We're here and it's now, all else is moonshine

Sunday’s bike push brought us to Tagaytay City. We started the bike ride in the early morning and rode under grey skies all the way to Cavite. At the Aguinaldo Highway, a national road named after the war general that led the eight Philippine provinces against Spanish and American forces, we saw it get light and in the course of the bike ride the malls and business centers were replaced one by one by the greens of the trees and the makeshift roadside shops. It was a great road, long and can lead you to many places south of Manila.

By the time we reached Silang in Cavite our group of 10 cyclists was separated far apart. I was in the group at the front, rather tired and happy. It was the first time that my bike and I were able to and did keep up with a breakaway group. Around that time we were on the part of Cavite that climbs up to Tagaytay City and I was riding on the smaller crank set of the bike. It was nice and light to pedal the bike and keep up with the group. I never really did notice the Silang countryside as I supposed I would. I tried to answer every bike push of the lead cyclist, and while I was at it I though I could get used to that.

It was such a nice way to spend the weekend. Many people don’t understand it when I told them I’d get up from bed earlier on weekends than on weekdays, and spend my weekends exhausting myself on a bike push. They have their opinions, and it won’t make any difference to me. I’d gladly ride my bike any chance I get on a Sunday. Climbing up Tagaytay City, I felt tired and began to miss my bed. I thought of the good night sleep that the bike push would give me later in the night.

Then I thought of how my life on weekends revolved around getting on my bike and nothing more, and I felt sad that it was so but that it was something I could not do anything about immediately. It was now, I thought, and I was in Tagaytay City on board my bike. Everything else was moonshine. That sounded like nice words to live by. But, I supposed, it would just be like those other philosophies I’ve had and forgotten. What the hell, it sounded good. That’s one thing you get from cycling, you get to focus on what’s in front of you. And maybe, with luck, you get to reach your destination all safe and all right. Little by little you get there.

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Calatagan bike push: Like nothing I’ve ever done

In the early afternoon of that Saturday we were on the Tagaytay Ridge, riding our bikes at 20 to 30 kph and along the way we met cyclists on the road. It was a hot afternoon, windy, and silent. Without the bike, I supposed, the day would have been soporific. But, at the Tagaytay Ridge, we still had more than 50 km to cover on our way to Calatagan, Batangas by bike.

Every now and then I would pull out the canteen of the bike and squeezed water on the back of my head. I would do that each time I saw a wet spot on the road ahead, but was actually all dry and bright when I came near it. The water kept me up and on the alert in my bike, in addition to knowing that there were cliffs on either side of the road. Then we reached Nasugbu, Batangas and the road turned country-like, with trees and outgrowths rustling and leaning toward the road on account of the wind, and ahead was the mountain.

The mountain was green, wide, and small. I didn’t know a mountain in Batangas, probably it was Batangas itself, the parts of the province far from the sea, which one would likely to forget because they were far from the sea. Beyond the mountain were the bright clouds. From Nasugbu, Batangas it was all downhill by bike, the road shady and cool, and there were no roadside stores for about 5 km.

Cruising down the highway I thought of the bike push back to Manila the following day. It would be a bike climb on our way back, for sure. But I let it pass. Everything, aside from the sun and the road and the trees, was moonshine and I shouldn’t let it bother me in the day. On a rotunda they called “Circle” we made a right to Lian, Batangas. We pushed with our bikes on a roughly 3-km road and we passed by a schoolbuilding, church, a sugar mill, and a residential area.

The road then intersected with another and ahead was the sea. There were houses, actually, but you could smell the sea. It’s hard to explain how the sea smells like, but you know. Probably when I smell the sea again I would think of Calatagan, and that ridiculous bike push we got done. It was like nothing I’ve ever done. So there you have it. We reached Calatagan all right, and were greeted in Matabungkay by Jaime and Harriet and their surfer clique (Thanks guys for great food and hospitality). But, had I known that writing about the Calatagan bike push for my three readers would be this hard and take me two days, I would have gone on with my bike and pushed farther south.

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Breaching the century mark in 1 day

Calatagan, Batangas is one of those tourism spots in the Philippines that have become famous for their proximity to a body of water, in Calatagan’s case, the South China Sea. It lies 120 km south of Manila, forming a peninsula that sits at the southwestern tip of the Luzon Island, Philippines. Known primarily for its beaches and ports, Calatagan, Batangas sounded hardly the bike destination that can present some really difficult terrain for Philippine cyclists.

Calatagan, Batangas may be on sea level, but it is bounded to the north by Tagaytay City, a Philippine city that provides a hillside view of the Taal Lake in Batangas. Overcoming the Tagaytay bike climb just recently, I knew I could handle a Batangas bike push. Tagaytay City is about 60 km from Manila and Calatagan is 120 km, which makes a Calatagan bike push similar to a roundtrip bike ride to Tagaytay City from Manila—something I have already done, only that I have to repeat the bike push on the following day.

We started in the early morning of Saturday, August 11, and planned to go home the next day. In the days before that it had been cloudy and there had been rains in Manila. That Saturday the sun came out and it was warm and bright. On board our bikes, we passed through Aguinaldo Highway, a major highway south of Manila that connects the province of Cavite to Batangas. Along the way we saw other cyclists, and see them leave us behind one by one. They were going only to Tagaytay or some parts of Cavite. We kept our pace under 30 kph, something I learned that veteran cyclists do on long rides.

When we reached the Tagaytay bike climb the difficulties started. The trip was not planned, so that although we were in August and the Philippines was then being visited by the habagat monsoon, we rode our bikes to the Matabungkay beach in Calatagan, Batangas. On the Tagaytay rise we faced a strong crosswind. It pushed us back, which made the bike climb doubly hard. Two cyclists on board a mountain bike passed us, they looked eager to reach the top. We caught up with them eventually, and overtook them. But Harry would not overtake the two. He was drafting so that he was behind the two bikers and being shielded from the winds.

We reached the top of the ridge around 10 in the morning, had lunch in a roadside restaurant, watched the local tourists, and prepared for the Batangas bike push. From that restaurant in Tagaytay City it had been new frontiers for us all the way to Calatagan, Batangas. Not merely was it a new frontier, the Calatagan bike push was like nothing I have ever done or experienced before. We were riding our bikes on Batangas, looking at the Taal Lake on the left-hand side of the road and being greeted by the sweet smell of the pineapples in the plantation on the right-hand side of the road. It was curious that although I have been to Batangas many times, it was only then when I was riding a bike that I had that feeling. (Next: Philippine Bicycle Diaries in Matabungkay)

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Ride, don't drift

It’s been a struggle, if you want to know, to keep awake and focused during long bike rides. Not a few times did I find myself drifting while making a push with my bike. I found that out the hard way when I was staring at the ground for too long and missed a turn on our way up the mountains of Montalban, Rizal.

Chewing gum works. But it becomes a nuisance when you drink from the bike’s canteen and after some time you might wish to just spit it out. There’s also the iPod. I used to wear one in our bike rides, but had to stop using it when the earphones proved to be troublesome every time the wires got caught up in my legs.

To prevent drifting I thought of souping up my bike this way:

Then I found this: A rechargeable iPod speaker case that fits the water bottle holder of every bike. Called the iHome iH85B, the iPod speaker case comes with a mounting bracket for the bike and a billet for the iPod. Specs say the iH85B is made from polycarbonate materials, and is impact and water resistant—sounds good to use in the trails.

The iPod in the billet can be controlled by an RF remote control that can be mounted on the handlebars of the bike. It’s completely wireless, the manufacturer said, and weighs not more than a half-filled water bottle. That ought to keep your rhythm on the road.

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'Chedeng' to end bike season in Philippines

Tuesday, August 7, tropical storm Chedeng heads toward the Basi Channel north of the Philippines, local weather authority PAGASA reports. Carrying a maximum sustained wind of 110 kph and gustiness of 140 kph, Chedeng moves west-northwest of the Philippines at 19 kph and is forecast to be 300 km north-northeast of Basco, Batanes by tomorrow, Wednesday.

Meanwhile an active low pressure area or LPA 385 km east-northeast of the Bicol Region in Southern Philippines is recorded. The LPA, in tandem with Chedeng, is expected to enhance the southwest monsoon the Philippines is experiencing, pulling in rain-filled clouds toward the Southern Luzon and western Visayas parts of the Philippines.

If the weather’s any indication, this may be the close of the bike season in the Philippines. It’s hard to imagine anyone who will dare ride his bike on a dim and dismal morning. First, it is unarguably the best morning weather in the Philippines to spend sleeping. Then, I supposed, it would probably be really chilling for any cyclist to take the road on that condition even if he will ride his bike past 40 kph. And, of course, there’s always the possibility of a flood in Metro Manila in this kind of climate.

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Great things happen when man & mountain meet

Moses, it is said, received from his god the 10 Commandments in Mount Sinai. Tibetan monks, on the other hand, are believed to achieve enlightenment in the clandestine monasteries on top of select Tibetan mountains.

The list of great men finding greatness in the mountains goes on. And it’s up to you whether to include or not the guys from Brokeback Mountain.

Levity aside, mountains have often represented some sort of a defining moment. The great bike odysseys such as the Grand Tours and its Philippine counterpart called the Padyak Pinoy have enough proofs of that.

Until now, that day in Baguio City when Pinoy pro cyclist Renato Dolosa fell and broke his bike’s handle bar—and then went on with the bike push with his both hands on the left side of the bar—is still talked about among the older members of our bike group.

Across the world, in Europe, a man they referred to as Il Pirata was considered even by his fiercest opponents as the sport’s best asset. His name was Marco Pantani, one of the world’s best climbers to ever win a Tour de France.

Pantani’s determination to win a Tour stage set him apart from other great climbers. He was reported to make a bike push up steep mountains close to anoxia. In the face of an overwhelming bike climb, he completed the bike push. As Dolosa did. And in so doing they got the respect of cyclists and cycling fans long before they retired from the scene.

It is not my intention to line myself up with these two great cyclists. But, last Saturday during an Antipolo bike climb, I got a portent of things that I suppose they went through in bike climbs. You’ve got to give me that.

I finally have a road bike. It’s nothing fancy; just a Scott frame set with a Shimano Sora drivetrain—the lowest-rung parts series that Japanese company Shimano produces. It’s a month old and that Saturday it brought me to my first real bike climb to Antipolo.

You see, I used to ride a mountain bike. Though heavier, it was easier to ride up to the Antipolo ascent because it had bigger sprocket and smaller plate, meaning lighter steering during bike climbs. And I saw that myself before.

The road bike I got has a 52-teeth plate and a 27-teeth sprocket. The set is effective on flats, but hard to pedal on ascents even if I shifted to the second plate with 42 teeth. The Antipolo bike climb was the first real test of the bike. And, without realizing it, of myself too.


From the foot of the hill to the Padi’s Place somewhere in Sumulong, I was riding okay. It was the place where I sort of cheated on our first Antipolo bike climb. That Saturday I wanted to do the same and take a rest there. But I wouldn’t allow myself. I don’t know why.

I pedaled and gained more ground, and thought that it was a considerable improvement. But something in me just wouldn’t be silent. I wanted to bring my Scott bike up to Antipolo, and probably look at the members of our group in the eyes and say that it was all right. And, really, it was all right.

***

PS. To the three readers of this blog (that includes you mom) you’ve got to get used to reading about bike climbs here. Our bike group is planning to take on Antipolo, Bugarin, and other available bike climbs in that area on a weekly basis. That’s in preparation for a bike push down south in Batangas.

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