Children of the night

Me and one fellow rider from Bangladesh (think his name is Ariv) had a long lift from Regent Street to that popular club called Fabric in Farringdon. As soon as we finished by Smithfield Market I was approached by two fellows who asked me to take them to London Bridge. We were negotiating a price for a moment and finally one of them simply sat on my trike. "Do you want to do this?" - His friend asked him, kind of surprised. He looked at me then, produced some notes from his pocket and inquired if I wanted the money upfront. I said I trusted him and he could pay me once we arrived. He thanked me and shook my hand. Off we went. As I started the guy who sat on the rickshaw first yelled roughly: "Pump it!!!" I didn't like it much so I looked him in the eye grinning a warning. He just laughed loudly and extended his hand to shake mine. Only by then I noticed that his face was all covered with bruises as from a recent fighting. I also realised that their eyes glistened in a peculiar way. Both of them were high as fuck. I started to regret I didn't take the money beforehand but it was too late. We only got around the corner when the other fellow (not the one who's face was all bruised) asked: "Do you like cocaine? Do you want some?" I refused politely and felt somewhat relived. They seemed friendly and relaxed, not hyperactively paranoid and aggressive as some people get when on drugs. "It's puro! Good stuff! I got it from my neighbour!" - He insisted but let go when I refused again. He clearly was in a chatty mood, though. "Are you married? Have you got any children? How old are you?" I told him I was 32, no children. "Come on man! I'm 30 and I've got two already. My oldest son is 14!" "You didn't waste your time, huh?" - I smiled at him. "It's in my blood!" - He stated proudly. He paid me without any problems, after we arrived, both of them expressing politely their gratitude.

Marathon Marathon

On Marathon Day me and that percanta Juan Mario waited on Spring Gardens for potential customers. Other riders kept coming and going all the time. It was still early in the afternoon, for me a very unusual time to work. I haven't slept the night before, at all, and many energy drinks were very much welcome. There were crowds of people everywhere but we didn't get much business yet. At some point a rider, known as Satan, arrived. There's something about his looks that strongly recalls Gimli the son of Gloin. Not that I am necessarily a Keanu Reeves kind of looking guy, let's be honest... Satan though is one in a million! (Hail Satan , if you read it!) I was already feeling dizzy out of exhaustion and then Satan started to tell his stories. "Look" he indicated vaguely "It's a Canadian  flag over there! You know? You can do a great outdoor there, in Canada!" "What do you mean?" "For example I read about one Scottish fellow who went from Canada to Alaska in a canoe!" "Really? How very splendid!" My 'enthusiasm' was unlimited. "Yeah! He could fish a huge salmon per day and after a while was so fed up with them that he started to hunt down porcupines! He had to shoot them down from the trees!" "Do porcupines live on the trees?" I asked doubtfully. Satan winked  fiercely and carried on paying no heed to my question. "That guy says that he once saw a porcupine on a tree and that animal was making so much noise up there that it scared off a moose!" I assume it was playing a trumpet, or something... Satan went on about some black bears and another fellow who had a big shotgun but cried every time he spotted a plane, while outdooring. Daedalus and Icarus would surely feel for him... Listening to Satan very soon I felt even dizzier than before...
Meanwhile London Marathon attracted thousands of people. Those who dared to enter the competition were stumbling, limping and hobbling everywhere around. More likely to get some attention than out of a genuine pain, but seriously, it was their five minutes, wasn't it?! I was with them wholeheartedly and ready to help too! Two big streets (Northumberland Ave and Whitehall) by Trafalgar Square got shut to the traffic and the marshals over there were taking their jobs very seriously. Some of them were coping easily and with a smile, some others let the pressure built on them and were literately foaming with rage. Whitehall from Trafalgar Square up to Parliament Square was tightly packed with people. Round, round, round we went on the roundabout plying for hire, mostly to no effect though... That was exactly when I joined that piltrafa Juan Mario on Spring Gardens. So we were stood there, people watching us with curiosity, we watching them with hope, trying to chat them up etc. Suddenly a gent appeared. He was walking a dog, a collie. It didn't seem to be very happy. We were like: "Sir, sir! Your dog looks very tired! Surely it needs a lift" Then he just smiled and said: "Unfortunately it doesn't have any money..." Fortunately soon afterwards the business picked up significantly and we managed to help many tired people uphill and to the tube stations: Green Park, Leicester Square or even Waterloo. It was another opportunity to prove ourselves in a dense traffic. Many appreciated our efforts for in such conditions there's nothing faster in London town than a rickshaw!

Salesman in the rain (snow and sleet)

On that Sunday night it was raining, snowing and sleeting all at once or at very short intervals. The weather here rarely gets as bad. My trike was all covered with rain shields. I use a proper gear too. Goretex jacket, trousers and overshoes keep you dry. My cycling gloves, though, got soaking wet very soon. Having my hands wet in a cold wasn't exactly comfortable but I didn't want to give up either. Cycling gloves are made of such a fabric that they don't feel wet as long as you are worm working out. I kept pedalling vigorously around, trying desperately to catch a lift rather than a cold. There were few rickshaws around and for a good reason - to get drenched in a temperature around zero Celsius is nothing to be sought for. I couldn't get any lift for a long while. Nevertheless I gritted my teeth and carried on. On Piccadilly Circus I passed two conspicuously tanned gents with huge umbrellas. One of them held a vast Union Jack while the other walked proudly with an immense Chelsea FC. As I was passing by I saw them watching me but, somehow, cat got my tongue... All too bad, for my sixth sense screamed: "Those are your customers!" They walked slowly up Regent Street, towards Oxford Circus. "Now or never!" I said to myself, made a quick u-turn, and another, to stop my trike slightly ahead of them, and waited thinking of an appropriate chat up line. I was lucky - there were no other rickshaws around and soon I was approached by them and asked for directions. Those gentlemen were from United States and felt a little bit lost. A good salesman has to play things cool. I explained expertly the whereabouts and advised them on which way they should follow. Next I offered my services assuring that I could, both, take them to wherever they were going, or help them to find a great place of entertainment. My hands were wet, cold and I was broke. It could be my only chance that night... Nevertheless I had to be gentle. Being visibly desperate or even pushy would scare them off. They didn't want to go anywhere but to their hotel. "How much would you charge us? How much is a taxi?" "A taxi would be about ten pounds cheaper but I need to pedal and let me tell you - it's an entirely different experience!" Chelsea FC looked at Union Jack and said:"It's up to you." "Let us talk about it for a while." Suggested Union Jack and they walked a few steps aside. I did my best to look indifferent, looked away, just breathed and tried to think about something else. Then I realised that even though me and them spoke English, their lingo was somehow so much different. As if they were from another planet, or something... They were back in a minute. "Okay, let's do it!" Said Union Jack. "Thank you sir!" "Don't call me sir, I'm Gil!" Saying that he produced a cigar and asked if it was alright to smoke on my rickshaw. It was. "Take it easy! Don't kill yourself!" They advised me as I pedalled on cheerfully. My hands were not cold anymore and it was a long distance lift. I was finally making money, even counting on a tip! They seemed to appreciate the ride. Chatting and laughing all the time, suddenly they broke into a song. We got to Gloucester Road tube station in no time. "Well done!" Exclaimed Gil and shook my hand. "Thank you sir!" "I'm Gil!" He reminded me with a slight reproach and walked on to pee on nearby Burger King. The shorter and even more tanned fellow produced an impressive wad of notes, paid me and gave me an extra fiver... To be honest with you I can ridicule those two Yankees as much as I want, truth is though, that they were two extremely friendly individuals and they made my Sunday night, when it was raining, snowing and sleeting all at once or at very short intervals...