If you have the privilege of stepping into Nicole Hood’s car in Austin, just remember a few key rules: Wear your seat belt. This ride is a safe space. And, if possible, try not to forget your tarantula.
About that: A few years ago, on Halloween, she was driving a couple home from a costume party. After dropping them off safe and sound, she received a phone call. The man on the other end of the line told her, “I’m the worst dad in the world.” He had taken his son’s pet tarantula as an accessory to his Bond villain costume and left it in a container in the door of her car.
Nicole, a mom herself, understood the conundrum. She also understood that tarantulas are big, hairy, scary spiders. She told the father she’d come back, “But I’m not checking for it.” She circled back, and sure enough, the rider found the pet/prop right where he left it. “I’m now the best dad in the world,” he told Nicole. “And my kid will never know.”
This admittedly extreme example demonstrates what endears Nicole to her riders: friendliness, a willingness to go the extra mile (she’s the driver who’s returned the most lost items in Austin), and a motherly sense of care for all who ride in her car. “My car is always a safe space,” says Nicole, a single mom in her 50s. “I drive Friday and Saturday nights — I want to keep drunk drivers off the road.” She’s serious about it, too: According to Lyft data, she has done more late-night weekend rides than any other driver in Austin. She’s so beloved by Austin’s vibrant LGBTQ+ community that many members consider her a sort of mom.
It’s the culmination of a long journey for Nicole, one that begins with learning to drive a stick shift with her father in the notoriously hilly and hairpin-full San Francisco. “He said if I could master [driving a stick in] San Francisco, I’d never have a problem in my life,” she says. However, that prophecy didn’t quite turn out to be true.
Nicole’s younger son passed away a little over seven years ago due to complications of diabetes. Living in Austin — along with the flexibility of driving with Lyft — allows her the opportunity to be an activist at the Capitol, on behalf of making insulin affordable for all. “I can’t have what people call a regular job,” she says. “I’m not going to get over this. So it’s nice having the flexibility, being able to do what I need to do.”
Her time in the city has turned her into something of an Austin travel guide. She sources her recommendations from a trusted panel of experts: her riders. “They’re the best reviews you’re ever going to get,” she says. “They tell you straight up if a place is good or bad. If I get people telling me a place is bad, I will never recommend it.” Among spots in the good category: Barton Springs, Austin’s famous spring-fed pool (“the water is always cold”); the city’s botanical garden, both in Zilker Metropolitan Park (“you can rent bikes and go on the trails; you can rent kayaks and go out on the river”); and, for families in the summer, there’s the roughly 1.5 million bats that migrate through every year. “We celebrate the bats,” she says. “We have carnivals for them and festivals.”
It might sound spooky, but for a single mom who has seen it all — including the occasional abandoned arachnid — it’s all part of what makes her adopted hometown special. “I love Austin,” she says. “That’s something that I tell people all the time: ‘I love this city.’ There is just something about Austin. I will not leave. I will end up dying here. It is a good city with really, really good people in it. And they’re a lot of fun.”
Which brings us back to rule number one, which also endears her to riders: “There are some people that remember me because I always tell them to put their seatbelt on,” she says. “They’re like, ‘No other driver ever tells us to wear our seatbelt.’ I’ve had people argue with me about seatbelts. I will make people get out of my car if they don’t put one on. It’s just that simple.” Plus, you can’t compete with her maternal instincts. “I’m a mom,” she says. “And mom mode will always win.”