Drunk Russians tip very well, apparently

I drift past another spot that's good for ride, McFadden's. I have never been in any of the nightclubs or bars where I usually pick up rides, and I know I never need to. I don't really like bars, and everyone is wasted and looking to hook up. Not my scene.
I stop in front and two drunk Russian men about my age run up to me. "Oh my god! Oh my god, this is so cool!" they shout.
"Would you like a ride?" I ask.
"How much to go around the block?"
"Five bucks?" I respond. They shout joyfully and jump in. As we round the corner, they cannot contain their excitement.
"Holy shit, this is the coolest thing ever! Holy crap! Do you want a drink?!" I look back at them and one is pointing his half full pint glass toward me. How the hell did they even get it out of the bar?
"Uh, no, thanks, I can't drink while I work."
"Fuck, this is the most incredible thing! We pay you double! We pay you twenty dollars!" I laugh and tell them, that for that, I'll take them around an extra block.
"Holy shit, we pay you triple!" They shout. I wonder if they mean it.
We finish riding around the block and they stumble out, giddy and cracking up. "How much do I owe you?" one asks.
"Well," I say "at one point you said you'd give me twenty bucks."
"Here you go!" he says, shoving a twenty into my hand "and here's a little extra!" He hands me a small wad of ones.
Behind me, another peddicabber from the other company, Leonard, pulls up. One of the men points at him excitedly. "Now we get in his cab! How much to go around the block three times!?"
"Uh, a hundred dollars," Leonard replies with an unenthusiastic shrug.
"Ok, we do it!" the men shout and clamor into the competition's bright orange cab.
"What!?" I shout, half joking "you're gonna pay him a hundred bucks!? No, get back in my cab!" But they've already pulled away.
I learn later that night that Leonard wasn't counting his money, but he was pretty sure the drunk Russians had payed him at least $200 to shuttle them around for an hour.

Use a condom

As I cruised down 3rd Ave past Greek Cuisina, one of Portland's trashier clubs, I see a thin, blonde girl waving me down. She looks like your average downtown Portland clubber, and she's very drunk.
"Take me to Dirty," she slurs "and if my lesbian girlfriend tries to stop you, just keep going."
I laugh weakly "ok.." Suddenly, her friend, a brunette, comes running across the street.
"Laura!" she screams "get the fuck out of that cab or I'm never fucking talking to you again!"
"Yeah, right," Laura says.
"I mean it!" The brunette continues to scream. I'm not really sure what to do, so I just sit in front, half facing them and not moving.
Laura touches my back and says "pedal, pedal," but her friend is still screaming so I don't move at all.
"I'll never take any of your phone calls, I'll never answer your e-mails, nothing! We're going home, Laura!"
"I want to go the next club!" Laura screams back at her.
They continue for a couple more minutes while I try to decide what to do. Finally, after Laura feeblely tells me to pedal again, I start moving. Her friend backs away with a look of extreme anger and anguish.
"Oh, fucking fine, that's how it's going to be! Fine!" she shouts as we ride away.
Laura slumps back in the seat as we move toward the club. "I'm in AA," she tells me. "I'm an alcoholic and I'm waaaaasted."
"Oh..." I say with a nervous laugh. I suddenly feel like I know exactly why her friend was so upset, and exactly why her friend will forgive her next week. She's probably done this a hundred times, probably tried so hard to stop, but she just can't. "Uh, are you and your friend okay?"
"She's in lesbian love with me. She calls me every morning. She's obsessed with me. And I'm in love with this guy! I don't fucking care anymore. I don't fucking care."
"Is she your best friend?" I ask.
She sighs loudly. "Yeah," she says "yeah."
"You should try and make up with her," I tell her gently.
"You're right." We round the corner onto the block that Dirty Nightclub is on. She's on her cell phone with the man she's meeting and tells him she'll be there in a second. She snaps it shut and continues complaining about her friend. "She's sleeping with a married man, too. It's so fucked! I'm not fucking doing that."
We arrive at the club and she stumbles towards the man she was coming to see, who is clearly as drunk as she is. I ask her for ten bucks, and she hands me five before telling the man to give me some more. He protests that he never carries cash and I wave her off. "It's ok," I say and start riding away. As I turn the corner I shout "stay safe! Use a condom!"

the beginning

It started on a lark, really. My best friend came to visit Portland for a few weeks, and we were downtown, wandering around the First Thursday gallery openings. She's been a pedicab driver in Chicago for several years, and she's pretty much addicted to it. We saw a pedicab cruise by and she chased it down, and started chatting with the driver. By the next afternoon, we were on our way downtown so she could do a test ride with Portland's new pedicab company. On the phone, she mentioned that she had a friend with her, and the owner replied "well, she can come, too!"

A few hours later, that very evening, I found myself careening a tricycle through the streets of downtown Portland. At first I thought I'd just do it occasionally to make extra money and keep my legs strong, but within 2 weeks I'd given my notice at my old job. The future looks bright.