The elevator door slides open and there he is, the man who seems to know all the secrets of the Ramsey County Courthouse.

No, not the navy-suited attorney to the left yapping about plea bargains on his cell phone. And not the khaki-clad clerk to the right with the stack of documents under his arm. The guy in the middle, the one in vivid cycling gear, yellow-tinted sunglasses and the helmet, his courier bag swinging jauntily from his shoulder.

It's the bike messenger.

Derided by some as anti-Establishment scofflaws, bicycle couriers are considered priceless by clients who need their skill in circumventing traffic to get cases filed, papers served or documents delivered in a hurry.

As e-mail, fax machines and other technology pose an increasing threat to the courier industry, attorneys find St. Paul's two bike messengers crucial to the efficiency of a squeezed court schedule. Popular with clerks from the basement to the top floors, they also provide a colorful contrast to the stiff decorum of the courthouse.

DOWNTOWN RIDES

Karl Neher, 34, stops by the downtown St. Paul office of his employer, Metro Legal, for his next assignment. Maybe he'll go to the law firm with the partner who can't keep a secretary and is always in anger-management class. Perhaps it's a trip to a judge's chambers. He hopes it's not the one who once yelled at him for forgetting to remove his helmet in the courtroom. Could be another sad task like serving divorce papers to a shocked fireman. Title change on a roller coaster? Done. Close a restaurant behind with the rent? No problem.

"Rush, rush, rush," Neher said, indicating the rubber-stamped red mark at the top of his stack of orders. "Everything is marked 'rush' these days."

So, he rushes. He jumps on his "Courier Special," the slush-splattered bike he custom-built from vintage Japanese parts and decorated with a sticker that reads, "Cars are Coffins." He straightens his helmet, required by his insurance company, and adjusts his knapsack full of deliveries. He takes off, dodging ice patches and swiftly opened car doors.

These midday downtown rides are a complete sensory experience. Neher sees and hears cars screeching, horns honking, snippets of conversation, fighting at bus stops, a whistle from his favorite UPS deliveryman. He smells cigarette smoke at building entrances and a marijuana odor from some cars. He feels his legs pumping the pedals and the delivery heavy on his back.

Minutes later, he's arrived and the pressure slips away. Neher turns on the charm for his regulars, who save jokes and juicy gossip for him. Deputies kid him while going through his bag as part of increased courthouse security, and clerks from the basement to the top floors greet him by name.

"The attorneys he works for think he's extremely valuable, but for us, he's just a pain in the butt," said Jannie Baltes, a probate court clerk who finds herself the frequent victim of his pranks. "Just kidding. He's really a character and we love him. Everybody knows Karl."

COURTHOUSE REGULAR

Nearly all 75 or so couriers in the Twin Cities work in Minneapolis, where there is a bigger demand for their services. In St. Paul, just Neher and his subdued, nice-guy counterpart, Greg Shackle, hop on bikes for a living. Both work for Metro Legal Services, a 32-year-old company with offices in both downtowns for quick record filing, process serving and notary jobs. In St. Paul, the home turf runs from the West Side to the Capitol and from the Cathedral to Lafayette Road.

"They deliver all the documents we need rather than sending them through the mail," said Dori Ullman, a deputy clerk in civil court. "It's a much more certain way of getting what you need. Also, whenever you see them on the street, you get a big wave and a 'Hi!' "

The messengers get paid a base wage, plus they earn commissions on the services they provide. In a good week, they can make $500.

Neher, who has worked for Metro Legal for seven years, is a courthouse regular with a history degree and a father who's a lawyer in the state attorney general's office. Once, he said, federal agents conducting a fraud investigation of a St. Paul businessman paid him $50 to stake out the suspect and serve him papers just before agents arrested him. During the state tobacco trial, Neher and another courier also made extra cash by hauling enormous boxes of documents on their handlebars.

"I always say we were the only people involved in the tobacco case who weren't going to retire off it," he said with a grin.

Neher's assignments are more routine these days, but his antics spice up the most mundane assignment. He once passed a poem about boxelder bugs to a federal clerk frustrated with the insects in her home.

"I feel more at home in the courthouse than any other building," he said. "If you're just an average person who's never been in the system or has just a vague idea what it's all about, you just see these mysterious, bureaucratic movements. The reality is, it's not that complicated."