What should have been a fun ride through the mountains and forests of the Bulacan hinterlands didn't quite go as planned when I made a wrong turn. Then things started to get...interesting.
Full idiot doing full Enduro on the mountains with a 200cc street bike. A street bike.
I carved out a trail using Google Maps, going from Litex to Bigte, avoiding Commonwealth the killer highway and Del Monte-Norzagaray road where MRT 7 was being built. I could see from Google Maps that there was a way. What Google Maps doesn't show is how challenging that way is.
5 spills and counting...see the mud on my bar end blinker? As I turned right by the Wacuman landfill coming from Licao Licao, I was greeted by a series of steep descents over rough, rocky road which was difficult to climb back out of. By the time I got here to this point, I knew there was no turning back.
Not that obvious picture but this is actually a steep uphill road.
Not just steep but rather punishing too. Lost count of how many times I fell over in the mud and packed earth. Every time I did, fuel would seep through the fuel cap. My transformer handlebars occasionally got bent out of shape, thankfully I had my allen key multitool. My footbrake lost its step nut. My right mirror fell out, luckily the mirror wasn't broken and I was able to reattach it. My side stand lost its spring and wouldn't stay up. I removed my arm sleeve and used it to tie the thing in place.
Meet kuya Aga Campos. I saw his young daughter hanging their laundry in front of his hut - the first human settlement in that wild country that I saw in a long while on that journey. I parked my muddy, wounded, and bruised motorcycle on the rough gutted "road" and sat down on a tree stump for a few minutes, trying to catch my breath. His daughter threw suspicious glances at me, hurriedly finished hanging their clothes, and ran back to the hut. After a few minutes I too went up to their home which was further uphill. Not knowing what to expect after scaring away his daughter, I was ready to just beg for a drop of water and throw myself at their mercy in case they were actually a brood of aswang living in seclusion out in the mountains, waiting for nightfall. Instead, Aga let me empty his jug and offered me a place to lie down. He said they get their water from a spring beside the river below. The water was sweet, filtered, and sparkling clear. It also tasted like it was boiled.
That day also happened to be his birthday. All he and his one guest had were some gin and last night's dinner. But Aga was very kind and welcoming, even offering to share their food.
Truth be told, I was actually stuck and couldn't move forward from where I "parked". But the place was very beautiful in a raw, untamed way. While battling the rough mountain road that day, I even saw a pack of riders on dirt bikes. Apparently the road was also being used as an Enduro/MTB trail. And then there's landscapes like this.
Idiot finally got rescued. After spending 3 hours trying to navigate the rutty steep ascent in front of kuya Aga's home, I managed to get my bike around 500 feet forward. I'm proud of that 500 feet but it was clear I wouldn't make it out of the mountains by sundown on my own. I decided I'd leave my bike with kuya Aga - a man who I just met - walk the rest of the way, and come back for it the next week. But when Aga rode up to me on his trail bike, he would have none of it.
Aga's son, Benz. Aga said he'd been hearing the whine of my motorcycle for the past few hours so he went out on his own motorcycle, a Racal 150cc trail bike, to check on me himself. Seeing my dehydrated thousand yard stare, he offered to let me stay in his home for the night and I can ride in the morning. I at this point had been going for 20 hours with no sleep since I work at night. I liked the idea a lot especially since it would get really cold in the morning up there, but I also knew that all the body ache from the day's battle would come after a good night's rest. And the way my day was shaping up, I knew I would barely be able to move the following morning. I gently refused. I said I only had to get to the cemented part of the road and I can make my way home from there. He said he understood. He was taking my bike to the highway, I get to ride on the Racal driven by Benz.
As we rode past, I got to enjoy the scenery but felt a growing feeling of dread. The journey from Aga's home to the main road was less than two kilometers by my estimate, but it had more dips and ruts like the section I'd just spent hours trying to get out of. And on this river crossing, Benz himself overshot into a clump of bushes. Seeing the inevitable, we both jumped out just in time. Aga who had been lagging behind, unused to what he said was my "powerful" bike, caught up with us as we were raising the fallen Racal.
Even with the more experienced Benz on the handlebar, I often had to get off to allow him to navigate the trail. The young man was only 14 or 15 but he handled the Racal with surprising confidence and finesse. Aga told me Benz had to learn early. That motorcycle was their only means of getting around.
"Hindi po ito bayad." With the more experienced riders handling the bikes, we were out into the main road in less than an hour. We parked our bikes in an empty lot by the roadside and Benz immediately went to the closest store to buy us - mostly me - bags of ice tubig.
While he was gone I reached into my pockets and managed to scrounge up some 250 pesos for kuya Aga. I asked if l could have his number, thinking I had to see him again and thank him properly, but he said he had no phone. At first Aga didn't want to accept it, saying he was only doing the right thing and that I wasn't the first rider he helped out. I told him the money wasn't payment, it was utang na loob. For the jug of water. For saving my ass. For opening up his home to me, the idiot. For the rescue. I wanted to give him more but that was the only cash I had.
Aga smiled and took the money. To me it was nothing more than a token of gratitude. To Aga who had a wife and "many" kids - i counted at least six but neither he nor Benz gave me an exact number - whom they raised by selling produce in the market, to Aga whose birthday celebration that day I crashed, literally and in every sense, it was at least something else.
It was 5 PM. The sun was low in the sky, and the cool mountain evening was descending upon us. Benz had gone on to fetch his mother from the market. Aga said we should leave together. We shook hands and went our separate ways, I driving to Las Piñas and him going home to await the next idiot that came along.