Tag Archives: Pedicabs

Seattle in a truck 

I arrived in Seattle less than two weeks ago and thus far I have a job, friends, and a car to sleep in. The job I got on my second day in town, my best friend is the first person I met in town, and the car in my friends car. The car is a lifted truck by which I have made a bedding in the bed and sleep fine. I don’t have any forms of identification and going from a non-identified person to an identified person is not easy to do in the US and aside from all the tedious amount of running around to different government buildings, I am doing fairly fucking awesome. I know almost nothing about this city which makes a large part of my experience completely novel and so I am like a baby that has learned how to use the bus system. It’s kinda fucking great.

The first thing I did after getting off the bus in Seattle was to head down to the pedicab garage to get a job. I have worked pedicabs all across the country and know how easy it can be to get a job. In most cities there is a licensing process and maybe a letter of hire, but here in Seattle it was a process of getting on a bike and going out to make money. All anyone would have to do would be to find the manager and you got yourself a job. The first weekend of working cabs we worked a Huskies football game. There was quite a bit of bitching about how cabbers did not make enough money but we all bought beer and got drunk that night. I was tired but happy that night.

Downtown Seattle you can find me on the waterfront most of the time. There are only a few bars that card regularly and without i.d. I am unable to join the mainstream of people that frequent the weekend barseen but I still frequently go out for drinks and explore the old brick buildings that remind me of St. Paul. Got punched in the head the other night in a mosh pit at a punk rock show. It was awesome. Dude Juicy Karkass rocked all of our worlds. Other than that it’s been city car adventures and hanging out with the dudes.

In the evening there is a regular crowd of dudes drinking beer outside the pedicab garage. We are talking about 5-10 pedicabbers who are in their mid thirties and just like talking. Most of them live out of a truck or van and I found myself at home on the first night. We trade a lot of stories and it’s fun to hang out with them and get drunk but no chicks gets old quick and so I am working on branching out and doing my own thing a lot of the time.

Apparently Seattle has one of the largest populations of people that live out of their vehicles. This is exactly what I am looking to do. I found a great deal on a Subaru Outback and will buy it as soon as I have enough money. The weird part about having enough money is that I do have enough money but the bank won’t let me access all of it without i.d. so at the moment I am withdrawing 300 a day until I have enough. It should be by the end of the week.

Back to the beginning; moments after getting into Seattle I met a guy that is working on a bus. After a bit of chit chat through a window he invites me up and shows me his projected home. This guy buys busses and then lives on then while he does the seats, tile flooring, cedar ceiling, a kitchen, bathroom, the works. After he finishes the bus he lives and tours out of it until he finds a buyer. This is the guy that is turning into my best friend here in Seattle and constantly he is making me want to buy my own bus. It’s a tricky situation at this point for the reason of me not really know what I want to do with my life…

We all could feel the first day of fall two days ago. Most of the cabbers are not fond of Seattle winters and the back of the truck is getting cold at night which makes me wonder what I will want to do for this coming winter. I have two options in mind that I will lay out before you. I want to hear what y’all think.

1. Live in Seattle for a few months then sell the Subaru and dip out to Australia like I had originally planned. Australian adventure!

2. Stay in the states. Buy a bus. Prepare for pedicabbing the festival season this coming season. Build a bus, build a cab, start stocking up on the deemsters, get connected with the pedicabbers in charge of the festivals.

Life is great. We can manifest anything we choose. It takes work but with goals so grand can’t really do anything but be compelled into action. Almost like something greater has taken control of our bodies and, like puppets we guided to sacred places. 


A biker taxi they called themselves, or pedicabs as the name assigned to them by the men they worked for. These brave men and women who worked as pedicab drivers would scour the streets of the downtowns looking for a tired footstep or a group of party people who might be in need of a scoop and a shoot along whatever road they travel. The people paid well and the work was sweet. Biking a surplus of 40 miles a day has a way of making one sleep harder and taste the food more, but it’s a dead end job that only ever serves to pays the bills.

One night a young boy pedicab driver picked up a wicked elderly man off the sidewalk. The man demanded to be taken to the other side of town. He promised to pay well and the boy agreed. Along the way the man jeered and yelled at the boy to go faster and work harder. The boy was innocent and tried his best to meet the man’s requests.

When the boy and man were in the midst of climbing the steepest hill the old man called out to a bystander “Hop in, there is enough room for the both of us.” With a cackle like the devil another fully grown man hopped in the cart. The boy was in his lowest gear, peddling as hard as he could and still the cart would hardly move. “Another!” The man cried out pointing a young female who had stopped to watch. She eagerly jumped on the laps of the two men in the cart as they continued to climb.

The riders cackled with excitement seeing the boy struggle to climb the hill and in time a crowd gathered. Windows where opening to investigate the commotion the riders were causing. Encouraged by the first man’s enthusiasm the crowd joined in with the jeering. Strangers started jumping into the cart uninvited. Slower and slower the boy climbed the hill. “We will break him!” Cried another man jumping into the cart. The cart had become too heavy for the boy and finally he could climb no further.

Cackles came from the first man and shrieks of laughter came from the crown. “A stick!” someone cried out handing the first man a small piece of wood. “What do we pay you for!” said the first man who began whipping the boy with his new tool. As much as the boy struggled he could not move the cart which by this time was filled with newcomers who had joined in the fun.

A young child and his mother stood a distance off watching the scene unfold. Seeing the struggle the child hugged his mother’s leg and asked “Why are they doing this mommy? Don’t they see that he can go no further?”
“Let’s go sweaty.” His mother softly replied and took her child away from the biker and his spectators.

“Grab some more sticks!” Cried a woman from a second story window, and three men with what resembled more of a log than a stick began beating the boy who rolled off his bike to the ground where he curled up like a dead spider.

Like Hyenas who have had their fill the passengers began getting out of the cart. Putting arms around one another, laughing they walked away into the night and the crowd dispersed leaving the boy lying on the ground.