The first time I rode a motorcycle, I was in high school. We had pigs in the backyard, but sometimes we had to ride to the next barangay—either to check on them or to buy feed. My father handed me the keys and said, “Subukan mo na.” That was it. No formal lessons. Just instinct, dirt roads, and a purpose.

I didn’t know then that I’d fall in love with two wheels.

That old motorcycle? It wasn’t pretty. But it moved. And it introduced me to something I didn’t know I’d fall in love with.

Classic bikes. That raw, unfiltered connection between man and machine. No Bluetooth. No digital dash. Just an engine, a tank, and the road ahead.

Years later, I got a 250cc brat-style bike. Tuned by its original owner to run like a race machine—tight throttle, low stance, angry sound. One of the fastest I’ve ever owned. It wasn’t just transport—it was rebellion on wheels. Pure adrenaline every time I cracked the throttle.

Eventually, life shifted. The 250cc had to go. But I wasn’t done riding.

I picked up a 152cc. Lighter, simpler, and way easier on the wallet. Most people would’ve left it stock. But I saw something else. Not what it was—but what it could be. I brought it to the Apache Customs crew in Pampanga. The same crew I’d been riding with since 2021. Real builders. Real stories. Real heart. Together, we turned that humble bike into a scrambler-inspired classic ride. It had no business being fast. But it had soul.

It was mine.

From off-road rides with the Apache boys to late-night tambays at gas stations, that bike carried more than just miles—it carried memories. Bruises, laughter, breakdowns, patched tubes, and sunrises from the backroads of Pampanga.

Then came 2022. I moved to Makati for work. Took the bike with me. Rode it through the chaos of city life—slipping between jeepneys, dancing through rush hour, trying not to get swallowed whole by EDSA. It was stressful, sure. But the moment I twisted the throttle? Peace.

Until Commonwealth happened.

Three close calls. One too many. The last one nearly clipped me off the road. That was my sign. In 2023, I parked the bike. Turned off the ignition. Walked away.

But the feeling? It never left.

I still flinch when I hear a deep engine rev outside. I still save bike builds at 2AM. I still dream of winding roads, foggy mornings, the faint rattle of a loose bolt on the tank.

The road still calls.

One day, I’ll answer again.

Maybe not now. But soon. When the timing’s right. When life slows down. When the itch gets too loud to ignore.

Because once you’ve ridden with your chest to the wind and your heart in sync with the engine…
You don’t forget.
You just pause.

And me?
I’m just waiting to ride again.