How a BMW Ride Became the Therapy We Didn’t Know We Needed
It started the way most of our small dates do—with a casual question that sounds suspiciously like a dare. One suggestion led to another, and next thing I know, I was booking a hotel in Ilocos Sur and about to embark on a 400-kilometer journey on a BMW GSA1300R.
This trip came about less from a bold yes than from a simple why not. It wasn’t because I suddenly fell in love with motorcycles. Truth is, I don’t think I ever will, at least not the way he does. It was more of a test for me: to see how far trust and surrendering control could take me. Turns out, it could take me all the way to Vigan.
POV from a calesa ride along one of Vigan’s cobblestone streets.
Life on Two Different Roads
My husband, Buck Pago, lives with, among, and for motorcycles. He’s a certified Enduro coach and the host of Tunay na Rider, a weekly podcast where riders swap stories of grit, gear, and glory. Being with Buck, I learned that riding is a never-ending challenge to be conquered and a skill that begs to be perfected. My world couldn’t be more different. I am a communications strategist for an environmental NGO, and my days are spent analyzing the news, plotting narrative strategies, and crafting statements that counter or provoke. We are in very different fields, but I know we’re both obsessed with adrenaline, whether it’s brought by winning campaigns or the finish line.
Viewing one wall in Hotel Luna, where countless art pieces by Filipino National Artists are on display.
We both started out as journalists, but over time—17 years and three children to be exact—life forked. He took the road while I stayed behind the desk. At some point, marriage can start to feel like a routine we’ve perfected. We raised kids and built systems that work. But those systems can also make you forget the rawness of the early years—the part that wasn’t efficient but electric.
Somehow, our long rides stripped all that away. It’s just two people again, aging millennials chasing the high of a renewed sense of shared adventure. And maybe that’s what the ride really was: a couples therapy on two wheels?
At Hotel Luna’s swimming pool, looking at the hotel’s traditional Spanish colonial architecture.
Marriage, in Motion
This is not the first time I rode pillion with Buck. Last January, we rode from Siruma, Camarines Sur to Cubao. Last July, we did a short one from Khan Uul to Nalaikh in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia to check out the giant silver statue of Genghis Khan.
I admit that I have yet to learn the art of being on the backseat. After all, motorcycle riding is his domain; my role is to hold on quietly and faithfully. We left Quezon City before sunrise, with the hum of the BMW growing steady and hypnotic. The wind was pressing against us while EDSA opened like an invitation.
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On a motorcycle, you don’t passively see the landscape. You feel it and approach it. Stopovers punctuated our journey, and the shared discovery of the best ube cream milkshakes in obscure cafés somehow evoked childlike glee. We have our communication systems set up in our helmets, but sometimes we don't speak for miles. There’s a quiet language that forms between rider and pillion, one built on taps and gestures and weight shifts. In that silence, I learned more about Buck than in a month of small talk at home.
Aside from the sights and historic sites, Ilocano food is always worth the 400 km ride.
Somewhere along the expressway, I realized: isn’t this marriage? You hold on, you adjust, you trust someone else’s rhythm. And when the road is rough, you don’t jump off— you just hold tighter.
By the time we reached Vigan, the city emerged like a reward: cobblestones glistening from the rain that just was; its heritage houses stoic and scarred by time. We checked into Hotel Luna, where art covered every wall. A bronze bust of Juan Luna watched us over breakfast, a quiet reminder that passion and patience often share the same table.
We ate our way through the afternoon: bagnet at Café Leona, crispy okoy at Café Uno, empanadas made fresh. Without the rush, the meals are longer and conversations are deeper. We talked less about the logistics of our lives and more about everything else.
One of the many scenic stops on the way to Ilocos Sur.
Riding along
Long rides have a way of stripping things down to their essence and being pillion isn’t for the faint of heart. Being a back-ride was the most vulnerable I have ever felt. You’re exposed to heat, rain, and wind. I cannot brake nor steer. But somewhere between the discomfort and never-ending weight shifting at the passenger seat, something changes. You start to see your partner in a new light, somehow some decisions made in the past suddenly, or at least, start to make more sense.
The ride didn’t magically fix anything in our marriage, but it did soften the edges that had hardened for over almost two decades. It reminded me of the early days, when our connection was built on curiosity about each other rather than mundane routines that run our day-to-day.
Sitting behind him, I understood Buck craves riding. Taking a peek at his point of view from the pillion, I understand that it can be a form of meditation, and in that understanding, I found my own calm. I saw what he becomes when he rides: focused, calm, stripped of all noise. Not the man weighed down by work or fatherhood, but the boy who first fell in love with a toy. And maybe that’s the gift of saying yes to the ride, not to join his world, but to witness who he is in it.
