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SNOWING IN BALI

using a regular Honda, a black helmet and black jacket, vanishing among the thousands of Balinese motorcyclists. Rainy days became cherished, as he could cover himself entirely with a Balinese plastic poncho and become indistinguishable.

Riding around Bali now, he often glimpsed a tail in his rear-vision mirror. Sometimes he'd see the car or bike turn off and realise it was nothing but paranoia; other times, it was cops - they were still watching him. Everything he did now was with caution, including going to his storage place. He'd try to go only once a week, always circling the block a couple of times before ducking down the lane, incognito in his black jacket and helmet and riding his nondescript Honda.

To continue the façade of a simple surfer and family man, he would hit the water at 6 am every day, whether he'd had a big night or not. He'd started partying again after a few weeks of acute paranoia and monkish life. But it was a different person who emerged, his exhibitionist nature eclipsed by survival instincts.

That's the start of the careful time. Before I was like, I don't give a shit. And then I start feeling my mistake to be too much of a show-off. I start thinking, 'Oh, I'm going to sell the bikes, the bikes make me an easy target. I'm not going to go to some places anymore, because the undercover cops, they know fancy restaurants, some dealing happened there.' I still keep partying, but carefully.

He was using tricks, like parking his Honda bike outside one of the clubs in the afternoon, then that night driving there in his recognisable big car and zooming off to a party on the other side of the island on the bike.

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