Gabe, a third-generation San Franciscan, says he grew up with Nancy Pelosi's children and went to high school with Gavin Newsom, and now he's a Director as they are politicians– it's in his blood. He has been operating taxis, Ubers or Lyfts since 1995 and even helped organize a taxi worker strike in the late 1990s. He has also written about driving, driving or riding motorcycles over the past twenty years. And if you think we're being crazy when it comes to car chase movies, Gabe was a machine gunner for the US Marines during the first Gulf War – so at least he's ex-military. He drives a gray Hyundai Ioniq 5 EV (9/10, WIRED recommends) and his military service ribbons are attached to the dashboard. There's also a 100-year-old ukulele sticking out of the center console.
The chase begins as planned: one of us stops a Waymo a few blocks away, drives it to the edge of the parking lot, then heads out to join the others in our chase vehicle. “You know what you have to say, right?” Gabe says from the driver's seat as we rush to buckle up. WIRED flashes.
“Come on!” Gabe says. 'Haven't you ever seen old movies? You jump in the cab and say, “Follow that car!”
But the Waymo just sits there. For two painful minutes. Enough time for us to stare uneasily at our prey – a vehicle whose shape is reminiscent of a cartoon shark with a set of spinning doodads in its skin – as it stares at us through its 29 cameras and five lidars and maps our contours.
“It looks shy,” says Gabe.
'It's an embarrassment. It's so embarrassing,” says WIRED. “He knows he is being deceived.”
Then, at 10:42 a.m., the Waymo starts moving. WIRED shouts: “Follow that car!”
Less than a minute later, Gabe sighs. “I'm not used to driving so slowly.”
Before we go Let's get something else out of the way: Driving around in a self-driving vehicle, especially for the first time, is an instantly cool experience. It starts like a ride in an amusement park: the empty gondola slowly rises, you get in and close the door. Then it becomes the opposite of an amusement park ride. No tension. No hitches. No clatter. Just you, some soft black leather, a standard computer voice and – for now – a steering wheel that turns ghostly back and forth.
