By arikamillan on Skatehive
Naga City, past the slumbering barangays and rice paddies that were lit up with streetlights. It was hot and filled with smoke and smoke. After an hour or so we came close to the bakery where Tinong had the scent of its stagnant breath of fresh pandesal was tormenting my hungry mouth. This was my cue. I flagged a habal-habal, threw my helmet in and clung to the waist of the driver as we roared uphill on the motorcycle taxi. The highway wound round like a snake in Barangay Inayagan, along the Cantao-an border. The breeze blew upon my face bringing tinges of damp earth and wild guava. "Sitio Pangilatan, kuya!" I shouted over the roar. He looked, and swerved round potholes like a professional. Another twenty minutes later we came to a grating halt at the jump-off point, a miserable trailhead, characterized by a tattered signboard and a group of curious roosters. No entrance fee. The only thing that is there is me, my backpack, and the mountain. I put on my boots, applied some sunscreen (a