The elevator operator gave a loud audible sigh, frantically fanning herself, as the elevator doors closed. "Ang init-init naman nagyon!" she exclaimed to the clerk beside her. "Summer kasi," he replied in return. Standing behind her, partially numb as a result of the cumulative effects of what riding 695 km of Philippine countryside can do to the frame of a 43 year old man, I managed a weak smile at the thought of how she would react to the 42C temperatures that I just recently experienced traveling through the winding roads of Zambales and Pangasinan. They were long roads, flat, surprisingly well-paved, with enough tricky twist and turns available in certain portions to put a smile on every pseudo-gp rider's face. But, to make things clear, tackling it may have been fun but certainly no picnic. You dealt with dehydration. Sometimes, during the particularly long, straight sections, you battled boredom. Thinking of the distance covered and the more still to come filled your mind with restlessness and apprehension. The cramp in your right hand, sustained from constantly keeping the throttle open, reminded you painfully of the physical limits that you were pushing yourself to endure in an endeavor such as this. I had the pleasure of sharing this challenge with 21 other like-minded, equally brave and foolish, souls. Brave, certainly, for few people would have any inkling to take up the 2-wheeled lifestyle, let alone take a 2-wheeled motor vehicle, with an engine displacement deemed too small to be legal in this country's expressways, and take it on a 600 km round trip trough some of the most unforgiving roads in the world. Foolish, maybe, but then nothing is gained by standing still and life is short. But the object of the game was not simply speed, or distance, or endurance, or even destination. The objective was quite simply catharsis, the opportunity to escape from the grind of daily living. Those 22 intrepid souls traveled that long, dusty highway on a hot and dry day for the chance to become kids once again. We wanted a chance to play and we wanted to play with big toys in the biggest playground we could find. And, oh, what games we played!

We began, quite naturally, with the toys we brought along. Upon entering the Zambales area, we were blessed with a stretch of unbelievably pristine roads. One look and we all did what comes naturally in situations like this: we burned rubber. With hardly any other vehicle to compete with us on the road, the name of the game became "tag". It was a matter of how fast you could go and how long you could sustain the speed. Long stretches of road provided an opportunity for drafting and we practiced slingshot moves against each other all afternoon. At every stop, bike performances were compared and we marveled at the top speed of the X9's, the acceleration power of the automatics, and the resiliency of the Vespas. Stories abounded. There was Phil Naval on his silver Vespa, minus decorative metal and (sadly!) sound effects, keeping up as best as he could with the automatics, drafting with the big boys to keep up, charging on his own when left behind. There were the two surviving hexagons of Reggie and Teddy, catching the big X9's by surprise with sudden bursts of acceleration before giving up the ghost when it came to sustained speed. There was Jamboy on his X9, never one to be labeled as a speedster, quite gamely keeping up with the front group, even taking the lead of the group on occasion. And then there is the legend of yellow PX 200 which gave perhaps the greatest mechanical performance of the weekend, propelling its proud owner over great distance and at respectable speed despite the obvious handicap it was saddled with. Only Atlas or maybe Hercules could have done as well, given the circumstances, and they would have ended in the hospital as a result. However, even simple play has its hazards and play of this magnitude will invariably claim some victims. Cocoy, one of the aspiring applicants, received his baptism of fire along a winding stretch of Zambales road, going down after brushing against the highway barrier but sustaining only minor scratches. His Vespa would need another paint job (again!) but it would run and take its owner to his destination, a tribute to the resiliency of Italian mechanical engineering. Nong, on the other hand, would suffer an engine seizure that put an end to his ride and he would enjoy the rest of the road behind the windshield of the back-up vehicle. Post-ride autopsy revealed a damaged piston. The cause was eventually attributed to short term memory loss, probably compounded by the repeated ingestion of baked, chocolate pastries. He was later joined on the back of the pick-up by Clifford, suffering a similar, though less devastating engine seizure. He would subsequently receive repairs and finish the ride on his own two wheels. Needless to say, none of these riders would have made it to the main event without the timely intervention of those two unsung heroes of the support crew, Denden and the multi-talented Romy Lu, an expert on Piaggio engines, perpetually loose screws and bolts, pork belly marinade and grilling, stomach enlargement, and karaoke crooning. These two have contributed so much to keeping us on the road and getting us to our destinations. No Euroscoot ride would be complete without their mechanical expertise. And their pork belly, marinated in battery acid with a dash of 2T motor oil, remains a culinary experience that is best tasted than described. The success of each ride is in part due to the invaluable service that they have rendered.

Play was not limited to our road antics. We wanted to be kids again and we would make the most of this opportunity. Sure, the first night was spent on the usual pleasures of food, drink, and voluntarily administered mental confusion, with a spattering of both karaoke and unplugged (guitar-accompanied) singing, but you had to admit that 11 hours on the road in 40C heat invariably took its toll on the human body so first night celebrations were relatively brief as the group concentrated on getting some much needed rest. However, the dawning of the next day brought new prospects. With the group electing to stay put at the resort, the early part of the day was spent exploring the place, with a few hardy souls braving the rocky beach to take a dip in the warm waters of the China Sea. There was the discovery of the 5-peso pinipig crunch, which became the dessert of the day, and taught us a valuable lesson: people who sell 5-peso ice cream bars do not have change for 500 pesos. This fare was later augmented by the equally refreshing cheese flavored ice buko bar. The existence of both help stave off many a food trip and the ringing of the ice cream man's bell was welcomed as a boon by all who had the opportunity to ingest the chocolate cake of doom. This was followed by a sumptuous lunch and some quiet siesta time, resulting in the semi-petrification of many a tutamitae. After that, the prospect for play continued, augmented by the discovery of the 25 meter pool at the back of the resort. This became the venue for new challenges that began with what the participants would dub as the deep diver challenge. The objective was to establish who could swim the farthest underwater. Several people participated. Sonny Navarro made it to within 3-4 feet of the far wall. I tried but learned an important lesson in the process: laughing underwater may be dangerous to your health. Ricky's first attempt could only better Sonny's by a foot. Then Bimbo, the human sirena, stepped in. He touched the far wall on his first run, to the wild cheers of all who were there. This prompted Ricky to try again, this time touching wall on his second attempt, tying Bimbo for the lead, and proving without a doubt that he never settles for less (in fact, if Ricky had not made the wall after the 2nd attempt, we would have probably played deep diver the whole afternoon!).

After the deep diver, the games continued. With the acquisition of a ball, the stage was set for the invention of what would forever be called "pool football." Two teams would square off against each other across the short axis of the pool, with a 5 foot area clearly marked out as "goals". The objective was for a player to touch the ball to the opposing team's goal area. First team to score 5 points wins. Two referees were assigned to each goal area to make sure a goal was scored. Drowning was strictly prohibited. Team A consisted of Ricky, Reggie, Teddy, Pal and myself while Team B consisted of Bimbo, Nong, Robby, and the brothers Cocoy and Jong. The initial referees were Phil Naval (who would later sub for Reggie in Team A, spectacularly entering the fray with a full somersault into the pool) and Al Juarez (who would sub for Bimbo in Team B). Game one began tentatively at first, with both teams struggling to develop a strategy. Eventually it was won by Team A, behind the hustle of Ricky, the passing of Reggie, and the defense of Doc. Game 2 was more exciting, with Team B taking a commanding 4-2 lead but eventually loosing the game thru the persistent offensive charge of Team A. Game 2 was highlighted by the introduction of the "lunod" defense, invented by Teddy "Lunod" Tong. This consisted of splashing the opposing players face with water thereby obscuring both his view and his ability to breath. The defense was eagerly adopted by Team A, resulting in crucial turnovers that turned the tide and earned Team A the victory. However, age eventually proved to be Team A's weakness and the elder citizens eventually crumbled to the constant pressure exerted by the younger players from Team B, earning them 2 consecutive victories. At the end of Game 4, the score was tied at 2-all. By mutual consensus, augmented by the universal experience of shortness of breath, leg cramps, and the ingestion of quite large amounts of chlorinated water, both teams agreed to call it a draw.

Exhausted from the water games, the weary players returned to the communal area only to be met with another challenge: 5-on-5 basketball. Played on a half court area, two teams of five players each squared off for a race to 6 points. Team A consisted of Ricky, Teddy, Brian, Tonton and myself while Team B consisted of Robby, Pal, Romy, Olan, and Nong. Clifford spearheaded the heckling squad. The game began slowly and was marked by an abundance of air balls and sloppy plays and was highlighted by some really juicy sarcasm from the assembled viewers. It was fortunate that that score was only a race to 6 points, otherwise we would have played until sunset. Team A won the game by a score of 6-4. After rest, we were treated to another sumptuous dinner and an early lights out. At 4:00 am the next day, we began the business of getting home, arriving in Manila by 11:30 am, aided no doubt by a surprisingly traffic-free Monumento area. Playtime was officially over. The kids were responsible adults once again.

Stepping out of the elevator, still wearing my bemused smile as a result of the elevator operator's perceived dilemma, I chuckled at the thought of how she had just stimulated my memory of past events. In doing so, I could feel the relief of both gratitude and satisfaction wash over me. Satisfaction for the wonderful events that transpired over the last 3 days; gratitude for the people who shared in my experience and helped uplift both my spirits and my sense of self-worth. To be a kid again is a precious gift indeed. It reduces your level of stress and opens your eyes once again to all the joy and wonder that life has to offer. The catharsis offered by riding your bike at top speed over long, winding roads, in extreme heat can do wonders for one's frame of mind. The physical effort focuses your thoughts on one thing, helping you forget all others that may be a potential source of stress and worry. The result is a clarity of thought that allows you to stop a while, take stock of your surroundings, appreciate natural beauty, play some ball, swim, tell some stories, smile often, laugh a lot. As if coming from a sauna, I have come out clean, refreshed, and happy. Life, all of a sudden, isn't that bad if all it takes to lift you up is a long road, a clean pool, a ball, and good friends to play with. So, many thanks to those 21 hardy souls who dared to become children again with me. It seems that Euroscoot may have invented the perfect time machine. I look forward to the next chance at childhood and pray to God that, when Euroscoot comes calling, mommy will let me out to play.