Pushing pedals, Moving Planet
I oiled the gears, tightened the screws, and unfolded the frame as I prepared my folding bike for the night ride of Moving Planet, a global campaign for the reduction of the use of fossil fuels.
Saturday, the day I write this, is the culmination of concerted actions happening around the country. These include the usual tree planting, sending of petitions for bike lanes, installation of solar panels, forums, etc.
To mark the occasion, supporters will walk, bike or car-pool on their way to the Outpost, the restobar in Nivel Hills that is favorite tambayan of local outdoor types. This is where the “critical mass ride” (as bike demonstrations are called nowadays) will start and end.
A few days ago, the same day I watched on big screen Ron Fricke’s “Baraka,” a poetic documentary film that virtually avoids words and relies merely on breathtaking photography to tell the tragic story of our planet, I got a call from Habagat inviting me to the bike ride.
The local outdoor gear manufacturer and retailer, which has long been a promoter of bike commuting among its employees (in fact, many of them bike to work daily) and customers, is one of the sponsors of Moving Planet.
Still haunted by the enchanting yet alarming images of “Baraka,” I immediately said yes, forgetting that the rear tire of my roadster (the bike I’ve been using for daily commuting) had been punctured on my way home the night before and that my folding bike needed oiling and a general tune-up.
But reading the news about another flyover going to be built somewhere in Cebu City and nationwide protests against another hike in toll fees and oil prices, I had to pep myself up that I had once been an amateur grease monkey in high school, all for the sake of my first BMX bicycle.
So on Friday, I brought out the tool box and fixed my bicycle while ironically listening to Rage Against the Machine in full volume. Indeed, you cannot go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage, against the monstrous traffic jam.
Dylan Thomas and the descendants of Bob Dylan (the rock band RATM, that is) jammed in my head as I thought of once again getting into another deluge of bell-ringing, red-light blinking pedal-pushers reclaiming the streets at night.
I’ve been biking to work regularly “to save the planet—and money, too,” I told my students who complained that school guards won’t let them in when they come on a bicycle. It would be fun biking for a cause, this time with fellow advocates riding with you like you were going to invade City Hall.
The last time I was in a critical mass ride was during an Earth Hour campaign. We went around the city streets ringing our bells like crazy and crying out “Earth Hour! Earth Hour!” and “Turn out your lights!” (which reminds me of an equally apocalyptic song by The Doors).
Wearing helmets mounted with flashlights, the cyclists quietly swarmed like fireflies around the city that was then starting to heed our call to switch off. One by one windows turned black as we passed by. It was just impossible to capture that fleeting beauty on camera when both of your hands needed to grasp the handle bars.
I strapped a small flashlight on my bike helmet and was glad at how it solved the problem of hands-free lighting normally provided by expensive head lamps. Anticipating to be part of another wave of moving lights, I might as well strap my camera on my helmet to capture that epic moment happening tonight.
As this column appears the day after the event, it cannot be an account of it in hindsight. But more important is the foresight for which Moving Planet was organized.
