King of the Road

By Jing Montealegre

From its colorful banderitas and antenna-studded hood to its stainless body with gaudy graphics and matching mud guards, the jeepney is grudgingly regarded as the King of the Road. It evolved from the American Jeep of World War II, the first batches converted into six-seat passenger rides carrying two passengers in front and two on each side at the back. With a little “bottom wriggling,” it carried eight, with the back seats seating three on each side.

This bantam-sized version started it all.  Soon, the back seats were extended to sit four, five, and then six on each side. The new-generation jeepneys are roaring mini buses, stretched to accommodate twenty or more passengers.

But the jeepney has seen better days, and the dull, unattractive versions that ply today’s streets are aberrations of the original. Because not too long ago some smart ass at the transportation office must have thought it a bright idea to color-ID jeepneys according to designated routes. So they did. With the makeover, the once colorful jeepney has turned dull and unappealing, a venerable old-timer now fit for retirement.

Heir apparent to the jeepney is the trike or tricycle. It comes in two basic models: the motorized and foot-powered. Only the motorized one is referred to as tricycle, the pedal-powered version is called pedicab or “padyak,” which describes the driver’s action as he pushes on the pedals. (My hometown vies for the title of “padyak capital” of the world, if you care to know.)

There’s another type, a converted tractor cart (with passenger seats) powered by a three-horsepower farm or marine engine. They’re called “kuliglig,” meaning crickets. Since they’re no longer used for tilling rice paddies or plying the seas, the “kuliglig” may have been designed for Metro Manila’s flooded streets.

Tricycles are ubiquitous creatures. They are the workhorses of the nation, ferrying goods, farm produce, construction materials, workers, housewives, tourists, schoolchildren, government employees, cops and robbers, poultry and livestock, chicken and Miss Piggy. The country would stand still without the tricycle and its variants.

Now comes the “singles.” With marketing savvy, two-stroke engine manufacturers from Japan, China and India have finally penetrated the local market with a motorcycle for solo riders. But we’re nobody’s fools so, like the jeepney, the “single” has evolved into a two- to four-rider vehicle. (Why we still call it “single” escapes me.)

Sometime back, the emergence of riding-in-tandem gangs carrying out their nefarious activities on board “singles” had cast doubt on their worthiness. But recently - with the advent of Grab, Ankas, Move It, Joyride, Lalamove and similar two-wheel transport schemes - the “singles” have staged a comeback. They’re now serious contenders for the title of King of the Road.

Monster busses had always ran roughshod over other vehicles, bullying every other vehicle and flying off their lanes just to get to the passengers in the next bus stop. They’d been the major cause of traffic jams. So not too long ago the bright boys of Transportation assigned them pit stops (which they promptly clogged), and built new terminals outside of the Metro to get them off the city’s streets. Didn’t work. Until they came up with the idea of the “bus carousel,” which assigned busses one exclusive lane in the middle of EDSA, keeping car owners and the multitude of singles away from mayhem. The “carousel” is proving its worth de-clogging EDSA’s notorious gridlock.

The Philcab, an enclosed passenger van, is for people who put a premium on passenger safety: every Philcab runs so tightly packed with passengers (protective human “airbags” around you) that injuring yourself during a collision is not possible. The Philcab has recently evolved into the Transportation Network Vehicle Service (TNVS), led by Grab, which is terrific if you don’t mind paying through the nose when you book one.

A smart way to compensate those who drive for a living is the uniquely Filipino “boundary” system. First, it makes entrepreneurs out of drivers; then, it makes hell drivers out of them. To beat the boundary - which is the fixed amount the driver pays the owner of the vehicle - he must outdrive every driver on the road, beat every red light, zigzag in and out of lanes, barricade streets where competitors might pass, and run over hapless pedestrians.

But if you think that the professional driver of public utility vehicles is all you have to avoid and worry about, you probably haven’t gone on a recent road trip out of town. If you have, you’ll soon realize that the private vehicle owner in his roaring SUV or pick-up - a Montero, Wrangler or Fortuner - is also out there to get you, road rage or no road rage. This daredevil will take the opposite lane of a two-lane highway on a brazen counter flow - racing past the long line of hurried motorists in their Kias, Wigos and the VW Beatle you’re driving.

All of which tells me that the title of “King of the Road” is still up for grabs.