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 News Around the Republic of Mexico | February 2005 
Mexico City Cyclists Lobby for Better Bike Regulations, Cleaner Gutters and a Little Respect
 Hugh Dellios - Chicago Tribune
 Mexico City - In the dark, bunched together in what they call "critical mass," the 100 bicyclists raced up the ramp to the upper-deck freeway.
"Here we go!" said Armando Roa, 50, dressed in an orange safety vest and riding an old bike with a sign reading "One Less Car" on the wicker basket behind the seat. "From here, it's illegal."
So began the latest protest by Bicitekas, an eclectic band of cycling enthusiasts and dreamers whose logo shows Aztec warriors on bicycles but whom others see as a bunch of Don Quixotes tilting at windmills as they attempt to change the car-dominated culture of the Western Hemisphere's most famously traffic-congested city.
For most of the next hour, in a symbolic and civilly disobedient conquest, the cyclists pedaled the length of the city's new second-level downtown bypass, two days after it was unveiled by Mexico City Mayor Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador near the end of January.
Wowed by an awesome view of this city and occupying half the roadway, the cyclists rode on in silence except for the beeping of passing drivers - some enraged, some in solidarity - and the African drums playing from the stereo buckled into the child's seat over one rider's rear wheel.
"I hope they kill you!" screamed an angry driver through his window as he raced past.
The opening of the upper-deck freeway, known as the segundo piso, or second floor, was a defeat for the cyclists and other promoters of alternative transport in the city. They had vociferously protested the project, arguing that it would not alleviate traffic jams, as the mayor promised, but instead promote more car use and eventually more traffic jams.
But on this adrenaline-charged night, the group remained defiant, focusing on their growing numbers, media attention and unlikely small victories, such as the downtown bike path the mayor built in response to their demonstrations.
"Of course we see it as a loss, but we're not in a battle," said Guillermo "Memo" Espinoza, 40, an industrial designer who led the cyclists on their daring journey.
"We're not fighters. We're persuaders," he said, dressed in helmet, herringbone sport coat and sneakers, with his right pant leg pulled up over a white sock to keep it from getting caught in the bike chain.
"People say, `You're nuts. You live in an ideal world. Mexico City is supposed to be a mess,'" he said. "But why should we be slaves to the kingdom of the car?"
For a cyclist, Mexico City is a fear-inspiring jungle of 3 million cars in an endless maze of bumper-to-bumper six-lane boulevards and tiny back streets. It is the domain of aggressive taxistas and mini-bus drivers, some of the worst air pollution in the world and a road culture that offers little respect for the meek.
The $300 million segundo piso project is one of Lopez Obrador's efforts to alleviate the congestion. The elevated 11-mile stretch is intended to move cars faster through downtown, not only helping commuters but also reducing air pollution from cars sitting in clogged traffic.
"These works will benefit a million inhabitants," Claudia Sheinbaum, the city's environment secretary, said at the opening last week. "They represent a savings of 1.04 million man hours of time and 4.75 million liters of gas a day."
Yet critics say the new freeway only further promotes the car culture. They say the mayor should have invested the funds in public transit and that the segundo piso is his gambit to win middle-class, car-owner votes in his bid for the presidency in 2006.
Lopez Obrador unveiled an 11-mile, $10 million downtown bike path that eventually will extend 60 miles. This city of more than 20 million people allowed bicycles on the subway last year, increased the number of subway cars and is soon to open a new bus lane system.
For now, however, the segundo piso is the mayor's prize project, and a query about it being temporarily conquered by a bunch of cyclists was met with disbelief and denial at the city's Public Security Ministry.
"In the case of anybody taking over the segundo piso, whether it was one lane or half a lane or whatever, they would be sanctioned. It can't be done. That information is erroneous," said Paty Espinoza, a spokeswoman for the director of transit security.
No relation to the Bicitekas leader, Espinoza said the upper-deck freeway is only for cars. The punishment for violating that rule is a fine equivalent to about $50. Founded six years ago, Bicitekas - a play on the Spanish words for bicycle and Aztecs - is one of several carrying on a years-long fight for cyclists' rights. It has lobbied for bike-friendly street regulations, cleaner gutters and just plain respect from motorists. The group also organizes several tours a week through the city.
The riders make their most emphatic point every Wednesday night, when Espinoza leads a pack up the most heavily trafficked streets in the city, such as Avenida de La Reforma and Avenida de la Revolucion. Dominating a couple of lanes and weathering puzzled stares and threatening fists, the object is to stake out turf.
Once the group rode the wrong way up the city's Ring-Road Periserico freeway during rush hour, with little risk because the traffic was moving so slowly.
"Every time they open a new road, we get on it right away to say, `We bicyclists have rights too!'" said Roberto Torres, 47, a furniture salesman who braves the streets on his bike on his way to work every day.
Measuring its strength in its 800 newsletter subscriptions, the group is made up of lawyers, building contractors, youths wearing mohawks and many others.
On a recent Wednesday, some rode in sleek Lycra outfits on state-of-the-art bikes; others dressed in a more bohemian style and rode old beaters. At least one was smoking a cigarette.
Espinoza, whose latest project is designing indoor rock-climbing walls, said he started working toward a more bike-friendly city after thieves stole his beloved champagne-colored compact car in the early 1980s.
Roa, one of the bicycle-rights pioneers, said the activists started the street rides after their ideas for how bicycles could solve city problems were ignored by the government. One of their goals, he said, is simply to show people it's possible to ride in the city.
"Our influence is pretty small, but in the long run our victory is assured," he said. "The reality is going to force people to seek alternatives."
The cyclists are full of stories of near-hits and near-brawls with taxi drivers. They count progress in small steps, such as when they persuaded the city in the 1970s to turn the bars on the curb drains perpendicular to the street so bike tires don't fall through.
They credit the city for installing the new bike path but say that it is mostly for recreational riders. The real goal is making all the city's streets safe for riding.
Knowing their safety is at risk, they remain militantly polite in traffic, yelling thanks to cars that yield. Espinoza slapped his helmet in angst after four riders blocked six lanes of Patriotismo Boulevard so the group could pass.
Heading up the ramp toward the segundo piso, a few stragglers were approached by a patrol car, the officers threatening them with arrest. But as they reached the top of the ramp and the officers saw the full mass of riders already on the upper deck, they drove off.
"We're making waves," Espinoza said. "OK, it has to be a little bit of craziness, but you can't be scared of the consequences." |
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