The joys (and aches) of bicycling

Some years back, (I’m talking about my age group) and that was really way back when pains and maintenance medicines were still alien in our system, we experimented with different sporting activities considering that technology was not yet advanced and Betamax was still in the wombs of its inventors.  Somewhere in between, there were late nights but still we have the energy for a quick jog and some ball games the following day.

Aside from ball games, we also had weekend bike rides that included among others someone who will then become my father-in-law, Dodong Gamay Frasco.   We usually wait for riders coming from the city and then pedal northward.  Road bikes were the norm then and sometimes the group from the city included pro riders led by Rolando Pagnanawon.  Yes, these guys were fast and I always stay with someone who pedals like me so I can at least catch up without collapsing and be the star of the after-ride jokes.  They usually reach designated stops 15 to 20 minutes ahead of me and with whoever sympathizes with my slower pace.

Depending on his schedule, then Cong. Nito Durano would also ride with us since he was friends with my pa-in-law.  I always hope a day before we ride that Cong. Nito won’t be joining us because when he does, my goodness, the pace quickens and the more I can’t keep up with them.  With two or three other guys, we stop somewhere between Carmen and Catmon and wait for the group to get back as they usually have Lugo as their turning point.  While waiting for them, a bottle or two of cold San Miguel relaxes tight leg muscles.

The advent of mountain bikes changed the scenery and discovering trails along mountain barangays was not only rewarding but most of the time challenging.  I had cramps on both legs the first time I rode with friends to Mulao, Liloan’s highest mountain barangay that I promised myself never to pedal there again.  So far, the promise is still not broken and that was more than 20 years ago.

The beauty of mountain biking is that you get close to nature, so close that sometimes cattle and their droppings become part of the natural obstacles.  Then there’s the occasional askal running after us, maybe wondering what these humans are doing on the mountains with their bikes.

The river crossings are refreshing as we have to get off the bike because of large rocks and wade knee-deep thru gentle currents.  We do some quick bike washes and cool ourselves then the agony resumes as we again have to pedal uphill for a few kilometers.  I have to get off my ride several times as I can’t pedal all the way up without my legs cramping, and yes, I tell the rest of the group “ayo-ayo mo, kita lang ta sa unahan”.

Usually, real bicyclists look like the emaciated, almost malnourished kind because of their really lean frame.  Our group is the opposite that it was only recently that I realized how foolish we might have looked to the uninitiated in our skin tight jerseys and cycling shorts with matching beer bellies.  Sure, we pedal a good number of kilometers for some hours but when we get home, there’s the usual cash collection among the group for sinugbang baboy and tulingan and linat-ang manko bisaya.  Then there’s the indispensable golden liquid in the brown bottles.  So slightly inflated tummies explained.  No wonder even if we drip our body dry from sweat, I was at my heaviest then at 220 pounds.   I miss those days, but not the weight.

I was never a fan of foot restraints on the pedals.  There were toe straps on my previous road bike but opted to discard them when one time I was not able to disengage my foot at the right moment and promptly fell on my side with the bike on top of me.  Someone had to loosen the leather straps as when I raise my foot, the bike comes with it.  I also showed some skin on my butt as I fell in such a way that it tore my cycling shorts.

That was then.  Today, technology is so advanced that my age has made me borderline obsolete and I ride only twice or thrice a month.  Even bike tire sizes are varied that conflicting test results are given to further confuse my already confused mind.  I still use my more than 15-year old Jamis 26er with a few part upgrades and it suits me just fine.  My son Emil, who stands about 5-10 and got interested in a punishing tri-sport, uses a 29er.  I’m no bike techie and I had tried riding my son’s bike and yup it does feel fast but I’m still comfortable with my old ride.

The 29er was thru Noy Jopson’s excellent sales talk and with Joseph Miller at the sidelines, Emil was convinced that the Scott will be his.  He did not disappoint as he made a good showing during the 2013 XTerra Lite Triathlon.  My heart just skipped several beats when I saw his rear Cobalt rims dented and misaligned.  Up to now, I still could not comprehend why Emil and the rest of these hardy triathletes would willlingly torture themselves for this sport.  Oh well, as one commercial said long ago, “Te, kung saan ka masaya, suportahan ta ka”.  And support we will.

To borrow Coach A’s words from his column last Saturday, “Just ride your bike and enjoy the ride”.  Sore butts and road rash included.  By the way, if you’ve just started with a fitness program or into one, follow Coach A every Saturday on The Freeman.  His column is very informative, especially for someone nearing dual citizenship like me.