But once we entered the West Sumatra border route, we chose not to follow the road toward Bukittinggi. Instead, we passed through Lubuk Basung, then into Pariaman, and arrived directly in Padang, the capital of West Sumatra. Riding on the asphalt in West Sumatra was a genuine pleasure, thanks to smooth roads with few potholes or ripples. The views of forest and mountains along the West Sumatra route were also far too precious to miss.
After reaching Padang, the journey continued toward Bengkulu. However, because we set off from Padang a little late in the morning, the stretch we managed to cover was only Padang to Air Haji. This route runs past coastal scenery and villages of West Sumatra. From here on, we were finally on new ground — roads we had never travelled before. On our earlier family trip, once we reached Padang we had turned toward Bukittinggi and Pekanbaru instead. The route to Air Haji also passes through several regencies within West Sumatra.
After spending the night in Air Haji, the next target was the city of Bengkulu. The road to Bengkulu was quite challenging, as we rode alongside and against a stream of trucks belonging to palm-oil and coal companies. On top of that, much of the road was damaged and pitted with potholes — unavoidable, since this is the only route to reach Bengkulu. Even so, the scenery offered along the way to Bengkulu held a special meaning within the Touring Indonesia Harmoni experience.
On reaching Bengkulu, we pressed on toward the province of Lampung. Our intended target here was Bandar Lampung, not too far from Bengkulu. But because we left Bengkulu somewhat late, we decided to spend that night in Manna instead. The road from Bengkulu to Manna is not long, yet we were met by heavy rain the entire way. From this stretch onward, we had already been warned of the danger of highway robbers on quiet roads or when entering forested areas. Soaked to the bone, we finally arrived at a lodging in Manna.
The next morning, we continued toward Lampung. Because of the previous day’s rain-soaked ride from Bengkulu, I began to feel unwell along this route. Fever, flu, and a cough started to set in. Throughout the ride, my body was at odds with the road, longing only to collapse onto a bed. Yet the distance had to keep shrinking if we were to reach our goal. After stopping at a roadside eatery, the staff told us there was a nearby regency town just ahead. They called it Pringsewu.
As dusk fell, we arrived at a lodging. My voice was no longer clear, my nose was running, and my body was shivering. All we wanted was a place to rest. I took some of the medicine we had prepared, determined to keep my health from collapsing. At the lodging, I could only hope this was an ordinary illness, because the route still ahead of us was very long. That night we rested completely. In my wife’s mind lingered a fear: if we had a fever and other symptoms, it might be Covid-19 — and the most frightening prospect of all was that I might have to be quarantined.
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