by Charles DeBenedetto
(A normal day on the roads in Taiwan. Photo
Credit: Fine Art America)
“I
should probably get up before I am run over,” I thought to myself.
I
was new, inexperienced with my iron horse. My scooter, which would be called a
moped in the States. A 100cc engine, fifteen years old, and bought second-hand
for probably too much money. It was not even close to the fanciest thing on the
road, but I loved it. From the scraped gray plastic exterior, to the sticker
that declared, “the scooter is all my life!” to the specks of black pavement
covering one side of it, I cherished it for its ridiculousness.
But
I was not prepared to ride it. Growing up with ATVs and snowmobiles, screaming
down abandoned trails and across frozen lakes, I knew how to handle a machine,
but I had zero experience with the locust swarm-like synchronized madness of
scooters on Taiwanese city streets.
“But
you had a license, right?” Of course I
did, but that did not prepare me for reality.
* * *
It
is a hot, sweltering August day, and I am drenched in sweat before I even walk
into the DMV. I take a number, waiting for a computer to be vacant so I can
take the written test, and I spend the whole time chugging water, one paper cup
at a time, from the lone water bubbler that is meant to serve the hundreds of
people here. My number is called, I sit down, and choose the English test.
The
first hurdle is understanding the English, because it is not perfectly
translated from the Mandarin, but it is alright once you acclimate to it.
Basically, you need to know kilometers, what the road signs mean, and a few
basic Chinese characters. 停 is “stop,” 慢
is “slow” and 禁止機車 means
“scooters
prohibited.” I passed, barely, and I distinctly remember wishing to review the
questions I got wrong, but not getting the opportunity.
I
expected that my “road test” would actually be on the road, but instead, the
DMV has a large open-air course, complete with a viewing section for onlookers to
cheer you on. It looks more like I am going to play on the bumper cars than an actual road test. I wait in line for a long time, pushing my scooter a
few inches every minute or so, until finally it is my turn.
(The straightaway at the beginning is
everyone’s worst nightmare. Photo Credit: Nomad Notions)
“Okay,
you can go,” the DMV worker says.
BEEEEEEEP!!!!!
I
pressed the horn, not the ignition…oops…
Luckily,
they do not begin to grade until after you cross the starting line. I drive
down a narrow path, stop at the red light, turn left, turn right, stay in the
lines, wait for the imaginary train to pass, and drive out. The whole process
must have took about a minute.
Yay,
I’m done! I have a license in a foreign country, so that’s cool. It takes about
an hour for the license to be prepared, and while I’m waiting I am required to
watch a short film about all the ways I can possibly die while riding a
scooter. Certainly not a feel good ending to the process, but I’m glad it’s
required, because being on a scooter is no joke.
And
then, I am on the road.
VRRM!
Scooters go around me because I am too slow. A car is live-parked in the
right-hand lane. I need to go into the left-hand lane to go around, but when?
An endless stream of flying cars and bikes. Okay, I made it. What?! Did that old
man just jaywalk without even looking? I stop at the red light, but other
vehicles choose not to. Am I going to make it home? Did the Taiwanese
government really just confirm that I am qualified to be on these roads?
I
remained unscathed for about a month, until one day, coming home from work, I
was stopped at a red light, with some stopped scooters ahead of me who were in
the process of a two-step left turn. By now I was accustomed to hitting the
throttle the moment the light turned green, so I went fast before noticing the
scooter in front of me was not moving. I tried to brake and turned left to
avoid him, and I went down, the full force of the fall going into my left knee.
My water bottle rolled away out of my backpack’s side pocket.
“I
should probably get up before I get run over,” I thought to myself.
Ignoring
the pain in my knee and the scooters scooting around me, I get up, pitter over
to the curb, and assess the situation. I seem to be okay, but I have adrenaline
in my system. My bike has a few more scratches, but it already had plenty when I bought
it. Collecting myself, I ride home to calm down.
* * *
Years
later, I have yet to be in another accident, and my knee is fine. But I never
forgot that day. Still, I am one of the slowest riders on the road, because I
know that at any moment a car could come boldly flying out of a small side road
(as often happens). I am one of the few who wear a full-face helmet, because,
even though it is expensive and sweaty, it is the best life insurance policy
you can get.
Riding
a scooter in Taiwan is analogous to learning about the Universe. It is chaotic.
It is madness. It is scary to be such a small player in a massive and dangerous
place. But you have a part to play in it. You can feel the beat. You can find the
rhythm. You can learn to dance in the ordered anarchy. But for God’s sake, wear a
full-face helmet.
(I know it is cute. I know. Resist the temptation.
If you get in an accident, that cute helmet will not help you, and then you
will not look cute anymore. Photo Credit: aliexpress.com)
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