The Longest Bus Ride      I have spent the greater part of my life traveling. I have traveled by train, by plane, by boat, by auto, and even by donkey. I have hiked, I have rafted and I have taken little tiny boats that will tip over if someone breaths wrong. I have flown to Asia and back. With all of these travel experiences I can say that my longest journey of my life was one little bus ride on the island of Sumatra in Indonesia. By longest Journey I mean of course by time per distance. For the bus ride was only fifty miles. However, it took us fourteen hours to travel these mere fifty miles.      My travel group had just arrived in Padang, the capital of the island. Fortunately we would not be spending the night in this metropolitan third world city. So far in the trip we had endured long bus rides on narrow windy roads where we were cramped like sardines. Therefore, this bus ride sounded like a piece of cake. The trip would be just fifty miles from Padang to the mountains to the south of the island's capital. Additionally, the group was splurging. We were renting a private bus. This was considered a luxury because on a public bus we would have to share a seat for two with five other people and have a driver who was quite literally insane. Pubic bus drivers tended do drive fast on the narrow, curvy roads and had no sense of self preservation.      As my group was pulling out of the bus depot, which had a smell that still lives in infamy in my mind, five men got on the bus. This would prove to be an ill omen. These men were not bad men. In fact we knew exactly who they were. They were the mechanics. Every bus has at least one mechanic. He rides along with the driver doing odd jobs like taking fairs and throwing bags on the roof rack. However, the mechanic's main purpose is to fix the bus when, not if, it brakes down. Normally buses have one. This bus had five for a fifty mile trip.      Unlike the public bus drivers, our bus driver was sane. He went at a decent pace but he didn't swerve, slam on the breaks or try to pass five cars on the right. Since I snagged a double seat for my self (it helped that I was sick the day before) I was able to quickly and easily fall asleep.      About an hour or so latter, our bus came to a screeching halt, jolting me awake. Two thoughts instantly popped into my head. The first thought was great we were already there. The second thought was the bus driver had hit a car, a person or most likely a chicken. The bad news, to me anyway, was when I looked around it looked flat so we couldn't be at our final destination. The good news was that the driver had not hit a chicken or any other living or non living thing. Apparently we had blown out a tire. One of the inside tires. Fortunately the bus had six spares, yet another ill omen.      It was time for the mechanics to do their job. That was why they were there. That's what they were paid to do. In retrospect, it was also quite comical. The five mechanics were all quite competent. They got the bus jacked with no problem. The problem came in getting off the tires. The last person to change the tire wanted to be sure that no man, woman, or child would ever change the tire again. It took the mechanics the better part of an hour to get the first tire off. Over an hour had passed by the time the blown out tire was off.      It was now approaching noon. My group wanted to press on. We figured that we were almost there so it would be easier to eat lunch at our rest stop for the night. We were greatly disappointed an hour or so latter when the bus driver stopped for lunch. I guess the mechanics were entitled to eat something after all the hard work they put in changing the tire.      Eating in Indonesia was always an adventure. The food for the most part was always good. Trying to identify what the food use to be was a bit of a problem for us. Most restaurants give you rice and bring various bits of meat for you to eat. The meat sits out for God knows how long. However, we were in luck. This restaurant had fresh fish. We discovered the freshness of the fish when we went to the bathroom to wash up. To wash up you take water out of a basin called a mandi. Someone hopefully has previously filled it up from running water or a well. The mandi in the bathroom of this restaurant had several large fish swimming around in it. Perhaps the driver wanted us to see this. As tempting as fresh fish sounded, I opted for fruit bat. I had discovered that fruit bat was a dish you could rarely go wrong with.      After lunch we started up again. The driver was a nice guy who was more than willing to play our western music. This was a great relief to us. We drove for about two more hours or so without anything eventful happening. Then, as we were approaching the foot hills, the bus just stopped. The bus refused to go on any more. The driver and one of the mechanics quickly got out to have a look. They returned with chagrined expressions on their faces. The driver quickly barked a few commands at the other mechanics who promptly got out some tools and filed off of the bus. The driver then took this opportunity for a nap. Meanwhile, the four mechanics had all disappeared underneath the bus.      As time passed, each member of my group got off of the bus to see what was happening. By the time I got off, the mechanics had managed to remove the drive shaft and they were disassembling it on the ground under the bus. We now knew why there were five mechanics on our bus. I am guessing the mechanics knew exactly what was wrong with it and were busily fixing it.      The mechanics were good. No doubt about that. However, it takes time to completely rebuild a drive shaft. (On our return flight, the air plane mechanics took apart one of the engines in less time) We continued on our journey about five or so. At least our driver was well rested. We were hoping to get to our hotel by dinnertime. No such luck.      The bus was climbing up the winding road of the foothills. Like mountains all over the world, the foothills had streams running down them. The first couple of streams had pontoon bridges across them and the bus had no trouble passing through. These streams are often called washes. That is because they are dry until it rains when they become gorged with water and wash everything away. And that is just what the washes did. As we got higher the bridges gave way to 2x12. We were fortunate on two counts. First, the rain was the week before and the river water had gone down leaving behind only mud. The Second reason we were lucky was that the sun was quickly setting so we could not see how close to either falling over a cliff or getting stuck in the mud we were. The driver, as I said was sane. He did not try to drive 60 over the 2x12s. Instead he drove very carefully and slowly over them.      After midnight we arrived at our hotel for the night. We could not enjoy the beauty of the place. It was pitch black. We could not sit down for a nice meal. I am unsure if we even ate. All I know is I was grateful to be able to finally stretch my legs out and go to sleep. Guide Books |  FAQs |  Photos for Sale |  Travel Essays |  Links Contact info: