Biking in the Pandemic
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When lockdown was eased in Manila in early June, many took to Edsa, the capital's main artery, by bicycle, coinciding with World Bike Day. (Photo by Cyclo)
I couldn’t do this before, not in the streets clogged with vehicles that are rarely friendly to cyclists. When the lockdown was eased by early June, officials rebuked bicycle groups for making an improvised lane on one major avenue and threatened to fine them. Public transport was limited and workers relied on biking for mobility, which was likely going to alter the mass landscape of road vehicles. Still, the officials didn’t get it. They said we should bike on the sidewalk itself, as if they had forgotten the purpose of sidewalks.
That was our chance to make a shift in the order of the road, where supremacy has always belonged to buses, jeepneys and private cars in the Manila metropolis. But in this time of the coronavirus, we have seen so much of the government’s skewed priorities, of people in power breaching rules and flaunting violence, of the Department of Health’s inability to give us even the right figures and a common-sense strategy for stemming the pandemic.
Biking around the academic oval of the University of the Philippines in the Diliman, Quezon City, was prohibited during the lockdown. We have to take the external roads in other parts of the campus. (Photo by Remmon Barbaza)
We were subjected to midnight presidential soliloquys that spewed out slapstick policy declarations. We have no idea where the emergency budget earmarked for the pandemic has gone. Orders were handed down to muzzle a television network and to enact a so-called anti-terror law – actions so quick we wondered what became of the mass testing and other badly needed steps to flatten the curve. Our lockdown strangely resembled what a journalist friend called the military tactic of “hamletting,” keeping us in and under control.
In all of this, for 78 days from mid-March to end-May, reportedly one of the longest lockdowns in the world, there were small mercies. Biking was one of them. In my neighborhood near university campuses, pedaling a distance of about three kilometers used to be a nightmare in the constant traffic. But when the roads were emptied by the lockdown, a new vista seemed to open for bikers like me.
On the first days of the lockdown, I had to look for vegetables. The supermarkets were packed with panic-buyers. I got on my bike and searched for smaller markets and wound up with a bag of sweet potatoes that were going to be my staple for a few days. Being a vegetarian, I am part of a tiny minority in the city. Searching for our kind of food required creativity. The health food restaurants had to close. They were mostly gone in the food delivery apps. I had an argument with one charging me a delivery fee that was half the price of the meal itself, which consisted of some diced carrots and potatoes.
A few bike repair shops were open to help the bikers, one of whom owns this laundry 'delivery' folding bike. (Photo by Joma Ramos)
I discovered from a neighbor that a vegetable and fruit store was open inside the university campus nearby, and that put me back on my bicycle to stock up on zucchinis, broccolis, pumpkins, cherry tomatoes and native fruits I was craving for, most especially the native guava.
I relished pedaling in the empty streets. No longer terrified by the reckless drivers in daily traffic, I had a lane – albeit a small one – to myself. This is how it should be, shouldn’t it? The way it was when I stayed in Kyoto months ago when I could safely go on errands on my bicycle without worries. All it took was a lockdown and the road was made free in the most horrendous capital of traffic and pollution. It was near-perfect--the silence, the absence of vehicles; yet there was the feeling of doomsday. Poor families were suffering, going hungry. The rules in the shantytowns were different from those in the gated communities. The pandemic widened the class divide in Filipino society.
Being out in nature was what I missed most, when all I had was a view of some trees and the occasional chirping of some birds from my condominium window. So it went, once every week, when my greatest joy was to be able to go out on my bicycle. My first month of limited subsistence made me weak, however; I once nearly fell from my bicycle because of dizziness. The heat rising up to more than 40 degrees Celsius could do that. I was able to stop and walk my way to a strip mall driveway as though I was in a desert thirsty for water. By sheer luck there was a male nurse nearby who helped me catch my breath.
Remmon Barbaza, a philosophy teacher at the Ateneo de Manila University who advocates for bike lanes and joins bike enthusiasts biking around the country.
The second month brought relief when the coconut oil I had been waiting for came back in stock. so were the bottles of Vitamin C and Zinc that I needed. The veggies and fruits I ordered online weren’t ripe enough to be eaten right away. Exploring a bit, I found that the housing village on the other side of the campus had roadside carts of vegetable and fruit. The sight was heaven sent.
Every so often, I got lucky when my neighbor’s helper rang the doorbell to surprise me with a dish for lunch or dinner. My neighbor, Tita, experimented with boiled peels of plantains made into “meatballs,” palabok noodles with squash sauce, vegan siomai with moringa. She made her local version of ratatouille and also moussaka, which reminded me so badly of my last summer in Greece. My old classmate Tessa who lives on the other side of the capital sent me a huge no-sugar zucchini cake that I munched in the evenings while watching Netflix.
Waiting for buyers in the time of covid, here on the main Maginhawa St. in UP Village adjacent to the university campus. (Photo by Joma Ramos)
I think my solitude and semi-reclusive lifestyle had prepared me for this pandemic. It made me wonder if staying home for a couple of months was a small price to pay for allowing the planet to take a break from human destruction. Post-lockdown, I would like to be able to ride my bike as I did and buy fresh produce straight from the farmers. In Manila, bikers are finally rising up for their rights on the road. We’d be lucky if we got the mayor on our side, to make this “new normal” kinder.
As fellow biker, university professor Remmon Barbaza posted on his Facebook wall, protected bike lanes and pedestrian paths are more urgent than the controversial anti-terror bill that’s causing an uproar across the country (Matagal nang terrorized sa mga kalye’t lansangan ang mga naglalakad at nagbibisikleta [After all, pedestrians and bikers have long been terrorized in the streets]). The lockdown gave us a small window of opportunity; it’s about time we saw ourselves happy on the road.
Maginhawa St. became popular for its food courts in the neighborhood. This one turned into a vegetable and fruit market during the lockdown. (Photo by Joma Ramos)
Criselda Yabes
Criselda Yabes is a writer and journalist based in Manila. Her most recent books include Crying Mountain (Penguin SEA) on the 1970s rebellion in Mindanao and Broken Islands (Ateneo de Manila University Press) set in the Visayas in the aftermath of Typhoon Haiyan.
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