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An Evening Spent Ferrying Drunks
“Is anyone here an expert on convertible
Mercedes?” Outside of a Merc dealer
convention, there aren’t many gatherings
that would get a show of hands at this
question. In the offices of One for the
Road, it looks even more unlikely; the staff
resembling what many of them are:
struggling actors. But, amazingly, most
know how to close the soft top of a 50
grand Merc SL.
One of company’s drivers has picked up a
client’s car, and has radioed the office for
help in shutting the complicated electronic
roof. “Put it in neutral, then twist the handle
at the top of the windscreen,” is the advice.
It’s not that amazing really; when you’ve
driven the range of cars these guys have, it’
s basic knowledge.
It was this access to flashy motors that got
me thinking about joining them for a night.
I’d seen an intriguing ad in my local paper
(“Drivers required to drive a wide range of
cars and ride extraordinary mopeds”) and
heard their praises sung by drivers who’d
found a service that hugely relieved the
hassle of running a car in London.
“You drink, we drive” is the slogan, and it’s
as simple as that. Drive to the pub, go way
over the alcohol limit and then call up the
moped guys. They come out in a fold-up
Honda Monkey Bike, stow it in your boot
and drive you home. It’s dearer than a
taxi, but works out cheaper than cabbing it
both ways.
Call James, the ad said, so I did. Turns out
of course that One for the Road won’t let
newcomers loose on expensive cars straight
off the bat; so I join the training course,
along with two others hoping for part-time
shifts. The pay at £6/hr isn’t great but the
shifts are flexible, hence the high number
of actors among the company’s 47 drivers.
The first blow to my gung-ho enthusiasm is
finding out that Monkey Bikes have proper
motorcycle gears. They might be under
50cc and therefore legal to drive on an
ordinary car licence, but this is far cry from
twist ’n’ go moped riding on carefree
holidays (so is rush-hour London, come to
that).
The next blow comes when I see how
ridiculous the other two look on the bikes
during the confidence-building ride around
the company car park. Minus rider, the
chromed-up Hondas are funky: imagine a
bonsai Harley trail bike. But the conversion
to make them foldable into four sections
puts the seat right back, and riders look
like they’re all set for a record-breaking
number of circus girls to climb on board.
And you can be sent on it anywhere within
the M25.
After a briefing about the main dangers
(unreadable black taxis and errant
pedestrians) I’m sent out with an A-Z to
prove my alacrity at reaching addresses
given to me over the radio. On the
weekends, drivers won’t return to the
Battersea base until the shift ends at
around 3.30am, so it’s important to be able
to process address info via the radio.
The Monkey Bike feels good on the road;
its thick, squashy tyres giving it a
surefootedness. It’s a bit disconcerting
being so low down (big dogs could lick my
face), but I’m very comfortable. I’m
increasingly more confident (or cocky) in
traffic, but poor map-reading skills drag out
the address-finding, and I’m outside the
time limit.
Next up is a lesson on breaking down the
bike. The whole thing slots into three bags
which, the company claims, will fit into any
car, even a Mini. Ivan, our teacher,
recounts the time a motorist saw him
standing over the bike parts and offered to
take him to hospital, thinking he’d been in
a collision. Most riders have had some sort
of accident, but are quick to blame
themselves, not the Monkey.
After a quick test to establish I can actually
drive a car, I’m ready to face the drunken
punters and their motors. My appetite’s
been whetted by some eye-widening stories
from the regular drivers. Clients have
handed over keys for everything from a
Ferrari 360 Modena to a Bentley Mulsanne
Turbo. The Maserati 3200GT is popular in
the office and there are tales told with
relish of Lancer Evo VI owners telling drivers
to floor it. As for the punters, Robin Asquith
would have ditched his window-cleaning
round just to get the offers of sex and
drugs the company’s drivers have passed
up (so they say).
Time to generate some stories of my own.
My first client is drinking in a Wimbledon
pub, so I grab my radio and set off. On the
way, dreaming of flash motors, I spot a
rider from Scooterman, the opposition. I
give a curt nod. I find the pub and radio in:
what car am I looking for? A K-reg Peugeot
405. I think maybe he’s joking, but I can
see it, complete with birdshit overcoat.
There’s no sex or drugs, either, just a
pleasant chat about football as I drive the
guy back to his house. The £5 tip is
generous; way off the £120 record but
more than the usual zero from city types.
The 405 sets the tone for my shift and I
leave without tasting the high life. But I’ve
got a foot in the door. A few more shifts
and it’ll me they’ll calling on for advice on
convertible Mercs.
One for the Road: 020 79244141
Scooterman: 0870 2426999
Mercedes?” Outside of a Merc dealer
convention, there aren’t many gatherings
that would get a show of hands at this
question. In the offices of One for the
Road, it looks even more unlikely; the staff
resembling what many of them are:
struggling actors. But, amazingly, most
know how to close the soft top of a 50
grand Merc SL.
One of company’s drivers has picked up a
client’s car, and has radioed the office for
help in shutting the complicated electronic
roof. “Put it in neutral, then twist the handle
at the top of the windscreen,” is the advice.
It’s not that amazing really; when you’ve
driven the range of cars these guys have, it’
s basic knowledge.
It was this access to flashy motors that got
me thinking about joining them for a night.
I’d seen an intriguing ad in my local paper
(“Drivers required to drive a wide range of
cars and ride extraordinary mopeds”) and
heard their praises sung by drivers who’d
found a service that hugely relieved the
hassle of running a car in London.
“You drink, we drive” is the slogan, and it’s
as simple as that. Drive to the pub, go way
over the alcohol limit and then call up the
moped guys. They come out in a fold-up
Honda Monkey Bike, stow it in your boot
and drive you home. It’s dearer than a
taxi, but works out cheaper than cabbing it
both ways.
Call James, the ad said, so I did. Turns out
of course that One for the Road won’t let
newcomers loose on expensive cars straight
off the bat; so I join the training course,
along with two others hoping for part-time
shifts. The pay at £6/hr isn’t great but the
shifts are flexible, hence the high number
of actors among the company’s 47 drivers.
The first blow to my gung-ho enthusiasm is
finding out that Monkey Bikes have proper
motorcycle gears. They might be under
50cc and therefore legal to drive on an
ordinary car licence, but this is far cry from
twist ’n’ go moped riding on carefree
holidays (so is rush-hour London, come to
that).
The next blow comes when I see how
ridiculous the other two look on the bikes
during the confidence-building ride around
the company car park. Minus rider, the
chromed-up Hondas are funky: imagine a
bonsai Harley trail bike. But the conversion
to make them foldable into four sections
puts the seat right back, and riders look
like they’re all set for a record-breaking
number of circus girls to climb on board.
And you can be sent on it anywhere within
the M25.
After a briefing about the main dangers
(unreadable black taxis and errant
pedestrians) I’m sent out with an A-Z to
prove my alacrity at reaching addresses
given to me over the radio. On the
weekends, drivers won’t return to the
Battersea base until the shift ends at
around 3.30am, so it’s important to be able
to process address info via the radio.
The Monkey Bike feels good on the road;
its thick, squashy tyres giving it a
surefootedness. It’s a bit disconcerting
being so low down (big dogs could lick my
face), but I’m very comfortable. I’m
increasingly more confident (or cocky) in
traffic, but poor map-reading skills drag out
the address-finding, and I’m outside the
time limit.
Next up is a lesson on breaking down the
bike. The whole thing slots into three bags
which, the company claims, will fit into any
car, even a Mini. Ivan, our teacher,
recounts the time a motorist saw him
standing over the bike parts and offered to
take him to hospital, thinking he’d been in
a collision. Most riders have had some sort
of accident, but are quick to blame
themselves, not the Monkey.
After a quick test to establish I can actually
drive a car, I’m ready to face the drunken
punters and their motors. My appetite’s
been whetted by some eye-widening stories
from the regular drivers. Clients have
handed over keys for everything from a
Ferrari 360 Modena to a Bentley Mulsanne
Turbo. The Maserati 3200GT is popular in
the office and there are tales told with
relish of Lancer Evo VI owners telling drivers
to floor it. As for the punters, Robin Asquith
would have ditched his window-cleaning
round just to get the offers of sex and
drugs the company’s drivers have passed
up (so they say).
Time to generate some stories of my own.
My first client is drinking in a Wimbledon
pub, so I grab my radio and set off. On the
way, dreaming of flash motors, I spot a
rider from Scooterman, the opposition. I
give a curt nod. I find the pub and radio in:
what car am I looking for? A K-reg Peugeot
405. I think maybe he’s joking, but I can
see it, complete with birdshit overcoat.
There’s no sex or drugs, either, just a
pleasant chat about football as I drive the
guy back to his house. The £5 tip is
generous; way off the £120 record but
more than the usual zero from city types.
The 405 sets the tone for my shift and I
leave without tasting the high life. But I’ve
got a foot in the door. A few more shifts
and it’ll me they’ll calling on for advice on
convertible Mercs.
One for the Road: 020 79244141
Scooterman: 0870 2426999