A Kano on the wheels
July 29, 2001 | 12:00am
First, I should begin by acknowledging that, while definitely an oddity, I am not the only American to be biking on Manila’s streets. Nor am I the first Kano to live to write about it; actually, compared to Ted Lerner I’m a spring chicken–meaning a newcomer, not some American version of balot, which, yes, I have tried, feathers and all.
Upon reading a few paragraphs about cycling in his book entitled– appropriately–Hey, Joe, I kept thinking, "Yep, that about sums it up!" Anyway, bikers appear to be on the endangered species list in Manila (arguably, because "stupidity" is an evolutionarily inferior gene), especially if you exclude the spandex-uniformed breed which tends to be spotted in flocks out racing at 4 a.m. in certain parts of the city.
In addition, I should also mention as a sort of caveat that I am very atypical of Kanos, in case you hadn’t guessed. Actually, expectations of precisely what an American is are not as strong in the Philippines as I encountered in while living in Japan or Taiwan. There, I often met a mix of utter confusion and appreciation since I didn’t fit the mold of the "egotistical, materialistic, culturally ignorant, English-only" American. Nonetheless, even in the Philippines it seems some people really see me as six-foot-six, blond-haired and blue-eyed, although I’m none of the above. Likewise, every time I walk past a McDonald’s or KFC (I’ve never been inside one during my first year in the Philippines), I get the feeling people are a bit puzzled. Truth is, I’ll take lugaw and Bicol Express over a burger and fries any day (and yes, in answer to a question I hear often but never really understand, I do "know how to eat rice", having mastered that technically difficult skill even at breakfast). Also, I have no car, driver or maid. In short, if the concept of such a Kano seems overly enigmatic, I’ll say simply, "Don’t worry about it, I’m strange in America too!"
Lastly, you may have guessed that I’m not really named Joe, though I’m considering adopting that one out of sheer convenience. In contrast, "Ponkan" is a tribute to the most creative nickname I’ve received here: a young on-looker labeled me "Ponkan na Ponkan" (like the ad) as I lugged around sacks of concrete mix and gravel in an old orange t-shirt that I reserve for use when I do volunteer work with Habitat for Humanity and other sweat- and grime-intensive outings.
With that little digression out of the way, let me say that everything you’d expect about bicycling in Manila is true: another way of saying that I can offer no counter-arguments to all the reasons which probably made you say "No way" if the thought of biking ever even fleetingly entered your mind. Yep, while the jeepney is arguably both the lifeblood and the scourge of the Philippines, when I’m biking I forget the former (i.e. the jeepney as an affordable art-expo-on wheels), and view the jeepney as the epitome of what’s wrong on the streets of Manila (i.e. "if the fender doesn’t get you, the fumes eventually will").
Likewise, yes, in addition to the raw heat and humidity, the pollution can be choking. Mixed with sweat, it also forms a pretty potent acid rain inside one’s sunglasses. I’ll be honest, if a bit too blunt, in recalling that as I biked a long uphill section of C-5 past a never-ending pile of burning trash on one occasion, my first thought was, "Man, is nobody embarrassed enough to do anything about this?" I mean, I always joke with my friends and family back home that I’m making up for all the years I never smoked cigarettes, but the humor seems to be giving way to sad realization.
Then, of course, there are the "treats" that only the Kano (defined in the broader sense to include all foreigners assumed to be Americans) can expect on the roads of Manila. There’s the obligatory 6.0 HJB index: if you don’t hear "Hey Joe" at least six times per block, you’re required to turn around and repeat the block until you’ve accumulated the necessary six.
Beyond this are the catcalls, including the ever-popular little through-the-teeth hiss, and similar joys awaiting a freak on a bike. While I’ve decided that (whether I enjoy the attention or not) such gestures are at least partly intended as friendly greetings or compliments, it still blows my mind when I’m biking through an intersection and hear some guy tell his girlfriend, "Ay, iyan ang guapo."
Okay, I admit that my bewilderment may reflect years of American acculturation: far from calling any other male in the room a "stud" (or any other possible equivalent of guapo), the American male is conditioned to take the defensive, using words like "wimp", "loser" or "chump".
That about covers the legitimate downsides of biking in Manila. The main advantage is that biking is often much faster, as Mr. Lerner so rightly points out. Excepting the horn, bikers have virtually all drivers’ tools of the trade (i.e. the beloved "counter-flow" maneuver, driving on the shoulder, etc.). At the same time, the cyclist can also avail of a quick hop onto the sidewalk (virtually unused in Manila–I’ve actually had cabs pull over after a few honks, disbelieving that I would actually be willing to walk anywhere) when the space in between the bus and jeepney in front of you seems a bit too menacing.
Mr. Lerner also correctly implies that the police are so stunned at seeing a foreigner on a bike that one can take certain liberties on a bike (not that drivers are really paying attention to traffic codes). Actually, I think some of the cops around my area get a kick out of watching the Kano zip by, and suspect they may have a jueteng-like pool going on, trying to guess the last digits on the license plate of the auto which will (eventually) bump me off the road into one of those "DEEP EXCAVATION" hazards.
In addition to pros and cons, there remain a few gray areas. First, for better or for worse, the cyclist actually sees and experiences the surrounding area, rather than being a distant spectator. Second, perhaps likening Kanos to the antagonist in the Wizard of Oz, a lot of friends appear to be under the impression that I will melt if I should get caught biking in the rain.
Actually, on a sunny day in Manila, the sweat reaches the "drenched" level about 20 seconds into my ride, and if it’s rain or sweat, I’ll generally opt for the former. Of course, this means that half of my t-shirts have been skunked: biking in Manila typically means arriving at one’s destination in a pretty disgusting state, so grime from the wet roads only underscores this point by leaving a stripe down one’s back.
The third gray area involves the risk of harassment. Without going into this, I will note that I’ve never heard of a bike-jacking incident in Manila, and will speculate that the Kano cyclist has the element of surprise on his/her side. In other words, it takes the average person about 4.7 seconds to realize that, yes indeed, that was a white guy on a bike. By the time this finally registers, I tend to be long gone. The one exception is, of course, the immediacy of the "Hey Joe" reflex response.
Lastly, while integral to my safety while on the bike (translated, "my ability to avoid becoming a hood ornament"), I cannot rule out the possibility that the constant adrenaline rush that comes with biking in Manila may have long-term psychological effects. I’ve seen driving around Manila turn otherwise mild-mannered friends into maniacs.
Some might refer to the mindset of the cyclist as a "bat out of hell" syndrome. I prefer to describe it as the "aggressive-defensive technique", which I learned on the streets of Taipei. Basically, beating your petrol-powered adversaries to the relative shelter of the other side of the intersection is a matter of safety. As for the possible after-effects, I haven’t noticed any so far, except maybe the occasional Rambo-esque flashback when trying to cut through a slow-moving mall mob as I walk to the supermarket.
So, what’s the best place for biking around Manila? I’m really open to suggestions on that one. Since I’m unwilling to wake up at 4 a.m., I’ve largely given up on biking for pleasure, though I have passed some little oases of relative sanity in running various errands. The trees lining the streets in the Fort Bonifacio area were a very welcome relief, but I had the odd feeling as if I were entering an exclusive club of which I was not a member. I’ve also found a few good stretches in the San Juan area.
While it’s difficult to identify the nicest places due to their sheer dearth, the opposite is true for the worst places. Take your pick of any of the big mall areas along EDSA, where the cabs try to cut over from the center-most lane, and you start seeing signs for bus and jeepney stops: the latter, by the way, should be renamed "walang-stops", since buses and jeepneys take on and discharge passengers and/or cigarette vendors without coming to a stop. This means that, as an aggressive-defensive biker, you have to assume that someone is going to jump on or off at any time.
Perhaps it’s best to end on a philosophical note. Sorry, I really can’t answer the question of what would possess one to bike in this hell-forsaken place, but I would like to pose the question of what would happen if everyone started. To draw an analogy, it is a common custom in Thailand for young men to spend a few months in the austere lifestyle of a Buddhist monk. Some of my Thai friends have said this actually did instill in them a deeper perspective on life.
Thus, if foot-powered travel were to become more common in the big cities, might people stop to question the sanity of things like burning garbage, bridge-top views of rivers of industrial waste with the latest in plastic bag fashion, a system of numbered license plates meant to control congestion, billows of unmitigated auto smoke and children (choking on that smoke) forced to fashion a game out of an empty rice sack since there are no parks or trees for poor kids to play in?
Actually, bicycles aside, maybe it is in the last example–which I feel captures the inherent resiliency and resourcefulness of the Filipino people– that lies the hope for this urban jungle.
Upon reading a few paragraphs about cycling in his book entitled– appropriately–Hey, Joe, I kept thinking, "Yep, that about sums it up!" Anyway, bikers appear to be on the endangered species list in Manila (arguably, because "stupidity" is an evolutionarily inferior gene), especially if you exclude the spandex-uniformed breed which tends to be spotted in flocks out racing at 4 a.m. in certain parts of the city.
In addition, I should also mention as a sort of caveat that I am very atypical of Kanos, in case you hadn’t guessed. Actually, expectations of precisely what an American is are not as strong in the Philippines as I encountered in while living in Japan or Taiwan. There, I often met a mix of utter confusion and appreciation since I didn’t fit the mold of the "egotistical, materialistic, culturally ignorant, English-only" American. Nonetheless, even in the Philippines it seems some people really see me as six-foot-six, blond-haired and blue-eyed, although I’m none of the above. Likewise, every time I walk past a McDonald’s or KFC (I’ve never been inside one during my first year in the Philippines), I get the feeling people are a bit puzzled. Truth is, I’ll take lugaw and Bicol Express over a burger and fries any day (and yes, in answer to a question I hear often but never really understand, I do "know how to eat rice", having mastered that technically difficult skill even at breakfast). Also, I have no car, driver or maid. In short, if the concept of such a Kano seems overly enigmatic, I’ll say simply, "Don’t worry about it, I’m strange in America too!"
Lastly, you may have guessed that I’m not really named Joe, though I’m considering adopting that one out of sheer convenience. In contrast, "Ponkan" is a tribute to the most creative nickname I’ve received here: a young on-looker labeled me "Ponkan na Ponkan" (like the ad) as I lugged around sacks of concrete mix and gravel in an old orange t-shirt that I reserve for use when I do volunteer work with Habitat for Humanity and other sweat- and grime-intensive outings.
With that little digression out of the way, let me say that everything you’d expect about bicycling in Manila is true: another way of saying that I can offer no counter-arguments to all the reasons which probably made you say "No way" if the thought of biking ever even fleetingly entered your mind. Yep, while the jeepney is arguably both the lifeblood and the scourge of the Philippines, when I’m biking I forget the former (i.e. the jeepney as an affordable art-expo-on wheels), and view the jeepney as the epitome of what’s wrong on the streets of Manila (i.e. "if the fender doesn’t get you, the fumes eventually will").
Likewise, yes, in addition to the raw heat and humidity, the pollution can be choking. Mixed with sweat, it also forms a pretty potent acid rain inside one’s sunglasses. I’ll be honest, if a bit too blunt, in recalling that as I biked a long uphill section of C-5 past a never-ending pile of burning trash on one occasion, my first thought was, "Man, is nobody embarrassed enough to do anything about this?" I mean, I always joke with my friends and family back home that I’m making up for all the years I never smoked cigarettes, but the humor seems to be giving way to sad realization.
Then, of course, there are the "treats" that only the Kano (defined in the broader sense to include all foreigners assumed to be Americans) can expect on the roads of Manila. There’s the obligatory 6.0 HJB index: if you don’t hear "Hey Joe" at least six times per block, you’re required to turn around and repeat the block until you’ve accumulated the necessary six.
Beyond this are the catcalls, including the ever-popular little through-the-teeth hiss, and similar joys awaiting a freak on a bike. While I’ve decided that (whether I enjoy the attention or not) such gestures are at least partly intended as friendly greetings or compliments, it still blows my mind when I’m biking through an intersection and hear some guy tell his girlfriend, "Ay, iyan ang guapo."
Okay, I admit that my bewilderment may reflect years of American acculturation: far from calling any other male in the room a "stud" (or any other possible equivalent of guapo), the American male is conditioned to take the defensive, using words like "wimp", "loser" or "chump".
That about covers the legitimate downsides of biking in Manila. The main advantage is that biking is often much faster, as Mr. Lerner so rightly points out. Excepting the horn, bikers have virtually all drivers’ tools of the trade (i.e. the beloved "counter-flow" maneuver, driving on the shoulder, etc.). At the same time, the cyclist can also avail of a quick hop onto the sidewalk (virtually unused in Manila–I’ve actually had cabs pull over after a few honks, disbelieving that I would actually be willing to walk anywhere) when the space in between the bus and jeepney in front of you seems a bit too menacing.
Mr. Lerner also correctly implies that the police are so stunned at seeing a foreigner on a bike that one can take certain liberties on a bike (not that drivers are really paying attention to traffic codes). Actually, I think some of the cops around my area get a kick out of watching the Kano zip by, and suspect they may have a jueteng-like pool going on, trying to guess the last digits on the license plate of the auto which will (eventually) bump me off the road into one of those "DEEP EXCAVATION" hazards.
In addition to pros and cons, there remain a few gray areas. First, for better or for worse, the cyclist actually sees and experiences the surrounding area, rather than being a distant spectator. Second, perhaps likening Kanos to the antagonist in the Wizard of Oz, a lot of friends appear to be under the impression that I will melt if I should get caught biking in the rain.
Actually, on a sunny day in Manila, the sweat reaches the "drenched" level about 20 seconds into my ride, and if it’s rain or sweat, I’ll generally opt for the former. Of course, this means that half of my t-shirts have been skunked: biking in Manila typically means arriving at one’s destination in a pretty disgusting state, so grime from the wet roads only underscores this point by leaving a stripe down one’s back.
The third gray area involves the risk of harassment. Without going into this, I will note that I’ve never heard of a bike-jacking incident in Manila, and will speculate that the Kano cyclist has the element of surprise on his/her side. In other words, it takes the average person about 4.7 seconds to realize that, yes indeed, that was a white guy on a bike. By the time this finally registers, I tend to be long gone. The one exception is, of course, the immediacy of the "Hey Joe" reflex response.
Lastly, while integral to my safety while on the bike (translated, "my ability to avoid becoming a hood ornament"), I cannot rule out the possibility that the constant adrenaline rush that comes with biking in Manila may have long-term psychological effects. I’ve seen driving around Manila turn otherwise mild-mannered friends into maniacs.
Some might refer to the mindset of the cyclist as a "bat out of hell" syndrome. I prefer to describe it as the "aggressive-defensive technique", which I learned on the streets of Taipei. Basically, beating your petrol-powered adversaries to the relative shelter of the other side of the intersection is a matter of safety. As for the possible after-effects, I haven’t noticed any so far, except maybe the occasional Rambo-esque flashback when trying to cut through a slow-moving mall mob as I walk to the supermarket.
So, what’s the best place for biking around Manila? I’m really open to suggestions on that one. Since I’m unwilling to wake up at 4 a.m., I’ve largely given up on biking for pleasure, though I have passed some little oases of relative sanity in running various errands. The trees lining the streets in the Fort Bonifacio area were a very welcome relief, but I had the odd feeling as if I were entering an exclusive club of which I was not a member. I’ve also found a few good stretches in the San Juan area.
While it’s difficult to identify the nicest places due to their sheer dearth, the opposite is true for the worst places. Take your pick of any of the big mall areas along EDSA, where the cabs try to cut over from the center-most lane, and you start seeing signs for bus and jeepney stops: the latter, by the way, should be renamed "walang-stops", since buses and jeepneys take on and discharge passengers and/or cigarette vendors without coming to a stop. This means that, as an aggressive-defensive biker, you have to assume that someone is going to jump on or off at any time.
Perhaps it’s best to end on a philosophical note. Sorry, I really can’t answer the question of what would possess one to bike in this hell-forsaken place, but I would like to pose the question of what would happen if everyone started. To draw an analogy, it is a common custom in Thailand for young men to spend a few months in the austere lifestyle of a Buddhist monk. Some of my Thai friends have said this actually did instill in them a deeper perspective on life.
Thus, if foot-powered travel were to become more common in the big cities, might people stop to question the sanity of things like burning garbage, bridge-top views of rivers of industrial waste with the latest in plastic bag fashion, a system of numbered license plates meant to control congestion, billows of unmitigated auto smoke and children (choking on that smoke) forced to fashion a game out of an empty rice sack since there are no parks or trees for poor kids to play in?
Actually, bicycles aside, maybe it is in the last example–which I feel captures the inherent resiliency and resourcefulness of the Filipino people– that lies the hope for this urban jungle.
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