When fantasizing about what we want to be when we grow up, it’s rare to choose to become a driver in any other capacity than racing, but I chose this as a way to make some quick cash.

I never imagined I would love driving people from place to place. In six and a half years, I gave over 10,000 rides, met more than 30,000 people, and moved from the glamour and glitz of San Francisco, California, to the snow-capped mountains in the high desert of New Mexico.

I saw things most people only dream about, met interesting people from the rich and famous to the criminal element, and turned my back on those who wanted to use my car for more than a ride.

Two greatest fears became reality. I had to decide whether to drive my car off a mountain or succumb to the intimidations of a passenger bent on mayhem. I learned early on that if I was going to survive as a driver, I had to develop “Rules.” But rules are no good when you have to ask your passengers, “Are You Going to Kill Me?”

I’ve had my life threatened by a psychopathic murderer, a machete-wielding nut case, and a series of dangerous, wild animals. In the end, I wouldn’t change a second of the ride.