Bali Bike Chronicles
Photo by Annie Senechal
1: Hummus leg
Kayla, Cait, Annie and I arrived on October 1st to settle into our villa before the Go Light Our World retreat began. GLOW, a nonprofit focused on providing solar-powered lights to small villages and eliminating kerosene lamps, had brought us together for what would be an unforgettable experience.
As we parked our bikes in the tiny driveway of what would be our home for the next few days, someone parked a bit to close to the entrance. While we shuffled around the bike, lugging our 50-pound packs, my leg accidentally brushed against the exhaust. Instantly, adrenaline kicked in. I didn’t feel any pain at first, but as the days went on, my leg got progressively worse.
By the fourth day of the retreat, one of our guests—a nurse named Melody—took a look at my leg and told me it might be a tissue infection. She warned that if it wasn’t treated at a hospital, I could risk amputation. That statement sent me into a full-blown panic.
I remember walking back to the car after her comment, stress crashing over me like a wave. The drive from the Bukit to Bondalem was agonizing. I didn’t know what to do. Leaving the retreat wasn’t an option—I didn’t want to abandon our guests or let my fellow instructors down. So, against Melody’s advice, I decided to stay.
That evening, Matt, the owner of Villa Selina, took a look at my leg. To give you a visual: it resembled a gooey, oozing circle of hummus, with orange liquid seeping down toward my ankle—like the oil you see sitting on top of a fresh container of Sabra hummus before you stir it. NASTY,
Matt suggested treating it with tea tree oil, a natural antiseptic, followed by a layer of pawpaw ointment to seal it and keep out dirt. My friend Annie handed me some kind of pain reliever, which helped a bit, and I kept my leg elevated.
Every morning, I woke up stressed about my leg, but I had to compartmentalize the anxiety and let it go. It became a mental experiment—detaching from the pain, learning to focus on everything but the discomfort. It wasn’t easy, but I managed to keep going.
The tea tree oil and pawpaw routine slowly worked, and by the time the retreat ended, my leg was starting to heal. But it wasn’t until I returned to Ubud and reunited with some friends from California at my new villa that I noticed real progress. My leg finally scabbed over, the pain subsided, and I could even get back in the water again.
Now, the scab is gone, and while there’s still a faint sensation in that spot, the whole experience makes me laugh. After all, would it really have been a true Bali trip without earning my own Bali ‘tag’ of honor?
2: What’s a headlight?
It was the second night after our retreat, and Dev and I had just settled into our new villa before heading to Ubud to meet up with some friends. Eric, the villa owner, had rented us a motorbike, and we’d been happily exploring during the day—but we hadn’t yet tried driving at night.
That evening, after hanging out with friends at Bingin Beach, we decided to head back home around 10 p.m. toward Padang Padang. The roads were initially well-lit by lamps from nearby homestays, so everything seemed fine—at first. But as we veered into the darker, more jungle-like areas, it became glaringly obvious: the motorbike’s headlights didn’t work.
Panic set in. I quickly handed my phone to Dev, and she turned on the flashlights from both our iPhones, holding them up as makeshift headlights.
It was fucking terrifying.
The roads back to our villa weren’t just dark—they were steep, hilly, and barely wide enough to fit a scooter. It felt like something straight out of the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland, especially that part where you drop and the giant ball comes hurtling toward you. Except this wasn’t a ride, and there were no safety rails. I was on the brink of a full-blown meltdown, clutching the handlebars for dear life, praying for our safety.
And then, inexplicably, I started laughing.
Not just a chuckle, but uncontrollable, out-of-nowhere laughter. It hit me that this was meant to happen to us for some ridiculous, cosmic reason. Maybe we were supposed to experience this bizarre, nerve-wracking adventure to earn some sort of badge of resilience—or sheer stupidity. Either way, I couldn’t stop laughing.
For the next 15 minutes, we rode through the pitch-black jungle roads, feeling like true adventurers. Every few minutes, we’d pass a random shop or house where people stood outside, their faces lit with confusion—and then laughter. They were clearly amused by the sight of two foreigners navigating the darkness with nothing but iPhone flashlights.
Their laughter blended with our own, echoing through the trees as we pushed forward. It became the soundtrack of our chaotic, ridiculous journey home.
Nothing could stop us. We were getting back, one way or another.
And you know what? We did.
3: Dude, where’s my bike?
I got a call last week from a friend over at Lagas Hostel, where I had rented my bike, telling me I had the wrong bike.
“What the fuck?” I said.
How does one even accidentally grab the wrong bike? And how was the key fitting a completely different bike?
The night before, I had dinner at Earth Cafe in Ubud with a friend. I parked my bike on the street parallel to the restaurant, spent an hour or two there, and then walked back to retrieve my bike.
The bike I thought was mine was parked exactly where I’d left it, and the key fit perfectly, so I just hopped on and drove off.
Then, I got the call. We rushed back to the street where I had parked, and I walked up and down the road, but my actual bike was nowhere to be found.
I kept wondering, How the hell did this happen? And more importantly, Whose bike had I been riding around?
After a few hours of searching with no luck, I decided to take a break and eat. I was starting to get hangry, and we’d already wasted two hours looking for this damn bike.
Post-lunch, I went back to Lagas to meet with Gade, who’s in charge of the bikes. He gave me this super vague response about where the bike was and who had it—I couldn’t get a straight answer out of him.
A few minutes later, Gade asked for my keys, started the bike I’d been riding, and came back 20 minutes later with a huge grin saying, “Shan, this is your bike.”
I felt so bad because... well, I wasn’t exactly in a position to pay for a new bike.
When we first spoke, Gade had looked incredibly stressed out. I honestly thought he was going to revoke my bike privileges, and that would’ve been a nightmare because I’m seriously obsessed with the motorbikes here.
Turns out, someone had mistaken my bike for theirs, and when they tried to return it to their bike place, they realized it was the wrong one. So, they called Lagas, and that’s how the whole mix-up unfolded.
Thankfully, I got my bike back and no one had to take a financial hit.
All in all, just wow.
4: “This damn magenta bike”
That same magenta bike I lost? Yeah, it stopped working just two days later.
Honestly, I never wanted that magenta bike. The signs were all there—me losing it and my absolute distaste for that horrific color.
I was never meant to be on that bike. It was slow, and I was totally over it.
So, we’re outside of Coco Mart, and I go to start the bike... and nothing. It’s a dud, a fucking dud.
Luckily, Dom and Adam, who have been through this kind of stuff before, were with me. Five minutes later, Adam managed to start it manually, and we were able to make it home.
The next morning, I went to have brekkie with a friend, and the bike wouldn’t start again. I was so flustered, trying to start it manually like Adam had done, with no luck. That’s when the villa manager came outside, saw my struggle, and with a few quick moves, got it started. He suggested I take it straight to Lagas to exchange it.
I took the bike over to Lagas, and of course, no bikes left to rent. But, in a stroke of luck, Gade, the owner, gave me his personal bike to use for the rest of my stay.
Gade’s bike? A beast. It was way more powerful than any of the bikes I’d rented before. When I turned it on, there was no hesitation—just pure engine power roaring to life. I thanked a reluctant Gade, winked, and sped off onto the main road.
Gade’s bike is the best bike I’ve had since being in Bali, and holy shit, I definitely need me one of these!
If it weren’t for that new bike, I probably wouldn’t have had much luck in my next adventure…
5: Three babes, one bike
One afternoon, Dom, Dev, and I walked to Uma Mandi, a cozy coffee shop down the road from our villa, to get some work done. Little did we know, we'd get stuck there for hours as the torrential downpour began.
The three of us chatted about life, love, and everything in between. I somehow managed to drink four cups of coffee during the three hours we were stuck, and in the process, we made a new friend—Made. He told us about his yoga practice and life here in Bali, asking about us and where we were from. One thing I truly love about Bali is the people! They’re so friendly, and it feels great to turn strangers into friends.
After we finally left Uma Mandi, we walked back to our villa and realized Adam was still gone. That meant we only had one bike between the three of us! We debated for a moment about whether Adam should drive back to pick someone up, but when he mentioned he'd just cracked open a new Bintang, I took it as a sign to suggest I drive all three of us over to Lagas to meet them.
Now, I’d only ever driven with two of us on a bike, and although I’m pretty comfortable on a motorbike, driving three people was a whole new experience. It was night, so visibility was a bit tricky, but the lack of traffic was a huge relief.
We crammed onto the bike, my butt barely fitting on the seat, and off we went. Dev was right behind me, and Dom was in the back, barely holding on... even now, I can’t help but laugh as I type this out. It was a ‘little’ shaky at first, but we soon found our rhythm!
We were almost to the main road, about to turn left toward Lagas, when Dom stubbed her toe on an extra-long driveway. I had no idea it was there—construction had raised some of the driveways above the road level. Luckily I didn’t hit the driveway, but Dom didn’t have anywhere to put her feet, so she ended up nicking her big toe…whoops.
We didn’t stop, though. We pressed on and made it to Lagas, where I almost crashed us into the side building because I couldn’t stop laughing while trying to avoid a giant pothole. Our laughter echoed through Lagas as we parked next to the pool.
Everyone was staring at us, amazed we’d pulled it off, but hey—we made it!
Dom immediately checked out her toe—it was a little nasty, but she cleaned it up with some antiseptic and a band-aid, and it was as good as new in a few days.
I’ve totally fallen in love with these motorbikes. They’ve made life in Bali way more interesting and, honestly, hilarious!
I can’t wait to get back to Bali next week and hop on a bike again!
