I finally got to use a term that has been brewing in my mind for a few weeks. I was herding a dozen cyclists during a tour in the city last fall; a ride sponsored by Transportation Alternatives of NYC, a citizen's group that promotes bike and public transit use and fewer cars. At a busy intersection I signaled a stop to allow some cars to go through. There we stood, each with one leg down like a flamingo, propping the bikes up when I declared, in a stentorian voice, "You know what? All of you are Cyclotopia exoanthrochorists!"

"Say what?" their collective faces seemed to say. Some looked at me, and then looked at each other, then back to me. No doubt they were wondering if they should give me their pastries in their pockets or get their bike pumps and give me a whack. After a couple of fidgety minutes, the light changed and we were off, the pace quickened. It almost seemed that they wanted to get some distance from me, and quickly.

I meant well. It all started a few weeks before when, in a fit of boredom, I read a book on botany, which happened to be the closest book within reach. I found intriguing the section on how plants scatter their fruits, which is quite important to ensure the species' survival. It stated that a plant must be able to spread their progeny over a wide geographical area efficiently, and this is where it gets interesting because of the ingenious methods employed. It's incredible how botanists conjure terms for the modes of fruit/seed dispersal; no doubt they have a lot of time on their hands while watching their experimental plants grow.

They have terms such as hydrochory, which is dispersal by water; coconuts with their buoyant fruit are an example. Anemochory, which is dispersal by wind, takes shape in some of the winged seeds that fall off trees and zoochory, which is dispersal by animals. Botanists go a step further and make up more complicated words such as epizoochory, which means spreading by sticking to the outer surface of an animal, as exemplified by the fruit of some weeds that stick to your shins like velcro when you bike through a grassy area. Another is endozoochory, in which we unwittingly participated, since it means dispersal through the insides of an animal. We do this every time we ingest a fruit's seed and let it pass out the other end.

Geek that I am, I have conjured up the term Cylotopia exoanthrochorist, and I believe that it describes some people I know, me included. Cyclotopia means the idea of having a Cycling Utopia - a city where bicycles are a huge part of everyone's life. Exoanthrochorist is a combination of exo (outer), anthro (human) and chorist (disperser). Hence a cyclotopia exoanthrochorist is someone who spreads the idea of a cycling-friendly city by riding a bike. I had to put the exo in there since we do ride a bike outside our bodies, not in it, though I have heard of someone who actually ate a bicycle to get in the Guinness Book of World Records. Ugggh.

I have always thought that bicycles should have a place in society ever since childhood. Back then a neighbor's bike took me and my friends to a swimming hole (which was simply a deep area in a creek) near our house in Quezon City on a weekly basis. It was a less than 2 kilometers away, but it was an epic ride as we had to bike over a trail that took us between verdant rice fields brimming with tilapia-laden water. If we were lucky, we wouldn't share the swimming hole with a wallowing carabao out to relax after a hard day's work. We'd swim among the tadpoles and guppies while dragonflies hovered overhead. Weeping willows and tamarind trees would shower us with leaves when they were caressed by the wind. We would stay until dusk, biking home in the waning light, chased by fireflies, sneaking back into the house before our mothers figure out where we've gone as evidenced by the mud we track. I thought that my little paradise would last forever back then.

It didn't. It was decimated over the years by a slow creeping invasion, so gradual that I didn't quite notice it coming, yet so resolute in its effect. First the local laundry women discovered it as a great place to prove their existence. The bubbles from the detergent they used were amusing at first as we launched projectiles at the larger ones that we thought of as enemy flotillas. Later we noticed that the tadpoles and guppies were slowly disappearing. Soon, shanties sprouted all over the rice fields, and with them the simplicity of the area died. Fences were thrown up, laundry were strung all over, paper and plastic tumbleweed trash were strewn everywhere. The watering hole, long devoid of life as we knew it, became a simmering cesspool.

The coup de grace came when Visayas Avenue was extended, thus cleaving the rice field in half. This allowed easy access to the land and raised its property value, if you can call it that. Big land owners fenced off large areas and erected factories and building, shanties exponentially expanded and with it the quality of life hit an all time low. The watering hole was filled in and topped with a large imposing concrete wall that demarcated the rich subdivisions from the great unwashed. What a sad turn of events!

These processes were and are being replicated on a citywide, no, nationwide scale. Though I am glad that I have seen the city in a once pristine shape, I am tormented by the fact that my son and his generation will never experience that. And I am oft reminded by this whenever I ride my bicycle in the city with the wind in my hair, senses undeadened by the lack of velocity and air conditioning that a car rider is burdened with. I see and feel things for what they really are as I meander through the streets. The city is not getting cleaner as days go by. It is getting worse.

Though it is not yet a living hell, one can see, clear as day, what our sons and daughters will inherit when they grow up.
Though the bicycle by itself is touted as non-polluting mode of transport, good for the health, a traffic decongestant, by far awareness is the greatest gift it can give. The battle for clean cities will not be won by simply riding a bike - a confluence of lifestyle changes such recycling, proper waste disposal, sound city planning, population control, to name a few are needed for that - by biking in the city one's eyes may be opened to the necessity of these things. A city as huge as Metro Manila will not be cleaned in the blink of an eye, but through continued efforts from all environmental angles of attack, it can be done in the long term.

Such is the purpose of the Tour of the Fireflies 2004. To enjoin all to ride their bike, keep riding it throughout their lives, be aware of the problems the city has, and do something about it.
Personally I would rename the bike ride as Tour of the Cyclotopia Exoanthrochorists, but somehow it draws blank stares instead of recognition.