>>today, you are lucky if you can get over 10 mph in most citiesYou should have told that to Khan Tarioul -- I remember his name still -- a taxi driver I encountered in the early '90s.
Some friends and I were wandering at night in the outer Village, on Jane Street, and we suddenly realized we had 15 minutes to catch our bus.
I flagged a cab and told the driver I would give him an extra twenty if he could get us to the Port Authority, south building 8th Avenue side, in ten minutes.
That initiated the most hair-raising, speed crazed ride I have ever experienced. At twice the limit, he snaked through the slower Village traffic, at one point going up on a curb to pass a double-parked vehicle, until he hit Sixth avenue. The it was rocket time, weaving from lane to lane at 60 mph, squealing to a stop at 23rd and making a left across three lanes of traffic, his horn imitating Debussy's repeated note etude, through a red light at Seventh, into a squealing, braking sliding turn up Eighth Avenue. Then he floored it, passing everyone, even passing a flashing police car in pursuit, cutting against four lanes to park in front of the PABT. "We in time," she smiled.
After I unclenched my cold cramped hands from the armrests, resisting the urge to vomit, I crawled out and paid him fare and tip. We made the bus with five minutes to spare.
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