Uber Stories: 10,000 Rides: A two-hour tour

I hope you sung the title of this latest uber blog to the tune of Gilligan’s Island, because that’s the exact theme of the ride we’re about to go on. But first, a backstory… 

I’ve been on a tear since school started this year. Home improvements, bargain shopping, a driving gig at the high school and general adulting tasks are keeping me beyond busy. Rideshare driving has almost taken a back seat (pun intended) as I complete several projects five years in the making. 

But as September settled in and Mars, the moon and Venus aligned just right, my free and easy summer was about to hit a few snags.

The first came after I’d dropped off a simple early morning airport ride the day before. After accepting said scheduled ride, I realized my 6 am pick-ups now required being on the road while it was still dark. Getting up and getting going was now that much harder… not just for me, but for my passengers. Plus, as a driver, having an unknown figure sitting in the dark in the back seat adds a creep factor that’s hard to explain.

You can’t just glance in the rear view and crack a smile to see if they smile back, so you’ll likely be riding in silence. 

BORING.

The Killington to Rutland airport run I’d signed up for was still an easy ride though, and after drop off, the sun’s rays warmed my mood with soft early light. (Great name for a photography business!) But as I pulled out from airport road to Route 103, a flash of fur struck the front of my car with the force of 40 mph.

Before I knew what happened, a small deer, probably not even a yearling, was sliding along the pavement in front of my car. I was barely going 20 mph, and the animal quickly popped up, shook it off, and ran away into the forest. 

I got out of the car and surveyed the damage. A cracked valance, a poop stain and a dangling fog light seemed safe enough to me, so I got back in the car and drove away.

Animal hits don’t even affect your insurance premiums (if you have the right coverage) and luckily, I did properly insure myself before it happened. My human Progressive agent complimented me on my smarts for adding the “Rideshare Rider” to my policy and said in true insurance fashion, “Don’t worry about it, you’re covered.” 

PHEW

I shrugged it off as a “shit happens” moment and continued with my busy life.

The next day…

I had completed my necessary computer work and life tasks and figured 2 p.m. was as good a time as any to sign back on to the uber app. I got a request for pick up at the Village Snack Bar and found three mature-looking guys waiting with shit-eating grins that only come after you’ve indulged in a deep-fried meal and a maple creemee in Vermont.

“So, what is there to do around here?” the one in the front asked earnestly.

“Well, what are you guys into?” I said.

“We just got done hiking,” Dennis (front seat guy) said. “And we like history.”

“Ok…” I said. “…Do I have a tour for you!”

They quickly agreed to let me show them around town rather than bring them straight back to their hotel and I changed directions, heading against the wind towards West Rutland.

I had a great loop In mind, full of just enough nature, a lot of art and history and even some Vermont lore to share. It was something they’d never find themselves.

“We will make this worth your while,” Dennis said…

…and I was sure they would.

The threesome had just completed a section hike on the Appalachian trail from Massachusetts. They had the balanced personalities of any good thruple. Dennis, a Midwesterner-turned-Floridian was essentially a big kid. He wanted to identify every tree, berry and bush and flitted around like a butterfly to do so. 

Dave was the tall, practical one. A Florida native who I gleaned he had some sort of trucking or farming company back before he seemingly retired. He delivered the zingers.

And finally, Bruce, the salesman from New Orleans who now lived in Arizona and had the charisma and charm to sweet talk his way through any situation. The bromance was real, my friends. 

My tour took us to the West Rutland Marsh, a boardwalk built for bird watching, which juts into a lush green swamp. I regailed them with beaver facts and plant tips and they pointed at a tree with rough bark and red berries.

“Do you know what that is?”

“Yeah, that’s a Dogwood,” I replied. “You know how I know?”

They looked puzzled.

A well-timed dad joke is hard to pull off, but they had set me up and Dave was the first to laugh. 

“By the bark.”

“You’re gonna fit in well, here,” he said.

I should note that it was, in fact, a silver dogwood and my knowledge is not just hilarious but accurate when it comes to some things, such as plants.

Next stop was the Carving Studio, where art and history meet, plus there are nice clean bathrooms (always a perk for an old guy tour!) Here not only did we get the history lesson they were looking for, but I also figured out they were stoked on mushrooms and I used my Covid-area mycology studies to identify 75% of the mushrooms they’d taken pictures of on their hike. We also checked out the actual quarry, and along the path I spotted an old penny, tails up.

I grabbed it without thinking and tossed it in my purse.

“This has gotten be worth at least three cents these day, could be a nickel some day,” I laughed. 

We left the carving studio and with wisecracks rolling and my uber meter churning ever higher, I offered to make a quick detour to the Carris art park – a free private art installation that I think the public is allowed to view from up close.

A top the hill sits a gorgeous home, but I never take anyone up that far. It’s a little sketchy because of no turn around but the view, OMG, the view. Plus, when we got to the top, I found a fairy ring of giant puffballs, perfectly white and ready to harvest.

I picked one up and handed it to them, explaining the edibility and how to tell if it was good or not. Then I tossed it back on the ground. 

“I figured that was coming home with you,” Dave said.

“Nah,” I shrugged. “I like the idea of eating wild mushrooms more in theory than reality.”

I had one more (un)planned stop in Evergreen Cemetery, where I knew there was a good view of Rutland but on the way, the cascading water of Center Rutland falls caught my eye. I asked if they wanted to stop and all three agreed. 

“Why not!?”

After a few quick photo ops, we turned into the cemetery. Narrow paths lead through a maze of Marble Valley royalty’s tombs, revolutionary war area generals, politicians, military and other historically relevant types. And thanks to local efforts, many of the gravestones have been restored.

I parked in what seemed to be the widest section of the lane and said, “we go on foot from here.” 

Of course, I should have gone left, where the oldest memorials live, but the whole cemetery is fascinating and beautiful. The view or Rutland I had in mind, however, was completely obscured by leaves. The guys didn’t care though and we walked around doing math and making up life stories based on the dates were found.

It was nearing the witching hour —in other words — my dinner time, and even though I always bring snacks, my brain was ready to call it a day. We could easily have wandered for hours but we agreed it was time to make moves back towards town before the shopkeepers closed up for the day. 

I offered to drop them downtown and then head back down after they finished dinner for a final leg to their original destination.

With everything safety inside the vehicle, I turned on the engine and started to pull slightly left, towards the exit path. 

And then…CRUNCH.

Going all of 2 miles an hour, I managed to clip a foot stone, directly between my driver’s and back door, ripping off the plastic runner and denting both doors beyond reasonable repair. The crumpling outside meant inside we barely felt a bump, but the sound was telling a far worse story.

I gasped and Dennis quickly got out, grabbed my runners and loaded them to the trunk than quickly directed me back to the safety of the goat path. 

“I’m so sorry, is everyone ok?”

“Oh yeah, we’re fine,” they agreed. 

As we continued on our way, I rehashed and regretted every previous decision inside my head. Tossing the mushroom. Picking up a tails-up penny…

And while I am not a superstitious person, I am a little ‘stitious (shout out Michael Scott!). I guess it’s proof that things don’t always go as you planned.