On the Wheels of Mountain Love

On a jeepney ride, every bump on the road matters. Every awkwardly angled rock and every rain-carved pothole paints a pretty masterpiece of blacks and blues on the bum. Being the sole transportation to the jump off point of the Philippines’ second highest mountain, Mt. Pulag, I find myself contemplating if it is still worth dragging my now-tortured bottom through the arduous trek.

My ride looked harmless on the onset, giving no indication of the journey ahead. Like all other jeepneys that have become the bane of every Manila motorist through the years, this has everything a jeepney should – rusty metal frame, flimsy plywood for its flooring, and barely-there padding on benches that run along both sides of the interior’s length.

This particular jeepney dons questionable artistry on its exterior. It bears a concoction of pastel pink and green. It has the strangest choice of images painted on its sides – an airplane’s tail, a horse with its mane swooshing elegantly in the wind, and surreal caricatures of three children. On its masthead, the jeepney wishes to be identified as Mountain Love. On its bumper, it leaves a reminder: “In God We Trust”.

I soon stop to question how the jeepney’s construction transcends standard levels of paradox. My ride, seemingly a softy, shows forth its machismo as our driver pumps to overdrive – just like all jeepney drivers in the city, except this time, he drives it through the dangerously narrow dirt roads that skirt Mt. Pulag.

The driver zooms his sweet ride without any care in the world. His passengers hold on to the overhead railing, forgetting for now what diseases we’d get from the rust, just as long as it will secure us inside the vehicle. I look at the person in front of me, and I notice everyone doing the same. As if in a battlefield waiting for the first attack, we eyeball the other side, grunt, and threaten with a look that implies, “If you vomit at me, I’ll vomit back”.

In the lifetime it took to get to the jump off point, I soon lay my trust in the man behind the wheel. There is no doubt in my mind this guy has every skill that exceeds the most seasoned driver out there, because there is no way he would sacrifice his most prized earthly possession. The jeepney symbolizes everything that matters to its owner, including the three children painted on its side. I would like to believe they are the driver’s own, reminding him through every journey, “Come home safely, dad. We love you.”

To me however, there is no love gained at the end of the ride. There is only an upside down stomach and a bruised bum to boot. But, I did find a desperate need to kiss the ground and embrace the fresh air at the start of the trek.