Commuters Putting Mettle to the Pedal

Socorro Murillo has just finished a night of emptying trash cans, pushing vacuum cleaners and scrubbing bathroom floors at an Irvine high-rise.

His thoughts turn to a hearty egg-and-sausage breakfast followed by a long sleep. But first, he has to make it home.

So Murillo joins three co-workers as they begin pedaling toward home--a six-mile journey that takes close to an hour through the ghost town that is early morning California suburbia. Murillo’s watch says 3 a.m.

Before the journey is over, the four gossip about family, argue about politics and narrowly avoid being hit by a motorist who doesn’t see the caravan. They reminisce about riding their bikes in the old days back in rural Mexico, then belt out ranchera songs to chase away the blues.

“I’m a country boy. This, the city, is not my way of life,” Murillo said. “Here, there is no room for a bicycle.”

In the hierarchy of Southern California commuter culture, Murillo and his partners consider themselves on the bottom rung--below the motorists whizzing by, below those who take the bus.

They are mostly migrant workers--dishwashers, security guards and custodians who work long after the last buses have stopped running. Many either can’t afford cars or are illegal immigrants who cannot, under state law, receive driver’s licenses.

Unlike those who cycle to work for exercise or to help the environment, Murillo and his friends have little choice but to commute by bike. They blend into the nighttime shadows, negotiating traffic on secondhand 10-speeds and rickety mountain bikes. Their clothing is not flashy Spandex uniforms with Italian writing but basic sweatshirts and jeans.

“We’re really silent, hidden commuters,” Murillo said. “Other people don’t imagine we’re here.”

Transportation officials said they are seeing increasing numbers of workers who by necessity use bicycles for the commute. Their needs have received little attention from urban planners and lawmakers.

“Bicycling comes as a mode of last resort,” said Dave Glowacz, who has written several books about bicycling, including one on urban bikers. “Many of these people can’t afford a car or don’t have driver’s licenses. If they have to go more than a mile or two, what can they do?”

Though Murillo’s commute home is marked by the darkness and silence of a city asleep, his ride into work takes him through the heart of afternoon rush hour. He and his fellow janitors push off at 5 p.m. from his Santa Ana house, getting to the Irvine business park about 6:30 p.m. Murillo uses a new Huffy mountain bike. The others ride older 10-speed hand-me-downs.

None use safety equipment such as reflectors, helmets or lights; such equipment is not frequently used in their native Mexico. The lack adds another dimension of danger to their commute.

Because there are few bike lanes in Santa Ana, they take to the sidewalks, skirting other bikers, pedestrians, debris, odd curb cuts and pavement buckled by tree roots. They dodge mothers and their strollers, vendors and their carts as well as children on scooters.

Hazards Lurk at Every Intersection

At almost every intersection, they need to stop and determine if a car might make a right turn into their path. On MacArthur Boulevard, the group is almost hit by a shuttle bus on its way to John Wayne Airport. The bus screeches to a stop, letting the group pedal across a crosswalk.

“It makes your heart jump. But you get used to it,” Murillo said. “The people are in a rush and they don’t think about someone like us, getting to work the hard way.”

Murillo was glad when shortly after arriving in the United States two years ago he landed a janitorial job for $5.75 an hour, more than he would ever make in his native Michoacan.

The problem was, how to get to and from work? The original plan was for a nephew with a car to take him and pick him up. But the nephew got tired of getting up at 3 a.m. and often left him stranded.

Murillo finally bought his bike at Kmart for $100. He recruited co-workers to join him for bike rides from Santa Ana to Irvine office buildings and back.

One of the men, Jaime Rojas, used to drive a junker without a license until it was seized by police after he was stopped on a traffic violation. Rojas said he’s afraid to buy another car: “If I get caught without a license, I’m afraid they’ll toss me back to Tijuana.”

Other cyclists agree that they are pedaling to avoid police who have repeatedly cracked down on unlicensed drivers. Thousands of undocumented workers have had their cars impounded after being pulled over by police.

Commuting by bike is “dangerous and it’s cold, but it’s not so bad if you aren’t alone. We joke and talk. We do more than pass the time,” Rojas said.

When they arrive in Irvine, the sight of the small group of scruffy men in jeans and sweatshirts contrasts sharply with a glimpse through a large window of women doing aerobics in a fitness club or people in pinstriped suits entering the nearby Marriott.

The men quickly store their bikes in the basement and get to the business of cleaning.

Hours later, they are eager to return home.

On the ride home, they reminisce about Mexico, imagine when they might return, and about the daily twists and turns of life in America. They talk about how great it would be to save several thousand dollars and return to their villages rich.

The homestretch is the hardest--not just physically but emotionally.

“Sometimes, it makes me sad, makes me wonder what I’m doing,” Murillo said. “At least we have found a way to get to our jobs, even though it’s brutal.”

When overcome by sadness, there’s always Murillo’s nephew, Baltazar Murillo, to cheer them up. Call him the Crooner of Main Street.

Baltazar belts out famous mariachi tunes like “El Rey [The King]” by Jose Alfredo Jimenez as he pedals down Santa Ana’s main thoroughfare: “And then a herder told me, you don’t have to arrive first, you just have to know how to arrive. . . . “ he sings as they slowly advance toward home.

“I like to sing. I like to think about the parties in Mexico. We don’t have those parties here. We are too busy working here. This is the way things have to be for now,” the 19-year-old said.

Even at 4 a.m., the group is not alone on Main Street. They pass a dozen cyclists, either saying hello or nodding silently.

Murillo and his nephew say goodbye to Rojas and another janitor at 3:45 a.m. and go home to cook eggs and sausage. They’ll sleep until noon.

Murillo pronounces that night’s commute a success because no one got hurt.

Every week, it seems, one of the men falls off a bicycle, usually when they drive over debris or uneven pavement.

“That’s why I try to go as slow as I can. If we rush, we have problems,” said Murillo, showing his skinned knees.

Fatalities of Adult Cyclists Rose 20%

For others, the commute takes a far greater toll.

There are no studies measuring the dangers of commuting by bike, but a review of state accident data suggests the hazards are growing.

Although total bike fatalities are down across California, the percentage of adult cyclists killed rose 20% over the last five years both statewide and in Los Angeles County. The jump was even higher among Orange County riders.

In 1999, the last year in which data is available, fatal accidents involving Los Angeles County adults nearly doubled from 14 to 27.

Alejandro Gonzalez, a hotel worker in Anaheim, was struck by a hit-and-run driver on his way home from work last year. He smashed through the car’s window and was carried 30 feet before falling to the pavement. Then another car ran over him. Gonzalez, 57, left behind five children.

Luis Macias, 23, rides through East Los Angeles to Vernon each night, even after he was hit by a motorist who left him lying on Whittier Boulevard in October.

Macias didn’t have a light on his bicycle, but he was wearing a reflective vest. The vest didn’t protect him from a light-colored Subaru Forester that made a right on Clela Avenue. As the sports utility vehicle turned, it hit Macias on his right side, throwing him from his bicycle. He suffered two sprained legs as well as cuts and bruises.

“I don’t really know what happened. Maybe I wasn’t paying attention. More probably, the driver didn’t see me. I felt lucky to be alive,” said Macias, a soft-spoken Mexico native who used to carry rice and other foodstuffs on his bicycle in the Mexican countryside. “What I realized at that very moment is, this is very different than Mexico.

“This is the problem here. There’s no place for a person to ride a bicycle. Only a car. And for many people, there’s no way to have a car.”

Transportation officials in Los Angeles and Orange counties said it is doubtful that an extensive network of bike lanes in the urban districts will be created any time soon. In both counties, priority has been placed on building and expanding recreational trails, such as those that parallel creeks and rivers. Many new developments include bike paths, but relatively few older cities can find the room or money to fit them in.

Santa Ana has plans for 65 miles of new bike lanes--many on existing roads. The city would have to spend millions to achieve that, in some cases buying rights of way from businesses and homeowners so that streets could be widened, said city engineer Francisco Orellana.

In Los Angeles, the Metropolitan Transportation Authority recently decided to spend $21 million over the next three years on various bike projects--a fraction of what cycling activists sought.

One city praised by cycling advocates for moving quickly to help commuters is Compton. Since 1997, that city has spent nearly $700,000 creating bike lanes on seven miles of its busiest streets.

“In our economic analysis, we saw so many underprivileged people and we thought there could be a need for bikeways for them to get where they want to go,” said Augustus Ajawara, Compton’s transportation and capital improvement program manager.

“It is very obvious that there is a neglected population here that cannot afford cars. They need to get to work and might not have the resources to use mass transit,” he said.

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Times staff writer Ray F. Herndon contributed to this report.