The distance from Subulussalam to the next town that I knew contained some form of accommodation was 152 kilometers. There was no possibility of covering that distance in one day, so I knew I would be spending the night in my tent, and hopefully on the ocean. I carefully calculated the distances down out of the mountains and to the beginning of the ocean. The thought of seeing the ocean again was enough to get me through any day, I thought.
The day did not begin well. For that matter, it didn’t continue well, and it really didn’t end well either. It was a hard day from the start. There were several heavy rainfalls throughout the night. The rain was heavy enough that the sound of it woke me up, and I wondered if it wasn’t a better idea to stay in Subulussalam for another day and wait for the rain to end. But I didn’t think my luck would help me here. I saw myself staying put only for the skies to clear and it be sunny all day. Or it would rain all day and then rain again the following day and then on the third day. There was no way to be sure, and I had a real deadline to meet. I had to get to Banda Aceh by August 5th when my visa expired.
With that thought in mind, I went through the process of loading up my bike and trailer and getting ready to go. I thought I was in luck because the weather seemed to be getting better as I worked. Had I known how bad it was going to get, I’d have been much more careful in my packing, but I went about it in a fairly casual manner. In fact, I didn’t even bother to put the rain covers on my pannier bags or on the trailer. The skies were somewhat clear and there was no rain falling. But when I returned to my room to get my last one or two items – mainly my handlebar bag – I heard the familiar sound of rain. It started to rain heavily again just as I was about to leave. Now I had to pause and dig out the rain covers and put them on.
Despite all this, I was in a relatively good mood and full of energy as I set out. I put my feet to the pedals and I raced on. My hotel was right on the main road, and I simply had to turn right and then go straight and follow that road all the way to the towns of Tapak Tuan and Meulaboh on the coast. After some minutes, about two kilometers had passed and a young man on a motorcycle pulled up beside me. He asked me for my name and my country of origin. He then asked me where I was going. I told him that I was on my way to Meulaboh and then Banda Aceh in the north. To my horror, he said, “This road doesn’t go to Banda Aceh.”
I doubted him at first and felt that I was right. What other road was there? This was clearly the main road. I hadn’t checked my maps that morning as I left, but I had spent days going over the maps and checking out routes previously. How could I be wrong? But he seemed to be pretty sure of himself, so I got out my phone and checked Google Maps. And he was right. I was stupidly, dumbly, and idiotically on the wrong road. I had started out on the correct road. The road passing in front of my hotel was the main road to the coast and Banda Aceh. But within a couple hundred meters, I was supposed to make a right turn. I had neglected to do so and had gone two kilometers out of my way in the wrong direction.
The young man helping me out was a teacher at a school ahead, and he tried very hard to convince me to come to his school as a special guest. He almost got me, too, because he started talking about how it was warm and dry and we could have coffee. He painted a picture of a lovely and interesting day interacting with students and drinking coffee and chatting. That was his offer. And on the other hand, there was my plan: to ride my bike through a cold rain up and down mountains with no idea of where I was going to spend the night or find my next meal. The teacher’s plan seemed much the better of the two.
But I was committed, and I felt some urgency to cover some ground and I stuck to my plan to ride my bike. Since I now had to go all the way back to my starting point (now uphill), I had ridden my bike for four useless kilometers before I had even gotten out of the gate. I was right back where I had started from, and as I turned down the correct road, the skies really opened up and rain poured down in buckets. I had one last chance to turn around and go back to my hotel. But I didn’t. Who is to say whether I chose the right course of action? By continuing on, I opened myself up to a very difficult time both physically and mentally. But I also learned a great deal and had some interesting experiences that I won’t soon forget.
The first thing I learned was a terrible, terrible, terrible thing. And this is that the rain cover that came with my extremely expensive bicycle trailer was not a rain cover at all. It did nothing in terms of keeping out the rain. I was both lucky and unlucky in this. Of course, it was extremely unlucky that the rain cover was somewhat useless. But it was lucky that I decided to check when I did. I was cycling along in the rain, soaked to the bone, and contemplating what it would be like if this rain never stopped for the entire day. Then, by chance, I stopped my bike to adjust the grip on my handlebars that was coming loose. As I did so, I glanced back at my trailer and I noticed something odd. There were giant pockets of something moving around underneath the rain cover. They looked like air pockets that you see under the ice on a lake. It was weird.
So I got off my bike to investigate, and to my horror, I began to realize that I was not looking at air pockets. This was water sloshing around underneath the rain cover and soaking through into the trailer. How this had happened I couldn’t possible imagine at first. As fast as I could, I undid the Velcro holding the rain cover in place at the front and then peeled it back. And the worst was confirmed. Water had simply seeped through the rain cover almost like it wasn’t even there, and it had gathered on top of the trailer itself in a giant pool, and this water was soaking through the trailer’s Cordura and drenching everything inside it. It was my worst nightmare, and I felt this annoyance for the company that made this trailer and supplied this rain cover to go with it.
Even as my heart pounded with concern over the damage done and I was berating myself for my own stupidity, my logical brain was taking over, and I was thinking through what had happened. It was clear to me that this rain cover was made of the same lightweight material as the fly of a tent. As anyone who has gone camping knows, tent flies are not really waterproof. They are not the same as a plastic bag or a blue plastic tarp. They are designed to be just as water repellent as they need to be while keeping the weight down and keeping the material somewhat breathable and able to transmit heat. And this works only if the tent fly is tied down very tightly, has steep lines, and does not touch anything. Water is expected to bead on this surface and then be pulled down by gravity and run off the sides in droplets. However, if the tent fly touches the interior wall of the tent, water will seep through instantly where the contact is made.
The rain cover for this trailer, being made out of that same material and resting directly on top of the trailer, simply let the water through. I realized that this had happened largely because I had made an effort to pack the trailer as loosely as possible. Therefore it was not bulging on top. In fact, the usually flat top cover was sagging inward making a concave depression. The heavy rainfall had simply filled this depression with water, like a small lake, and the water then just passed through the cover and through the Cordura of the main trailer and into my precious possessions. I think this rain cover was never meant to withstand any real rain. To the extent that it would work at all depended on someone packing the trailer to bursting so that the trailer bulged on top and made a shape not unlike a tent with steep walls on each side. Then any water that hit the rain cover would bead up and then gravity would force it to roll off the trailer and down the sides before it had a chance to seep through. But with a concave or even flat surface on top, none of this could happen, and the water simply gathered in a deep pool and then soaked through.
Now comes the lucky parts. For one thing, I had packed my camera gear and my electronics inside two semi-waterproof bags. These bags were soaked on the outside and everything around them was soaking wet, but the delicate camera gear and hard drives were dry as a bone and safe. My computer was not inside a waterproof bag, but it happened to be sitting directly underneath my Osprey daypack, which I had folded flat and put inside the trailer. Plus, the case my computer was in was quite thick and absorbent. So even though a lot of water got through, most of it was absorbed by the day pack or directed off to the sides where it dripped to the bottom and then out of the bottom surface of the trailer. What little water did get directly to the computer was largely absorbed by the computer bag, and the computer survived the ordeal.
I was so angry while I stood there and stared down at the soggy mess inside my trailer. Everything was soaked – all my clothes, all my tools, everything. I had everything from my toiletries to my cutlery inside individual bags, and every bag was sopping wet. It was astonishing how much water had gotten inside the trailer in such a short time. And I didn’t realize it or think about it at the time, but this situation was made worse by the fact that the floor of the trailer was also exposed. The rain cover only covered the top and sides of the trailer after all. The bottom was unprotected, and in a way this was a good thing because water was dripping out of the trailer down to the ground. If the bottom of the trailer had been waterproof, perhaps the whole trailer would have filled like a bathtub and even my camera gear and electronics would have been destroyed. But it was also bad because even if the rain cover had been perfect and kept water out from the top, the trailer bag would still have gotten wet because water is thrown up by my bike wheels and the trailer wheels. This water would have soaked through the bottom and soaked whatever was at the bottom.
There was little I could do about the wet contents of my trailer at that time. I moved things around and tried to protect certain items better. After that, I got out my rain jacket, and I laid that flat on top of the trailer. This rain jacket WAS waterproof. It was 100% waterproof as the rain cover should have been. It took some effort to tuck in the sleeves and the hood and make sure it didn’t interfere with the wheels, but it covered the full extent of the trailer nicely and then I put the rain cover back on top to hold it in place. (I realized later that I could have used the ground sheet for my tent. It is also 100% waterproof and has a nice, regular rectangular shape, but I didn’t think of it at the time.)
Once I had dealt with the situation as best I could, I got back on my bike and continued on. I muttered and mumbled and cursed as I rode along. I cursed the poor rain cover. But I also cursed myself for being so careless. And I had been careless. Part of the problem is that I never usually ride in the rain. I never do anything in the rain. I had learned from assorted camping, canoeing, hiking, and biking trips that rain is impossible to beat. Rain is incredibly hard to deal with. It makes life miserable. Water gets in despite your best efforts to keep it out. And if you really want to be out in the rain, you have to use triple or quadruple layers of protection. You have to have a waterproof bag to begin with. Then you need to add a waterproof cover. And then you have to have every single item inside a separate waterproof container like a Ziploc. And then you have to put all those Ziploc bags inside waterproof stuff sacks. That is the only way to do it. And I knew that. Yet, I had done none of those things. I had just put on the flimsy rain cover and then cycled out into a heavy downpour. And that is what a very dumb person would do. Sure, I was right to be upset at the poor design of the rain cover, but the real fault lay in my trusting so blindly in that rain cover.
I had plenty of time as I rode along in the rain to consider the implications. For one thing, this was a major knock against the trailer as a suitable tool for bike touring. Having that one large bag is supposed to make it easier to keep all your gear safe and secure, and that includes being safe from rain. But that clearly was not true about this trailer with this rain cover. The rain cover might be suitable to keep off dust and sunlight and a tiny sprinkle of rain. But it is useless as protection against real rain. Therefore, to keep the trailer contents safe from water damage, I’d have to do two or three things. For one, I’ll have to create my own rain cover. I could just get a basic blue tarp from any hardware store and cut it to the right size and then place that underneath the regular rain cover to hold it in place. Better would be to use the ground sheet for my tent. It’s better because I’m already carrying it anyway. I wouldn’t have to add more weight to my load. The problem with the ground sheet is that it is very slippery and it is difficult to get it to go over the trailer and stay in place.
For another, I should devise some kind of giant waterproof bag or liner for inside the trailer. Finally, I should make sure to put all my belongings inside 100% waterproof bags and stuff sacks. Finally, I should make sure that all the most essential and delicate items should kept inside waterproof Ziploc bags and things like that. It’s one thing to be riding along in a light breeze with a cool sun. You don’t have to worry about your gear at all in those conditions. But if you really want to protect your stuff, you have to take it seriously and apply at least two layers of waterproofing if not three. That’s just the way it is. The horrible thing is that I know this perfectly well, but I failed to implement it. I’m such an idiot to just put on that rain cover and then head out into a Sumatran thunderstorm. What did I think was going to happen?
I had plenty of time to ponder the destructive power of rain because it continued to rain for the entire day and then it rained again in the evening, then at night, and then the next morning and throughout the following day. Again, words fail me in describing how much rain fell on my head and my sopping wet trailer.
Things got worse after I realized there was a problem and I did my best to fix it because the rain got much harder, and the road itself became much more difficult. I wasn’t anticipating a road like this for some reason, but it started to go up and down and up and down at such a steep and regular pace that it nearly broke me. There was no possibility of riding the bike. None at all. The inclines were so steep that my arms nearly buckled from the weight of the bike and trailer pushing back against me. And as I trudged, every step a major effort, I was nearly blinded by the amount of water pouring onto my head and running down my face. It was as if the universe was laughing at me and my waterproofing troubles. All I could do was hope that the rain jacket I added to my trailer was keeping most of the water out and keeping my computer, electronics, and camera gear safe and dry.
I lost count of the number of hills I trudged up. And every time I thought a hill couldn’t possibly get any steeper, the next one would exceed it. I was lost in an empty wilderness of water and hills. Then came a ray of light. I was just about to begin the long climb up the biggest hill yet when I reached a large yellow truck with its lights flashing. It was parked at the side of the road, and when I reached the cab, the driver engaged me in conversation. He didn’t speak any English, but he clearly pointed at the heavy rain and then he made gestures to indicate that a lot more hills lay ahead of me. And then he pointed at my bicycle and the back of his truck. He was offering me a lift. I almost turned him down. I’ve had bad experiences with getting lifts in the past. Pushing my bike in the rain was no fun, but at least it was under my control. Once I accept an offer of a lift, I lose control. But common sense prevailed, and I said yes. After all, I was not out here on this day to prove I was a tough guy. I was out here more or less to experience Indonesia, and here was a chance to ride in one of the cabs of one of the hundreds of trucks that pass me every day and spend time with a typical Indonesian truck driver.
Getting my bike and trailer into the truck proved once again how dumb I am. I’ve done similar things a few times recently, and I even made a mental checklist of all the things I should do when loading a bike. The most important thing is to take my time. Don’t rush. Just go about it methodically. The other important thing is to take control. Don’t trust that the Indonesian driver or the guy loading your bike will know what he is doing or take proper care. And in terms of specifics, I’d learned that I should remove the water bottles, turn in the mirrors, and make sure that the bike, if lying on its side, is lying with the derailleur up.
I knew all this. Yet, once I accepted this man’s offer of a ride, I was so worried about inconveniencing him that I ignored all my own rules. I just wanted to load my bike and trailer fast. So I went too fast and I didn’t think. I also didn’t remove the water bottles. I did not turn in the mirrors. And I had no idea how the bike ended up in the back of his truck. It was worse for the trailer. I should have removed the wheels and the tow bar. But I didn’t.
Part of the problem is that the truck driver did not open the rear door of his truck bed. It was a typical dump truck kind of thing, and I somehow expected the rear part to open. But instead, the man appeared way above me at the edge of the truck and expected me to lift up my gear to him and he would pull it over the side and into the bed of the truck. I barely had the strength to lift the trailer high enough to reach him. And then he grabbed it by the wheel and dragged it over the edge. I cringed when I saw that, and I realized I should have removed the wheels. And then I had no idea what he did with the trailer once it was inside the truck bed.
Then I lifted the bike, and he grabbed it and dragged it over the edge. I cringed as there was a loud scraping of metal on metal. Before I got in the cab, I climbed a small ladder built into the truck and looked at my bike and trailer in the back. If it were just me and it was my truck, I would have climbed back there and somehow put my bike upright and tied it to the side. And I would have moved my trailer to the front of the truck bed so it would be more sheltered from the rain. But I did none of that. I just climbed into the truck cab with my two pannier bags and handlebar bag and we set off. I think I was just too beaten down by the rain and the hills. I didn’t care what happened. I figured that I would just deal with any consequences later.
The truck driver was a friendly guy, though he spoke no English. At one point, he called his wife on his phone on some kind of video chat app, and he showed her that he had some strange foreigner in his cab with him. She didn’t seem to understand at all, and he shouted into the phone over and over again how he had a “bule” for company.
Despite being soaking wet, exhausted, and a bit frazzled, I enjoyed sitting in that cab very much. It was very much like every truck cab I’ve ever been in dating all the way back to my childhood when my dad drove a gravel truck for a living. The driver obviously spent long days in there, and the cab had filled up with personal items. It was a happy, cluttered mess with the rain fogging up the windshield and the driver wrenching the steering wheel from side to side as we raced along the road.
As we drove, I became happier and happier that I had accepted his offer of a ride. For one thing, the rain came down heavier and heavier. It was coming down in sheets. But more significantly, the steep climbs were unending. My jaw practically dropped at the number of incredibly long and steep hills we went up. My whole body ached at the thought of how I would have had to face those climbs on my own, pushing my bike in that heavy rain. It would have taken me countless hours. And there is doubt that I would have ever made it at all.
When I first got in the truck, I wondered if this man was driving all the way to Tapak Tuan. Considering that all my belongings were soaking wet, that would have been convenient. I could have dealt with my gear in the comfort of a hotel room in that small city. But he was driving only as far as a palm oil plantation ten or fifteen kilometers ahead. When we reached the gates to his palm oil plantation, he gestured that I could come inside with him, have a cup of coffee there and even spend the night. With more time on my hands, I would have agreed to that, but I was still concerned about getting to Banda Aceh, and I told him that I preferred to cycle on. He indicated that there were only two more big climbs ahead of me, and then I would be out of the mountains and heading down to the coast and the ocean. As far as the climbs go, he was quite wrong. I still had plenty of climbs to deal with. But the ride he gave me helped tremendously. It was an interesting experience, and he got me through the worst of the mountains in the worst possible weather. He helped me at the best possible time.
The rain continued as I made my way over the last section of steep climbs. And then, finally, gloriously, I began to get glimpses of the ocean. And just as that happened, the rain stopped, and I raced down to a beautiful road following the ocean and I could gaze once again at palm trees, wide stretches of sand, and listen to waves crashing down. I recalled all the stories I’d heard about the destruction in this area following the tsunami in 2004. Many of the coastal communities were hit very hard, and apparently there was still plenty of evidence of that event all up and down the coast.
By the time I got to the ocean, I had covered enough ground that I could have camped anywhere I liked leaving somewhere between 60 and 70 kilometers to cover the next day to reach the city of Tapak Tuan. I was able to relax and take in more of my surroundings, and when I saw an interesting little path heading down to the water’s edge, I turned my bike down it to see what was going on down there.