Siargao Island, 27 August 2011
Got up at 6 AM to go biking. I'm not talking Lance Armstrong biking here, okay? Am talking leisurely, singing-at-the-top-of-my-lungs-along-with-the-iPod kind of biking. Which is why I have to get up early in the morning. So that I don't slow roast under the sun. (I should have been out of the house much earlier but, last night, I couldn't get to sleep until 1 AM, so it was already pretty darned hot by the time I got back from my ride today.)
I went from the house and turned back just before the main town of General Luna, which would be about 4.5 km. one way. With three to four water stops, it took me about an hour to get back to the house.
I'm not sure if I mentioned this in my introduction but I have next to zero skills. I've tried to acquire some but the truth is that I'm really quite hopeless. Up until last year, I couldn't ride a bike.
I was raised in the city, by two very young parents struggling with three children, and then four. The first time I ever got on a bicycle was when I was in between jobs, backpacking in the north of the Philippines with two girlfriends.
We had gotten to Vigan in the dead of night and made our way to a small guesthouse called Grandpa's Inn, which my dad said was owned by his cousin, Jun Pasimio. As soon as I mentioned that I was a relative, we were ushered into the Pasimio's main house and given the room of Jun's eldest son, Nani. Jun and his family welcomed us with open arms and treated us, well, like family. Filipino hospitality is truly overwhelming, even for us Filipinos.
We hung out with Tito Jun's children and, at night, they wanted to take us out biking around the plaza.
Except that I had never been on a bike.
They thought I was kidding. Until they put me on a bike. Frustrated, they found me a bike that, to their credit, looked like a regular one, well-suited to my height and all, but with the teeniest, tiniest... training wheels!
I was so embarrassed. But they had gone through all the trouble of finding it for me, so I got on the bike. And wobbled. I wobbled clumsily down the street and was starting to gain confidence when I went past a group of men drinking at a street-side stall and heard them nudge to one another, "Pare, lasing 'ata, 'to." ("Dude, I think she's drunk.")
Gaah! I pedaled faster to get away, turned at the first corner and ran straight into, well, the corner. (Doh!)
I must have picked myself up as the next memory I have is of me, exhilarated by the night, pedaling like a madman around the plaza with the wind in my hair, until it was time to stop and I crashed into the nearest curb.
Well, I didn't know how to break!
'See, this is what people take for granted when they teach you things that they take for granted, like riding a bike. It's so basic that they think that you'll know just what to do. You know, how to break, how to change gears (- gears?!), how to turn a corner, how to go downhill without breaking your neck... Basic! Pieceacake! Everyone knows how to do it! EXCEPT FOR ME, OKAY?
I think I made one last effort to ride a bike again when my friends took me all the way to the CCP grounds (Cultural Center of the Philippines), where they rent bikes to LITTLE CHILDREN, before giving up on it.
When we went to Laos and Susan wanted to bike around, we had to nix the idea. I was hopeless, I said. I couldn't very well bike around when my only two speeds were (1) breakneck speed and (2) crashed onto a curb. I was never going to bike again.
Until a friend put it in my head to go to Burning Man. For those who've never heard of Burning Man, it's an annual festival held in the middle of the Nevada desert. It's about music and art, self-expression and survival. Unless you have an art car, the only way to get around the playa is on a bicycle.
I told myself, and promised my friend, that I'd make it to Burning Man that year.
I enlisted Susan's help. Sue lives about 9 km. from me, all the way on the other side of General Luna, right in front of the world famous surf break, Cloud 9. It takes me about 20 minutes to get from my place to hers on a habal-habal (motorbike taxi). It takes Sue about the same time to get from her place to mine on a bicycle.
We arranged to meet somewhere along the trail during my morning walks. I insisted on starting out early, not only because I wanted to avoid the heat, but also because I didn't want the villagers up and about witnessing my shame.
"What villagers," Sue asked. "Nobody's going to see you."
Yeah, right. FYI, there's a villager behind every bush and under every rock in Siargao. Yes, even at six in the freakin' morning.
Sure enough, I had only walked about two kilometers when Sue was upon me on her bicycle. She got off and let me get on her bike. I think she thought I was exaggerating about not being able to ride until she saw me wobble and land in a pile of mud. But, thankfully, she was more determined to see me get up on a bike than I was. She did what all good parents do for the children. She held onto my bike and ran behind me until I could stay upright on my own.
But Sue also had a resort to run so she couldn't keep running behind my bike every morning. Other friends stepped up to the plate. Nicolas' brother's now ex-girlfriend, Tiffany Sufianu, came to visit and she and I bought bicycles so that she could ride out with me. She was flabbergasted that I didn't know how to ride and noticed how tightly I'd grip the handles. (After riding, my whole body, including my hands, hurt from being so tense.) Teba Orueta, my Spanish friend, helped me out as well.
It took me a while to get up the courage to venture out on my own. Even when I was out with Susan, Tiffany or Teba, I'd have them ride way ahead of me because I was worried about crashing into them. I ended up in mud heaps all the time. One time, in a daring experiment to see if I could round a curb into our place, I went sprawling right in front of our workers. Ouch. Another time, a concerned fishermen approached me and said, "Ma'am, sira 'ata yung bike niyo. Mas mabuti pa sigurong maglakad na lang kayo." (Ma'am, there seems to be something wrong with your bike. It might be better if you just walked.") Ack!
But my friends weren't around all the time and I had less than a year till Burning Man. I had to proceed. With caution. I'd ride a short distance, park the bike at one of the villagers' homes, carry on with my morning walk and then collect the bike on my way back. Until I got bolder and bolder, parking farther and farther away. Soon, I was riding all the way to General Luna and back on my own.
I've actually only ventured into the main town once. I've always meant to cross it and try to make my way to Susan's place but all the people milling about and the cars and the motorcycles and the heat melt away my resolve and I end up turning back.
But I did make it to Burning Man last year, just as I had said, and I managed not to run over anyone on the playa. :-)
On the art car, the Nautibus, at Burning Man Metropolis 2010.
I still wobble and can't turn very well. And I have someone adjust the gears before setting out and I still need to have both hands on the bike. But my knuckles don't turn white on the handles anymore and I've loosened up enough to sing along with my iPod and say good morning to every villager behind every bush and under every rock.