My last post ended with me having a beer and waiting for what was next. What I didn’t know was that what was to come next would nearly kill me.
Glenn and I ended up hanging out with Jason clary back at the Rocket company headquarters. We watched the Macaframa video whilst I stole some of prolly’s bourbon #fixiefamousbrah. If I ever see him again I’ll pay him back.
After a few more beers I drove us all back to Jason’s hotel. That’s right, I drove drunk in Jakarta’s crazy traffic and we all lived to tell the tale. The reason I drove was I was the most coherent and Glenn assured me it was ok. Probably won’t rush to repeat the experience but definitely memorable none the less. Glenn had to go back to the apartment to pick up Nelson so I stayed with Jason and drank some more beers at the hotel.
Glenn then messaged me and told me that he was now not coming so I had to make my own way home. Screw that I went partying. Jason,his roommate Chris and myself went to a club called “Lucy In The sky”. We were immediately bought drinks on arrival and hung out with local legend Aldo and his wife, who made sure all our hands had drinks in them for the duration of the night. As the party started kicking into gear, one of the local ladies decided I was acting too coherent and made it her mission to change this. She fed me these brutally alcoholic cocktails which she assured me I wouldn’t be able to handle. Being a sporting man I made it my mission to prove her wrong. Bad move Jesse bad move buddy.
My last memory was finishing one of these cocktails, probably my third of fourth one and sitting down to chill with the locals. Fast forward to when I come too. I wake up in the blaring sunlight lying in a bean bag in the beer garden of Lucy in the sky. Everyone is gone and I am literally locked in the top level of this club which is an open air beer garden. All the doors are double padlocked and I’m stumped as to what to do. The bar is there, so I do what any hungover man does, I poor myself a bourbon and coke and collect my thoughts. I begin to realize that there is a race on and I am not there. I also realize that I have no way of contacting anyone, I have no local currency and I feel like a furry ball of painful shit that is sitting in a broth of death warmed up. I finish my bourbon, steal an ice tea and figure out my escape route. I end up having to climb on the outside of the building to get to the external staircase, all whilst holding my ice tea. I make it to the stairwell and a sleeping security guard comes too and looses his shit. Firstly there is a bedraggled white guy climbing around a locked up building and he has obviously stolen ice tea from the bar, secondly he just woke up. Let’s just say I made a quick exit with a few sorries thrown in. I find a flyer on the floor of rocket’s front door with the race’s address and hitch hike my way to the race. A friendly local took pitty on me and let me ride with his himself and his wife in his two seater ute. It was a tight fit as I was pretty much sitting on his gearbox so we got to know each other quite well every time he changed to second or fourth.
I make it to the race grounds and as soon as someone recognises me they laugh their arse off (as i apparently look horrible), and tell me to find Glenn my manager who has been loosing his mind thinking I have been kidnapped or worse. I find Glenn and the look on the poor dudes face is one of utter relief and frustration. I explain what happened and all he could do was look blankly at me. I think he was just glad I was alive.
The race commissioner had been calling my name to race all morning so I had to race ASAP. It was going to be hell. I borrowed a random bike with huge gearing for the mini race. The mini race was a one lap circuit of one of the worse garden paths I have ever seen. It was brick path with all sorts of obsticles, ranging from tree roots to slippery moss whilst managing to have some of the tightest switchback corners thrown in. Nelson and I lined up to race and that’s when I figured out that my feet couldn’t fit into the foot retention of this borrowed bike and it has no breaks. Oh Jesus this will be fun. Nelson and I are counted down and we start racing. We sprint up the first straight and take the first sweeping corner, then all of a sudden Nelson is on the ground and I’m flying past him wondering what happened. I take the lead and get to the last 3rd of the track when instead of looking at the path when taking a tight corner, break less, I look at the massive ditch off to side, where I end up flipping into. Nelson flies past me and I jump back onto my bike and finish the race. We found out later four people broke bones competing in that race. I came out with a nasty gash on my shin and Nelson hurt his wrist and back. As soon as I finished the race I had to race gold sprints. I came fourth overall I think.
By this time I’m feeling awful. I’m covered in red sand, I’m bleeding and my hangover has kicked into hyperdrive. I find a stack of chairs and make myself a makeshift bed. I think I slept for about an hour. Someone bought me some food and I ate fish cakes then got some rice with ox tongue. I just ate the rice, as the sight of the tongue was making me feel ill. Fast forward through the rest of the day of trackstand competitions, trick competitions and more mini racing and I’m starting to feel decidedly shit. Nelson and I start walking to the car after the awards ceremony and I suddenly have to to stop. Something is not right, oh yeah it’s because my stomach decides to void itself of all it’s contents. Repeat process for the next two hours until we get back to the apartment. Just when I think the worse is over I go to fart. This is where the fun began, as I didnt fart I sharted, and had to wadle to the toilet where I rode the porcelain rainbow fun time for the rest of the night. I would alternate between throwing up and violent diarrhea. I now know what it feels like to be brutally hung over, sick like a dog and covered in cuts, it feels like death.
It’s now the day after. I’m still sick, afraid to fart and spent the whole day at the airport in the stifling heat. Karma kicked me in the arse but in some strange way it was fun, and all I can do is laugh. What’s next Indonesia
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