What guidebooks warned was a serious four-hour hike up to the summit became 20 minutes by motorcycle, twisting up jungle hair-pins to 9,000 feet. But by late afternoon, mild drizzle turning into a full-force storm meant becoming stranded at the top. The highest point in the region, Penanjakan Peak is also a base for remote radio towers and relay stations. While I stood drenched and staring though greying walls of falling water, the final light of the day faded into a solid fog. In better times, the half-dozen boarded-up shacks near the lookout patio served as souvenir stands for winded trekkers, but after prying apart broken wooden slats, a hollow musty shell became this shivering solo traveller's twilight refuge. While waiting for rains to ease enough to retrieve camping gear from my bike, a middle-aged bearded man appeared from the darkening shadows. Draped in dripping green plastic trash bags and without speaking, he motioned with his hands to follow.
Unsure if I'd been busted for burglary or rescued from the elements, Agil Kurniawan's cramped five-by-eight-foot brick cubicle provided instant relief from biting winds. As exterior temperatures nose-dived, the orange glow of his electric cooking plate was warming enough to begin to dry my waterlogged riding clothes. Cluttered with a nine-inch flickering TV, a few handheld transmitters and a rack of eating utensils on top of boxed clothing, there was barely room in here for one. Folding away his makeshift rainsuit, Agil repeated familiar greetings, "Dart manna mistuh?" (You come from where sir?)
"Nama saya Glen. Saya orang Amereeka." (My name is Glen and I am original of America.) Using a dented metal cup to scoop a bowl of rice from his cooker, he asked, "Apa kabar? Mau makan?" (How are you? Do you want to eat?)
I nodded, and he sprinkled a plate with steaming white grains and chunks of smoked fish heads that were spicy enough to melt plastic. Sitting cross-legged, eating in silence, it was obvious this wandering alien was now trapped by the intensifying evening storm. Pointing to the raised plywood platform filling half the tiny room, said "Tidur desanah." (You sleep.) Waving away my objections, he rolled out a greasy horse blanket onto the cold concrete floor and insisted that I use his bed. Debate was useless, so we spent the next two hours studying my computer images of faces and scenes from distant cultures. While tracing my route around the globe, Agil smiled and stared as if he was hearing about life on Mars. Even explaining the other islands of Indonesia was difficult- he understood only Java.
Glen Heggstad One More Day Everywhere p 332-3
