There is a bug going round that is spreading like wildfire, and much as I tried to resist, I finally succumbed to it and all it's feverish manifestations. It is the bug of cycling, triggered by the Sunday traffic phenomenon in Jakarta referred to by the cognoscenti as CFD (Car Free Day). This is the early morning time when, for a few precious hours, Jakarta's main thoroughfare is actually made available to vehicles that don't run on fossil fuels, but on pedal power and a healthy breakfast. To be honest, until then, the thought of having to drag myself out of bed at an ungodly hour on the day when a lie in is a better option and expose myself to the sun and the pollution, was less than appealing. But after much persuasions from a couple of friends, I thought, what the heck. You have to try something once. So, with a borrowed bike and a pair of gym shoes, I ventured forth.
My brain was still somewhere in Noddy land and the unwieldy contraption that I found myself on was uncooperative - the last time I rode a bike was when I was at elementary school and even then the experience was not a happy one. After much wobbling around, I was finally able to grasp the workings of gravity and found my balance, enough to enable me to look around. I didn't know what to expect. What I knew was I didn't expect to see a sea of people on a road that on a normal day would be chockablock with cars. It looked as if the entire denizens of Jakarta and their families had crawled out of bed en masse to invade the city.
From the very young to the very old, from the beginning of the Pizza Man statue, down Sudirman Road, all the way to the Hotel Indonesia roundabout, up Thamrin Road and the open space at Monas, they proceeded up and down, on bicycles and on foot. Moreover, on either sides of the thoroughfare, food vendors push their carts, offering bowls of 'bubur ayam' for the weary, while street sellers spread their wares on the ground, peddling all manner of things from sunglasses, caps and bandanas to riding gear.
On the pavements, under tents and specially set up stages, noisy bands played, radio stations blasted and consumer goods companies trumpeted their products as loudly as they could. So much for a tranquil morning exercise free from the crowd, noise and pollution of the Jakarta traffic; this Car Free Day is a veritable circus. Apparently every last Sunday of the month, the main roads are closed until midday, and all that free space and available consumers is too good a business opportunity to pass up. Practically every inch at and around the HI roundabout was occupied. It was exciting, nevertheless. Here was the face of Jakarta I had not seen before.
The newbie that I was, soon was conscious of some sort of status in this cycling society. There are those communities that bike in groups, like shoals of fish, donned in uniform teeshirts with bright logos and moving in unison. Woe to those who got tangled amongst them. There are the crew cut troops in their military fatigues, pedalling with a purposefulness fit for battle, with the commander barking commands and running unwary cyclists and strollers off the road. Another species are the bike-to-work members and serious cyclists. You can tell them apart from their proper biking gear consisting of streamlined helmets, goggles, gloves, dry-fit shirts and skin tight cycling shorts revealing firm, sinewy thighs and contoured calves. There are also the floppy-haired youths with their colourful 'fixie' bikes - those without gears and thin tires - in checkered hoodies and showing off their moves.
Then, there are the likes of my friends. In fashionable gear, designer shades and bikes light as a feather and whose tires were so paper thin they would burst or let out air at the smallest gravel, but whose handle bars alone would fetch tens of million rupiah in their designer bike shops. These are the Sunday cyclists who could ride without breaking into sweat and whose coffee break take twice as long as their cycling time. Because what they own are not so much bicycles as coveted objects of desire. And then there is the rest. Just out for the fun of it, and because Jakarta doesn't offer much by way of weekend recreation and entertainment other than a trip to the mall for the families.
On my undistinctive, unsteady borrowed bike, in faded yoga pants and bulging knee pads (just in case I fell), I was a sartorial misfit by the Car Free Day standard. I did not belong to any group. Lacking the speed and the style, it was not long before I was left at a discrete distance behind everybody else, gasping and panting with the occasional shock of fear every time I had to cross the roads where cars could come in. I resolved to do better next time.
The first thing I had to do was get my own bike. The trip to the bike shop was a real eye-opener. I had no idea there were so many different types to choose from. And at what prices, too. Why anybody would want to fork out seventy five million rupiahs for some pieces of metal that don't have an engine was beyond me. You could even buy different bike parts and put them all together yourself to create your own customised work of art.
I decided against the fixie. My cycling skills still left a lot to be desired and besides I don' have legs that go up to my ears. A mountain bike is out of the question as I don't plan to do anything more strenuous than a ten degree incline on a tarmac road. In the end, I settled for a smart folding bike at a reasonable price. But this proved only the beginning. Along with the bike came the shirt, the padded shorts, the gloves, the fancy helmet, the UV proof neck scarf, the wind jacket...
And that's how I caught the cycling fever.
(Desi Anwar: First published in The Jakarta Globe)
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