Normally before riding off into a country for the first time I feel a mixture of anticipation and excitement, with a sprinkling of anxiety. But for the first time in ages I felt really nervous about it. In anticipation of the crazy traffic here, I’d bought a mirror. But despite cycling on the left for over 5 months I managed to fit it on the wrong side, so I was fannying around with that at the last minute, getting hot and flustered, and when we finally did set off there was something very clearly and audibly wrong with my bike. It turned out to be a loose front rack and easily fixed, but it was a shaky start and I was on edge.

On the busy main road out of town I noticed an ad for some yoga retreat, which I would normally roll my eyes at, but the quote on the signage was apt for the mindset I need to get in: “Yesterday is history, tomorrow a mystery.”

We climbed steadily for most of the day. We agreed we’d stop for a break once we were out of the city and it got quieter, but the traffic didn’t let up at all. It’s far more chaotic than anything else we’ve experienced in the rest of South East Asia, and the roads are incredibly narrow. We passed some rice terraces which looked stunning, but I was scared to have much of a look because the road requires so much attention.

We arrived near the tourist town of Ubud, and the traffic was at total gridlock for miles. It meant weaving in and out between the cars and trucks, trying to avoid the mopeds doing the same and who take no shit from any other vehicle, and certainly not from a pair of cautious cyclists getting in their way. We collapsed exhausted at a cafe the first chance we got. It wasn’t a physically tough day, but the nerves and adrenaline, the heat and the intensity, had completely drained us.

We spent a couple of nights in Ubud so we could visit the sacred monkey forest and then spend a day without the bags exploring the rice terraces. The roads are sharp, steep and narrow and we could do more without panniers to weigh us down. Even so some of the inclines were so steep that we had to walk up them. We’ve got lucky with the planting/harvesting cycle – most of the fields are strikingly green and beautiful, and while this is very clearly an area heavily trafficked with visitors, having the bikes meant we were able to get out into some quiet rural areas and away from the madness.

United again with our luggage we headed out into central Bali. The heat was immense, the cycling intense and the noise dizzying. It’s like riding in a pressure cooker. We found some chairs outside a mini mart to sit and have a cold drink and we met Putu, a local taxi driver, who came over to have a chat. He laughed at how chaotic we must be finding it, and sympathised with how much concentration must be involved in cycling these roads, but assured us that this area was by far the worst part of Bali for traffic, and we should find the rest quieter.

Sure enough, a few kilometres later we were riding on more sedate roads amongst small villages. The roads were tiny and fiercely up and down, down and up; it was like a fairground ride. We’d ride to the lip of a descent and look down to an almost vertical drop, which dipped and went back up the other side just as sharply. It was exhilarating cycling. Then we left even the villages behind and were riding amongst the rice terraces and the corn fields on roads too narrow for cars. In the bright sunshine the colours looked unreal. It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. I felt fit and strong and intensely hopeful. The world is wonderful, we have so much to see and I cannot wait to do more of these days. We arrived that afternoon in a small coastal village hot and exhausted, but satisfied we’re in a good place with a lot to look forward to. We had an enormous dinner and went to bed.

The next day dawned to heavy rains. I struggled to eat breakfast, which is very unusual, but I chalked it up to how much we’d eaten the night before. When we left, the guesthouse owner took our photo and then a couple of people cheered and clapped us up the steep climb up to the main road. So I put on a rictus grin and tried to pretend that at least one lung didn’t feel like it was about to burst.

Within an hour I was feeling rough. We stopped due to the rain at a cafe by the ocean. We’re now back on a main road, but at least that means there are amenities and places to pull over. We’ve been eating really well in the evening, but we’re expending so much energy and we’re effectively doing it in a sauna with the humidity that I wondered if it was enough. I speculated out loud that I don’t think we’re getting enough calories during the day and it might be why I’m feeling so sluggish. Richard interpreted this by going into the next shop and buying an armful of biscuits and Mentos.

The sickness and weakness started coming in waves and I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience: Not the best state to negotiate these roads in. We stopped again due to the rain at an abandoned shop and I sat with my head in my hands telling Richard I couldn’t go on. We’re in a not-tourist part of Bali and we have a homestay booked, so this is a problem. We set off again into what now just feels like a tunnel of noise. In front of me a slow bus is on the wrong side of the road overtaking a slow lorry on a blind turn. I’m feeling really groggy, so I just froze with the bus heading straight for me; I didn’t quite believe he’d go through with it. But he did and I bailed off the road. A lesson: Believing that someone is not going to drive in an incredibly dangerous way is in itself incredibly dangerous. 

We were flagged down by a large group of road cyclists and their support drivers at a place they had stopped for lunch. They are doing this year’s Tour de Bali, a complete loop of the island. There were lots of smiles and handshakes, chat and photos. I think I managed to appear human, even though I am starting to feel as though I’m undead. They gave us boiled eggs and some isotonic coconut water. The latter was a revelation and reanimated me enough for another 10km, which got us off the main road into some small villages and very nearly to our destination.

When we arrived I managed a shower, but otherwise collapsed in a daze.  Most worryingly I don’t want anything to eat. Well, maybe a sausage roll. There hadn’t been any indication of where to eat in the evening – we’d intended to forage around in the village – but the homestay hosts made Richard dinner, and he had some gardens and a beach to wander round, while I wrapped myself up in sheets and blankets, shivering despite the heat and humidity, and with all my muscles wracked with pain.

We had an open air bathroom and a rainstorm, so getting up about 97 times that night meant freezing in the rain and then drying myself off each time. In the morning the woman at the homestay would not have it that only one of us would have breakfast, and insisted that I had to eat. I think she understood what the problem was, because she brought me some plain toast. And thank god for her, because I couldn’t eat anything else for another 24 hours and had 2 days of purgatory ahead.

I could barely manage the following day. Despite the temperatures, I am shivering periodically as I’m riding and I can barely muster enough energy to turn the pedals. My head is pounding, I’m disorientated, sick and when we stop I’m on the verge of sobbing pathetically by the side of the road and ready to pack it all in. At one point we pass through a national park where the traffic and the other roadside mayhem melts away, and suddenly there is at least some serenity and a respite from the noise. The road is lined with families of monkeys and in addition to the privilege of seeing so many of them in the wild, it gives me a distraction for a few kilometres near the end of the day. I’m off my bike pushing it up a couple of climbs afterwards, but we’re near enough the end that I can force myself to do it. We’re at another homestay, and though the hosts are again really lovely, I’m on the verge of falling over while they are wanting a long form-filling malarkey, but they have no pen, so one of them leaves on a moped to get a pen, while I’m wobbling around wanting it all to end. Finally I can lie down, and then deal with another open-air bathroom, but this time with no rain storm.

Somehow this homestay is even more in the middle of nowhere than the last one, but when Richard asks about places to eat the hosts again offer to cook him dinner. I feel completely depleted and wrung out and when Richard starts talking about organising visas for our next destination I’m responding with “I don’t want to do this anymore. I’ve had enough.” There have been some low points on our journey, but this is rock bottom for me. I’ve even given up on the idea of a sausage roll, or of ever eating anything again.

In the morning our hosts automatically make us some banana pancakes and coffee, and since we have a seating area outside our room they leave us to it. This is great, since I don’t want them to see me not appreciating the food and appearing rude by not eating it all. We each have a few four-inch buttermilk-style pancakes, and I set myself the goal of eating one but can’t stomach it.

It’s another day of hell, but it’s very much flatter and easier and we’re going to rest at the end of it. Not long into the day and the road starts to hug the coast closely and I at least can acknowledge that it’s a very pleasant ride. We sit down on the edge of the sea for a drink, surrounded by wild monkeys. One of them sneaks up and takes a soft drink bottle, and when I make a move to take a picture it jumps at me baring its teeth and hissing. I nearly shat myself, which wouldn’t take a lot under the circumstances.

We arrived in a tourist enclave on the north coast, where we’d intended to stay for a couple of nights anyway even before I was ill. After a false start (the toilet didn’t work at the first place we stayed, which was almost comical) we found an amazing little place which is genuinely like an oasis and sanctuary for me to rest and recover in.

We had some lavish plans on how to use our 30 day visas in Indonesia. We were going to get a days long ferry far to some more remote islands to the east, see Komodo Dragons and then cycle back. But we’ve already used up a good chunk of the time we have, and about half of that I’ve been in the loo. It looks as though we’ll be spending our time resting and interspersing it with some riding to build and keep our strength up. It’s taken a few days, but I no longer want to pack it all in and just go home.

A playlist for the ride: