Tawau the. Gateway to. Sabah from Kalimantan  

​ You wonder how an imaginary line across the sea can change something from one country to the next. Arrival in Sabah felt immediately different. Another country sure, but the feel is different. As I rode away from the ferry terminal Tawau felt international city ish but with distinct Malaysian flavor. Throw in a KFC and a MacDonalds to bring bad food to a good food place. The usual city bustle, cellphones in hand, but the care for strangers and offers of help which are diminishing elsewhere gave distinction.
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On the ferry to Sabah I lost my status of sole tourist. Two others, a European woman and her Sydney based son. We compared notes, hers in an immaculately hand written journal.
Approaching Sandakan my tourist exclusivity disappeared entirely with bus load after bus load of bored or sleeping eyes behind coach windows. Sandakan got dropped from my route.
One of the followers of a Borneo travel group (which AI has attached to me) was asking for a resort which didn't have a queue for the poolside "loafers" (which I assume are those long lie down chairs). People travel for different reasons. Mine has been seeking the real people of totally different cultures in the back blocks.

The road out from Tawau felt cruisey after the Kalimantan roller coaster. Riding rhythm came easily, the engineers thoughtful enough to limit gradient to 10 degrees. Guesthouses well equipped, some even with electric jugs so my butane cooker could stay in the panniers.

Massive infrastructure development going on in Sabah with the highway from Tawau to Sandakan and Kota Kinabalu being redeveloped (550 km). I had a huge boost when a group of about 20 construction workers all stood up from their lunch break to clap and cheer me up one of the climbs.
The junction to Sandakan had a small block of shops, the first was a Doctors Clinic. The pedal
hole in my leg had been refusing to heal for over 7 weeks. The Doctor blasted it with oral antibiotics and a care regime to keep it a little drier.

Finally I was also able to divert from the main road. I headed towards Pitas. Jungle reserves promised orangatans, elephants and an array of deer and reptiles. My only sighting was a huge monitor lizard road kill despite my head constantly craned backwards towards the towering canopy. Beautiful and peaceful country all the same.

Along the way guesthouses were few, but asking for a place to camp brought whole communities into action. The best site in the middle of school yard sacrificed privacy for a thousand questions. With school starting at 7am it was hard to organize my packup routine through the chatter.
I reached the sea again at Marudu Bay touching the far north eastern tip of Borneo, just a stones throw to Palawan Island of the Philipines.
 
 Arriving at a new coast again had a special feeling of accomplishment. This time the Sulu Sea providing a beautiful coastline busy with local fishing boats.
A couple of short hops restored my cash supply which had suffered from ATMs in the remote areas refusing all my cards.
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Those hops also landed me in beautiful bay at the tip of NE Borneo for a rest day. Swimming in crystal clear tropical water hit a spearfishing reflex, but restricted myself to tired blobbing in the warm water. Another milestone since it has been 43 years since I was spearfishing in those waters.
Sabah riding allowed me to catch up on my schedule with days to spare. I chose stops at small pretty coastal villages. Two nights and multiple visits to the little coffee shop almost made me a regular in Bongawan. I was introduced to new local fruits and came away with a bag full of ranbutans.

 The time off the bike has been focused on a flurry of government, media and corporate sponsorship emails. Replies have been few but Singapore Airlines promptly came back with an offer of waiving the cost for the excess baggage on my bike. Thank you Singapore Airlines. Once again friends and family generously support the Cancer cause while the corporate world ducks for cover. Wishing the massive generosity I have received all along the way could be reciprocated with a cancer cure.

Beware walking the Tawau footpaths at night

Following a load of palm oil heads

Down town Lahad Datu

Lahad Datu harbour

Classic wooden farmhouse

Lots of species in the protected area

But my only sighting was this huge guy - another. Casualty to progress 

Through beautiful jungle country in the reserves

Celebration on reaching the Sulu. sea at the top north eastern tip of Borneo

Some big climbs on the road to Pitas - here at Dr Ongs lookout 

The monolith of Kinabalu. 4095 metres

Potholes requiring full alpine climbing gear to 
extract yourself. Your lane of road dissappears 
in a hundred metre drop away. The passing truck 
doesn't give an inch, there is no guard rail to 
alleviate the nervousness. Up ahead a big tanker 
is being towed backwards up a slithering gravel 
slope, it slews sideways on the cable. I stand on 
the pedals to get out of the line of tumble.
 Another truck, wheels still spinning, lies 
sideways blocking part of the road. A green tree 
branch is the standard warning for the next 
hazard ahead. Gradient hits 15 degrees, the legs 
give up, bike push to the next crest.
This is the Trans-Kalimantan Highway, Sangatta
to Tanjung Selor. Probably won't make the safe 
cycling guidebook anytime soon. Concentration 
on getting enough power to each climb, cooling 
down at the top, I notice the camera has missed 
a lot. 

Then there are the moments, just the whistle of 
the jungle insects, a clatter of monkeys up high. 
A lull in traffic gives a native silence.
Reliably at the plateau of each climb is the 
warung (roadside shop). Food, cold drink and 
shady platforms to rest from the heat. Always a 
bit of fun banter and the shaking of heads at the 
crazy mission. The sun-high respite for drivers 
takes most of the trucks off the road for a 
precious couple of hours free of noise and 
traffic.
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I did hit the impossible button after 6 hours at 5 
kilometres per hour. Then along comes a small 
car with an even smaller guy at the wheel, he 
stops on the other side of the road "would you 
like a ride to the top?" YES! Darkness would hit 
before I could reach my target guesthouse.
The top proved to be 30 kilometres away (and 30 
back again for my saviour) I was dropped at the 
door of the guest house. My offer of petrol 
money was waved aside. Such is the generosity 
of this country. 

I gained confidence and managed 100 
kilometres next day, not quite making Tanjung 
Selor but beating 4000 metres of climb. Dinner 
at Warung Risky (really) and ready for sleep on 
the communal rest platform. But the next drivers 
stopping decided it was karaoke night. Ten 
minutes of sound blast was enough. I packed up 
ready to set up the tent down the road. My host 
and hostess wouldn't allow it, the front room of 
their house next door already had a mattress 
and pillow waiting for me.
Probably the hardest 600 kilometres of cycling I 
have done on all my trips, but some special and 
unique rewards. Has it diminished the ride in any 
way? The mental focus needed to step up a gear 
but that is the beauty of the unknown, 
anticipation is a precursor to fear and fear is no 
help.

Typical house in the Kalimantan hills

Celebrating the crossing into North Kalimantan with some more conventional travellers (motor scooters)

Suddenly your half of the road disappears (the marker on this one was a rarity)

Huge lake scoured out by open cast coal mining

Jungle clearing is continuous mostly for palm oil plantations and mining coal

Out of the mountains and onto the ferry from Tanjung Selor to Tarakan. Wishing the windows had been cleaned and grateful the 10kg limit had been extended for my 70kg bike and load

On the  tough days the camera often gets neglected so the good days get priority. It creates a biased view to a certain extent. There have been moments where this seems impossible. Have I bitten off more  than I can chew? That’s why every  great moment needs to be celebrated and the negative  thoughts quashed.

Arriving at the Java Sea Coast was one such moment. I felt a connection with the sea  where I have spent so much of my life. A  beautiful tropical coast palm trees and endless sandy beach. The only thing stopping me jumping in was the murky brown water for kilometres out. Indonesian fishing boats crammed every river, hauled up on rich red mud flats.

The sea coast gave way to flat rice paddies, then a climb back into hill country. 3000 kilometres clicked over on the  odometer. I arrived at Sungai Kupang looking for the only guest house. A helpful local guided me a few doors down, arranged a room and helped me with my bags then departed leaving me with a gristly kiss on each cheek.

My status as the only foreign traveller was broken when Chris, an Australian archeologist interrupted my durian icecream slurping to introduce himself. I discovered that the surrounding hills were riddled with natural (caves) and he was about to start digging  with an Indonesian research team.

For the next couple of days I was winding my way through a fairy land of pinnacles cloaked in deep jungle which spread its fronds to shade my path. Unfortunately the pinnacles started joining up to provide some grunty climbs.  A day of hard climbing extended when my target Google maps guesthouse didn’t exist. However that did land me in the interesting town  of  Tanah Grogot where I was able  to vary  my  diet  with  a burger.​

The hills I had been riding through contain massive  coal deposits. Although  I had glimpses  of huge mining operations,  it wasn’t until I was crossing on the Balikpapan ferry that the hundreds of huge  coal barges revealed the vast extent. I am now preparing  for my northern equator crossing with a rest day  in Samarinda.

Two delightful “kelapa jus” (coconut juice) sellers above and below managed a lot of Indo/English fun banter and I ended up with 2 free juices

My days banana supplier insisted on showing me his collection of Dayak and ancient Borneo artifacs

Huge coal mining pit turned into a lake

Passing ferry as my ferry arrives at Balikpapan

Java Sea coast

Followed by rice paddies

Through the cave riddled pinnacle country

Leaving Panajam on the ferry across to Balikpapan 

Her eyes were full of tears. She had chased me on her scooter from town bearing a bag of goodies for my lunch. She was inspired by my story. Those beautiful eyes will remain a highlight of the trip. I hope the inspiration is infectious.

My Inreach tracker is vital for communication when I have no cell coverage, it also provides world-wide ‘emergency response. I crossed the equator heading south and the tracker stopped working completely. The situation required a fast track from the mountains to a town with reliable internet. Fortunately a farmer had offered me a connection on his Starlink to start the ball rolling with Garmin support. Support which floundered about for a week, despite the best efforts from my family to provide relayed communication, Garmin finally provided a fix so trivially simple the problem could have been resolved in seconds, avoiding the week of worry for all plus a 300km diversionary ride to Sambit. At least Sambit gave me a rest day and a chance to catch up on communication.

Looping north from Sambit (avoiding the swampy delta region of huge rivers pouring into the Java Sea) my first stop landed me in Pundu. The guesthouses marked on Google maps in Pundu simply didn’t exist, in near darkness a helpful local suggested the local Police Station. Hospitality from the Police was immediate, from a tent site in the childrens play hut, to cake and fresh drinking water, not to mention their bucket and scoop shower in their immaculately clean bath room. The night was further enhanced when a couple invited me to their table to eat in the power blacked out restaurant just down the road.

Power blackouts were a feature of the region for the next few days. My reliable drink stops Alphamart and Infomart relied entirely on electronic sales so they couldn’t supply my junk food fuel for the road. Rice burn simply doesn’t cut the required calorie input on the road.

 Palangkaraya is the gateway to Sebangau National Park which does have an orang-utan sanctuary, but with a 3 day wait and the feeling that my sighting of an orang-utan in the wild was so unique, I opted to ride on to Banjarmasin. Banjarmasin is  huge sprawling city, half on water half on land, my GPS track took me through narrow lanes, past water ways and stilt houses in a wonderland of quirky difference.

The ride is constantly changing. Small clusters of Christian settlements. Sudden changes to Balinese style artefacts, then back to the constant beautiful mosques and prayer calls. One thousand innovations to turn 125 Honda scooters into overloaded workhorses carrying 8 20 litres drums of fuel. Rich in ever changing views from the bike seat.

Large Goverment buildings heading out of Pelaihari this morning

Stilt houses on the river

Lone fisherman on the ferry crossing in Banjamasin

Rough and ready guesthouse Baamang Tengah - unfortunately all the yellow hats started at 4am

Pundu Police camp in the childrens playhouse and below start of the 10km swamp bridge south of Palangkaraya

 Luckily I just missed peak tourist season. The people in Meringbang Jaya Village clearly remember the last tourist rush. Two Australian cyclists rode through in early 2025. The beauty of such isolation is that you are treated with special privilege.  I was hosted by Made Pagadau Tompou, but the entire village passed by to have their photos alongside a very ordinary New Zealand cyclist. The uniqueness of my visit elevated my status so I really tried to leave as much as I could to honour the extraordinary hospitality.​

A few days later I had asked permission to camp under the palms of a small mixed farm. Before I had set up camp one of the farm workers arrived with a bag of goodies. The farmer himself picked me up in his truck to wash in his bathroom. The owner  of the cafe next door arrived with a bunch of rambutan and a durian. After a long hot day the lychee-like freshness of rambutan is perfect. The only clue I missed was the insistence that I move my tent to a quieter  spot, the night was party night at the cafe, loud music all night. Fortunately 80 kilometres  of tough hill climbing induced total deafness.

My introduction to local fruit had started in a high mountain roadside store. I started with a fruit with the appearance of a small soft skinned orange with a large stone inside. A very refreshing taste but I still have not identified it. Durian I had been reluctant to try because of its reputation for evil  smell,  but the custard like texture and taste I found really pleasant.  Every store has a  large elevated  wooden platform which I learned that night is a  public sleeping  place, so my tent was replaced with an iron roof. The central mountains have a reliable pattern of torrential evening rain.

The transition from West to Central Kalimantan starts with a high mountain pass. It was late in the day, the gradient got too steep to ride. I. Arrived at the top just as darkness and the  daily  rain storm  arrived  to claim the worst campsite ever, crammed between a small prayer hut and the main road,  overlapping a rubbish  burn pile.

Next day in the  mountains proved one of my toughest days ever.  The terrain consisted  of steep conical hills in close succession. At maximum power  I could just get the load up, but totally heat cooked.  It ended up a very long day of bike pushing for a miserable  50 kilometres.

I am now following the southern Borneo Coast, much less isolated with easier terrain and good regular services including phone data for blogs .

My farm camp hostess and rambutan provider

Last resort mountain  bush camp

Derelict fish farms on the south coast delta

Border between West and Central Kalimantan

Village stilt houses

A sudden colour blast from a Chinese Temple. Mountain people are predominantly  Christian with Dayak tribal connectionss

As I came around the corner this guy was raising his tray on an uneven slope and literally toppled right in front of me. He is stemming the bush of diesel with a rag

Across the Kalimantan Border

IBan jungle walkway

Rice Paddies

Drying coconut shells

Typical village architecture

Blog 1

Arrived exhausted in Sarikei last night. The restaurant across the road had apparently run out of everything. A random stranger appears beside me with a few quick words on my behalf and the menu difficulties disappear. The stranger is an electrical engineer who worked on the air conditioning system in Aorangi Centre in Auckland and has recently visited Queenstown. Once again the world shrinks.

It started just 10 days ago in Bandar Seri Begawan. Visiting Brunei was part of the motivation for travelling in this part of the world. Barb and I spent two years here in 1981 to 1983. A time apart, jungle with monkeys  and snakes to our back fence. “Special tea” in teapots to disguise the beer. Panaga Club for expat social life. Underwater hockey in the pool, rugby and netball in the blistering heat. This time just a mad cyclist but equally blistering heat.​

Recent cyclists deaths had prompted knee jerk legislation changes to close all high speed roads to cyclists. The cyclists had both been hit by an unlicensed driver travelling at 180kph in broad daylight, so perhaps less of a cycling problem more of a driver one. Never the less it required me to take my bike on minor roads deteriorating to jungle tracks (the only workable route Reg from Brunei Cycle Doctor could find for me).

Unacclimatised and heat fogged I decided my befuddled internal compass was better than my GPS. Fortunately I had informed Brunei Police of my intentions so I wouldn’t get arrested trying to cross the one forbidden highway junction. They used my GPS track to find me and turn me around. By the time we neared the highway junction my balance sense had also gone awol and the Police contingent kindly bundled me and my bike into their vehicles for the final stretch. Terima Kasi Brunei Police.

A short haul took me across the Border to Sarawak next day, ending the day in Miri (the limit of my previous Sarawak experience). The previous two days effort limited my range next day to a short haul down the coast on the South China Sea. I spent an afternoon recovering as the only guest in Tim’s Seaside Resort. 

The coastal road south east showed the dominance of palm oil economy, huge continuous plantations. Gone were the IBan longhouses of old, replaced by long concrete structures of the modern longhouse pay-off. The effect was a palm oil desert with tall security fences cutting off any off road access. In a huge industrial complex at Samaluju I found a friendly refuge in a foreign workers camp, a comfortable cabin for the night.

Bintulu gave a modern city break with cuisine to match. Heading into the tiny kampong of Balinyian had a traditional feel much to my liking. The shower consisted of a bucket of water and a ladle. It worked well. Air con came from a breeze down the open corridor.

I was finding the options for free camping limited. All the roads were lined with deep sungais (drains) linked to the larger rivers allowing free-flow crocodiles. Further off road into jungle the floor was often deep swamp, nightly monsoon rain turned everything that wasn’t swamp into a brief one. Matu was my first tent night when the kindly owner of a fully occupied home stay offered a tent site on his back lawn. The tradition of generosity on the road continued with a breakfast watched by all the neighbours around the table.

The last 3 days of travel has been dominated by huge batang (rivers) and corresponding massive bridges. Yesterday the Daro Bridge across the Batang Lusaka spanned 4 kilometres. Later in the day a 15 minute ferry ride across the Batang Paloh is about to be replaced by another huge bridge.

Riding in intense tropical heat requires some strict disciplines. Ride at a pace where you are not continuously panting, hot air in the lungs is massively drying. Know the heat level you can tolerate, find shade and cool down before you cook. Hydrate continuously to keep the mouth moist, take quantities of something other than water to stop electrolytes being flushed (fruit and coconut juice is good). Ice creams at every stop.


Once again the journey has been highlighted with magical interactions with local people like the Chinese, Iban, Malay sisters in Balingian. A brief insight into lives of people so far yet so incredibly close.

Omar Ali Saifudden Mosque Bandar Seri Begawan

Tokong Chinese Temple Bandar Sei Begawan

Diversion route deteriorates Brunei

South China Seaside resort out of Miri

Drink stop

Balingian Home Stay

Lunch and drink stop

Camping unwise

Concrete IBAN Longhouses

River fishing village around Mukah

Shark statue leading to Oya Market

Neighbours for camp breakfast Matu

4K.m bridge over Batang Lussa

The border crossing from Turkiye to Greece set the tone for the last country. Lined the bike behind the cars, passport stamped and I was on my way. I headed down to Alexandroupolis on the Aegean Coast. The municipal camp was still open with a camp site beside the beach, and a restaurant to save me from the staple pasta and tinned fish diet. My neighbours were a fellow cyclist from UK and a Moroccan motor cyclist, who kindly delivered some key supplies.

I quickly adjusted the GPS course to hug the Aegean Coast for as far as I could. The narrow twisty lines on the map turned into rough gravel. Gravel frees the mind from the metrics of the ride, taking the focus off the GPS (how far, how long, where next) to focus on the lines across the gravel. Time flies as do the kilometres. The deep blue sea draws the eyes to the unfolding coastline. 

Ahead were a group of people off the road. Amateur archeologists. There was obvious excitement in the group. The meticulous rhythm of sifting through the dig probably running a little faster than normal. I noticed they had uncovered a full cellar of intact amphoras. I asked if I could taste the wine, stoney stares indicated they hadn’t got the joke. I was in Greece with thousands of years history buried everywhere.

My target for the day was foiled by two big climbs, one away from the coast and the second back out. Fortunately found a bed in the village of Xilgani, a short walk to the square allowed a change to my new staple diet of squid and Greek salad plus pizza for carbs.

I noticed the road verges and bush alongside were covered in thousands of while fluffy balls, far too early for snow. I was in the middle of cotton harvest. Huge truck loads of newly harvested cotton started to share my quiet road. Once I got to the hills, the same thing was happening with olive harvest. Huge fine mesh nets spread out around the trees, and mechanical tree-shakers dropping ripe olives onto the nets.

Another dirt track connected me to the road into Delta Nestor National Park and Lake Vistonida. I followed the causeway across a heron sanctuary of real beauty and was treated to formations of thousands of migrating herons flying south. The day ended in Xanthi, a big town which fortunately had a well stocked bike shop allowing me to replace my second back tyre which had given up the the battle with hundreds of thorn holes. Tubeless sealant is good, but 10,000 kilometres of constant hole-plugging had reached its limit (as had my supply of sealant). My brand new tyre rolled beautifully for the rest of the journey.

Back on the the Aegean Coast, villages were summer focussed so most where shuttered up for winter. Camping options were limited. I hit Mirtafitu very ready to stop peddling and saw a sign for a restaurant. I stopped and walked around the front to a grassy courtyard leading down to the sea. Hrsoula emerged from her room. No the place was closed for the winter. “Would you like a coffee”. She must have noticed my eyes drifting back to the smooth grass under the olive trees. “You can put your tent there, use the restaurant kitchen and bathroom” my generosity angel was still at my back. Probably my best equiped camp site of the trip.

I avoided the big city of Thessaloniki in a big loop to the north, ending in Alexandreia. The diversion was cycling joy though rolling country on quiet roads. I was about to get a further morale boost, when my sister Andrea and husband Des interrupted their own European trip to meet up with me in Platykampos. After months on my own, meeting my sister in a totally out of context setting was weird but wonderful.

The final leg was headed south with a short ferry hop onto the Long Island of Euboea. Euboea has a sharp mountainous spine which the road winds backwards and forwards over multiple times. The flatter road around the coast was closed with roadworks. As I zoomed down after the first big climb my generosity angel had spotted a 2 star hotel in Rovies. Cheap bed was my first thought. I arrived at Rodi Boutique hotel and realised It had a galaxy more stars than two. Evaggellia was the leading one, a hostess with extraordinary empathy. As I drank coffee and ate apple cake she was sharing my story with multiple friends over the phone. I guessed from the look of the wine selection alone that my entire Greek travel budget could disappear in a night. I choked back tears when she gave me a room for nothing. Both she and her friends offered genuine power to my cause with their comments. Good people.
Euboea was not going to let me off lightly on the bike, but climbs and gusty winds on the hills lead down to classic pretty villages on the coast. I looked down at the last, Marmari was that tiny dot on the map that months ago I had planned as my finish point. It hit me suddenly that I had done the job. Finished.

The celebration was enhanced when I was met by my other sister Sheryl who had flown out from London to meet me off the ferry. She and husband Bill completed the special celebration with a long time friend Sophia and her sister Peggy in the Acropolis Restaurant. Joy and a classic Greek red to toast a lifetime journey.

My original estimate was 11,000 kilometres. I was close.

Riding through Kavali on the Aegean Coast

Aegean Coastline near Mesimvira

Lake Vistonida

Cotton “snow” on the road

From acres of cotton fields

Ferry from Glyfa to the island of Euboea

Leaving the final camp at Marmari

The finish line at Marmari ferry

Farewell Marmari

Two of my generosity angels

The words of Kemal Ataturk above show the power of healing after war. An inspirational leader streaks ahead of the mindless war lords of today. The ANZAC site was powerfully emotional for me. Book history turned to stark reality. So many lessons still not learnt. As I sat in the small Shell Green cemetery, the ironic roar of fighter jets above.

“Silent stretches of riding alone punctuated with people and connections” As my daughter Karen eloquently put it. The distances in Turkiye have made more of the long silent stretches, but I enjoy ending up in small villages, tiny narrow alleys, lots of bright colour and the odd motor scooter at full Speed down the narrow alley to practice quick side steps. I have ridden from east to west across the entire country, but ending on the peninsular which is closely tied to New Zealand.

Eceabat is the perfect place to rest and look back. Quiet, peaceful, water all around, an ancient stone hotel right above the water. Sealant crammed into the rear tyre with vain hope that it will last the last thousand kilometres. Liman Restaurant has provided fresh squid and a beer every night.

The people of Turkiye have been unfailing friendly, but also with a sense of self contentment.  Life is good. Groups gather in cafes for endless delicate curved glasses of tea, time rolls by no need for rush. Probably it is the country where I have most missed knowledge of local language. My one new word a day doesn’t cut it here. 

I have enjoyed the country unfolding from the seat of the bike. From the frenetic Black Sea coast, to the mountain passes, high barren wind-farm rolling hills to the classic Mediterranean feel along the Marmara Sea Coast. Just a short hop to my final border.

Classic farm houses 

Endless roadside stalls always with the cay (tea) brewing

Always tempted to Lokum (Turkish Delight) and a classic coffee

Above 

The spectacular Canakkale 1915 Bridge​ and below Canakkale waterfront

Lone Pine cemetery 

Turkish Cemetery 

Ataturk briefing his new section commander

Chunk Bair trenches

The impossible terrain up from ANZAC Cove

Turkish and New Zealand monuments Chunuk Bair