HAETAM: Throughout June, I set off on a series of bike camping trips around Lombok, tracing lines through rice fields, forests, and coastlines. In the east, quiet villages and emerald paddies led me to Joben, where the river ran clear and black monkeys watched from the treetops. Southward, I followed rutted tracks to forgotten beaches, soft sand giving way to turquoise water, camping by Tanjung Aan under skies heavy with stars and the sound of waves crashing gently.
Turning west, the road unwound toward Tiu Roton, a hidden spring ringed by gentle hills. From there, I climbed north to Bayan, where gravel paths rolled beneath me, Rinjani’s peak hovering in the distance, and sunrises poured gold over grassy hillsides by the sea.
The highlands called, and I climbed towards Sembalun’s sharp ridgelines and cool winds, then descended to Tetebatu, where waterfalls whispered through terraces of green. I chased the coastline to Sekotong in the southwest, following broken roads along jagged cliffs and quiet bays, setting up camp where land met sea with no fences in between. My last stretch carried me along Lombok’s northern edge to Setangi Beach, past fishing boats, limestone outcrops, and sunsets melting into the horizon.
Across hills, beaches, and forests, Lombok delivered a mix of smooth tarmac, bumpy trails, and quiet, scenic campsites at every turn. Not every ride was smooth, not everything was perfect. But that was all part of it. I camped under cliffs, next to rice fields, and in the shadows of Mount Rinjani. I rode past empty beaches, through monkey forests, and down hills with no one else in sight. Some places felt touched by change—new cafes, more tourists—but many corners stayed timeless, found only by the slow pace of my bike. The island of Lombok doesn’t run out of stories, and every ride reminded me why I keep wanting to explore my home island more.