Ride my good friends, ride…

When men with chest hair and designer stubble ride motorbikes together apparently it’s called a sport. This sport has a name. I’m told it’s “Dual Sporting”. I’m not one to follow the conventional path so I’m going to rename my recent adventure “Using my spine as suspension”. I’d also like to dedicate this… err… blog… to some spinal companions in a far distant land doing this but with class, tequila  and somewhat more manicured facial hair; The Matt and Atley (and Ferg) Show. Read it or simply just watch it (they have nice videos) and then buy a motorbike.

The journeymen

Goose McDonald, Maverick Trethowan and Ghost Rider. It’s obvious that Ghostrider (a.k.a M.Hero from previous adventures) has a sense of style.

As always, there are heroes in the story. I’d like to introduce you to the heroes of this story. They were a wolf pack. A flock of savage falcons. They were men of steel taming mechanical bulls as they climbed the giant rope to the heavens.  Donned with cool names and a desire to ride on bad roads for long periods of time we set off on a loop of the western part of Timor-Leste.

My mum likes maps. So Ma, click on this link

As Timor-Leste was a former Portuguese colony the country side is dotted with the remnants of that administration. From forts, baths, pools, officers quarters to old prisons. Most of them are just rubble now, but a few have been restored to a level that provide some information on what the site was used for.

Prison on the coast heading west from Dili on the first day

 Apparently here they used to keep the bad people in cells that were below the high water line so the rising tides would creep in and threaten to drown the bad people.

Man ponders the use of his canon.

The world needs more photos of me looking suave.

This Fort had been taken over by a business and a restuarunt set up inside the grounds. Not the best for achaelogical preservation but the grounds were in nice condition.

We stopped at a beach in Liquica for a photo shoot and to frolic in the apparently crocodile free waters.

I’m pretty sure the world is a better place for having one more photo of Maverick  Trethowan with his shirt off on the net. Fact.

Goose McDonald looks dashing with this posed photo of him, his bike and the beach.

Goose McDonald looks dashing with this photo of him dealing with the consequences of his beach side photo shoot.

Man on bike looking at hills on side of road.

Church in field.

Balibo

Looking down over the Balibo town from the fort.

Balibo is a small town close to the border of Indonesia. It’s quite a beautiful little town with a fort set on top of the hill that has sweeping views down onto the Ombai Straight below. Most Australians know this site due to the murder of the Australian and New Zealand journalists here in 1975 by the invading Indonesian military.

Handsome men

Sweeping views from the fort.

A girl sits on a canon talking on her phone. I don’t think she was overly impressed by us or the sunset behind her.

Swimming in a pump station

Bobonaro Hot Springs

Near the town of Bobonaro there are hot springs that gush out of the side of the mountain and into a pool established during the Portuguese administration period. The site is well in ruin, but the pool is still full but probably due for a change of water. Both Goose and I are brave engineers of the water and poo type, and Maverick dabbles a little in this as well, so it was pretty exciting to fulfill the childhood dreams of ours to finally find out what it would be like to swim in a sewer pump station. The sulphur dioxide coming off the hot spring was pretty over powering and the water was scorching, which on a hot tropical day sounds unpleasant but actually was amazingly refreshing.

Green and grey slime side by side due to two different springs coming out of the mountain.

The local maintenance department also seemed kinda bummed by the not-so-floral odour from the pool.

Building

Strolling around Bobonaro.

Kids looking cute.

Maverick displaying enthusiasm

Looking east from Bobonaro towards Mt Ramelau, the highest peak in Timor-Leste.

Roads in Timor tend to cop a bit of a battering due to both poor construction and big rains. This photo doesn’t do the scale of the erosion here justice.

Miniature men fixing things

A topic frequently discussed along the journey was the merits of child labour. Now, to the western eyes the photo below shows 7 kids trying to steal my tyre. In fact, what is happening here is 4 miniature men fixing my tyre for below minimum wage. To be honest, a adult can turn over a tyre repair for good cash, but these little fingers weren’t quite strong enough and it took them over 2.5 hours to fix the puncture (including the additional one that they made repairing it the first time). I think they went and blew the money on smokes afterwards. But hey, they earned it…

Miniature men with serious faces undertaking a major task.

Meanwhile the girls focussed on looking good for the camera

Big Rivers

As we were at the end of the dry season most of the big rivers were pretty much down to a mild trickle. But in full wet season flow this would be a torrent of mud… I think.

Crossing in dry season is simple enough.

Walking up a big hill

Road to Hatabulico

We made camp in Maubisse and back tracked to a small aldeia in the mountains called Hatabulico to climb the Mt Ramelau, Timor-Lestes highest peak at 2,964m. Heading into Hatabulico felt like riding into the alpine area of Victoria, with dense fog, eucalypts and that general cold and unpleasant feeling. Oh home, I do miss you. 

On arrival on at Hatabulico we danced in the ski lodge to impress the sky gods to grant us clear passage. Well, Ghost Rider danced while Goose looked at him like a fool. Needless to say the clouds didn’t lift for the entire walk.

Most people get up to the summit before dawn to catch the rising sun and make the most of the clear skies before the clouds sweep in for the day. The lack of enthusiastic dancing at the ski lodge earlier shot any hopes of waving at Darwin as we couldn’t really see more than 5 metres in front of us anyway.

Ghost Rider becomes Ghost Walker.

Arriving home to Maubisse for the night at sunset we caught this cementary on the peak of a hill

Maubisse to Dili

Somewhere in the French Alps

The road from Maubisse to Dili winds its way up and then down the mountains over and over again. Through coffee plantations, rice fields, bare hills and jungles.

Rice paddies and big hills

Bad road and big hills

Infinitely wise