Lambug Beach, Badian, Cebu -- The Day We Ruined Volleyball

I heard a lot of good things about Lambug Beach in Badian. So many of them, in fact, that my expectations were utterly underwhelmed by reality when I went there with my teammates. Instead of the never-grow-old pristine beach hidden away from the maddening crowd by hills, I saw one where Bingo, Chippy, and Creamsilk rise and fall with the Tide. Or maybe we just went there at the wrong time. I see photos online of Lambug dated just months ago and it was not that bad. It was great in fact.

The beach is not the best place to advertise products so someone should do some cleaning up soon. It’s rather inhumane to mess up something that can’t clean up on its own. (I was gonna say “bullyish” or “bullish” but I don’t know what’s the right form so I settled for “inhumane.” Morphology help, anyone??) I love being in the water but I spent most of my time out of it when we went there. We spent a huge proportion of our supposedly productive energy and time with a game called let’s-pretend-it’s-volleyball (longest rally: two). And some Frisbee, of course.

We couldn’t remember some of the rules so we had to make up some of them, which may or may not be in line with the actual rules. We looked stupid most of the time but we had fun. The morning after, a friend and I did a little clean up. Not because we care so much about nature. We were just up earlier than the rest and we had nothing better to do. Lambug, we’re not giving up on you so get well soon!


 
 

Revisiting the Trails of Consolacion, Cebu

I hate to smack too much of nostalgia but it’s what I really did this afternoon. I have not been around this side of the planet for almost a year now. Before I discovered Google Earth, I have always thought that Consolacion is only for cross-country mountain biking.

But as I became curioser and curioser (thank you CJ Lewis for letting me borrow the phrase), I have found a few short trails that link roads on higher ground to those on the flatland. Wood-gathering people have made these tracks with their enduring feet.

I love riding trails. It makes me feel like a pro although I’m not even close to being a solid rider. Trails also help me come into terms with the irrevocability of my decisions. Choosing lines which are only inches apart can tell where you’d end up face down on the ground or not.

People in high land are a bit busy these days because they are expecting for the rainy season to come soon. Some of them have started to burn grass to make room for their crops.
Manong told me that he does not expect a lot of rainfall in the next few months so he’ll grow crops first, and some squash maybe. Fruits use up way more water than crops.

I hit two trails today. The first one is in Panas which will be the venue of a downhill race this 18th of May. It’s adrenaline rush all the way except for two sections: the hell-steep red soil section where I almost poked myself blind a couple of years ago and the final six-foot drop. They make me flat out scared and take away all the excitement.

I’d do six feet if it has a safer receiver but the gap between this drop and the receiver is quite gnarly. I don’t want to end up crashing a bike that’s not mine. I’m not a chicken. At least chicken can fly. I can’t. I’m less than a chicken. The second trail is in Mapulo and I don’t think a lot of cyclists have been there.
I get celebrity attention whenever I pass there. For lack of any structural reference (the trail head is somewhere in the middle of a quarried road), I can’t exactly describe where it is. But it’s fun. You get scratches on the forearm for free.

What’s this post called again?

I thought of a post title when I was on my way home last night. But I forgot so I came up with an alternate title when I was on lunch earlier. And I forgot the alternate title so I’m posting something that is almost untitled. Squeezing a whole bunch of stuff into a phrase is a tough job and I don’t know why I do it anyway.

***

87 degrees and a whole of humidity. While all the logical people in the world were eating ice cream and lounging lazily at the mall, we were making our way up trans-central highway. It was my first time to join Team Big Ring again after almost a couple of years and this time they were en route to Gaas for the Operation Tuli which they do several times a year.

Circumcision, helping a bro become a bro. I was not part of the whole thing, I was in there for day two—trail for the main menu and cliff on the side (there literally were cliff on the side). It’s not really cliffy all the way but there are parts where you can really end up on the after side of life if you do things wrong. I’ve been there before but two things are different this time: I was riding on an XC bike with and XC group and Chyrel Gomez was part of the pack. From six-inch hills to 40-feet cliff.

Chyrel’s uncle has been inviting her for some time now and she took the RSVP this time. I don’t know if she chose the perfect time. She fell off her bike while maneuvering thru a single track. It was only a thin layer of grass that kept her from being on the front page. Front page may be too much. I would say lots of bruises and scratch, I didn’t see the whole thing I was a bit ahead of her. I heard her shout though. A local guy helped her up.

I kept telling her not to look down but she kept doing it anyway. Riding through a ridge creates a paranoia that can only be cured by not looking down. Turning a blind eye is, at times, the better medicine. She didn’t listen anyway so she had to walk on the more technical parts. Better safe than mangled, she lives that philosophy.

Anyway, this entry is not about her but I love writing about newbie riders. It hasn’t been too long ago since I was one and bullying newbie riders feels good. It lets you get back at the part of yourself that you hate. You never hate a newbie. You just hate that you once couldn’t make a simple turn and they give you the chance to bully your old self. Life coaches, if you’re reading this, I know you’ll send a 40-volume note about what I just wrote but let’s get real this time.

Sunday’s trail was full of good and bad stuff and they came at such unpredictable intervals that they nearly made me bipolar. I don’t wanna get to the details of that because you can only understand if you go there. Words can never bring experience to life. I know words can mummify experience and photos can make it look alive, but it only gets real when you start getting muddy, dehydrated, and scared all throughout
I can’t thank Big Ring enough for the experience, the food, and the stay at probably the highest vacation house I’ve ever been to. Food at the end of the trail was free, too. I didn’t know that so I felt like a huge freeloader at the end of the day. But a well-fed one, that is.

I almost forgot to mention that it was already dark when we got to Sinsin. That’s like hills away from Camp7 and Camp7 is several kilometers up Talisay. Chy and I got separated from the group and we had to go through a whole length of road lit nothing but 20-watt bulbs from lone, odd houses on the side road.

Some kids who were hanging outside helped us through by flashing lights on the road when we passed them. I know it’s only a few meters but it meant a lot that they cared. It’s the concern of other people that made up for our lack of preparation. When we got to Camp 7, we ate humba (the perks of being a freeloader).
The road down to Talisay is flanked with cliffs to the left. The road winds in every direction without any heads-up. So our group of eleven decided to hire  motorbike that guided us down to safety. My “night vision” sucks so I had to get way far back at times. I only had the shadow of the riders ahead of me to know which way to go.

I made it home at 9.44pm, got some sleep, and was able to report at 3.04am for work. Mountain biking is a fairy tale that always ends happily with getting home. And I’m glad I’m home again from work so I could stare again at the wall and do nothing.

Hills Don't Have Eyes