Hotel Occy’s Waingapu markets 106 SMORGASBOARDER | MAR/APR <strong>2013</strong>
AFTER many trips to various parts of Indonesia chasing waves, a trip to Sumba would provide lasting memories, with one night in particular remaining with me forever. A month of good waves at Lakey Peak in Sumbawa had us fi t and primed for further adventures, so two mates and I put our heads together and decided to escape the increasing crowd at Lakeys and head for Occy’s left in Sumba. The 12-hour ferry ride from Bima to Waingapu the capital of Sumba was great, with a beautiful sunset over the stern of the ship. We arrived just after dark to the bustling docks of Waingapu. Having no idea where we were going, we managed by blind luck to fi nd a losmen to crash for the night, and the following day caught the public bus for the 8-hour journey to Waikabubak, the closest town to Nihiwatu - Occy’s Left. Eventually we found ourselves at Chief Metebulu’s village high atop the hills overlooking the bay where the left is located, and settled in for the night. The following day presented small waves not worth surfi ng, so some diving was the order of the day. However the next morning showed two-foot corduroy lines to the horizon, and the promise of a long period swell, so we decided to wait and see what the next day would bring. We were the only people in the water for the next few weeks, and the swell eventually topped out at 6-10 feet, with some awesome barrels shared between the three of us. Yet, although the village was a great place to be, and the chief very accommodating, there was one thing we were short of - food. We had been surviving on noodles with an egg or a bit of chicken waved over it for several days, and the term ‘hungry’ would be an understatement. We couldn’t go on much longer like this. “WE WERE THE ONLY PEOPLE IN THE WATER FOR THE NEXT WEEKS, AND THE SWELL EVENTUALLY TOPPED OUT AT 6-10 FEET...” Late one afternoon, a local teacher rode into the village on an old two-stroke motorcycle, and when I heard he was to stay the night, an idea hatched: use his bike to ride into Waikabubak for some food that night. After an arrangement had been reached, I grabbed some money from the crew, a large rucksack and headed off into town. The sun was already setting when I departed, but fi gured I would be ok if I just followed the ribbon of tarmac that passed for a road. Along the way - probably every 500 metres or so - I would come across large pythons lying across the road, soaking up the last of the warmth from the day. They were not an issue while I had light, as I would just ride around them, but as night fell I was totally reliant on the feeble headlight on the bike to both spot and avoid the snakes. About a third of the way into town, with night now fully upon me, the engine cut out. Yes, I had run out of fuel, and unlike other parts of Indo where you have fuel for sale nearly everywhere along the roadside, there was no such luxury in this part of Sumba. I had not even checked the tank prior to leaving, and this would prove to be the catalyst for a crazy night in Sumba. And anyone that knows old two-stroke bikes will understand that the headlight is run from a magneto that’s only powered when the engine is going. Without the engine, no light. I would be pushing the bike along the road with no lights or villages along the way to shed any light on the direction I must take. The only indicator was the crunching of gravel on the road verge when the front tyre left the tarmac. But, that would prove to be the least of my worries… Whenever I felt the front wheel go over some sort of bump, I would run the next few metres and at the same time try to jump into the air. Try it - not easy, but with the adrenalin level high I managed it with ease. I must have gone over at least half a dozen snakes in this fashion on the trip to town. I eventually came to the range of hills between the coast and Waikabubak, and pushed that damn bike all the way to the top, where I could just see in the distance the distant lights of downtown Waikabubak. Comforting, but still a long way to go. Coming down the range of hills gave new meaning to the word excitement, I had to listen very carefully for the crunch of gravel to avoid going over the edge of the cutting, and after another hour or so managed to push the bike into town. TALES: BACK IN THE DAY MAR/APR <strong>2013</strong> | SMORGASBOARDER 107
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