Garrett Camp was pissed off. It was 2008—the twenty-first century—in one of the richest, most forward-thinking cities in the entire world, and he couldn’t catch a taxi in under a half hour. At only seven-by-seven square miles, San Francisco was small enough that one could survive without owning a car, but still large enough for a person to be annoyed they didn’t have one. He could always bike across the city, though a six-speed didn’t work so well climbing up steep hills like those on Divisadero Street. And a bike wasn’t going to help him get home from a bar at two o’clock in the morning—at
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