Adventures by Human Power 
Up close and personal with Sumbawa - a little known and understood Indonesian Paradise. Arriving at Poto Tomo in the late afternoon sun, having played musical ferries in the harbour for the past hour, we are now facing the prospect of not really knowing where we are going. The ferry port doesnft offer us much information, and we begin pedaling past wooden shacks on stilts that offered comfort, shelter and home to the local Sumbawan families, in the apparently barren Western tip of this Indonesian island. With only one road to choose from, we canft go far wrong, but where wefd actually end up was far from certain. The usual cries of eHello Misterf echo out from house, street and passing vehicle as ever. Wefd half planned to make it to Sumbawa Besar, the islandfs major centre in itfs Western half, but on seeing the signpost indicating that it was some 80km away and with only 1 hour of light left to us, we plump for a slightly less ambitious 20km target and the town of Alas. Fresh from our 4-5 hour ferry crossing from Lebuhan Lombok (E. Lombok), we feel full of energy and smartly whiz along past estuarine scenes, small fishing vessels and familiar seaside smells. The road is surprisingly good, as good as, if not better, than most we have encountered over the past two months in crossing Sumatra, Java, Bali and Lombok. Approximately 10km outside of the ferry port, the road hits a T-junction, where it boasts a guesthouse of sorts. We appraise our situation for a brief moment, before pressing on towards Alas, still not certain of what facilities, if any, this town would have to offer us. Alas comes into view as the sun begins turning the skies behind us into some fantastic red, purple and orange hues. Call to prayer for itfs Muslim residents echoes all around, and we take time out to turn back and admire the local surroundings and natural colours displayed before us. The Losmen Anda affords us the simple comforts of a bed and emandif, all for a very reasonable sum. Our two cycling team mates, by our estimations, should have passed this way just the day before, but confusion and language barriers reign supreme, leaving us unsure whether Richard and Andrew McLaughlin had been seen in Alas over the past couple of days. Across the road, the towns Chinese-style restaurant provides us with excellent food – albeit limiting our choice to the good old favourites of enasi gorengf (fried rice) and eayamf (chicken). Here we meet an interesting, gentle and thoroughly knowledgeable Indonesian Army Officer, Lt. Tni. He is fascinating and fascinated, and talks excited about the journey ahead for us through the rest of Sumbawa. His words of advice were surprisingly accurate, and aided us throughout the rest of our Sumbawan experience. He talks of his dislike of his native Bali, for the fact it is now far too busy. Hefs spent 10 years away in Sumbawa with his wife, and seemingly has no intention of returning to Bali. His life is obviously less stressful, being here in the capacity of a director of sorts for local community projects run by the Indonesian military. Having come through the tourist centres of Bali and Gili Trawangan (off the NW tip of Lombok), and Lombok itself, we are now back in a truly Indonesian island. People wave almost non-stop, and often when their actions are reciprocated by these two white cyclists, laughter breaks out like a rash, particularly amongst the younger members of the communities. The morning sees us heading out on a surprisingly smooth and flat coastal road, only 69km to Sumbawa Besar. The scenery is fantastic; no longer the barren brown estuarine grasslands that welcomed us to this island, but a lush green tropical fauna. The road climbs occasionally to traverse spits that separate the predominantly black sand beaches on our left. Occasionally we are treated to glimpses of indigenous monkeys foraging at the roadside, but they are easily startled as we approach and hurriedly retreat to the sanctuary of the dense foliage to our right. After only a few kilometers we are joined by Lt. Tni on his moped and his pillion passenger. We exchange a few pleasantries, and he explains that he is taking his friend to the next town. We struggle to comprehend what this has to do with his job as he described it the previous evening, and then understand why it is that he loves his job in Sumbawa so much. We are surrounded by fascinated and highly excitable Indonesians, both young and old, as we take our first drink stop of the day. Theyfre all so keen to practice their English with us, itfs both a privilege and comic entertainment. Our Indonesian is pathetic in comparison. Not far to go now, and we strike out with all good intentions of riding non-stop to Sumbawa Besar, but the sea looks too inviting to ignore. We pick a small sandy beach adjacent to the road and pull the bikes off the tarmac. Ensuring no-one is within sight, we exchange our cycling clothes for something more appropriate for the sea. Itfs just past midday and the black sand is as fierce as fire on the soles of our feet as we hot-step it to the crystal clear waterfs edge and gratefully throw ourselves into its cooling depths. Getting back out and avoiding the need for surgery is a tricky business, and so our drinking water is required to cool our feet down again before resuming our journey. Our second drink stop brings home to us a problem that a lot of Indonesia is suffering from; a shortage of tourists. We round a beautiful cove, surrounded by lush palms and banana plants, and start up a short sharp rise. With drinks bottles almost empty in the heat of the early afternoon, our eyes thankfully fall upon a Coca Cola sign, indicating the presence of thirst quenching relief not far ahead. The owner tells us a sorry tale, with a surprisingly cheerful manner; the past two years have been hard since the start of the troubles in Indonesia, and hefs had little choice but to close. His bungalows, restaurant and terraces offer stunning views over the cove below that sadly very few tourists have had the privilege of enjoying recently as we do now. Itfs not long before wefre passing the airport on the fringes of Sumbawa Besar, and then on into the town itself. Here, by chance, we find our team-mates taking an extra rest day, and so we are once again four cyclists together. Not only does Sumbawa Besar provide a reunion, overnight accommodation and an Internet connection, it also provides something that every travelling cyclist desires: a good cake shop. Custard tarts and cream horns gorged upon, we head onwards to our next stop of Empang, some 97km away. The road continues in general to follow the coastline, albeit more inland than the previous two days of cycling. It is good to be riding as a foursome once more, and the excited cries this sight brings from country and village folk alike occasionally borders on the hysterical. The journey itself provides much of the same; the same flora and fauna, the same landscape, the same friendly greetings, the same hot sun and the same old spoke snapping incident on Richardfs rear wheel – we are losing count. Riding into Empang in the fading light of the early evening, we finally find accommodation, and have more difficulty locating a suitable restaurant than expected. With the usual head nodding, misunderstanding and then pointing, we enjoy a sumptuous feast involving all of the usual suspects of rice, noodles, chicken and eggs. The following morning we start out early for Dompu. Soon, in need of refreshment, we stop in a small town, taking shelter from the mid-morning sun in the entrance of the only shop that possesses both a refrigerator and a freezer full of ice creams. We canft escape the traditional gaggle of excited and inquisitive local townsfolk, nor the organic smell of the streets. It was very pleasing to see such extensive use of sustainable transport; horse drawn vehicles are still highly popular throughout Sumbawa. However, like many SE Asian towns, cities and countries, there is an ever-increasing popularity being found in the use of mopeds, particularly by their young men and women. As Western customs continue to force their way into developing nations, the use and dependence of fossil fuels seems to grow. As Lt. Tni had promised, today brings us a big hill. After the relative flat of the coast-hugging road, the black tarmac snakes seemingly forever upwards, eventually letting us breath easy at around 400m above the sea below us. With the temperature nudging over 35C in the early afternoon this was not the ideal time for extreme physical exertion. The upside is that we are afforded some awesome coastal views, when the dense foliage allows us a peek out to our left. Compared with what several reputable guidebooks have led us to believe, we are all staggered and pleasantly surprised by this lush green paradise we are now viewing. How could they be so wrong? Had they ever been here, or simply slept through their journey across this island? We finally reach the solace of Dompu after 94km, and with the nights accommodation organized, we partake of some fantastic eikan bakarf (grilled fish) at the Rinjani Restaurant on the edge of town. Early doors, we are off again, just a half-day of 63km to Bima, the main centre for the Eastern half of the island. We take in a morning drink stop early on in the day, having first smelt then seen the most fantastic array of small fish drying in the sun. With flies crawling all over them hygiene is not, apparently, of primary importance. To our Western way of thinking, this is possibly not the best practice to be adopting. On from here, and as the temperature rises sharply again, we climb again, but safe in the knowledge that the day is nearly done it doesnft feel quite so tough today. We fly down the far side, negotiating bends that come close to hairpin in magnitude, watching a pair of black kites wheeling inquisitively overhead. We press on, taking time out to admire the salt farms, a huge brown barren flat plain with purpose-build basins full of sparkling white crystals. A sizeable white eagle glides overhead, observing the four curious figures down below, before it takes up residence in a lone palm tree some 50m off the road. The smooth tarmac road rejoins the coast as we head around the Bay of Bima, a beautiful and pristine water resource completely unused for any recreational purpose. We could imagine some of these unspoilt beaches and clear blue sea forming an idyllic tourist resort. Indeed, once they were, but with the severe decline in tourism in recent years, the hotels and guesthouses less than 10km from Bima were all boarded up. To add to the ambiance, the clouds thicken, the sky rapidly darkens, and soon we are caught in a monsoonal downpour. We pedal faster, and as we enter Bima, euphemistically described as a city, the rain subsides allowing us to stop dripping whilst we check into our overnight accommodation. The two sea kayaks had been transported here a few days earlier by two of our other team members; they have since returned to Bali. These kayaks will enable the two brothers, Richard and Andrew McLaughlin, to continue their Human Powered expedition beyond Sumbawa, through Komodo to the island of Flores, before continuing onwards to journeys end in Sydney, Australia. How do you transport two 5m long sea kayaks, each weighing over 30kg fully laden, across Indonesian islands? Easy, you simply stand at the side of the road with them, flag down a suitably sized lorry, haggle over the price for a few minutes, strap them on board and make your journey with them, regardless of where it was that they should have been going. Duly, Tim and I begin transferring the sea kayaks from Bima to Sape, the ferry port at Sumbawafs Eastern point, whilst the other two saddle up and pedal the same route. What a spectacular end stage to complete our journey through this beautiful island. The road climbs almost immediately out of Bima, and doesnft seem to want to stop. Small waterfalls cascade down the green façade of the rocky outcrops, dense tropical foliage are a sight to behold, and as the cyclists try to remember why theyfre doing all of this, the serenely crystal blue coastal waters slide into view as the summit is reached. Our driver drives like most Indonesians. A total disregard for safety and all life; their own, their passengers, all other road users, passers-by, all wildlife and most importantly our precious cargo. Having stared certain death in the face a few too many times, each time accompanied by a cheeky grin and manic laugh from our driver, we arrive at our destination. With the kayaks unloaded before an enthusiastic and, as ever, curious crowd, we gratefully pay our driver and crew a realistic pittance, and pray that wefll never see them again. Within an hour wefre joined by two exhausted cyclists, who grin from ear to ear, and chatter excitedly about the earthly riches they have just seen, and of what further adventures lie in storec.
