group headed down to Broken Beach. I decided to double back, swap out my scooter, and meet them at the next stop—or at least, that was the plan.

Chad kindly offered to tighten my brakes or swap scooters with me, but the brake line was already stretched, and I didn’t want to leave someone else with my problems. I especially didn’t want Chad, who had a passenger, to suffer my bike; the lack of shocks would have made it even worse for the two of them. So, I walked back to the parking lot, stopped to get some fuel (sold in 2L plastic bottles by roadside vendors), and psyched myself up. They don’t have gas stations like America. Instead, people with a shop or stall selling trinkets or drinks will have 2L plastic bottles filled with fuel. You just give them an amount of money and they give you what they think is the appropriate amount of fuel if you didn’t buy the whole 2 liters.

A light mist started falling as I fueled up, and I psyched myself up, It’s just a drizzle. This will pass, and the sun will come out like it always does. With my GPS set and helmet snug, I bounced down the “road”, trying to dodge potholes when those potholes were all that held the driveway together.

But the drizzle didn’t stop—it got heavier. The drizzle got a little heavier as I turned onto to the road back to the port, but still light enough that it looked like it might stop. With the thin population on the island, there weren’t many places to pull off anyway, so I kept going. And the rain got heavier. Then I kept going, looking for somewhere to pull off. While I searched, the rain picked up until I as at a point of being soaking wet from head to toe. When I finally spotted a little café where I could wait it out, I was so drenched that I figured I might as well push through to the port. The hills and curves were nerve-wracking with my crappy brakes, but the bumpy roads kept everyone moving slowly.

By the time I reached town, the rain had stopped, and the sun was breaking through the clouds. I pulled into the scooter rental area, where everyone was laid out in hammocks waiting for the next wave of tourists, and gave the guys an earful about the quality of my ride. They gave me a better replacement with decent brakes and shocks, but by then, I was wet, miserable, and separated from my friends by at least an hour.

I rode around town for a bit, then decided to cut my losses and head back to Nusa Lembongan. While waiting for the next ferry, I grabbed a sandwich and drink, sat on a log, and stared out at the ocean. The boat arrived about 20 minutes later, and I rode back as the only passenger.

Once back at the cabana, I cleaned up, changed out of my wet clothes, and laid out my cash and electronics to dry. With plenty of daylight left, I joined a couple of friends at the pool to unwind. Word about the pool (and the rare occurrence of people seeing Keith getting in water on purpose) spread quickly as things often do on the island, and before long, our small gathering turned into a full-blown pop-up pool party.

We floated and chatted, moving between the water and the deck chairs. We started getting hungry and talking about getting some dinner delivered, so I got out and went to dry off. By the time I got back from the cabana, the hive mind had decided to walk over to the beach bay restaurant that we enjoyed a few days ago. The place was busy, so we spread out across several tables, some under the roof and others out on the sand.

Unfortunately, my table was directly under a speaker. The music was so loud I could barely hear the conversation. I asked the waiter to turn it down, and he did—only for someone else to turn it back up. This happened several times with the waiter, the bartender, the manager, and even random staff members. After a while, I gave up and accepted that today just wasn’t my day.

After dinner, we paid our bills and walked back to the cabanas, enjoying good conversation along the way. Some people were planning to grab a drink afterward, but I knew when to throw in the towel. I crawled into bed and let the sound of the waves crashing lull me to sleep.