Go Green, Ride a Rickshaw

I have a new appreciation for the power it takes to pull a rickshaw. You have probably spotted those caboose-like pods behind bicycles, the ones toting precious cargo, namely the cyclists’ offspring. It’s a clever idea with two in tow since you simply strap them in and head off. Like others, our trailer-pod, a Schwinn, comes with two nifty extras: a handlebar attachment and a handy third wheel to stabilize the tow bar, like a Robin Reliant, once you’ve unhitched your 2-wheeler. Suddenly, your road caboose is transformed into a rather bulky double stroller (with a remarkable resemblance to a tea cosy on wheels) and, strapped into jump seats with an optional head to floor rain window, the children love it.

Last week, the arrival of two reasonably warm days after an endless winter virtually catapulted us out the front door with the promise of fresh air that wouldn’t end in frostbite. We weren’t bike riding but the large wheeled trailer blows fair-weather strollers out of the slush, so we chose it to walk the river trail by the Hudson. Except, in our enthusiasm to get out of the house, we brought the trailer and its zip off window but forgot the handlebar and third wheel. A passenger trailer without a bike to pull it or handlebars to push it is rendered useless – a sort of grounded egg - until we happened on the brilliant idea of towing it ourselves.

Riding high like British tropical colonists, our children barked directions at the out of shape parents hauling them across the sludgy, thawing paths. Every now and then the load would inexplicably double, the result of one or both craning forward for a better view. The shift in weight altered the whole physics of the drag: While reclining, the weight was born by the wheels but leaning forward, it pressed down on the tow bar and the human mule pulling it. In the unlikely event I ever find myself flagging down a rickshaw in Manhattan or Calcutta, I shall be sure to sit as far back as possible and stay impossibly still.

There have been arguments for and against rickshaws. In India they are now forbidden, since many were operated by children. They still run and the pullers count it as a valid way to make a buck, or at least a few rupees. When the streets are flooded it’s sometimes the only way to get around even if the poor entity struggling in front is chest high in water. Westward, the attraction of the eco-friendly, emission-free, bicycle-powered rickshaw has its own appeal, especially among proponents of slow travel. Upon exiting a Manhattan restaurant you’re now just as likely to find a rickshaw squeaking to a halt as a yellow cab braking for a potential fare.

I’ll confess I’ve been wary of rickshaws. There just seems something a little wrong about a method of transportation that literally relies on the sweat equity of the driver, even when willing. But perhaps all this is about to change. As the Middle East once again struggles with civil war and international airstrikes, fears over oil accessibility and prices spike. With America consuming 10% of the world’s oil on any given day, news pundits are hopping all over the predictions of $5 a gallon oil prices, and urging those in the market for Hybrid vehicle to get out and buy one before prices go up and availability goes down.

Unfortunately, I recently switched from my aging, gas-sipping Toyota Rav-4, (sticking my eco-friendly protestations in my pocket) to take on a 7-seater used but thirsty Volvo XC-90. Now the whole family can venture out in one vehicle with room for the dogs and a friend or two but we might have to flog the family silver to pay for the gas.

The Volvo XC-90 comes with some spectacular features that transport me back to the days of my Audi TT: Heated leather seats, volume control on the steering wheel, electric wing mirrors and an endless array of interesting and informative messages appear on the consol. Since it costs a third more to fill up the Volvo than the RAV-4, I get a kick out of a periodic message that tells me when I’m getting 99.9mpg. Downhill. Without my foot on the gas. Either someone in Volvo manufacturing had a sick sense of humour or it’s the type of blip Y2K conspiracy theorists worried about before the noughties.

Commentators are already wagging their fingers over the American reliance on cars and oil, and I can already hear the faint drumbeat of Sarah Palin’s, “Drill, baby, drill.” So I’m here to advocate for the rickshaw pullers of the world. Unite! You’re already ahead of the pack.