Cycling on the edge: Riding with the Mensaheros

No road is too congested, no timeframe too short for the “Mensaheros”—a new group of bike enthusiasts-turned-messengers taking on the urban jungle.

Make no mistake, this isn’t your grandfather’s kartero—in a time when we’ve come to accept delivery delays as part of living in the metro, the Mensaheros provide a vital service by specializing in same day deliveries. According to proprietor and rider Desk Mullen (real name Jason Frias), even motorcycle-riding couriers seldom promise same day deliveries as they are still restricted by U-Turn slots and squeeze into the tightest of road spaces during rush hour.

That’s where the Mensaheros come in—push comes to shove, they can ride their bikes on the sidewalks or carry them over footbridges.

There are some things that simply cannot be delayed, adds Desk—medicine, cheques, even breastmilk, which he had to deliver in less than one hour before the milk thawed or else it would no longer be fit for the baby to drink.

The mean streets

I met Desk and another rider, Marick, at a bike shop in Leveriza St., Pasay City where they were picking up an item—another one of their selling points. “Di ka na pupunta sa [courier] branch—we go directly to you,” quips Desk proudly.

Both were wearing the standard uniform—all-black cycling shorts and Dri-Fit jersey with the company name and logo emblazoned across the chest. They make an effort to look professional, claims Desk, as the maong and tsinelas combo of the traditional bike courier often gets shunned at establishments.

I wanted to get a feel of what the Mensaheros go through daily in a less than forgiving, car-centered metropolis, so I decided to accompany the duo on their rush delivery from Leveriza St., Pasay, to another bike shop in Burgos Circle, Bonifacio Global City, Taguig.

I would later learn that it was more or less 10 kilometers, but had you told me earlier, the distance would have been unimaginable to me anyway. I had never biked outside my subdivision—well, maybe a little bit around the adjoining one. And that was years ago. In recent days, the only exercise I’ve gotten is a walk to the next street with my father. Big roads where I’d be competing with actual vehicles was uncharted territory for me.

Still, I was a reporter, always willing to do anything for my story. How bad could it be?

As I learned quickly, pretty bad. On busy Buendia avenue, even compact cars seemed intimidating next to my lithe bike. Instead of stopping and giving us space, each car and jeepney seemed intent on getting as close as possible and edging us off the road. Forget falling over, my greater fear was ma-shoot sa kanal.

I tailed Desk, who I expected to take the exterior lanes. But to my surprise, he expertly weaved in and out of the 2-foot spaces between vehicles crawling through rush hour traffic.

Following his example, I went for the space between cars at speed. I, unfortunately, was not so nimble—I crashed right into the side mirror of a car who for some reason had suddenly inched more to the left. The cuts on my arm were deeper than the scratches the side mirror sustained.

A few clumsy apologies and spritzes of alcohol later, however, we were back on the road. We could not be delayed. Rush delivery—one hour or less.



It wasn’t just the cars that caused us trouble—pedestrians suddenly crossing at inopportune moments left me wondering, do they have any idea how difficult abrupt stops and descents from this tall bike that isn’t even adjusted for my height are?

Given the speed at which professional bikers like Desk can normally do these trips, the only thing that stops them are the countless traffic lights along Buendia, which must tick them off. I personally found myself loving the red lights, as they were my only opportunities to breathe.

Not when I was behind a bus though. Apparently, being hunched over on a bike puts your face right in the line of fire of smoke belchers.

The real challenge came at the Kalayaan overpass going to Bonifacio Global City. Shifting to a lower gear on my bike, I managed to comfortably pedal up the bridge, all the while, mentally thanking the heavens that I didn’t have a fixed gear bike like Desk and Marick behind me. What strong legs they must have.

Near the top though, I found myself light-headed and realized the exhaustion of the trip was finally getting to me. I gasped for breath, but all I could breathe was the smog and exhaust of cars around me. I wanted to pass out, but as I looked over the railing to my right and saw EDSA and millions of cars beneath me, I realized I would be nothing more than a headline if I lost consciousness now and toppled over the edge.

No, I must push on.

(Road) sharing is caring

I found myself breathing a sigh of relief as we descended the bridge to Bonifacio Global City. Cars were more disciplined, and was it just me, or did the air smell a tad cleaner?

The customer was waiting for our delivery outside his shop, and greeted us with a smile. He knew the Mensaheros but he was probably wondering who I was—the girl wearing a blue shirt and the widest grin possible, happy just to have survived.

He introduced himself as Glenn Colendrino, owner of the bike shop in Burgos Circle. He ordered a specific size of bike helmet for a customer who was leaving for a race soon, hence the rush delivery.

“I’ve tried other couriers before, pero sila ang pinakamabilis,” Glenn remarked. “It’s funny, sila pa ang pedal-power, pero sila ang mas mabilis. They’re very reliable.”

Desk clocked our time at 34 minutes and 12 seconds—not bad considering I was a newbie. Had I not gotten injured, he said we might have made the trip in 20 minutes.

Still, our time was way faster than our crew cab’s. Stuck in rush hour traffic, my camera crew got to the destination in a little under an hour. The idea that I wasn’t stuck in that gridlock with them gave me a sense of freedom.

Desk is quick to point out that freedom in the metro comes at a price. My wounds aren’t even the worst of it—in the line of duty, he’s been hit by car doors suddenly opening and once even fell victim to a hit-and-run situation.

Unfortunately, unlike in New York City where bike messengers are also carving out their niche, Desk claims that bikers here are not respected by motorists as equals. Dedicated bike lanes like the ones in Marikina are a good start, Desk adds, but everything must start with common courtesy—sharing the road instead of pushing bikers to the margins, literally and figuratively.

Until then, the job of the Mensaheros will continue—braving bus-filled avenues and bodily harm just so we could get our items in hours instead of days. “Kailangan may passion ka for cycling,” says Desk.

As for me? I think I’ll stick to journalism. — BM, GMA News