Tuesday September 23, 2014
11:25 a.m. Cebu City

A lot has happened very quickly in the short time since the Aloha Pink House. The town of Carcar was only about 40 kilometers from Cebu City, but those 40 kilometers might as well have been 400. That’s standard for whenever you try to cycle into or out of a major metropolitan center. I had hoped that the traffic jam I witnessed was a Sunday only thing, but it was still there when I rejoined the main road. Traffic was at a complete standstill. It blew my mind, and I was worried that this traffic gridlock would extend all the way to Cebu itself. THAT would have been a problem.

The traffic jam didn’t go all the way to Cebu as it turned out, but it was certainly bad enough and it made it clear that I was not in for a very easy day. A city like Toronto at least has many major highways feeding into it from any one direction and has many other secondary roads. Coming up from the south, this one road I was on was pretty much the only way to get into Cebu. Just that one road, so the traffic was pretty intense. I don’t know if people commute from Carcar, but it’s a possibility. There were certainly enough buses on the road. The drivers were far from considerate, of course, and I found myself being run off the road many times. And the horn honking started to drive me insane. I finally succumbed to the pressure and I broke out my MP3 player to block out the sound. I don’t generally use the MP3 player while cycling here because so many people call out greetings that I have to return. If I listen to podcasts, I can’t hear them and it would be rude. However. On this morning, I had no choice. I had to block out the sound. I couldn’t take it much longer without totally losing my mind.

Once I was plugged into my world of podcasts, I was much happier. It’s astonishing how strong an effect sound has on me. A crying, screaming baby makes me want to slit my wrists, but if I block the sound with earplugs, I’m fine. Same thing with this traffic. The traffic flow hadn’t changed at all, but now that I couldn’t hear the incessant roar of the engines and the horn blasts (at least as loudly) my mood improved dramatically.

I stopped for breakfast in a likely looking roadside eatery. It turned out to be something of a poor choice, but once I’d gone to the effort of getting off the bike and going inside, I decided to just stay. The problem was that it was somewhat enclosed and extremely hot. It was also not among the cleanest place I’ve seen. But I ordered a few dishes and some rice. The food didn’t sit well in my stomach – a rare occurrence in the Philippines – and I worried that I was now going to be sick right on the eve of my departure. That wouldn’t be good.

The difficulties continued when I was back on the road. The sun was extremely hot and there was little of interest in the way of scenery. I was well into the industrial belt of Cebu, and I knew that things were only going to get worse and worse as I entered my least favorite city in the entire world. My days of relaxing at the side of the ocean in southern Cebu and Siquijor seemed so long ago as to have never happened. I had experienced lots of near perfect moments – such as the pumpboat crossing on the blue water. You’d think such wonderful days would have a lasting effect and they’d support you through more difficult days. But they really don’t. Those perfect days are perfect at the time, but once they are over, they are gone. I find there is no lingering effect of happiness. The memory of them doesn’t make me feel better later. Weird.

Happily, the road became much wider at a certain point – going from a narrow two lanes to a wide and spacious four lanes. That made cycling much easier in terms of traffic. Physically, it was still difficult and it was a real struggle to hold it together all the way into Cebu proper. At long last, I made my way to downtown Cebu and I returned to the same hotel as before. I’d stored some stuff with them and had to go back and pick it up anyway. My homecoming was nice, in fact. Everyone at the hotel remembered me and wanted to know how my cycling trip had gone. I still don’t think any of them really grasped the idea that I had ridden my bike the entire time. They knew I brought my bike with me, but I think they assumed I put it on a bus. It would not be sane to ride a bike in and out of Cebu. And now I agree with them.

After settling into my room, I went out to an Internet café and downloaded my journal from the NEO while updating my podcasts and checking email and that sort of thing. The NEO’s memory was 100% full, and it took several hours to download it all. There were no emergencies to deal with online, at least as far as I could tell. No one tells me anything anymore, so who knows what is going on with anyone anywhere.

My main task in coming back to Cebu was to get the exit visa. That was an annoying thing, but I had no choice. I couldn’t leave the country without it, and I could only get it at a major center like Cebu. I checked online and I learned that the Cebu immigration office had permanently moved to its new offices in a shopping mall. I anticipated all kinds of problems and disasters, so I got up extremely early and made sure to be on the road early enough to arrive at the immigration office at eight a.m. when it opened. The bike ride there was nightmarish. Cebu is such a dismal and horrible place and the streets were clogged with early morning traffic. An industrial concrete wasteland. The new location is a horrible place, in my opinion – much worse than where it was before. It’s also extremely difficult to find. I can’t even describe the weird route through the underground parking garage you have to follow to find it. The problem is that it opens at eight, but the shopping mall doesn’t open until ten. So you can’t access it through the mall. Not even sure how you’d do that.

The exit visa was no joke. It cost 500 pesos and required three large photographs. After an hour and a half of waiting, I then was called over to the side for fingerprinting. They put my fingerprints on two separate forms detailing how, to the best of their knowledge, there was nothing to keep me from leaving the country – no legal proceedings, criminal charges, outstanding debts, etc. One of these forms was given to me later, and I have to present it to immigration at the airport. At my last visa extension, I was also required to pay for an ARC card. I had paid the fees but never bothered to pick it up. I have no use for it. But, in a rare moment of foresight, it occurred to me that they might ask for it to be handed in at the airport as well. It does happen. So I made some inquiries and learned that I could check if my ARC card was ready at an office just across the hall. When I got my passport back, I went to that office and, to my astonishment, my card was there and I got it in just a minute or two with no further fees or forms. I have no use for the card, but having it makes me feel better. I want as few problems at the airport as possible.

Up until yesterday, I had done no planning or preparation for Malaysia. To be honest, I had booked the flight to Kuala Lumpur quite casually, even thoughtlessly. The flight was cheap and it seemed as good a place as any to go. From there, I can go south to Indonesia or north to Myanmar and beyond. I didn’t particularly WANT to go to Kuala Lumpur. It was just there.

I had contacted some people through Warm Showers about hosting me but with no success. The most promising fellow was going to be out of the country. None of the other people I contacted had even replied. Warm Showers isn’t exactly a hotbed of activity. I wrote to another potential host just in case. It’s too late to set anything up, but you never know.

Through my research I did learn the disturbing fact that the new international airport was 60 kilometers from downtown Kuala Lumpur. There are lots of super-modern forms of transportation to get you from the airport to downtown, but not if you have a bicycle. With all the problems I’ve had with the bike, I’ve got half a mind to just leave it behind. It is an appealing thought to arrive in Kuala Lumpur with just a backpack containing my clothes, toiletries kit, and camera gear. The bike is supposed to be a liberating thing, but right now it doesn’t feel that way at all. It feels like a large and cumbersome piece of luggage I have to carry around with me and constantly worry about and repair and spend money on.

I also looked into cheap hotels in Kuala Lumpur, and there do seem to be a few. Many of these hotels cater specifically to “backpackers” and have quite a developed Internet presence. It was weird to be searching for information online and looking at their websites and all of that. It was information overload in a way. I can see that if you did have a computer and wi-fi and a smartphone etc, you could spend all your time looking for information online. That’s too much pressure for me. I prefer to just show up and look around for a place to stay. All that advance research is too much work. Right now, though, it seems that I might be looking at spending the night in the airport. My flight lands at seven p.m. Call it eight thirty or nine before I get through customs and immigration and am reunited with my bicycle and luggage. I can see being ready to go by eleven, and that is too late to be setting off for a sixty-kilometer ride into Kuala Lumpur in the dark. There don’t seem to be any bike friendly roads from the airport anyway. They are all highways and technically, bicycles are banned. Cyclists do ride from the airport, but it’s never a pleasant experience.

And speaking of bicycles, I have no idea what I’m going to do with my beast. I don’t really know what is the wise thing to do. I’m pretty sure that the spokes will continue to break, so they must be replaced. But there’s no way I’ll be able to get the same type of spoke in Malaysia or anywhere. I can get them online. A box of seventy-two of the Swiss DT Alpine III spokes cost between seventy and ninety dollars. Those are the same heavy-duty spokes I have now. But if my spokes are worn out due to metal fatigue, then it stands to reason that the rims are ready to break, too. And what about the hubs? They all date back to when I bought the bike in 1999 or whenever it was. I read a bunch of stuff online about proper wheel building and wheel care. It’s pretty clear that for the best results, the rim and spokes should be replaced together. Essentially, I should get two completely new wheels. That annoys me. Everything is falling apart, and it’s clear I should have simply left the beast to rot in your basement and just gotten a brand new bike – brand new everything really. Even my sleeping bag is falling apart. When I take it out of its stuff sack, I end up with a cloud of feathers floating all over the place. The tent fabric isn’t doing well either. New bike, new lighter tent, new lighter sleeping bag, new stove and pots, and new everything else. I’ve had to spend so much money on repairs and replacement parts that it would likely have cost the same or even less to just start all over again.

Tags: bike, Cebu City, Exit visa, Kuala Lumpur, Philippines Bike Trip 2013, visa, visa extension