Zen, and the art...

I know I've already done flat tyre blog and Amanda has done dentist blog but that was ages ago and I've had a new experience to share.

I have toothache. The only real (well, I'll come back to that later) dentist is over an hour away in big town. Taxi costs 350,000 things (£20), no-one else is going that way so I can't cadge a lift. But wait! I have a motorcycle, I'll risk life and limb and run the gauntlet of the police roadside checks. Problem solved.

Dentist has a slot at 08:00 which means leaving at 06:00. The more mathematically minded will have worked out that gives me an hour spare to:

1. blag my way past 3 policemen using my now extensive Indonesian vocabulary (my new words after chicken, rice & vegetables are left and right - easy since it doesn't really matter which one you use).
2. handle unforeseen* circumstances: flood, avalanche, bike failure(hint,hint), road blocked due to ceremonial procession etc.
3. find the dentist.

* Come to think of it they're not unforeseen - I know they will all happen, perhaps I'd better leave at 05:00.

I leave at 06:20. Buggery buggery shit on a stick! The bike roars into life (bonus) and wakes up all our guests (revoke bonus) and I hit the road.

Everything goes smoothly for the first 15 minutes, I dodge an avalanche and manage to avoid some psychotic wildlife then approach a lot of people parked at the side of the road. I gingerly proceed straight into the first road block. If I make myself look really small maybe they won't notice me - damn. Still the cop has a nice face and a few 'chicken rights' and 'rice lefts' and I'm back on the road. 5 minutes later I catch up to the first procession and as I sit there I wonder if you can get after-market motorcycle accessories like bull bars.

Little town. I'm about half way but more police. I make myself small again then remember that it didn't work so I make myself big - this doesn't work either. "Excuse me sir, can you explain why you are bobbing up and down?" "Vegetable right officer" appears to be the incorrect response so I produce a valid driving license, motorcycle license, pretty coloured piece of paper with some numbers on it which he graciously accepts and I'm free to go.

Big town. (did you like the way I went straight from little town to big town without incident?) Consult map. You are here and you need to be there - simple, I just go the wrong way down a one-way street (same as everyone else) and Voilà you bump into another ceremony. This one infinitely less passable then the first and without the 'knowledge' of the rat-runs I anxiously follow along at a walking pace watching the minute hand move past the 12.

Reach dentist 08:15. Yes, it's a real dentist it has a frowning receptionist pointedly looking at the clock, a picture of Michael Jackson and everything.  Dr H sorts me out. X-ray, poke, prod, scream etc. "Infection, take antibiotics, come back 3 days".  I hope my face conveys: a) my disappointment that I'll be in pain until the drugs kick in and b) my realization that I have to go through the whole Indiana Jones saga again.

08:17 Breakfast time - nothing hot, nothing cold, nothing hard. I'd like a pot-noodle made with luke-warm water and all the lumps taken out please (yeah you can get that here). I only have an £8 note so the nice lady says I can pay (12p) next time.

It's still early so I decide to ride around town for a bit just to get my bearings and maybe find some rat-runs for next week. Now where's my dash-mounted clipboard...

Lunch time, better head back. Horse? check. Whip? check. Leather hat? check. Bag of treasure choc-chip muffins? check. Dum de dum dum, doo de doo... Between big town and little town somewhere near the Jetsons styled weigh-station, horse dies. You know that 'tink tink' sound of something cooling down? Well my super-dooper air cooled 125 chick magnet was working ok when the air temperature was below 30°C, now it's mid day and running full bore without a comfort-break/roadblock/ceremony for the last 10 minutes Mike is tired. Once the tink-tinks have stopped, it starts again and I can continue. This happens 3 more times and I realize that I only have a clear run home because all the locals know that only a moron would try to ride any distance at this time of the day and stay indoors.

Home safe. Body temperature muffins ready to eat - messy but nice and soft - with body temperature afternoon tea then straight back out to the Honda Maintenance Centre (I think you know what I mean). Anyway, I describe the symptoms "rice left chicken hot (you didn't know I knew that one)", 3 mechanics all jump on and ride away. What the...! Oh, it's ok they came back and point to the engine tutting but the only word I understand is chicken - what the hell are they on about, just do something!   So they do. Panels off, carburettor off, stripped down, parts cleaned, carb reassembled and fitted, engine started, carb tuned, panels back on.  What's the damage, John? 15,000 things. That's about 90p in your money and I leave smiling. Zen? well they probably used 20p's worth of my fuel cleaning the carb so it wasn't that much of a bargain after all.

One week later, back on solid foods, 12p repaid, bike running smoothly and back to normality (our version of normality, obviously).