As many great trips go, it all starts with a spur of the moment decision, some last minute calls to find a spare mountain bike, some last minute calls to find out if there were still bus tickets available, a visit to a local bike shops for tubes, hurried packing of clothes, a quick look at google maps to find out the towns that well pass thru, and before you know it, we were driving thru unfamiliar roads to on the way to Cordillera.
We started with the ride a day after arriving at Banaue, tired and not yet fully recovered from that long drive or that trek to Batad the day before. The start was a steep ascent up to Mt Polis, all uphill with little recovery. Within minutes you could feel your legs burning and lungs gasping as you still have yet acclimatized to the exertion and thin mountain air. We’ve just started and we still had a lot of climbs to cover
, and I wonder if it’s going to a miserable day. Why am I doing this? But just around the next bend a majestic view of rice terraces greet you, and some questions are answered. You know it’s going to be good day. A few kilometers later and halfway thru to Mt Polis, you could see the tower at its peak, higher still and on the other side of this mountain, separated from you by deep cliff, and surrounded by clouds. We had to go all the way around and you could see the long winding road as it snakes in and out of your sight, going along the contours of the mountain side. You wonder how far to get there? Or find that road yellow marker that tells you it’s really still far away. The air steadily got colder and at one point it started to drizzle. I wonder if its rain or did I just run into a cloud. This is what airplanes must feel. And once you pass the clouds, and get to the top, you’ll see Mary mother of Jesus smiling down at you. Yes, it was that high.
Unlike the speed of going thru the countryside on a car or bus or even a road bike where the world zips by you, riding the tour pace takes you to a totally different place. You feel more connected to it all as you snail thru the countryside’s rocky and muddy paths on a fully loaded bike with panniers and backpack. You see waterfalls, caves, river bends, valleys, cliffs, rice terraces, children playing, farmers working the fields. You get to see and feel everything around you. And you stop, because it just seemed like a good place to stop, to take look around.
The “Cordi kilometers” are truly different. Never underestimate the long winding
road up to Sagada. They are long, hard and magical, and they eat up hours like they were minutes. You begin to count kilometer posts and rejoice whenever you pass one. You find ways to amuse yourself during the long trip up and you stop. You stop to eat, gobble up some of that food, down water and have a lovely chat how far still up to the top. Stop, stop to give way to a bus of tourists going down the narrow rough road, tourists who were clapping and cheering “Go! Go! Go!” You have to smile to that. Stop, stop to look at the steep long winding road below of lose rocks and mountain dirt, how far you've gone up, and how far you are still from the top. Stop to be entertained by the thought that that double-decker waiting shed is used to load pigs on tops of jeeps. Stop, to challenge the stares of cows that stare back at you as if they want get back for all the burgers you’ve eaten. Stop, to muse at that purple flower pressed into the middle of that cow dung. The trip was not about getting to Sagada, but about everything in between. About getting away from the city, away from all the training and racing for triathlon. About finding and appreciating new things, new places and new people. About great bike rides shared with ones you love.Pics at Facebook
