Earlier this year, a group of hard-core bikers decided to combine social responsibility with their passion for mountain biking by making their way across Luzon—from the China Sea to the Pacific Ocean—in twelve days on mountain bikes. They started in Candon, Ilocos Sur and ended in Palanan, Isabela on the east side, crossing four provinces and the two biggest mountain ranges in the country, the Gran Cordillera and the Sierra Madre. One of the bikers, Jens Funk, tells the story of this adventurous mission to save the last old-growth forest in the country and its people.

We are getting warm by a bonfire, nursing the extreme pains in our shoulders and aches all over our bodies. Both of our legs are covered with leech bites, as well as lashes and scratches from thorn bushes; all as a result of the last two days of our expedition. Nevertheless, we find relief in listening to the raindrops as they trickle on the leaky nipa roof. We feel satisfied, happy, and grateful for the hospitality of “Uncle Marceling”— an Aeta or Dumagat—and his family for welcoming us into their humble bamboo shelter.

Jens and Andrew in Sagada

How it all started
I met Andrew during a cycling trip in Sagada in December of 2006. He invited me over to his place in the woods. It was there that Andrew shared his idea about a bike expedition crossing Luzon, and specifically the Sierra Madre. I was immediately inspired by this thought, and, without delay, started planning for this journey.

Because of our aim, to combine our passion with a social responsibility project, we soon came to the conclusion that we would “ride for the awareness and increased protection of the last remaining old growth forest in the country—the Sierra Madre—and their people, the Dumagats.”

The main intension of our ride was to raise funds for the Dumagats. The next two months thereafter, we both looked for contacts and possible supporters for our idea, and we were successful. Thanks to Schick, North Face, Rudy Project, Blood Red, and Habagat who supported us in our idea.
After all the organization was completed, we were ready to begin our expedition.

Both of our legs are covered with leech bites, as well as lashes and scratches from thorn bushes; all as a result of the last two days of our expedition.

Crossing the Cordilleras
Our starting point was Candon, Ilocos Sur. Andrew and I met in the morning at Candon Beach Resort and were happy to see that four other bikers found time to join us—at least till Sagada. We dipped our back wheels into the China Sea, and started to cycle to Candon. The beginning was easy cycling on paved road, and we expected this to last for the whole day. Unfortunately, we soon realized it was just the beginning. Serious climbing on rough road awaited us, and the heat turned out to be a big setback. We took our rests and had lots of drinks to avoid dehydration. After the first serious climb, we heard that there were three more to come . . . which was quite discouraging. After another serious climb where we even had to push our bikes a bit, we realized what all that suffering was for. The view at a height of 1800 meters over sea level into the Quirino valley and the Cordilleras was just remarkable. We took a break, enjoyed the view, and unpacked our headlamps before we started our downhill trip on rough roads to Quirino. We arrived around 8 P.M. and searched—guided by our lamps—for a place to stay for the night. The locals offered us a space in the gym, and after a hearty dinner at the nearby sari-sari store topped off with a few bottles of beer, falling asleep came all too easily.

The bikers about to enter the mouth of a mountain cave.

On our second day, we planned to reach Sagada by nightfall. From Quirino, we wanted to cycle through the village to where the road continued to Sagada on the other side of the river. But from where we were, there was no road. This, we realized, was where the real expedition actually began. After some investigation, we shouldered our bikes and crossed the river. A few friendly smiles and “hello’s” from the workers in the rice fields caused us to stop and indulge in some small talk. We eventually reached the road and started cycling again. The sun was really out that day, and the climb was one of the toughest ones. At some point, we even had to push our bikes for a few hundred meters before we could continue biking. Finally, we reached a small village at the top of the hill and were offered some bananas and cold water which we consumed with enthusiasm as it was the first taste of food in days.

Ready once more for the downhill, we went speeding while enjoying the wind . . . but this carefree breeze was short-lived. Awaiting us was the next climb which turned out to be longer and harder, and although our dehydration bags were filled with water, it just wasn’t enough. We were constantly drinking—unfortunately, though, the sun also just kept burning. We struggled throughout the scorching heat, but even before we reached the end of the climb, we were all starting to suffer from dehydration. Finally, we arrived at almost the top of the ridge where we stopped at a small village. We stocked up on whatever snacks we could get to ensure that we would have enough supplies until we reached our next stop. During this time, we also enjoyed the breaks where we were able to engage in small talk with the locals. It was around 4 P.M., and they told us we were now halfway to Sagada. It wasn’t really the motivation we needed because, anyhow, we were already determined to reach it that day. We both knew Sagada quite well, and, for us, it’s almost like being in Paradise. We prepared our headlamps and continued cycling. The next two hours (and last two in daylight) must have been the most enjoyable of the whole trip. We cycled smoothly, climbing along a ridge with great views over a valley and the Cordillera Mountains around us. We cycled through rice paddies and passed by some wild-living horses. Exactly at dusk, we reached the top of our second day’s trip and prepared for a long downhill. The last six kilometers uphill in the light of our lamps was again a challenge, but the thought that a nice bonfire and good food was waiting for us kept us going with smiles on our faces. With the lights of our headlamps, we focused on the road until we reached Sagada. Beside a warm fire, we celebrated a bit before we retired to our tents.

Levi crossing the Abra river in Quirino.

After a day’s rest in Sagada, our destination for the third day’s stretch was Banaue and its world famous Rice Terraces. We started the day with a nice dusty downhill from Sagada to Bontoc, where we had our breakfast before we started our climb to Banaue. The climb to Banaue was long but not too serious, and the views were just breathtaking. After we reached the top, we looked forward to a nice long downhill before us. Because we chose to stay in “Hinawan Native Huts,” the place to be in Baunaue, we cycled another 2.5 kilometers uphill. The climb was tough, but all worth it. We cooked our food and enjoyed the view over the Rice Terraces. Again, with a bonfire, we called it a day and slept in native “Igorot” huts.

Our fourth day was the day of the Rice Terraces. We left Banaue after a good breakfast and cycled along the terraces to Mayoyao. Before reaching Mayoyao was yet another serious climb. The impressive views in Mayoyao and the whole setup of the village within the terraces were just remarkable. We arrived there early and decided to continue cycling to Aguinaldo another 16 kilometers away. Our plan was to reach San Mariano as fast as possible because we had no idea what was ahead of us when we finally crossed the Sierra Madre. We arrived in Aguinaldo around 6 P.M., and found a lodge which was not yet open to the public. In the only public restaurant, we did some carbo-loading before we settled into our rooms to recharge for yet another challenging day.

On our second day, we planned to reach sagada by nightfall. But from where we were, there was no road. This, we realized, was where the real expedition actually began.

Crossing the Cordilleras was a severe challenge in terms of fighting against the heat and the serious climbing. All in all, we climbed up 7,540 meters on altitude and downhilled 7,300 meters at the same time.

The Flat Lands
Aguinaldo lies close to the last mountain chain in the Cordilleras. We had to start our day cycling through the flat lands with a severe climb, but with the knowledge that the climbing would soon be over—it was more like flying up the mountain. Once we got up to the saddle, the views were what we had anticipated: no more mountains, the sky was opening up, and the horizon was filled with emptiness. We made it! With a feeling of “we are leaving the cordilleras behind us,” we donned our helmets and were ready for a nice long downhill. We soon reached the first strip of paved road on our trip, and we headed down the mountains with a speed of 55K.P.H. and more, passing some rice and corn fields and taking care that we didn’t bump into the sacks of harvest that were lined up along the streets. We realized we had a good chance to make it all the way to San Mariano, and that would save us one day (a day we would lose later on again in the Sierra Madre, although we didn’t know it yet). We arrived in San Mariano at 4 P.M. and did a courtesy visit to the local police headquarters, informing them of our intention. We then cycled on to find our guide’s residence. He invited us to stay in his house where we discussed the crossing of the Sierra Madre. We bought supplies for the next few days and had dinner in Romy’s (the guide’s) place. We set up our hammocks outside and fell sound asleep, dreaming of what was to come in the following days. The flat land was one day of easy cycling where we covered 115 kilometers to reach San Mariano in Isabela province.

Jens Funk makes it across a long suspension bridge on the way to Sagada.

Sierra Madre Rainforest—The Real Challenge
After breakfast with Romy and his family, we started an easy cycling to San Jose, the last barangay before entering the Sierra Madre. The rough roads turned into carabao trails, and the mud became a difficulty for the bikes—sticking between the brakes and the derailleur, forcing us to stop once in a while. A mix between hike and bike stretches brought us along some areas where one could really see that logging was still apparent. After a few hours, we reached the “authentic” dense rainforest. The trail brought us up a hill, and we had to push our bikes. We rested on top of the hill for a while, enjoying the view, before we continued down. Although the footpath down was covered with some roots, everything was bikeable. Here, we were able to enjoy around 5 kilometers of the greatest downhill cycling we had both ever done. The thick foliage that covered the trail and the dense vegetation of the rainforest presented a daunting challenge, and yet we accepted these with great pleasure and cycled with gusto. Back out of the rainforest, we entered an open area neighbored by a creek. We decided that this place would be our first camp. We had a nice swim, cleaned our clothes, and prepared dinner. After hanging up our hammocks, we fell asleep to the sounds of nature.

We anticipated the second day in the forest with eagerness, knowing the rainforest would reveal its true features. A serious climb awaited us, and the fact that we had to bear our bikes on our shoulders didn’t make it easier. Fortunately, because we had long-sleeved bike jerseys, thorns only found their way into our skin sometimes—but, unfortunately, the leeches always did. We were keen to remove them as soon as we’d find them, but we soon realized that if we continued to spend time doing this, we would not reach our proposed second camp on time. So, we just let the leeches suck our blood, knowing that once they were full they would all fall off by themselves. The downhill trek on slippery, muddy earth with roots everywhere and thorn underbrush around made our last hours sheer torture. At 5:30 P.M., we reached our second camp, covered with bruises, scratches, and leech bites everywhere. We had our dinner and fell into our hammocks, hoping that tomorrow would bring a better day.

We struggled throughout the scorching heat, but even before we reached the end of the climb, we were all starting to suffer from dehydration.

We had to walk the whole third day along a river bed. The tricky thing was that we had to cross the river 50 times. Sometimes we had to swim, often we could walk—the water reaching till our necks. To make the situation worse, we had to bring our bikes across, fighting over really strong currents and large stones in the river bank. One can only imagine how difficult it was to cross a river with strong currents with a bike on your shoulder. Sometimes when we had to swim, we would just tie the bikes on ropes and pull them after us. One time, both of us held each end of a rope while swimming and fighting against the current. If there was no river crossing, we had to walk along small “cliffs,” holding on to roots with one hand, while carrying the bikes on our shoulders, and balancing along the slippery ground. The whole thing was laborious, and we were intensely wishing for the moment when we would reach our destination. We even had to cross the river twice when it was already dark. All our clothes and belongings got wet except for the things we packed inside dry bags. At around 7 P.M., we approached two small bamboo huts where a Dumagat couple had settled with their three children. It was to be our shelter for the night, and we were impressed by their hospitality and friendliness. We warmed ourselves at the bonfire while Romy prepared a chicken that was offered by our hosts. After dinner, we had an enjoyable talk with the Dumagat—“Uncle Marceling”— and his wife. We then convinced him to join us the next day to Palanan were we wanted to buy corn seeds and medicine for him and his family.

The Dumagats have no structured religion of their own, although they claim to believe in nameless, faceless gods whom they invoke to protect them from danger. They are peace-loving people. 

After breakfast, we started the last day with seven river crossings. On our way we met several other Dumagats who were living around that area, but who, unlike Uncle Marceling, continued to live a nomadic life. We had to cross another small mountain which was enclosed in rainforest before we reached the flat fertile area around Palanan. We cycled along rice fields on carabao trails with the Palanan River on our right and the views of the Sierra Madre on our left. We stopped 15 kilometers before Palanan and bought some supplies for Uncle Marceling. We then continued our cycling for the last 15 kilometers on rough road, and it was like a sprint for the finish line. We cycled faster and faster, and the smiles on our faces became bigger and bigger as we reached Palanan. We had our first cold soft drinks in five days, stocked up on some food, and then went back on our bikes and cycled the last 9 kilometers to the shore line of the Pacific Ocean. Dipping our front wheels into the ocean made it clear to us . . . We had made it. We arranged the boat for our trip back the next day, and then celebrated our success with some ice cold beer and rice with sardines. As we sat there having our beer, tending to our wounds, and looking at each other—one could see the fulfillment in our eyes and the assurance that the whole trip was worth it.

We are planning to go back to Palanan in June to visit Uncle Marceling and his family, but instead of carrying our bikes, we will be loaded with goods, a plough, medicine, and corn seeds—things Marceling and his extended family need urgently to improve their living conditions. 

Those four days in the Sierra Madre can be summarized as an experience made memorable by awesome cycling, serious hiking, battles against leeches and strong currents, and excruciating pain from carrying bikes for almost two full days—but, most importantly, it was an experience made unforgettable because of an encounter with Uncle Marceling and his family. Those four days really tested our limit, and we had even gone beyond it.