Traveling on a budget with legs as my gears

Cyclists all over the nation are often enraged about how unsafe it is to be out on the streets via our old reliable, mainly because of the irresponsible and, arguably, stupid drivers that we have to ride alongside with. Online and offline bike lane demands are of constant cry in the cycling community. Of course, we're affected by the state of the road and flow of traffic despite neither classifying as a vehicle nor a pedestrian.

I don't actively support the want for bike lanes (because who are we kidding, we're never gonna get them and even if we do, they're just gonna serve as parking lot for assholes), but I'm not against it. I've just always seen the snarled-knotted roads as a way to toughen me up, y'know. It's not ideal and it's culpable to the majority's lack of discipline, but it's challenging somewhat. You're not just riding a bike, you're actually trying to get home alive and unscathed. Drivers who blatantly cut in front of you with reasons illogical to someone who practices caution and courtesy are not the only factor to road unsafetiness. There's the own mechanical problems and/or handling error that can lead to an accident; the more common verbal harassment/catcalls that can easily evoke threat for riders such as I, especially when evidently outnumbered or if the doer looks dangerous, which we are, by the way, advised and expected to "just ignore"; and of course, getting robbed. One of my biggest fears don't really constitute losing my own life, to be honest; anyone who truly knows me would probably not be surprised by that confession. One of my biggest fears is losing my bike--Oyasumi, in particular--which I spend all my money, attention, love, and care on, and my phone, which holds sentimental value and irretrievable files I'm too lazy to transfer to a safe, immobile drive. And on Wednesday, February 8, 2017, three weeks ago, I terribly met the latter.

I had a firsthand experience in being robbed while on the way home from a bike ride and in my attempt to contain the situation, my left arm walloped three stab wounds.

These photos were taken on Friday, February 10, 2017, two days after the incident and the same day we went to PNP Bacoor to file a police report, although one was already filed on the day of the incident itself. The two on the upper area were not as deep unlike the one on the lower area which had a depth of half a finger.

I must admit that I have been on a training hiatus even before the incident, ever since Tagaytay XC Challenge 2. My friend, Mikee, who was with me that Wednesday, was even trying to get me out of the house to bike a few days before, but I was having a, what we liked to call as a "putangina week." Whenever I have a putangina week, I tend to detach from the outside world as to not drag anyone else in the same funk. I wasn't going out at all nor was I bathing on a daily basis, which wasn't out of the norm for me--I stay indoors unless there's something I need to do outside and I take a bath only if I'm gonna go out haha yes, I can go days on end breathing and living in the atmosphere of farts and self-inflicted despair I have enclosed in my bedroom. I have always been comfortable in that life anyway, and lately, the long rides and nature trips just became... unriveting. I have yet to meet people who's just as passionate in riding and in the same, if not on a higher level to my wavelength. I was ditching dragonboat training as well (I haven't talked about it yet but upon starting 2017, I was absorbed in a dragonboat team), not because I didn't want to train but my want to not be outside was just much greater. I was doing body weight exercises at home though, so I can still keep up when I do decide to train religiously again.

I had to get back soon as I was supposed to participate in Giant's bike race in Rizal last February 18, 2017 in addition to the two dragonboat races my team is preparing for for the first and last week of March; the former would've been my debut on the line-up. I have a really bad habit of not being up for training at the last minute, which I constantly have to fight through. So on to the end of my putangina week, seething the reality of what a big baby I am which any middle class person couldn't afford to prolong much further, I invited Mikee to bike on a whim with a plan to breathe a different kind of polluted air (y'know, other than my own gas) and ease into subjecting myself to a couple of hours of physical activity outdoors. The ride fell at nighttime on Tuesday, February 7, 2017 only because I woke up at 5 p.m that day. I prepared a dinnertime breakfast and Mikee arrived at our house about two hours upon invitation. It was just gonna be us two when she realized I have enough bikes for another person, so she invited her friend along who I've met numerous times: Pat. Before leaving, I remember specifically telling Mikee, "hindi ako magdadala ng pera kasi kumain na naman ako e." (I won't bring money; I'd just eaten anyway). That's just a heads up in case I'd need to buy something, Mikee can cover for me as I can pay her back when we get home. I was carrying everything I would need anyway: water, bike tools, and some McDonald's coupons in case we do get hungry. (Although that's not a suitable set-up if I'm gonna ride solo. One time I took Felicia the fixie out in Valenzuela by myself, I didn't have enough money when my interior needed total replacing because of a busted valve and what I had with me were untransactable-to-a-new-interior-McDonald's-coupons... travesty). I've taken Mikee to a night ride before; we went to the Mall of Asia and since she already biked there, without any regard to time, I suggested we bike to Tagaytay this time (I always bike to Tagaytay, whether solo or with a group, so it was a normal thing for me). Mikee is fairly a newbie, she doesn't even own a bike, but she's been trekking mountains as of late so it's suffice to say she's physically-laden.

Off the three of us went, riding my three bikes: Mikee was on Oyasumi, I was on the no-name Japanese bike I recently bought for my mom, and Pat was on one of the two old, steel mountain bikes I had and used to get to school back in college before I had Oyasumi. Because the Japbike had a basket in front, I thought I'd free my back from the stress by putting my bag there. It's a small, black bagpack bought from an online seller which I always use for rides. Inside it was a 2.5L bladder, 26x2.1 interior, toolkit, patchkit, tire pump, wallet/money purse with nothing but McDonald's coupons ang an i.d. card, keys, 13000mAh Huwawei powerbank, and my 5-year-old Samsung Galaxy S4 phone. We didn't even reach Tagaytay, we just made it until Silang. That's understandable, considering neither of them has gone on a long ride before and the way there was a gradual uphill too. I was likewise very proud of them for making it the way they did--with minimal breaks and continuous pedaling. Pat hasn't eaten yet so I thought I'd treat them at McDonald's--to reward their effort and put the coupons to use. I know there's a new branch in Silang, I've been talking about it because it's new and the energy fascinates me, so when it was decided we wouldn't push through Tagaytay, I suggested we eat there. A few more malapit na's and we find out that the McDonald's I've been talking up throughout the ride was closed. Next to a nearby 7-eleven store was a carinderia though, called something like two sisters or two siblings... Anyway, we had bulalo there instead and it was sooo good. We had to wait a few minutes for it though, and while waiting, I talked to Mikee about needing to get out of my bum life. I wasn't training or taking races seriously, I'm not doing anything super productive, and funds are depleting. It might be time to look for a job again and I intended to, that's also why I wanted to get out of the house that time. Again, to breathe a different kind of polluted air because basically, every reason I had as to why I quit my previous work--train everyday, become a full-time bike/dragonboat racer, take automotive classes... live my dreams--went to shit, and it reeks. I'm gonna apply as a guidance counselor, I said. They laughed in my face and after eating, we went home to enjoy the downhill with a full stomach.

It was about 12 m.n. when we finished eating. We didn't have any regard for time and that was my first mistake as a ride leader. My second mistake is that I didn't think about our vulnerability being an all-girl group rider of three. Third mistake is two out of three are newbies who don't even own any bike, thus, leaving the ratio for support at a disadvantage. Pat had insisted on taking the bus home. It seemed stupid to me because the way home is going to be practically all downhill, which is the funnest part, why would you waste money on taking a bus. That was my fourth mistake. No, not not taking the bus--being with someone who's second-guessing herself and not 100% in it to ride. There wasn't gonna be any bus at that time anyway so I was able to convince her to bike all the way. She asked to put her bag in the basket as well to also lessen the stress on her back and overall load. I remember celebrating the downhill in joy coming from Silang; it was my first time to take out the Japbike on a ~long ride~ after all. What did I tell you, huh. Is this not the funnest thing ever? Then, I remember passing by a lit house while letting gravity pull me down, not pedaling at all, when an aged man hollered at us and yelled in the calmest way, "Hi, sweetheart." I retaliated in disgust and yelled back, "Ulol!!!" I felt the fear in Mikee and Pat. I heard what they said without them even saying it, Pabayaan mo na lang. (Just ignore it). Don't be scared, I thought to myself. Maybe that was my fifth mistake, I just wasn't scared. Masyado kang matapang (you're too brave), I've been told, which I never regarded as a bad thing... even after getting stabbed because of it.

Upon exiting Dasmariñas, we were deciding what route to take to get home. Daang Hari was immediately crossed out when I brought it up, which is what I usually take when I come from a Tagaytay ride downhilling Aguinaldo Highway, but because of the horror stories on Daang Hari eliciting fear of unknown entities making their apparition before us, Mikee and Pat offered a different route. I could understand their irrational fear; it was dark there anyway and we only had one headlight so we went to what they were comfortable with. We dodged more than half of Molino Boulevard with what they knew as a shortcut that exits to Jollibee. Excited to go home--me so I could piss, them so they could rest--I wanted to speed away but I resisted it to keep supporting Pat. I push her when it's safe to and tail her when she's falling behind. Passing by establishments that hint we're really almost there, I asked Mikee what time it is. She pressed the button on Oyasumi's speedometer to light it up and it read 2:31 a.m. That was our last time check.

When you're so close to getting home, there's no reason to stop. Thirsty? You can drink at home. Tired? You can chill at home. But Mikee called for a stop when we reached the end of Molino Boulevard (yellow circle; see map below) to get Oyasumi's seatpost adjusted. I told her to just leave it because, again, we're almost home. But she still stopped in an attempt to fix it by herself. I couldn't leave her, so I told Pat who went a little ahead to hold up. I adjusted the seatpost and then the three of us went on our way. Mikee advanced when we passed Jollibee Molino going to Queen's Row while Pat and I took our time.

The blue line on the map is a bridge where the uphill road starts and the red circle is where the uphill road ends. At the rate of Pat's pedaling, Mikee has already gone way past us and I couldn't even see her anymore. I thought I could push Pat on the uphill road so we could catch up to Mikee but Pat has a tendency to doubt its safetiness--because I go too fast for her comfortable maintaining speed making her hit the brakes while I'm pushing, which is even more unsafe--so instead we just went really, really slow. Pat was on my right and I was on her left. Since there were no cars anyway, it was okay to eat up the center of the road. Halfway to the end of the uphill road, I could see from afar a guy semi-downcasted behind a parked vehicle on Pat's side, looking like he's scratching it or something. I remember thinking to myself how weird it was, but that's it. Along the Wet&Dry Market area, I already noticed two guys on a motorcycle who went past Pat and I, but I didn't think anything of it. They were on a motorcycle, we're on a bike--it's only natural that they'll go ahead of us. They were the same two guys. The motorcycle with the other guy who's just waiting like a useless ornament, let's call him ShitFace, was a little bit of five steps away from the parked vehicle where the guy, let's call him FaggotStabberWhoCouldntFightMe, was sighting us. When we were about to pass the parked vehicle, FaggotStabberWhoCouldntFightMe made himself an obstruction in the most unfrightening way by simply walking in front of us. Pat screamed, I didn't know why, but after the longest, out of clue, what the fuck is happening three seconds later, FaggotStabberWhoCouldntFightMe grabbed one of the bags in the Japbike's basket. It was my bag.

If you know me, you'd know how parsimonious I am. I'm a person who wouldn't get rid of things as long they still function (you should see the mouse I'm using). Just even losing my comb could make me go apeshit, because of the thought of having to buy again. That's my sixth mistake, probably not entirely pertaining to the incident, but as a person in general: the things I own, own me. And as soon as what happened registered in my head, motherfucker I'm being robbed, I drop the Japbike to the floor and started chasing FSWCFM on his way to ShitFace onto their escape vehicle. It was a lot of steps and he was slow, so even if I was not on my fastest because of running thoughts just scattered around at that pressing moment, I get to him before he was even stably sat and we fight for my bag for about, I'd say, eight... maybe ten... seconds. In my head, I was going to knock them over and fight them fight them because have you seen me? My arms are like guns, and legs, like a bomb. I realize now that maybe ShitFace was able to keep their balance by stepping his foot on the ground while they were still still and I was struggling with FSWCFM, so what was in my head didn't materialize. I had a powerful grip, though. Pat kept screaming my name in the background, crying for me to just leave it, and then FSWCFM punched me. I lose grip as the two bike locks attached to my bag fall and they make their escape. I couldn't believe it. One punch and I back off, what's up!? Thinking I'm a fairly good runner and they just started accelerating, I can still catch them, I ran. I ran after them from the red circle to the green circle (see map above) but I just couldn't make myself faster... I couldn't catch up. I remember how FSWCFM kept flipping me off with two middle fingers as I kept running. How fucking dare you. You rob me, you punch me, and I'm the one who's 'Fuck you'? Nah, nah, nah, this isn't happening. So I try going faster again, but at the green circle, I stop... completely. Not even gradually, but suddenly. They made a left, still on GSIS Road, probably going to Magdiwang where illegal settlers live, then a blue tricycle came along. That's when I started making loud noises. I asked for the tricycle driver's help, screaming things I never imagined I would utter in real life, "Saklolo, kuya! Tulungan mo 'ko! Parang awa mo na!"  I wanted him to stop for me so I could hop on, but kuya tricycle driver didn't budge one bit. He continued driving in neither a fast nor a slow pace even after I screamed those things at him. He acted all nonchalant, as if he didn't hear the things I just said or see me just standing there. At that point, a huge possibility of catching my assailants has vanished.

I looked back to where Pat was but I couldn't see because it was quite far and too dark. Then, I noticed some wet stuff on my thighs on its way to my shoes... blood. It was coming from my arm. I think I just stared down at it for a long time and when I put my head back up, all of a sudden, I was surrounded by a lot of people I didn't know. A couple of them offered handkerchiefs and face towels to use to put pressure on my wound; I took the yellow handkerchief because it looked the cleanest. I planned to tie it like what Sameen Shaw would've done, but how do you do that with only one arm working??? I knew I shouldn't be moving too much so I couldn't get to Pat; I started shouting at her, "OK ka ba!?" No response, which annoyed me, but I could see her. She met me halfway, I thought to give me my bike locks but, apparently, to show me the weapon used to stab me. It was... well, it looked like this but a little bit bigger:

The weapon that looked kinda like this was submitted to the baranggay outpost by Mikee

I thought I was just punched, apparently, I got stabbed and it didn't even feel like it. So that's why I lost my grip so easily. People kept going to where we were, constantly telling me to keep putting pressure on my wound. Bitch, don't you think I know that!? I just couldn't stop being noisy and unpleasant. The more people I see, the more I think, Hey, let's get that son of a bitch! All of us! but none of them were up to it - the more I got annoyed. Fucking useless. Why are y'all even here then!? I kept telling Pat to contact Mikee because I couldn't be still not knowing where she was. I wanted to cry but couldn't cry, probably because my arm was already crying heaps for me. The 6th St (refer to map above) was our way home, then Mikee finally came out of there. She backtracked and came looking for us, found us disheveled. Then, I cri, called to her in the loudest possible way, "Mikee!" Relieved that she's safe, and admittedly, that Oyasumi is too. I was worried that maybe she suffered worse considering she was alone. Thinking and feeling that I'm okay, I wanted to bike home and then casually get sent to the hospital so things can be more prepared but everyone insisted that it was already an emergency. An ambulance came, stopped by one of the spectators, but said "Pulis ang tawagan n'yo" (Call the police) when people started saying I got stabbed and should be taken to the hospital. I thought someone called them but, apparently, they were just passing by and seemed as if they too were headed home. Mikee got angry by the ambulance's refusal to take me to the hospital. She took the initiative to get me into a tricycle instead. I didn't want to leave her or my bikes alone, so I kept resisting. I wasn't going because I can't leave my bikes, and when one of the goon-looking spectators (sorry!) said, "H'wag kang mag-aalala, kami bahala sa bike mo" (Don't worry, we'll take care of your bike), I most especially did not want to go. Mikee was getting annoyed with me as well, at the same time, worried about my condition, so she calmly and firmly told me, "Wala kang ipag-aalala. Alam ko kung gaano kahalaga sa'yo 'yung bike mo. Ako ang bahala." (You don't have to worry about anything. I know how important your bike is to you. I will take care of it.) I finally shut up and went inside the tricycle. Mikee made Pat go with me to the Southeast Asian Medical Center, just across Jollibee Molino.

I trust that Mikee will keep her word. And she did.

Me and my bloodstained shoes (though it's not that visible on the photo; Pat sitting in the background)

When I got to the emergency room, I was attended to right away. They had to, of course, check my wound so I needed to take the yellow handkerchief off pressure. When I removed it, blood came gushing... yuck yuck yuck! The practitioner immediately assessed the wound to be deep, otherwise, blood wouldn't be going out at that rate like that, and went on saying it might need to be explored or whatever. I wasn't really understanding, I was floored with so much turmoil. After wiping some extra bloodstains on my skin, it was discovered that I had three stab wounds. My arm was dressed, wrapped in tight, garter-like material and needed to be elevated. I forgot one shot that was given me but the other was an anti-tetanus shot.

Thursday, February 16, 2017: A week later after getting the stitches removed