Genaline is my first cousin on my father’s side, the only daughter of my dad’s brother. I had met her back in 1999 during my first visit to the Philippines. She resides in the hometown of my parents, Nabua, Camarines Sur. Though we don’t get to see each other often, she is always in my thoughts. Young and vibrant was how I always thought of her, and in my heart she always will be.
In 2007, I returned to Nabua and saw her again. I had heard she had been stricken by an ailment, but never understood to what extent. The one time I spoke to her on the phone, it was the same voice, energetic and profound. My sentiments could not fathom anything wrong. It was her, the same smile, the same bounciness, all was fine. I was satiated by my imagination and hope that nothing was wrong with my dear cousin. I had heard things from family regarding her malady. How she lost weight, how I wouldn’t be able to recognize her, how frail she had become. I denied myself the notion that anything was wrong. My memories dancing with her during the town fiesta, running around town meeting her friends, hearing her laugh and cracking jokes; there could be no way she was ailing. Denial is just as bad as and even worse than the truth I was shielding myself from. My heart plummeted when she came out to greet me hello on a visit to the house of my uncle where she lived. The vivacious young woman I had laughed with years earlier had deteriorated to looking weary beyond her young years. We hugged. I held back tears. Her loud rambunctious voice was much slower, but it was her voice. She quipped, “I always wanted to lose weight, but I didn’t plan for it to happen this way.” The smile never left her demeanor.
The many cousins that were children eight years prior were all growing up. Some had children, some were going to college. Genaline was working as a college teacher. Despite the disease that was eating away at her, she maintained the strength enough to go to work and help her students. I admired the fortitude of her will.
Time passes on. Through social media being an ocean away isn’t as hard. Maintaining contact is mouse clicks away. There were many times the constant postings and commiserations of my “friends” bored me. I too participated in the propagation of my own nonsense, postings of parties I got drunk at, social gathering attention getting. I would brag about what I drank and how much, and shamelessly make notes about how bad my hangovers were. I was following the crowd. The crowd never cared. Changes occurred and by forceful reckoning, I stepped away from the scene. I turned off my Farcebook page and I sought for adventure. The outdoors was once a passion I slipped away from. Hiking, camping, and rock climbing and whatever in between nearly became fond memories instead of required action. Riding waves, whether on any kind of board apparatus or just swimming in the ocean seemed far impossible despite my living only two miles from the beach. Thinking back, I don’t know how I survived without doing any of those things.
I would soon reemerge into social media, the pictures at bars and barbecues, were replaced by selfies out in the woods, maps and check-ins of my solo adventures. Yet, as proud of my exploits as I was, the real reason I got back on was to check on my family living far away. I realized I can look beyond the far extent of the ocean and peer into loved ones’ lives I dearly missed. Upon logging in a message popped up from Genaline. Her condition was worsening. Her treatments were financially burdening. She had to stop working. I shuttered in the shame of one who realized he completely lost sight of his own humanity. I was financially strapped. My own not too distant past decadence stripped me of my own ability to be of help to my loved ones. I was nearing depression because of this. Work became an issue. I couldn’t cover my own bills. I nearly reverted back to alcoholism, but the kind that I would just sit by myself sad and drank myself to sleep. It definitely did not make me feel better.
I did avoid the downward spiral. I finally overcame it with the constant therapy of the outdoors. My passion went into overdrive. Going outside didn’t require much. A tank of gas, a permit to park your car on the side of the mountain road, some food. I managed to get out every weekend. I unplugged, enjoyed my days off in peace. I thought about what I was missing out on in life in general. I lacked purpose. I soon felt selfish, yet I enjoyed this selfishness. I think the laws of karma finally did me in when my car broke down just outside of Yosemite National Park, but I somehow managed to make my way back home (excerpts of this incident will be posted in the future, the complete book, Unaccordingly Down the 395, will one day be complete 🙂 I truly felt I had no purpose and I convinced myself all I was doing were acts of selfish attention getting. To an extent that hunch was right, but I was wrong, but it all lead me here to today.
I still haven’t fixed my car. It’s been broken down since Memorial Day. I do have an awesome bike. I haven’t taken myself off of it since.
I would eventually reach out to Genaline this summer. She had posted photos of her in the hospital. It slapped me in the face. Still in my own financial recovery plan I scraped enough to send $200 dollars to her. I wish I could give more. Scleroderma had really eaten away at her muscle tissue. In our online chat I promised her whatever muscles I had in me I would dedicate myself in using them to help her. She told me how much she liked the pictures I posted of me in the mountains. I know because she clicked like on many of them. I felt proud each time I saw that thumbs up from her.
My friend Mike Reed had contacted me earlier this year about an adventure that he always wanted to complete. He had rode a good stretch of the CA 1 on bicycle with his father years ago. He had dreamed of going all the way to San Diego ever since. We were roommates during my four year residence in San Francisco and remained good friends. I had driven that most beautiful of scenic highways many a time for visits to my family back in San Diego. Riding a bicycle down through Big Sur and all points through hung in my subconscious. One time it took me nearly three days to drive home. Taking your time on that road is the best way to enjoy, that goes for almost any road if you ask me. Why not on a bicycle? Well, by asking me if I wanted to join him on the completion of that ride, Mike had kicked the idea back into the forefront of possibility. A few years back I had a good friend (also first named) Mike K. and his cycling mate, Hanna stay at my house while on their bike tour down to Baja California. Mike K. lives in San Francisco as well and had met Hanna while on his own post-employment lay off adventure. Hanna was from Sweden and she got to experience her first American Thanksgiving with my family, albeit an immigrant Filipino-American one. She marveled at the feast. Despite being a vegetarian she found items on the table accordingly and had her fill. Mike went crazy over our hickory smoked turkey. We all do. Nonetheless, it was a joy to have them stay with my family and tell us all about their adventure. I was inspired knowing people on their way. They were having the time of their lives. I wanted to be in their shoes. Though it has taken time, I finally am getting to it.
Inspiration comes in many forms. It always requires action. Retrospect and prospects converge to become what is to be done. Mike K. and Hanna did and I want to see what they saw. Mike Reed wants to finish and we both are rearing to go. And my dear cousin Genaline, she just needs hope, I want to do my best to provide a twinkling of it.
So as of this writing we are a month from launching on this endeavor. On September 19, 2014, we leave the Bay Area to venture down the CA 1. My flight is booked and I will be in SFO on September 17. I am dedicating this ride to Genaline. I had promised to use every ounce of muscle in me to help her. Ten days pedaling a bicycle for 600 plus miles is nothing compared to what she has been through. I will be documenting this ride. I put myself in debt to purchase cameras and editing equipment to make a video to show her the beauty of which I will be seeing. I want to share her story, I have a purpose asides from the selfish pursuit of adventure. I will be with a good friend. I will look west at every sunset on this ride. I will think of Genaline.
Post Script: On August 23, 2014 I will be participating in the San Diego Scleroderma 5K Walk and Family Fun Day, benefitting the Scleroderma Foundation. I am hoping to meet with other people living with this disease, and hope they are willing to speak to a camera and send the message to Genaline, that she is not alone. I will be walking in her honor. Here is a link to the event and if you would like to make a donation, I will be honored and grateful:
http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/RodolfoSales/walk2014
Also, here is the link to the awesome blog by my inspirational friend Hanna Jakobson of her journey that spanned three years from Canada to the tip of South America:
http://www.hannamijakobson.com/cyklist/english/blog/archive/
I am hoping to work with the Scleroderma Foundation in finding a way to use my bicycle tour down the CA 1 to benefit their cause. I am also seeking options to setup a fundraising campaign to benefit Genaline in getting her the treatment and care she needs. Unfortunately, GiveForward does not allow for international transactions to a beneficiary, so at the present it seems my simplest option will be to go PayPal and I will wire directly to her. I will keep an update of these developments on this blog. I have a lot of work ahead of me. Thank you for taking the time to read my stories. ~ Rodolfo R. Sales Jr.
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