some of the many many motorbikes in Bali

It’s a fact that, in the US, many jokes are made about Asian drivers. I also think there are starting to be many “horrible driving” jokes at my expense in my neighborhood in Ubud, Bali. The fact is, I have to agree. I’m a horrible driver in Bali. This comes as a bit of a surprise to me as I drive over 30,000 miles a year all over the United States while pulling a very large trailer in order to exhibit my work at art shows.  And I think I do it quite well, if you’ll pardon my immodesty. But I guess driving a car, even when pulling a trailer, is nothing like driving a motorbike.  

I’m beginning to understand Asian driving philosophy – which by no means is an indication that I’ve had much success emulating it.  Asians drive as though they are water in a river.  The current is always moving, never stopping; just speeding up and slowing down but always in motion.  It’s really quite beautiful actually.  I’ve tried to be the leaf that gets carried along in the current, but instead, I seem to be a stick, caught on a rock on the river bottom.  I want to move gracefully in the stream, to be a part of the river, but instead my instincts fight against it.  

Driving on the left side of the road isn’t even the problem really, although it’s taken a little getting used to.  Balance, coordination and just plain gutsiness are my hangups.  This also surprises me as, off the motorbike, I generally have no shortage in these areas.  When I hop on my moto, however, I seem to become a different person; a person I’m quite annoyed with to be honest.  I tense up, can never find the horn, and forget to turn off my blinkers, just thrilled with the fact that I’ve successfully made the turn I was signaling for to begin with. Remembering to brake with both hands so I don’t flip over the front wheel is an issue too.  And then sometimes, when I’m trying to brake, I accidentally twist the gas lever on the handle at the same time. It’s ugly. Driving a motorbike is much more complicated than I had imagined!

Putu on the ubiquitous motorbike

I think, to the Balinese, I’m also an unpredictable driver because I don’t drive like them.  We have different definitions of what a safe distance between vehicles should be.  While I can see that their way works well, I can’t bring myself to drive shoulder to shoulder with a big truck or to ride two to three feet from the bumper of the van in front of me.  Trying to cross the river of traffic freaks me out too and I often wait … and wait and wait … for just the right opening, causing other drivers behind me to zip around me and illustrate how it should be done.  They’re gracious, however, and never honk their horn under those circumstances as would definitely happen back home.

When I rented the bike, I had visions of the wind whipping through my hair (under my helmet of course) roaming the Bali countryside (Bali is an island the size of Vermont only about 4 hours drive end to end).  I’ve ridden on the backs of a number of motorbikes in the two weeks since I arrived and am completely comfortable with the balance and feel of the bike in motion.  When I become the driver, however, it’s a different story entirely. At this point, I’ve limited my excursions to my neighborhood area until I feel more comfortable (I’m hoping that day will come very soon … or at least at all!).  Thank goodness I’m here for a while!

The looks on the faces of the neighborhood Balinese as they watch me struggle are a combination of fright and pity.  There’s nothing I can do but laugh at myself and when they see this, my horrible driving becomes a shared joke.  Part of me wants to turn in the keys to the bike, but, as I still have visions of roaming the Balinese countryside unaccompanied by a guide, I’m determined to persist and master this machine.  In the meantime, I’m just incredibly delighted each time I make it safely to my destination and can turn the bike off.