THE WALK TO BACOLOD – DAY SIX - KILOMETER POST 13 TO THE PROVINCIAL CAPITOL

The last segment of this adventure was turning out to be the most difficult.  It wasn’t a matter of the walk as it was the logistics of getting there.  When dealing with walking into a Provincial Capital, one had to consider the volume of traffic that would be encountered.  Another factor was that you could not guarantee that the bus would even drop you off at the requested destination.  Furthermore, I was a bit apprehensive about disembarking at 4:00 a.m. in the middle of the country.  Not to mention that there was a safety issue to consider. 

We discussed the options over dinner a couple of nights prior to our walk.  Our little group talked of traveling to Bacolod and staying overnight at a hotel there.  I rejected that on moral as well as ethical considerations.  Of course, the other alternative was to walk from where we had stopped and take our chances.  However, Clarisse had another idea; that it might be easier if we just grabbed a bus and rode it to the terminal in Bacolod, then take a taxi to the Provincial Capital and walk backward to kilometer marker thirteen.   Even though I liked the hotel part, as I did like a good sleep, the most practical as well as safest option was to take a bus up and to walk back.

Diana and I had set a date of August 2^nd for our final jaunt and both agreed that it would entail a very long day.   Yet, at no time did we have any concerns about the traffic along the National Highway or for our personal safety.  It is hard to explain, but I seem to have this internal perception as to whether something will be safe or not.  There have been moments in my life when I have not traveled somewhere just because I didn’t feel comfortable about the location or route to be taken or even the situation.   Sometimes when I would travel on the motorbike here in the Philippines, I’d get an uneasy feeling and thus would drive more cautiously than usual or just not drive at all.  Perhaps the trip might take twenty minutes longer because of my wariness and, for that matter, maybe nothing would’ve happened, but was not about to tempt luck or even fate.   For whatever reason, I felt uneasy about beginning my final trek from an isolated point in the country, and yet, in contrast I didn’t feel any danger at all by walking the empty streets of Bacolod. 

We went to bed early on August 1st, and were up a little after midnight on the 2^nd.    The sky was alive with clusters of stars as the big dipper displayed itself a little to the north of us as we departed the house and walked the empty streets of Himamaylan City toward the National Highway and awaiting bus stop. 

It was a little after 1:20 a.m. as we reached our embarkation point.  There were three young men sitting upon metal stools at Angel’s Hamburger Stand, bottles of pop were sitting in front of them on the ledge as they chatted with the worker.   Except for the occasional trike racing down the highway with tubs of fish in the back of the side car on its way to a distant market or vendor down the road, the main street was quiet.

A puff of wind tickled the leaves of two large acacia trees which were situated on each side of the bus stop.   The faint aroma of cooking burgers wafted itself across the highway as I began to pace.   It seemed that to me, patience wasn’t as much of a virtue as it once was in my younger days.  But, in my defense, I was just eager to get on a bus and be on my way to the final jaunt. 

Forty-five minutes had elapsed when the familiar lights of a Ceres Liner appeared from around distant corner.   Immediately, my impatience vanished and an excitement welled from within as Diana and I climbed the steps of a Dumaguete bus on its way to Bacolod.   Although I had not a clue what might lay ahead of us in the Capital, it was just the relief we were on our way and that all the rest would be revealed to us in due time. 

Not a lot can be said about the ride to Bacolod.  The countryside was dark at that time of night.  There were no lights in the windows of the quiet dwellings or the mouthwatering fragrance from morning cook fires to heighten our senses.  Just a musty odor assailed our nostrils through the open windows as our transport quietly sped upon the empty roadway toward our destiny. 

What would normally have taken two hours to complete the route to the south terminal in Bacolod, we arrived there in just over ninety minutes.  Although I dozed part of the way, I still found it fascinating that neither man nor creature was seen within or without the communities.  The one exception was along the sea wall north of Valladolid where I observed the distant lights from a large number of banca boats situated upon the distant horizon.  Their fish attracting lanterns flickered on and off as they bobbed atop and then sank behind the waves. 

I was surprised at how quiet the streets of Bacolod were at 3:40 a.m.  The main thoroughfare going into the Capital was eerily empty of vehicles as the yellow transport efficiently and effortlessly traversed the silent avenues.  Arriving at the terminal, the twenty or so sleepy passengers emptied from the bus and, to our great relief, a taxi was idly waiting for any patron who should happen by.

We were both somewhat amazed at how truly quiet the streets were.  It was as if everyone had gone to bed.  Hence, what would have taken several minutes more driving through congested traffic, it was basically non-stop.  When we had told the driver that we wanted to be taken to kilometer marker zero in front of the Provincial Capital Complex, he never uttered a word.  I was confident that he had had more peculiar destination instructions during his night shift than ours. 

The cab stopped at the marker as I grabbed my backpack, paid the driver the amount due and we clambered out of the four wheeled vehicle to a deathly quiet scene.   The marker was alongside Lacson Street which was one of the busiest and most congested thoroughfares in the city.  Yet, there was no congestion as there were basically no vehicles.  Sure, a taxi would pass intermittently, honking its horn and/or flashing its lights at the seemingly hapless foreigner and his companion, and even more rarely, a mostly empty jeepney would also drive by, but that was about all. 

As we walked past shuttered businesses, we became aware of the many people sleeping on pieces of cardboard in front of the many entries.  Some had trisikads (pedal driven trikes) secured to posts by their open air sleeping stations.  There were no pedestrians visible as we walked Lacson Street.  Which was a good thing as there was a lesser chance of becoming victims.  Crime did exist in all corners of the Philippines, but thankfully, it did not come to frequent us that morning.

With only the street lights to guide us, we strolled southward until turning right onto San Sebastian Street leading toward the National Highway.   Maybe, had I planned my route out a little better, I might have chosen a busier street to turn onto…but then again, there were no busier streets in Bacolod at that hour.  As it so happens, I passed a hotel on the left and then at the first intersection, and to my right, were a group of “women” who were hanging outside an establishment.  It wasn’t until after the walk was completed did I discover that the business was a Videoke bar and those ladies were of the evening variety.  Thankfully Diana was along or I might have had more than one of those scantily clad women offer to help me on, or distract me from, my continuing journey.

Again with no road map available (good luck with finding an accurate one anyway), we unknowingly came upon the National Highway.  We stopped and had a discussion.  Diana said that it was indeed the National Highway whereas I replied that it couldn’t be and we needed to walk a block or two further west.  So, we crossed our roadway and ventured into a darker part of Bacolod.  After a block we came upon an all-night convenience store where a group of young adults were sitting outside.  Diana asked where the National Highway was and they pointed us back in the direction we had just come from.  We thanked them (especially for not mugging us) and returned to the disputed intersection.  May I mention that Diana snickered all the way back, but was kind enough not to rub it in too much. 

Back on track, we ventured south down the thoroughfare, walking on the pavement as there was no traffic to impede our impertinence.  I think that this was the best part of the day’s journey so far.  Once, I walked out into the line of travel and even down the center line for a while, knowing that someday, as the city continued to grow, I would be unable to do that anymore. 

About a kilometer south was a jeepney stand with morning commuters sitting within the open air transports waiting for their vehicle to depart.  As we walked past, I heard a couple of wolf whistles from within one or more of those transports.  I was personally insulted and wanted to say something, but Diana persisted that I ignore their sexist whistles.   Then she smiled and whispered that perhaps they were whistling at me instead?   Let’s face it, anything was and is possible in the Philippines and it was conceivable that she might have had a point. 

A short while later we sauntered by a strip mall and at one end was an establishment by the name of Angel’s Disco and Karaoke bar.  The music was still playing as an extremely slurred voice could be heard emanating from the sound system within while a couple women sat idly on chairs outside.  Neither of those purportedly bored women looked like angels to me though. 

By the time we had crossed Alijis Road (main east/west route) the light of day was finally arriving.  We had now walked for over an hour and the morning traffic was beginning to filter into the city.  I could no longer walk upon the highway without intrusive horns warning me of impending doom should I maintain my course upon “their” pavement.  As there were no pedestrians to impede our journey, we had more room to walk upon…for now.

We had trekked a little over five kilometers by now and decided to take a break on a row of metal seats.  Unbeknownst to us was they had been recently painted and we unsuspectingly sat upon the slightly wet, plus sticky, substance.  With our unfortunate discovery, we quickly stood back up, and there upon the seat of our shorts was a colorful burgundy remembrance.  Moving a little further on, we found a concrete bench across from the Tangub Parish Church and thus took our first real break. 

The morning worshipers were slowly filtering into the chapel as a few parked their vehicles in front of the church while others arrived in jeepneys and a few even walked to participate in the morning services.  I must comment that those parishioners were older and would guess their ages at over sixty years.  It gave me pause to consider whether or not it might have been a church on the edge.  When walking four kilometers in the mornings in Himamaylan City, I would trek past Our Lady of Snow Catholic Church and I noticed that most parishioners were forty years of age or older……Whereas at the local Iglesia Ni Cristo church on Thursday mornings, quite a few teenagers and young adults could be seen standing outside waiting for the morning services to begin.  Walking at 5:30 a.m. always offered me an opportunity to see a lot about a town just awakening. 

As we continued to sit and sip on our water, the traffic continued to grow in volume and by the time we departed there was a steady stream of vehicles upon a once seemingly abandoned roadway. 

Shortly after our departure from the bench, the sidewalk came to an end and we were now required to walk alongside the highway.  It actually wasn’t too bad as the dirt siding provided enough room to keep a distance from the traffic.   However, there were three upcoming obstacles that we were going to have to struggle through and I had hoped the transiting public would have been lighter, but unfortunately, this was not to be. 

They were building three new multi-lane bridges at different locations to accommodate the growing influx of cars and trucks; buses and motorbikes, yet there was no way to currently cross those structures without physically interacting with the oncoming motorized beasts of many shapes and sizes.   In reference to the first obstacle, it was further compounded as small school children had to daily wend their way across that same narrow, two lane bridge which had no sidewalk for pedestrians in order to attend the school on the other side.   As a group of very young students hesitantly waited to take their chance, we arrived and I confidently took the lead, walking out onto the span and facing the oncoming traffic.  The children cautiously followed while Diana picked up the rear.  The motorbikes and small cars could squeeze by (and they did with impudence), but eventually the trucks had to stop and tolerate our passing.  In reflection, it reminded me of a Drake with his brood of ducklings as we stepped single file across that bridge.   I am sure the last thing those youthful pupils ever expected to see was a giant foreigner leading them along that crossing.   We waved to each other as I sauntered down the road leaving the tiny legs in school uniforms behind. 

We made it through the large Barangay of Sun-Ag with no difficulty.  The community of over 20,000 residents was slowly coming to life as we walked the uncrowded sidewalks on our way further south.  However, within a couple of hours, the traffic would be bumper to bumper with traffic police everywhere directing traffic.

A hundred or so meters south of town we took a rest at a bamboo constructed shelter.  There sat a Ceres Liner employee awaiting the buses.  It appears at that time, he had to check all of the air conditioned buses to ensure all the passengers had paid their fares.  He asked us in, allowing us to get out of the morning sun and rest for a while.  We graciously accepted his invitation which also allowed us some conversation, something we rarely had an opportunity to do.  The inspector was polite and unassuming.  Of course he inquired as to why we were walking and Diana enlightened him as to our saga.  He showed great interest at the telling of our tale and was amazed that I was doing the trek at my age…It always astounded me at his (as well as others) thoughts that a person my age would be incapable of such challenges.  Having only three kilometers to end our adventure, a warming breeze beckoned our return to the highway.  Saying farewell, we resumed our place on the east side of the highway and continued toward our destination. 

The next two bridges were one lane affairs and actually were easier to negotiate than the first one.  We just waited until the southbound traffic was allowed passage and we hastily walked with the flow.  We were across the first bridge without difficulty, however, the second bridge was a little more complicated.  The southbound traffic was not as long and thus while we were in the middle of the bridge, the northbound traffic was allowed to pass.  Diana and I hugged the side of the barricade as the insolent trucks and cars swiftly passed by.   It was personally irritating due to the callousness of those drivers who found our presence a nuisance or intrusion to their supposed mission.  I honestly believe that they would have had no remorse of conscience had they hit us and considered it one of the sadder sides of living in the Philippines.

In less than a kilometer after the last bridge, we had reached our destination.  Outside that small factory of the previous day, we came upon a handful of workers who were sitting on a bench. As we stood there in the cooling shade of the trees waiting for a jeepney to take us back to Bacolod, one of them emitted a “wolf whistle”.  Previously, at the jeepney stand in Bacolod, I couldn’t narrow down who the violators were, but here it was quite evident who the guilty party was this time.  I whipped around and giving my meanest glare said, “Don’t Be Bastos!!!”  Bastos means disrespectful in Illongo.   Not one of them would look at me and what little conversation they had when I first arrived ended until after we climbed aboard a jeepney and departed.

The drive back to Bacolod was triumphant for Diana and me.  We traveled to

Diana Baguio at kilometer marker 00

McDonald's which was located across from the Capital Complex and ate a filling breakfast.  Then we crossed the street and took each other’s picture in front of the kilometer marker.   Finally, we took a taxi to the south Ceres Liner Terminal and climbed about an air conditioned bus for our return home. 

We had surmounted the kilometers and achieved a goal that so few people these days

Daryl Cleveland at kilometer marker 00

would ever undertake.  And the most important fact about this journey was that our accomplishment could never be taken away from us.  Maybe it was never sensational enough to garner headlines, but it was a feat that still sits prominently in both of our memories to this day.

Daryl A. Cleveland

January 8, 2016

THE WALK TO BACOLOD – DAY FIVE - VALLADOLID TO KILOMETER POST 13

When living in the states, whether I was walking, bicycling, motorcycling, or just plain traveling in general, there was always something new and unique about each day.  Perhaps it was because I was in a different location every morning, or maybe it was the constantly changing weather which greeted me with the rising sun.  Whereas at my new home on the tropical island of Negros, the weather rarely changed.  I would like to estimate that ninety percent of the days here started with heat and humidity, and then the sun showed up from behind the mountain peaks to add a little more misery to the mixture.  Even during the wet season, the sun would boil the land until around noon, then the resulting warm rain would cool it down just a bit…making the conditions almost tolerable, but not quite.  Of course, there are some of you who are wondering why I would trade the variety of four seasons for a sweltering greenhouse?  For me, it is a simple fact that I am truly living in a paradise. OK, maybe it is not the tropical aisle such as you would have seen in the movies, South Pacific or Donovan’s Reef or even Six Days and Seven Nights, but it is a thin slice of the World of

Diana Baguio at the bus stop ready for the day's walk

which you do not see in movies.  It is the beauty of the people, the uncomplicated lifestyle, the endless beaches and also the towering mountains all with just a turn of the head.  The land is teeming with life, both two and four legged as well as those undesirable creatures which exhibit six or more legs.  Still, it is a place that I have come to accept and relish.  Besides, it doesn’t snow here, nor does the humid heat aggravate my knees as the cold of Iowa does.  I want to stress that this land is not for everyone.  However, it has worked out quite well for me and in the end that is all that matters.

As mentioned earlier, a morning on the island of Negros didn’t change much from one day to another and that was how it was that morning as Diana and I patiently waited for a bus to travel north once more.  The highway was deathly quiet with the only difference between this and the other mornings being a male customer was

A quiet highway in Himamaylan City, Negros Occidental

actually sitting at the Angel’s Hamburger stand.  Whether he was buying a hamburger or just making time with the female employee I could not say, but there he was all the same.  At about the same time, a lone dog sauntered across the highway moving from one rubber trash receptacle to another, its emaciated frame revealing the meager pickings scrounged from within.

With, almost, clockwork efficiency, the Ceres Liner arrived at within a few minutes of the previous mornings.  Even though the conductor was different each time, the number of passengers pretty much stayed the same….not very many.  Again, we coursed our way up the highway through a sleeping community and quickly went from lighted roadway to complete darkness.  I knew that you wanted to know this, but the distance from the first road on the north edge of Himamaylan City to the fire station on the south edge of the settlement is five kilometers (3+ miles).  Considering there is only one parallel side street in this town of 20,000+ inhabitants, it is a long way or short way if you consider the number of people. I was, and still am amazed at the number of towns residing along national highways that have no side streets at all, so if there was an accident, well, you would have to wait until the wreckage was cleared before anyone could proceed as there would be no side roads with which to detour upon.   

The one hour ride was quiet and uneventful.  Diana fell asleep while I gazed out the window at the passing lights of early risers within their bamboo dwellings. Every so often I would even catch the glimpse of a small cook fire as the transport rumbled by.  The feel of the cool, albeit very humid air flowing through the open window, mixed with the aroma of early morning cook fires filled me with a soothing sensation as the metal beast lumbered over the pavement. 

The sky was already showing the light of a new day and I surmised it

Valladolid, Negros Occidental - Sunrise colors to christen a new day

would just be a handful of minutes until a hot and unforgiving sun was to climb above the distant mountain peaks as we alighted from our bus outside the Bethel Baptist church on the north side of Valladolid.  The walk today would encompass sixteen kilometers (10 miles), and I was not all that excited with the prospect it would all be under the cruel eye of old sol. 

The journey began by crossing a small bridge and then following a seawall for a kilometer more.  However, just prior to the bridge, during the daylight hours, were fruit stands with ripe mangos for sale arrayed upon their tiered tables every single day of the year.  Mangos are seasonal, so I was not sure where they collected the ripe fruit during the rest of the year, still they were always on display and flawless in appearance.

In the early dawn, a fisherman was out in the surf tossing a round net by hand; a line was attached to his wrist as he slowly gathered it

Valladolid, Negros Occidental - predawn fisherman seining for his daily catch

up with hope of capturing enough for a meal or even more of which he could sell at the market.  Meanwhile, the many basic abodes across the highway were showing signs of life as residents were about their morning meals or leaving for wherever they went at the beginning of a work day. 

Around the curve was a straight away which would last for six kilometers.  During that segment, the fields were filled with rice

Valladolid, Negros Occidental - Deteriorating Ceres Liner Bus stop

while bamboo constructed stands, which had at one time sold watermelon, now sat abandoned and neglected until the next season returned.  On the left was an old restaurant, the concrete walls were still intact although the roofs had long ago collapsed.  Across the highway was an old waiting shade with its concrete roof at a precarious angle.  In the years since, the roof has never changed and still maintains that tilted threatening slant. 

The sun was well into the eastern sky as we passed through Barangay Mabini and took our first break across from the Emilio

Valladolid, Negros Occidental - Kanlaon Volcano in the early morning light

Infante Elementary School at the waiting shade.  As we rested, a woman with small child came and sat beside us.  Shortly after their arrival, a man came up and handed her one thousand two hundred pesos.   Of course she was quite excited over that.  The young mother had placed five pesos on something called the Small Town Lottery and had won a portion of the jackpot.   Due to her exuberance, I was guessing it was quite a sum of money for that family. 

Despite a light morning breeze which was cooling us nicely as we satwithin the comfort of that open air shelter, we both realized the longer we rested, the higher the sun would rise into the sky, and the longer that blazing sphere was present, the hotter the morning would surely be.  Thus we departed our shaded oasis and moved onward toward Bago City.

The volume of vehicular traffic had increased substantially as we

Valladolid, Negros Occidental - A nipa house within a sea of rice

departed the small barangay.  Furthermore, to my displeasure, the sun’s warmth had intensified during our brief stop at the waiting shade.  As we methodically strode past rice fields, I quickly understood my error in taking a break so soon and also realized, underneath a blazing sun, that this could be a very long sixteen kilometers.

Between the Pulupandan intersection and the Bago River bridge there was a group of businesses lining the east side of the highway selling bamboo furniture.  They had large chairs with arms, couches, table and chair sets, and even beds made of wood on exhibit. Of

Bago City, Negros Occidental - A jeepney load heading into Bago City

course, there weren’t too many customers at 6:25 a.m. and I noticed that the operators did not take the furniture inside either.  That was the difference between the west side of Negros Island compared to the rest of the Philippines in that you could leave bulky merchandise outside at night and still find it there in the morning.  At this point we were walking beneath shade trees on our side of the highway, but since there were none on the opposite side, we continued to be bathed in sunlight and thus those trees were nothing more than decorations in my mind.

Bago City, Negros Occidental - Loaded sand moving boats

Crossing the Bago River, we observed that a large group of long and flat bottomed boats were lined along the banks on both sides.  What I did know was that the water vessels were ferried on the high tide somewhere, loaded with sand and returned to that location where the contents would be

Bago River silently flowing toward Sulu Sea

manually unloaded into dump trucks or into sacks.  Looking in the direction of the Sulu Sea, the land bordering the waterway was covered with tropical growth as the river curved toward the northwest and to its eventual estuary.

The road forked just after the bridge with one branch coursing its

Bago City, Negros Occidental - Hot Chicks Lechon Manok Stand

way into the city center, while the route Diana and I took skirted more toward the east side of the community.  There we strolled past the Ramon Torres National High School, the Bago City College as well as the Bago City Hospital.  We also passed a Lechon Manok (bar-b-que chicken) stand by the name of “Hot Chicks” and took our second break not far beyond there. 

Fortunately for me, there were quite a number of waiting shades along most highways.  Many would be situated within a few hundred meters or less from each other.  Basically wherever a road or even

Daryl Cleveland evading the inferno at a waiting shade

trail might venture off into the foliage and to some hidden cluster of nipas, you could bet there would be a waiting shade nearby.  The unusual thing was I rarely saw them occupied.  Don’t get me wrong, I did see people sitting within them at times, but quite often they were vacant.  Even when taking breaks during our daily sojourns, most times we were the only visitors.  In a way, that was a good thing as I could spread out my large frame, but it was also an unfortunate situation as we learned very little about the area we were trekking through.

North of Bago City, the crop of choice had changed from rice to sugar cane and, as one would expect, the day became ever hotter with each succeeding kilometer.  We were now walking aside recently laid asphalt.  I hate asphalt.  For a few years back in Iowa, my son Brad, his classmate Tyler, and I would pedal bicycles from the Missouri River to our town of Odebolt which encompassed sixty-five miles of rolling landscape.  One year they paved a twenty mile segment with fresh asphalt.  Fresh Asphalt not only absorbed the radiant heat of the sun quite easily, but it also put it back out.  For me, it was a ride through hell.  The combination of heat from the sun compounded by the heat from the black pavement just about finished me.  At that point, towns were located about every five miles apart and I would take long breaks in the air conditioned convenience stores and even soak my already sweat saturated t-shirt as well as a towel I would wrap around my neck in cold water in an attempt to compensate for the inferno which awaited me outside the doors.  We even stopped at a Pizza Hut on the way home and I consumed a pitcher of water by myself, but it didn’t make any difference by then.  The heat had done its worst on me and, even though I did complete the ride; the last fourteen miles were excruciatingly slow.   I knew that this final portion of the walk would entail at least five or six kilometers.  Fortunately for me, the sun had not warmed up the asphalt enough to recreate the aforementioned nightmare. 

As before, there were no pedestrians along the roadway this day.  Yes, there were some students heading toward morning classes, but as to people walking along the highway in the country, going from one place to another, they were noticeably absent.  It just seemed peculiar to me that a nation so poor wouldn’t have more citizens walking, but what I did observe was that most people were packed into and onto trikes.  Perhaps they had adopted the ways of Americans and had discovered that walking was just a waste of valuable time. 

Around a kilometer after departing Bago City, we came upon a

Bago City, Negros Occidental - Young boy and his toy truck

portion of the original National Highway running under a myriad of shade trees on the left side of the thoroughfare.   The pavement was narrow, but in relatively good condition due to its probable age.  We took a rest at a waiting shade nestled among the grove of trees and watched as an elementary student played with his handmade truck.  I have seen quite a few of those toys here in the Philippines.  It only takes some scrap metal and discarded set of wheels to make a youngster happy.   We sat and watched as he would go to a sand pile, fill up the back of the truck and then pull it down to a smaller pile where he deposited his load.  A future truck driver in the making, I thought. 

Returning to our mission, I could tell the sun was beginning to have its deteriorating effect on me.  Also, my knees, still recovering from a debilitating bout of Dengue Fever a few months previous were beginning to express their displeasure at my long distance walking.  Alas, we took brief respites after each kilometer (thank you waiting shades).  Outside the San Miguel brewery, we took a refreshing breather and sipped on bottles of Coca Cola as our olfactories took in the yeasty aroma from the plant a kilometer away. 

It was truly a relief when we reached the day’s destination a kilometer up the road.  We now had only thirteen kilometers left to complete our journey.  It was in a nicely shaded spot with a wooden bench outside a small factory upon which we sat and awaited a jeepney to take us into Bacolod. 

The jeepneys of today are not like those of past decades.  They are longer and more with less interior space.  My knees begged to be

A critical stare from a jeepney passenger at the end of our walk

stretched out, but there were so many people crammed into the four wheeled transport that I could only stick them out the back opening.  Then when they stopped to wedge in another passenger, I would have to fold up my already cramped legs to allow entry. Even though the ride encompassed less than thirty minutes in length, it was quite uncomfortable and by the time we exited the vehicle, I had to walk some more just to allow my knees to settle down. 

We finished the morning with a trip to Jollibee’s (a McDonald’s equivalent) and then watched the movie, Pacific Rim at Robinson Mall of which I slept through about half of it.  We took a Ceres Liner home later that afternoon and arrived just before sunset.

That day had been long.  The kilometers had taken their toll on my knees as the heat wore me down physically.   Yes, it was a great accomplishment to have completed that walk for the day, but it also taught me about my “new” limitations.  In a way, it was disenchanting when I reflected that less than ten years earlier I was walking upwards of twenty-three miles in one day and yet now was lucky to even accomplish ten miles.  Yet, it also reminded me that I was no longer fifty years old.  That we were never going to be Olympians forever and furthermore, that our bodies did not heal as quickly as they did decades earlier (i.e. Dengue Fever).  Still, at the same time it was a psychological victory for me.  It proved that limitations were no more than that and if one was resolute in their convictions, even limitations could be overcome.  Amazingly, I was coming of the opinion that my limitations had been defeated when I had taken that first step toward Bacolod sixty-seven kilometers ago. 

Daryl A. Cleveland a.k.a. bounder

January 5, 2015