I’ve driven for various rideshare apps part-time for the past 4 years. I’ve decided to chronicle a few stories each week that show the diversity of my passengers and the city I drive in, Austin, Texas.

While I occasionally drive on weeknights, the majority of my hours on the road are on the weekend. 

This weekend the big event was the Rolling Stones concert. We have tons of concerts in Austin, and dropping people off and picking them up is usually not a big deal. Most music venues are near downtown, nestled among restaurants, bars, nightclubs and any other places a person is headed toward on a Friday or Saturday.

The Rolling Stones, however, were playing at CIrcuit of the Americas, or COTA. This venue sits about 20 miles southeast of downtown and is in a pretty rural area with only two lane roads in and out.

COTA rides aren’t necessarily coveted, but I’ve done them before and have never experienced anything like this night, except during the Formula One races.

I’m bopping around town doing rides here and there trying to just get in about 10 rides so I can call it a night. Not trying to break any records, just a quick 10, right.

I get a ping to pick up at P. Terry’s, an Austin specific fast food joint. A mother and teenage son duo get in the back seat and I see they are going to COTA, but they’ve got the map set to some place that is only 1.5 miles away. I ask them if they are going to the Rolling Stones concert, and they reply that they are. 

“Well,” I say. “You have it mapped to somewhere else, Circuit of the Americas is about 20 miles away from here. Could you please change the location to the correct one?”

My rider agrees and finally gets the right address loaded up.

When she sees the fare is going to be $67 she is not happy. “Sixty-seven dollars? I guess there’s nothing I can do about it now,” she remarks to her son. 

“Great,” I think, “I guess I shouldn’t expect a tip if this fare surprises her.”

Turns out my passengers are in town from Chicago. They are doing a little tour of Texas through Houston, Austin and San Antonio, but the concert is their main reason for this trip.

“What time do the Rolling Stones go on?” I ask.

“7 p.m.” says mom.

As we hit the interstate I feel good about getting them to the show and getting out of COTA. 

“Have you guys seen them before?”

“No, these are the first tickets we could find,” says mom.

As I look at the GPS I see that it doesn’t have me taking the usually exit to hit the highway that heads east toward the airport. I think it’s weird but am not too worried as we pass red lights stopped along the swooping overpass that leads overhead.

Suddenly, mom and I notice that the ETA to get to the concert is 47 minutes away. 

“There must be some traffic. Don’t worry, we are being rerouted, you should get there on time,” I try to assure my passengers.

As I continue to drive it becomes apparent that the ETA isn’t changing and more and more cars are traveling on our route than would be normal. 

A few miles later it becomes apparent that we are in horrendous, bumper-to-bumper  traffic, and we are not going to be at COTA at 7 p.m. The anxiety coming from the backseat is wafts toward me like a wave of noxious fumes.

“Do you know if there is an opening act?” I ask. “Surely the Stones won’t be going on right at 7?”

We do a little Googling and discover there is an opening act, so that buys my cargo at least an hour to get to their seats.

As we creep closer to the venue, riders start abandoning their Ubers and Lyfts about 2 miles away from the show. My rider says she would if she thought she could walk that far.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “I’ll drop you wherever you want.”

As we finally got onto COTA grounds I began to notice just how old some of these concertgoers were. Cotton-tipped heads started exiting vehicles left and right. 

I commented to the mother how going to this concert in these circumstances would have been too much for me to deal with at 40, much less 20-to-30 years older. You had to admire the older fans.

I was finally able to deposit my riders at their requested spot 2 hours and 14 minutes after picking them up. As they gathered their belongings, mom slipped me a 20 and thanked me.

• 
  

The next day the Rolling Stones were still in the air. I had Classic Vinyl on Sirius XM and was jammin’ along to “Honky Tonk Woman.”

At this point it’s about 2 p.m. and it’s already been quite a day with rides to the airport when I get a pickup at the Sheraton.

Here I picked up Tammy, a 60-something I assumed is a lesbian. She’s a tad gruff and just has that older hippie lesbian vibe about her.

As I hoist Tammy’s suitcase into the back of my Rogue, I notice her neon yellow Rolling Stones T-shirt. She informs me that before we head to the airport, she needs to make a stop to pick up some food and a sweater she left behind at the place she had brunch the day before.

I tell her no problem and we head on our way.

I ask Tammy how the concert was and she says it was amazing.

“Did you have any problem getting there?” I inquire.

Tammy says she didn’t have any issues getting to the concert, but her group got to COTA about 3:30 p.m. to tailgate and possibly catch soundcheck.

About this time, I realize that Tammy is a pretty hardcore Rolling Stones fan.

“How many shows have you been to?” I ask after she informs me she is from New Jersey and will be traveling from Austin on to Hollywood, Florida to see the Stones perform their last show of this tour.

“Take a guess,” Tammy implore.

“Ummmm, 20 something?” I hazard a guess.

“No, 242,” she says.

“Wow, what is the weirdest place you’ve seen them?”

“Istanbul in 1998,” she answers with not much hesitation.

“You saw them in Istanbul?” 

“What year did you first see them?”

“1981.”

“That’s the year I was born,” I say.

I then tell Tammy how the night before I was talking with another group of passengers about MIck Jagger and how we wouldn’t have the energy he has to put on a show and he is 78.

“We were trying to decide if he still has sex appeal,” I tell her.

“Oh yes, he does,” she says.

Somehow I believe that even if Tammy is a lesbian, she wouldn’t be for Mick Jagger.