I have now been robbed twice by monkeys. Once, in Sri Lanka, a stealthy and opportunistic toque macaque snuck up behind me while we were stopped for a snack, reached into my pannier and nabbed a mango, which it proceeded to eat while smugly sitting on a branch just above us. This time, it’s an ambush. After a surprisingly good sleep in our national park bunk room with the hot, sticky air stirred by an overhead fan, we awake to the morning sounds of the jungle: beautiful bird song, the buzz of cicadas and various unidentified squaks and screeches. We sit at a small table outside our room to eat breakfast and as soon as I pull the bag of granola out of my pannier, a long-tailed macaque about the size of a large raccoon sprints down from a tree and straight at me, swiftly leaps up onto the table and snatches the bag. Startled but reluctant to forfeit breakfast, I hang on. He’s surprisingly strong and makes an open mouth hissing sound. We tussle until the bag rips open, spilling granola all over the floor, at which point I unsuccessfully try to fend him off with a chair. Amid the ruckus, the door to an adjacent bunk room opens and a small Malaysian woman pops her head out and says, “Monkey is fierce,” which I take to mean, “Don’t be an idiot and let him eat the granola.” I follow her advice. Monkeys 2 – Gabe 0.

We catch a boat back from Bako and, true to his word, Sebri is there to meet us with our bikes (which is has kept locked in his friend’s souvenir shop). We explain to him that, because of the smoky air, we would like to cut today’s ride short. He makes some phone calls and within minutes has a plan to borrow a truck and drive us part way. But first, we join Sebri and his friend for coffee at the local corner restaurant – an open air kitchen serving up delicious looking plates of noodles and fried rice to locals sitting on plastic tables and chairs. Motor bikes pull up to buy steamed bamboo rice and tapai (fermented rice in banana leaves). The coffee is tasty and we soak up the morning village scene, all narrated by Sebri’s friend, who seems to know everyone. The truck Sebri has borrowed arrives and we load the bikes in.

We are glad for the assist, as the skies are still thick with haze. Sebri shuttles us to a jetty, where we say goodbye and catch a ferry across the Rambungan River.

From there, it’s about 35 miles through the hot coastal countryside. We pass banana and palm plantations and stretches of dense jungle. It feels good to be riding on quiet roads but the heat and smoke are depleting.

By the time we arrive in Lundu three hours later, we are dripping with sweat and in need of cold drinks and food. Much to our relief, we find a roadside stall selling cold coconut water, delicious rice noodles with chicken and fresh chillies as well as warm chick peas cooked in salt and sugar. It all hits the spot.

We roll up to our small hotel ready for a shower and are presented with the best evidence yet that we have truly arrived at a certain elite station in life: a level of luxury and sophistication befitting two sweaty cyclists recently robbed by monkeys: a Louis Vuitton themed bathroom. Enough said.