MANILA, Philippines—I was biking on the street when I heard a commotion building up in my house. As usual, it was my 2-1/2-year-old son’s voice rising above the din, “Dada? Dada biking?” then slowly turning into an incredulous, “Dada biking! Dada biking!” Before I knew it, they—the caretaker and his wife, my son, assorted kith and kin, even the dogs—were all standing on the street, almost cheering me on.

I realized that this was indeed a spectacle for all of them. Day in and day out, they’d see me usually with books or my laptop in tow. The most intensive physical activity they’d seen me doing was gardening. And suddenly, here was the absent-minded professor riding the wind, and apparently enjoying every moment of it.

The irony was that just two weeks before, I had gotten into a minor row with my son, who had just gotten his own bike with trainer wheels from his doting grandmother (my mother). Getting him off the bike for meals, and for bedtime, had become an excruciating ordeal. Once I had to carry him to the dining table, his legs still tightly wrapped around the bike and refusing to let go. He’d wake up in the morning asking for his bike, and one night, he actually called out in his sleep, “Bike?”

One day, after he went into a major tantrum, I had to take the bike away and explain to him that in life, you can’t get everything you want, here and now. He shed several liters of tears and shook the foundations of the whole street with his wailing, but settled back, taking it like a man, certainly better than some adults I know.

The next day, around midday, he asked about his bike and I explained that there were so many other nice things we could do besides biking. He seemed to understand and went his way with his toys and games.

On the third day, when he woke up, he greeted me not with “Jao an” (“Good morning” in Chinese), but with a cautious, “Bike?” and, of course, I gave in.

He has been pretty good now about giving up the bike when it’s time to do other things.

Biking has become a performance for him, full of sound effects that transform his bike into a motorcycle, a truck, even an ambulance. When he knows I’m watching, the performance becomes even more theatrical. He’d drive around and around the dogs to show how good he is at navigating, the dogs remaining quite relaxed but wagging their tails in canine applause.

‘Ukay-ukay’ bikes

The other Sunday at the Lung Center’s “tiangge” [flea market], he suddenly shouted out, “Bike! Bike!” He had spotted several bikes parked in front of the stall of Ligaya, who sells all kinds of household items from Japan—a bit like “ukay-ukay” [foreign-made used clothing] stores, except that here you have teapots and plates and futons. Like the household items, the bikes are actually used, but many are in excellent condition. They come in all sizes, with different accessories. Some of the bikes have Japanese brand names, but all are made in China.

I ended up buying one of the bikes for my caretaker, figuring it would be good exercise for him and his family, and also a way to get around when they buy something from nearby groceries. The bike needed a bit of tinkering: air for the tires and some loose parts that needed tightening. After the odd job here and there, it came out looking quite good. The caretaker raved about the bike and its six speeds. His son loved the little bell. Even his wife, who’s not a biker, wondered aloud if she could use it, too.

The next week, I found another bike, this one foldable, at another stall, owned by Jane, who also carries Japanese goods. Again, it was my son who noticed the bikes, and I’ll admit I bought it partly because he had gotten on one of it and just wouldn’t get off. (You don’t know how many things I’ve had to buy from the supermarket because he’d grab something off the shelf and dig his teeth in.)

That afternoon, when everyone was taking siesta and I was having writer’s block with an essay, I went out to the garden for a breather and spotted the bikes. Suddenly, all kinds of memories came back to me from childhood.

This was the house I’d grown up in, and on Sundays, I used to take the bike and go for long rides around the neighborhood. Later in college, in the United States, I stayed with a family in a small town up in the mountains, so my foster parents got me a bike so I could drive down to the bus station and catch a ride to the city and the university. At the end of the day, I’d take the bus up again, and the bike would still be there, ready for the ride back into the mountains.

Anyway, that Sunday afternoon, I gingerly got on the bike. One of the dogs, Ceu, stood by looking anxious and aghast. I reassured her I’d be all right, and began to bike, awkwardly, almost like a child learning over again. I’d lean to one side and stop to keep from falling, then pedal again, slowly picking up speed. Suddenly it wasn’t just memories of youthful biking but actually feeling the thrills of biking, of serenity amid speed. I just couldn’t resist, and began to bike around Ceu like my son did and boasting, “Not bad, right?”

I eventually brought the bike out into the street, where I was able to bike around several blocks, rediscovering the old neighborhood with Ceu. Dogs do love bikes. I’d been training her to “heel” and I guess she thought that applied to biking as well—she’d run by my bike, then stop and “heel” whenever I did. Again, youthful memories came back as I understood why my son enjoyed the biking so much—it’s physically straining, and yet it can be so invigorating. There’s a real high to biking.

Bike lanes

By the time my son and the neighborhood saw me in the street, I already had enough practice with the bike, still awkward but good enough to impress them.

“Hug Dada?” my son asked, and I knew he meant it like “hug horse,” which is his description of riding on one of those electronic horses (or elephants or giraffes). He wanted to bike with me.

I had to gently say no, for now at least. I don’t have a seat for him, and I just don’t think I’m good enough to handle our streets, without bike lanes, with him as a passenger.

Every time gasoline prices go up, we hear talk about putting up bike lanes and secured areas for parking. Then when the prices go down, people forget, and go back to gas-guzzling. The University of the Philippines, Diliman, has a designated lane now, around the oval, reserved for pedestrians and bikers every day of the week so that’s a possibility for biking aficionados, and one reason to get one of the foldable models which you can put in the trunk of your car. (I’d like to see even more portable types, available in other countries, which you can carry around, onto the Metro Rail Transit and Light Rail Transit trains, for example.)

Do drop by the Lung Center tiangge and check out the bikes. Prices start at P3,000, which is not bad at all. Bring someone who knows bikes so you get to pick one which doesn’t need too much repair. It’s a worthwhile investment, not just to avoid high gasoline prices but to do your part for the environment. And as I just described, it’s healthy too—for our bodies and for the spirit.

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Email: mtan@inquirer.com.ph