Guero on a Bike!

Raul and I are going to check out record shops.  He had an idea that I come over to his place and we go scope some out on bike.  This would allow us a ‘street level’ view of the people and places of local neighborhoods along the way.  I was kind of jazzed about this prospect of riding a bike around Mexico City.  Likewise, I thought it was a bit daring…anyone who has ever been here and seen these idiots drive; you know exactly what I mean.

I meet Raul at a place close to his, a place where I can park easily.  We walk back to his place talking nonsense.  We get to his place, walk through the lobby and out to the parking spot.  There are two bikes.  He passes the red one over to me, “It’s my girl’s, but it should work.  Try it out” he said.  I hop on and do a few small loops in the parking area. Raul will be riding a Peugeot. Mine is a no name thing. “It’s OK, a bit low, but I’ll manage” I say.  In truth, the handlebars were very small.  I was not used to such small handlebars.

You ever notice how Mexicans and blacks ride bikes that are too small for them?  I kind of felt that way when I was riding this bike.  I felt like I should be wearing gold chains and perhaps have a baseball cap skewed the wrong way on my head while riding this thing.  The difference is: this is a 10-speed style, not some kid bike with a gang member on it.  Good enough, off we go on the adventure.

We don’t get far before my seat goes all wobbly.  It shifts back and the horn of the seat almost enters my butt at the worst moment possible.  I am very uncomfortable, and I am trying to maneuver through crazy Mexican drivers while trying to maintain composer with an obvious ‘compromising’ position apparent to anyone with two eyes.  “Hey! Raul!” I yell at him as he is leading the way. This was not going to work.  Luckily, we were at a spot he wanted to show me.  There was a sushi restaurant next door. “Maybe you can ask the Chinaman for a wrench” I said.  “Yeah, maybe he has something” Raul replies as we put the bikes together and stand next to a bench.  He looks at me and says, “You know, Chinaman is not the correct term.  Maybe you should use Asian –American” he says.  I look at the sushi sign.  It says ‘Osaka’.  I could care less about political correctness, I look at Raul and say, “Well…Asian American is stupid, since we are in Mexico….anyway, the sign says ‘Osaka’, so he should be Japanese”  Raul goes and talks to him and he comes out and we are introduced to one another. His name is William.  That is not very Japanese or Asian for that matter.  I sit and watch the discussion amused at a Japanese guy speaking Spanish.  When we’re done, we shake hands, and I try to be accommodating, so I bow and smile.  He smiles, and laughs a little, then William bows and smiles at me and shakes my hand again.  Raul suggests we backtrack to his restaurant and try and repair the bike.

We grab a quick sandwich while at his place.  He says I should take the bike from the café.  It is a total Pee-Wee Herman style bike.  Low and slow, it is only missing tassels from the handlebars to be complete.  He tells me to try it out, and when I do, a local sitting in front of the café starts laughing. “See how stupid I look, even he’s laughing” I say to Raul as I take it for a spin to the end of the street.  Raul tells me to not to worry, and that while we go scope out some shops, he’ll have another guy take the broken bike to get repaired.  He asks if I am ready after my test ride.  I give the thumbs up and we ride off towards the trendy neighborhood of Condesa.  Those of you who saw a lanky awkward guy wearing a reggae themed t-shirt riding a bike too small for him and seeing his knees hit the handle bars…that was me.  As we neared our destination, I hear Raul utter a simple “Oh…” and then it was followed by a stern “shit!”  He had a flat.  Lucky for us, we were at the prime spot where we are in the middle of what we needed to do.  The record shop had closed and moved on.  He asked if I could lend him a few bucks and we would go to the park, to a nearby bike shop.  He walks his bike and I stroll along beside him, half riding and half pushing myself along with my big feet.  I brought some crackers in case I got hungry, and while the bike guy is repairing his flat, I pull out my crackers.  I give Raul a pack and as we both munch crackers, we both admit we’re starving.  After his bike is ready, Raul suggests we go back by the café and get a sandwich.  I happily agree.

We sit in front of his café and talk about things.  His co-worker brings back the other bike.  It is repaired, and the worker makes a point to say that the new seat is ‘Italian’.  Well…it ain’t Mexican, so it must be of some quality I concur.  Raul grabs a bag of cookies and eats all but one.  He then hands the bag to me, “Oh…how nice. Dessert?” I ask.   He laughs and says ‘yes’.  Nice that he saved me one out of about eight.  Raul then says that we should now ride into the historic part of the city. I look at him and say ok, “Do you think it is safe for a guero on a bike?”  Raul gets a cheap laugh, and looks at me and says, “Yes.  I think it is even ok for a guero on a bike”

Before I know it we are on one of the most important streets in the city, Reforma.  It is the street which is home to many embassies and business headquarters.   It is also the street on which the famous golden angel resides.  I pedal along being careful to steady those tiny handlebars.  I am amused and giggle to myself that I am riding a bike down one of Mexico City’s biggest and most important streets.  Who would have ever thought?  I also consider the fact that maybe this means that I am really staring to feel comfortable here.  That strikes an icy cold fear in my heart.  I keep peddling. 

We are riding in front of Bellas Artes in no time.  The very center of the city is so close.  My eyes are burning and I feel as if I am on the verge of being light headed from all the exhaust.  I try to grab a breath of clean air when we hit a stretch of road where there is a gap in the traffic.  No use.  Riding a bike is a great experience in this city, it is truly a great way to see things up close, but it is hell on your eyes and lungs.

As soon as we reach the historical center, cops on both side of the street point and shout.  I have no idea what they are saying, but from the panicked look and the stern hand gestures, I decide it is best to slow down and get off the bike.  I was right.  We walk our bikes past the famous tiled Sanborn’s and into the heart of the city.  Like a good Mexican, Raul is quick to disregard the cops’ orders and in no time at all, is back on the bike again. 

There it is: Negro Disaster

I am thoroughly enjoying the bike through the heart of Mexico City…even if I am navigating busy streets and dodging pedestrians with handle-bars that are way too small for human hands.  I manage quite well.  I keep an eye to the right and left, in case anyone suddenly opens a car door or steps out from behind cars.  I scan the buildings lining the street looking at the wonderful old architecture and just the bountiful oddities that make up this place, like ‘Negro Disaster’. I know it is probably not smart, but riding down the street I see something that doesn’t seem right.  Did that bright pink and yellow sign just say what I thought it said?  I yell ahead to Raul to stop.  I turn my bike around and ride back into the line of taxis and cars coming down the street.  I pull my bike on the curb and pull out my camera. Yes, it is what I thought it was, a hip and happening store blaring loud music and hustling with avid buyers. ‘Negro Disaster’ When Raul gets close enough to see what I am doing, he too is a bit surprised and shakes his head and laughs at the name. Unbelievable.

Raul takes me through all these backstreets, and on to one which was recently made a pedestrian way.  I believe it was ‘Regina’.  This was strange.  People staring as we ride down the center of the street, there are numerous empty places and old decayed buildings with someone standing in the dark doorway, peering out at the passersby.  I ask why this street seems so odd, like it is trying to live but is already dead.  Raul explains that it was just converted and most people are not willing to come stroll down this once dodgy street.

We backtrack and wind through some more streets and find ourselves in the ‘music area’ of the city, where all the shops are blaring music and have flashing lights set up.  Every store has a name full of bravado, trying to outdo the other sound equipment salesman.  I do not understand the shop named ‘Holocaust’ though.  Doesn’t seem right gliding by and a giant PA pumping with flashing lights and disco balls spinning.  Raul takes a quick right and we are on a tight street.  It is loud and bodies bounce back and forth, in and out of the shops.  We pull into a small entryway and Raul says, “I want to show you this shop”  “Why?  What is the deal with this place?” I ask while he chains the bikes.  “It is a specialty record store” he says, and then he looks up smiling, “in high energy music”.  “Oh, you mean gay” I reply.  We walk in the small place and it is stuffed with records and in the opposite corner is stuffed a bunch of older me.  They look us up as we walk in, we smile and say hello.  I glance around the place.  The prices are outrageous but it looks OK otherwise.  Above the corner stuffed with older guys hangs a spinning disco ball.  Beside that and along the back wall are very bad paintings of Divine and other over-the-top icons.   I just don’t understand the Billy idol picture disc on the wall, or the Beatles records either.  Never thought those are proper fodder for the gay cannon. Ok, so I guess I just visited the spot for the gayest music in town.

View from where I was standing

We take off and work our way further eastward.  We get to a major street, November 20, and Raul stops his bike.  He points over the busy street, “I guess we should head up.  Everything else on that side of the street is just crap.  It gets bad pretty fast…not worth even looking at”  I am not up for riding into blatantly dangerous territory and neither is Raul.  This is when it obviously is good to be with a native.  We start peddling again and head up the major thoroughfare.  It isn’t long before Raul looks down and utters another loud “Shit!”  No way.  He stops and obviously frustrated, starts turning his back wheel.  “Can you believe it?  Another flat.  Two in one day, that must be an omen” he says.  Once again, Raul starts walking his bike and I do the combo slow peddle, push with foot routine.  After walking a bit I look ahead and there right in front is the beautiful Zocalo.  I had not noticed that this street ran straight into the center of it.  Then again, why should I know that, I am not from here?  It looks great, and so majestic.  The sight of the giant (and I mean GIANT) flag waving in the wind and the old church behind it is marvelous.  I ask Raul if we couldn’t catch a cab and shove the bikes in the trunk.  He says we can try.  As we are near the edge of Zocalo, he spots a cab at the light across the street.  He yells to get the cabbies attention and asks if he’s free.  We walk over and Raul unwinds the story to the guy.  He gets out and opens the trunk.  Raul says he will put the bikes in, but we may have to follow him in another cab.  As Raul starts to dismantle the bike, and slides it in the trunk, the cabbie shakes his head in agreement.  As the second bike is dismantled and I slide it in on top of the previous, the cabbie seems very pleased.  He says it is ok, and grabs a wheel from the front seat and hands it to me.  I do not know what he is saying, but he is obviously sure that the bikes and their front tires will fit in the trunk and we will be able to ride with him.

Raul and the cabbie put the finishing touches on

The bikes are loaded up and we start to make our way back to our starting point.  I understand enough to get that the driver and Raul are talking about the flat.  The cabbie asks if the tube was damaged and Raul tells him yes.  “Twice?” the cabbie asks?  Yes, and then they start off into that superfast Spanish at 100 mph and I just sit in the back and watch the city pass by.  Not near as nice as biking through it, but much better than walking all the way back through it!