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We used to laugh and point. Now this is how we roll.

I post the photo thinking I’m being cute and funny. My friends and family back in “more civilized” parts of the world are mortified (and mildly amused). I understand this reaction. I had it once myself.

The photo in question shows me on my motorbike. With my wife. And our two children. Plus the dog, of course, tucked down on the floorboards. We jokingly call it “the family wagon,” which in “more civilized” countries would be a chip- and Cheerio-littered minivan with safety-approved carseats double-belted in the third row, with nursery-rhyme spewing DVD player, headrests, and a stroller rack on the roof.

Here we have a motorbike instead.

Photo: author

I’m sure we all remember our first impressions of the family wagons in Bali and throughout Asia. Four-person families popping the curb to avoid traffic. The occasional five-pack. The holy six-pack. Cell phone tucked into the helmet. Monkey on the handlebars and a sack of rice between the legs. Is that woman breastfeeding? Then we spot the toy-store scooter, the doormat moped, and the various meals-on-wheels-mobiles. Motorbike madness is just a way of life around here. You get used to it. Mostly. My all-time craziest-ever sighting was a man riding with a giant mirror in his lap. It was so big, he couldn’t see the road at all, but he seemed content just staring at his own reflection. And somehow, he wasn’t crashing.

We’re mortified at first (and mildly amused), but eventually we find ourselves shopping for a baby helmet (which also used to mortify me). Pretty soon, it’s both kids, a hand-me-down baby helmet, and, okay, the dog can come too. But only if I can bring my surfboard.

You become what you resist, the saying goes. Or maybe just: Don’t knock it till you try it.

I suppose there’s a larger metaphor at work here. Something about our innate human capacity to adapt, rationalize, recalibrate. But this isn’t a metaphor, just a quick trip to the beach. I’m told there’s a shockingly high number of motorbike mortalities in Bali every year, but it’s hard to hear those stats with the wind in my ears and the joyful hoots of my three-year-old boy as we blaze through the rice paddy shortcut. The volcano is watching.

So it goes. This story would be finished, but on my way home today I saw my new “craziest ever.” The sight mortified (and amused) me all over again, like a fresh-off-the-plane tourist.

He was driving on the Bypass Road, where traffic is the fastest and most intense on the island. He had a big Scorpio motorcycle and was leaned back into a fully reclined position, so that he could steer with his two bare feet. His helmet was pulled up, the way you raise sunglasses to your forehead, and with both hands he was happily typing a text message. Or maybe he was playing Angry Birds. Hard to tell because as I pulled closer to take a photo, he made a left-turn exit and disappeared into Denpasar traffic without ever sacrificing his lounge-chair status.

Shocked. Mortified. But mostly just glad my boys didn’t see that one.

Expat Life


About The Author

Nathan Myers

Nathan Myers is the world’s leading authority on guacamole combat. While his book Guac Off remains the definitive instructional for the avocado martial arts, his trilogy of short stories Broken Fables vol. I, II, and III should probably never be read by anyone again. A graduate of UC Berkeley and longtime senior editor of Surfing Magazine, Nathan has contributed stories and photography to Islands, Sierra,Destinasian, Maxim and LA Times, as well as most major surf magazines around the world. In 2009, he co-founded the open-source surf video competition — which awards $100,000 to the best surf short every year — along with veteran surf filmmaker Taylor Steele, with whom he previously collaborated on the surf-travel films Stranger Than Fiction, The Drifter and Castles in the Sky. He currently lives in Bali, Indonesia with his wife and two boys, where he continues to write, take photos, produce film projects and teach guacamole fighting.

  • Anonymous

    Ha! Loved the image of guy travelling with the mirror…
    Though not quite the same, my arthritic 66-year old Grandma likes to remind us of her experiences as an 18-year old riding her boyfriend’s honda monstrosity, headscarf billowing out behind her, miniskirted, thigh high boot clad legs draped over the edge of the sidecar!
    The closest I’ve ever got to such an exhilarating experience is riding in the back of my uncle’s van without a seatbelt – neither as cool nor as dangerous! Sigh….one day perhaps.

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