The Route That Knows Me Best

Every cyclist has a route that feels less like a road and more like a companion. For me, it begins quietly in Cebu City and unwinds southward toward Naga, looping through Uling, Don Andres Soriano, Landing, Lutopan, and back home via Manipis. I’ve ridden many roads, chased many goals, and logged countless kilometers—but this one remains my favorite. It knows my legs, my breathing, my silences. I know its curves, its moods, and its unforgiving honesty.

I’ve been riding this loop almost every Sunday for close to ten years now, usually starting at dawn, when the city is still rubbing sleep from its eyes. I used to ride north before, but traffic and bad roads brought me South. Back then, it was once a week—my ritual, my reset. During the pandemic, when the world slowed down to a halt, I sometimes ride this three times a week. While everything else felt uncertain, these roads remained stubbornly the same.

From Cebu City to Naga, the ride eases you into rhythm. The legs wake up gradually, the heart rate finds its cadence, and the mind begins to quiet. This is not a route that assaults you immediately; it invites you in. Of course, there is this Cebu traffic we all know, but the coastal air near Naga is familiar and comforting, but there’s no mistaking what lies ahead. Once you turn inland towards the tone changes. The road begins to ask questions. Are you patient enough? Are you pacing honestly? Did you respect the effort too early?

The Uling Climb is where the ride starts to speak plainly. The gradient is steady, relentless, and revealing. There’s no place to hide here—no short bursts, no clever tricks. You either settle in or you unravel. This 4km climb is followed by a 2km downhill to landing, giving the legs a bit of reprieve. Then there is the 2km climb to Lutopan before the road eases down.

The final climb is Camp 8 and the man-made forest. At this time, the legs are negotiating rather than obeying. This stretch has taught me restraint more than aggression. Push too hard, and this climb will collect its debt.

Once you reach the crest, it’s all 7km of downhill. These days, with the perennial rain, landslides are common along Camp 6, 5 and 4. SO safety should be a huge concern going down. Still it is a sweet reprieve.

What makes this route special isn’t just the terrain. It’s the accumulation of memories layered over asphalt and cement. The early-morning solitude. The familiar suffering. The quiet confidence that comes from knowing exactly how much it will hurt—and choosing it anyway. Over the years, this loop has seen me fitter, slower, lighter, heavier, younger, and older. It has adjusted nothing for me. I had to adjust to it.

That’s why this route remains my favorite. Not because it’s easy or scenic or convenient, but because it’s honest. It never lies about your form. It never flatters. It simply reflects who you are on that day.

And every Sunday, for nearly a decade, I have shown up and listened.