No more does the call of "San Lun Ch'e!" echo through the streets and lanes of Taipei and the city has lost a little of its spice of life. The not-always-so-faithful pedicab and its often irascible pedal-pusher have given way to the march of progress. Three years ago the city had 20,000 of these tricycles with seat for two mounted behind the driver. As of June 25 there was none in Taipei City, although some may have fled to Taipei County and to other cities rather than accept the government's bounty payment of US$300 for vehicle and resettlement of the driver.
For nearly two decades - from the restoration of Taiwan to the Republic of China in 1945 until the early 1960s - the pedicab was the favored vehicle of short-haul personal transportation throughout the island. Taxis were few and rides were expensive until Yue Loong began to make small cars. Meters assured more reasonable taxi charges. It was at this point that traffic authorities decided the pedicab - always a law unto itself on city streets - would have to go.
Pedicabs were a long time dying. The authorities tried many and varied plans of voluntary elimination. None was effective. Pedicabs were inexpensive (a little over US$300 for a new one and as little as US$100 for an old one) and good money-makers. Drivers might earn between US$50 and $75 a month and averaged $37.50 a month, well above the Taiwan average for unskilled work. Pedicab owner-operators were free and independent, rugged individualists of the road. They could choose their own hours and take a day off whenever they wished. Many riders remained loyal even after the coming of the meter taxis. The pedicab was nearly as fast as a taxi for short trips, cooler in summer, roomy enough for two people and superior for shopping that involved several stops. The level of fares was about half that of a taxi.
Pedicabs are descendants of a marriage between the bicycle and the ricksha. The inventor is lost in the mists of the early 19th century. Shanghai was crowded with the vehicles just after the war and some were brought to Taiwan. In Vietnam, the pedicab is a cyclo-pousse that the driver pedals from behind instead of in front. The Thai version is the samlor, which places a cab alongside the operator in the style of motorcycle and sidecar. Wang Tsai-fa, who worked in his father's bicycle shop at Kaohsiung, developed a Taiwan model before the Sino-Japanese War of 1937-45. He had 10 pedicabs on the road when manufacturing ceased to make way for Japanese war production.
Pedicabmen entered the Taipei transportation picture battling ricksha pullers and bowed out after a struggle with taxi drivers. At the end of 1948, about 300 pedicabs were for hire in the city. Those who pushed the pedals found themselves engaged in a struggle with some 700 surviving rickshas. The hand-pulled vehicles previously had enjoyed a monopoly and their owners did not give up easily. Shouting incidents and fist fights were common. The wooden clogs that both wore made formidable weapons.
Progress cannot be denied, as the pedicabbers were to learn 20 years later. Rickshas carried only one person comfortably and cost nearly as much as a pedicab. The latter won out. Rickshas have been virtually forgotten in all Taiwan for many years.
The Taipei maximum of 20,000 pedicabs remained constant for about 15 years. The "San Lun Ch'e" (literally, three-wheeled cart) was adapted to the needs of a geographically small city without hills and a leisurely pace. Nobody was in a hurry to get anywhere. And there weren't so many places to go. Taipei had a population of only about 300,000 in 1945. By 1959 the city still had only two taxi companies. Traffic was increasing, however, and the city government decided to start buying up pedicabs for US$75 apiece while transforming the pedal-pushers into taxi drivers.
Elimination was slow. In 1964, the city raised the allowance for a scrapped pedicab to US$150 plus another $75 for drivers who didn't want training as a taxi driver. Even so, 8,000 pedicabs were still plying Taipei streets in June of 1967. The authorities decided to be more generous financially but to stand adamantly against any new lease of life for a vehicle that already had displayed the longevity of a cat. The US$300 payment was supposed to have been cut by $100 last December 24. Although relenting about this and paying the full amount through June 24, the city did not yield on the date for the last act in the pedicide drama.
About 2,000 pedicab pedalers waited until the last few days and several hundred didn't relinquish their trusty steeds until the evening of the last day. Because of the scarcity of cabs, earnings remained reasonably good right down to the last pedicab bonfire (the city burned the vehicles, then sold the metal for scrap). Some of the men were in their 60s and expressed scant hope of employment beyond the trash and garbage collection work offered by the city. Others hoped for a miracle that didn't come. Many reasoned that they were not going to lose anything by waiting until the last minute, and so it turned out.
Altogether, the city bought up nearly 14,000 pedicabs. Presumably the rest wended their way out of the city. Plans for phasing out the self-propelled vehicles in other cities and in counties have not yet taken definite shape. Traffic problems are increasing but have not yet reached the acute stage of Taipei with the possible exception of Kaohsiung, the metropolis of the south. Taipei found pedicab elimination was not inexpensive. Nearly US$2½ million was spent on the program. Approximately 2,000 pedicab men volunteered for training and more than 1,000 became taxi drivers. Those under 45 and in good health were considered qualified to become hackies.
In time a few pedicabs may return to Taipei streets as tourist curiosities. Tourists never used the cabs widely for routine transportation because they lacked the language for bargaining. After one trip, they usually found that those who couldn't beat down the price were usually fleeced. However, many foreign visitors liked to have their pictures taken in a pedicab to show the folks at home. Mrs. Lyndon B. Johnson had a pedicab ride when she accompanied her husband, then the Vice President, to Taipei in 1961.
Pedicabs reached such heights of popularity with American military advisory personnel that some purchased small models for their children and took these back to the States. One company specialized in manufacturing the child's size, which was not a toy. The small tricycles could be ridden and were strong enough to carry one adult or a couple of children as passengers. On a night out and after a few nips at the juice of the grape, Americans were sometimes known to indulge in pedicab races with borrowed vehicles that they pedaled themselves.
A whole folklore grew up around the rugged individuality of pedicabbers.
They were generally regarded in Taipei as nonpareils of bargaining. They rarely lost out to even the tightest fisted passenger.
The housewife would emerge from her home or the master from his office and crook a finger or call out "San Lun Ch'e!" When the driver pulled up to the curb, the prospective fare would announce his intended destination and ask how much. The driver would name a price higher than the going rate. How high might depend on the dress and general appearance of the inquirer as well as the availability of other pedicabs. The candidate for a ride would name the correct fare, the driver would shake his head and the supposedly disappointed applicant would turn away and take a few steps. If the pedicab man wanted to make the trip, he would call out his agreement. If he didn't, the would-be rider could try another pedicab, walk, take a taxi, fly or meet the demanded price. Anyone who surrendered to the driver lost face with the whole pedicab clan.
Sometimes the passenger offered too little. Addresses in Taipei are not always clearly understood. In this event, the pedicab operator would begin to mumble and then to complain in louder and louder tones, all the while pedaling slower and slower. If all else failed, the pedals would grind to a halt and the driver would announce the end of the line. That was as far as he was going for the price. He became a balky mule who could only be moved by an additional fare.
Actually, much of the bargaining became symbolic. The amount of the fare for a given trip was known to both parties and was always the figure agreed upon. But the formalities had to be observed. A premium might be demanded on holidays - especially at Chinese New Year's time - and during heavy rains. In the event of the latter, the driver covered himself with a plastic cloak. The cab had side and front curtains to keep passengers dry (and in the summer to give them a Turkish bath).
Pedicabs were lined up for a funeral pyre at an appropriate location behind the municipal mortuary (File photo)
As in other businesses, a few pedicabmen were dishonest. They took roundabout routes, pretended to misunderstand addresses, arrived at wrong destinations and demanded additional fare for the longer journey resulting from their own deceit. These were the exception rather than the rule, however. Many drivers were kind and helpful. They assisted passengers in and out of the high cab, minded small children while mother was shopping, carried packages and were genuinely appreciative of a small tip. Many were retired servicemen who found that pedaling was a fairly well paid and healthful occupation.
No one ever studied the educational attainments of pedicabbers but these were not so low. Most of the handlebar artisans were literate. They devoted much of their waiting time to the reading of newspapers, magazines and books. A few were inveterate gamblers and indulged in such games as penny pitching and Chinese chess. When the wagering became intense, ears were closed to the loudest summons for a "San Lun Ch'e". Opportunities for crime were many, because the pedicab man came to know the neighborhood of his station and its people more thoroughly than the local police. Yet few of the knights of the pedal ever became involved in serious offenses. A sociological study suggested that after a long hard day on the road, those who manned pedicabs had little energy left for "second story work".
Sleeping was another favored way of passing the time. When Taipei settled down to its siesta time - formerly with a compulsion much stronger than now - the pedicab driver had a built-in advantage over almost anyone else who had to stay on the job. He could park his cab in the shade of a tree or building, raise the top and curl up on the seat for a long summer's nap. Calls for service were infrequent because most prospective customers also were catching forty winks.
The pedicabmen had their own association, a system of allocating stations and ways of settling disputes. Seniority was the principal yardstick. Downtown stations were not always the most desirable because of the intense competition. As a result of demand at rush hours and theater breaks, it was necessary to have a large number of cabs waiting. But these might make fewer trips in a day than a neighborhood driver who catered to a single block and rarely picked up a fare he didn't know.
Some cabs were permitted to cruise. However, the regularly stationed vehicles had priority over those that roamed the city. When arguments arose, the driver on station invariably won out. At the end of a journey, the pedicab with a regular station became a rover. He could pick up a fare on the way back but had to abide by the rule of giving way to cabs stationed in the neighborhood where be found himself.
Kindergartens formerly employed pedicabs to pick up and deliver small fry. Some of these "pedicab buses" were unique. The cab was replaced by a cage-like affair with hardboard seats opposite each other. Six to eight children could be carried at a time. Dancing and other specialized schools often used the pedicab for student transportation.
Regular station pedicabbers often developed a basic patronage by transporting children to school and housewives to market. The pedicab was perfect as a shopping vehicle because waiting time was not so important in assessing the fare and space for parcels was ample. In years past, many well-to-do families kept a private pedicab rather than a motor car. The vehicle itself was inexpensive and the driver's pay was only around US$37.50 and a free lunch. Some drivers lived in. Most were expected to do chores and garden work in addition to pedaling. These private cabs were usually better built and more comfortable than those for hire. Private drivers moonlighting for paid fares sometimes ran afoul of the commercial pedicab operators.
Young lovers found the pedicab a good setting for a bit of wooing modern Chinese style. The driver was facing the other way and had scant interest in hand-holding and similar evidences of romance. The ride might be to a park or into the countryside. If the lovers wandered off into the dark, their chauffeur could always indulge himself in a snooze until they returned to shake him awake. Arguments over fares were infrequent from trysters.
An evening ride to "take the air" was popular and inexpensive. Taipei summer days are hot but the nights are usually comfortable. Outside temperatures ordinarily fall into the high 70s. However, the extensive use of concrete and brick in construction results in houses and apartments that cool off slowly. What better way to enjoy the evening breeze than a pedicab voyage through city streets and by-ways? A family of four could ride for the price of one.
Pedicabs are gone from Taipei and their passing was inescapable. Within the foreseeable future they will vanish from other large cities and then from the rest of the island. These vehicles are an anachronism that belongs to a slower-moving, more tranquil time. In the rush of today's traffic, they get in the way of fast vehicles and people who want to go places in a hurry. Taiwan's heavy dependence on bicycles for transportation of the masses is similarly doomed in a somewhat longer run.
Old faithful "San Lun Ch'e" will be missed, though. He was a balky steed at times, and typhoons drove him from the streets long before taxis. But he had a color and individuality that taxis can never match. You can't argue with a meter. When traffic is tied up for blocks, motorized vehicles cannot thread their way through the maze pedicab-fashion and go on to their destination long before the snarl has been untangled. The intrepidity of a pedicab monarch holding up his hand and beating a bus or truck to the intersection may have put the passenger's heart in his throat but rarely had fatal consequences. Either the pedicabbers led charmed lives or those with gasoline and engines at their command reached out a protective arm to guard those who relied on muscle-power for a livelihood.
Few people of Asia look back nostalgically to the time of the ricksha, which now survives only in Hongkong. People tended to have a small nagging of guilt for using another human being as a beast of burden. The pedicab, however, was a step up the ladder of civilization. It relied upon a mechanical process to make man's use of his muscles more efficient and less of a drudgery. If exercycles are health-promoting, why couldn't the same be said for pedicabs? There was no feeling of shame or exploitation in climbing into a pedicab. Looking back on the era and what they spent and put up with from pedicab drivers, some former passengers are likely to conclude that the shoe of exploitation was on the foot of the strong legs that kept Taipei on the move for two decades.
As for all those pedicabs that died and went to heaven, surely they will be useful there. Pedicabs are quite fast enough for the leisurely pace permitted by an eternity of time. No one would want engine fumes to smog up the heavenly precincts. Pedicabs ought to be just the thing.