A blissful glide out of a week of chaos

MEXICO CITY — On wheels, we charge -- a vast and exultant army of cycling, skating, spinning, scooting, sweating warriors in the thrill of conquest.

We rule this city -- at least for a few hours.

Every Sunday morning, some of the biggest streets of car-flooded Mexico City are handed over to bicyclists, who roll in by the tens of thousands. Joining them are skateboarders, rollerbladers, toddlers on push toys and parents behind strollers in what has become a weekly festival on wheels.

The leftist government of Mayor Marcelo Ebrard launched the program last year, barring cars, trucks and buses from the regal Paseo de la Reforma and other streets around the historic downtown. Once a month, the route is expanded to form a 20-mile, engine-free circuit called the Cicloton.

The cyclist's gain is the motorist's loss. But city officials seek to limit the traffic snarls by opening alternative routes and letting cars across key downtown junctions once the bikes have passed. On a couple of short stretches, cars and bikes share the street in rare harmony, separated by orange traffic cones. (If only the exhaust fumes stayed in their own lane.)

Though mocked by some as a political gimmick, the Sunday ride has proved highly popular since it began in May 2007. The shorter downtown rides routinely draw 10,000 or more participants, the Cicloton as many as 70,000.

It's an upside-down day. For a change, cars are the intruder while cyclists get a leisurely, intimate view that makes this huge and tumultuous city seem, well, not so huge and tumultuous.

We strap on helmets and spend two to three hours on a citywide loop: zooming past glassy high-rises and triumphal statues, through graffiti-spattered precincts where sidewalk stands send up a tang of raw seafood, along normally jammed commercial boulevards lined with chain stores and sex-driven billboard ads.

We are Mexico City residents of all shapes and styles, from Lycra-clad speed demons to wobbly tykes on training wheels.

There are gleaming road bikes and creaking wrecks that appear to predate the 1968 Olympics here. Signs abound of classic Mexican innovation, like the tiny wooden chair converted, by straps and blind faith, into a child's bicycle seat.

The party mood is accentuated by a string of roadside tent stations set up to offer open-air exercise classes, refills on water, and plenty more. You can even get a tire fixed for free.