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Frustrated with crowded resorts, more skiers risk avalanche hazards in backcountry
MAMMOTH LAKES, Calif. — On a clear, cold day in mid-February, we had spent hours on backcountry skis trudging up and across a remote mountainside in the eastern Sierra when we noticed that the trees directly above us were much smaller than the others we had passed along the way.
Still panting from the workout, I looked down the steep slope — something I had carefully avoided up to that point — and saw more suspiciously small trees stretching below us.
“Avalanche,” said my ski partner, Howie Schwartz, a veteran backcountry guide. “Huge one, back in the ’80s, reached all the way down to the valley.”
Schwartz demonstrates how to use probes designed to punch holes in avalanche debris to make contact with a buried ski partner.
(Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)
To his trained eye, the nearly vertical strip of new growth was a telling sign that we were slogging across the high-alpine version of a bowling alley. On the wrong day, tons of snow piled on the ridge a thousand feet above could release without warning and crash down like a wave that, instead of washing over us, would bury us and quickly solidify into the consistency of concrete.
The odds were firmly in our favor that day: There had been no new snow recently or abrupt changes in the temperature. Still, it was best to not linger, Schwartz said, with a nod to make sure I followed him across to the taller trees.
Avalanches are an unavoidable fact of life in the mountains. Two days after our trip, following a storm that dumped 6 feet of snow in 36 hours, a pair of ski patrollers were caught in an avalanche at nearby Mammoth Mountain resort. One was extracted without serious injury; the other was hospitalized but did not survive.
On the same day, two small avalanches struck at Palisades Tahoe. Nobody was injured, but a year ago four people were trapped and one died in an avalanche at the resort.
As shocking and sad as those cases are, they happened on some of the most aggressively protected slopes in the world. Large commercial ski resorts such as Mammoth and Palisades employ patrol teams that go out every morning before the lifts open to test the stability of the snowpack.
A growing number of skiers are seeking out backcountry slopes, trading the relative safety of crowded resorts for the silence and solitude of untrammeled runs.
(Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)
If anything looks suspicious, they deliberately trigger avalanches — using explosives for big stashes of snow, using their skis and body weight for smaller ones — in the hope that no unexpected slides will occur when paying customers are enjoying themselves downhill.
But if things can go wrong at carefully managed resorts, imagine how much risk there is in the backcountry where nobody patrols, cellphone signals are spotty and, even if you can make a call, help might take hours to reach you.
On Monday, a 46-year-old backcountry skier was killed in an avalanche just south of Lake Tahoe. Due to what deputies called “extremely hazardous” conditions, it took an El Dorado County search-and-rescue team more than 24 hours to retrieve the body. They had to use explosives to set off avalanches in the area before it was safe for them to go in, according to a sheriff’s department post on Facebook.
In the last decade, at least 245 people in the U.S. have been killed by avalanches — the vast majority in the backcountry, according to data compiled by the Colorado Avalanche Information Center and the U.S. Forest Service. Some victims were hikers and snowmobilers, but more than half were skiers.
That’s a shocking number given how small the community of hardcore backcountry skiers is. Seemingly everyone who makes the sport a significant part of their lives has lost at least one friend to an avalanche.
“I know of far, far too many who have died,” said Schwartz, 52, who has been guiding professionally for three decades and helped design the curriculum for the country’s most commonly taught avalanche training course. “The longer you do this, the more people you know who die, even professionals, even other guides.”
Schwartz, left, and Dolan install climbing skins, synthetic material that makes it possible to climb to the top of a run wearing backcountry skis.
(Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)
Despite the obvious risks, there has been a steady rise in the number of people heading to the backcountry to “earn their turns” in recent years. There was a surge 2020 after ski resorts shut down due to COVID-19, said Steve Mace, director of the Eastern Sierra Avalanche Center, which publishes daily updates on the weather and avalanche risk in California’s high country.
But the number of backcountry skiers didn’t plummet after the pandemic emergency ended, Mace said. One reason is the eye-opening cost of lift tickets: A single day of skiing at Mammoth can cost as much as $219 this season. Another is the crowds: Despite the high cost, standing in a lift line on a holiday weekend can feel a lot like staring at taillights in rush hour on the 405 Freeway.
And then there is the resort vibe. When 19th century California naturalist John Muir famously said, “The mountains are calling and I must go,” he couldn’t possibly have imagined slushy parking lots crowded with Teslas and short tempers, or bars selling $15 beers.
The allure — some would say siren song — of the backcountry is the absence of everything resorts represent.
Even on the most hectic days within the boundaries of Mammoth Mountain, the untouched, unnamed slopes nearby offer precious silence and solitude. With no ski lifts you have to work a lot harder, but there’s something purifying in the effort it takes to climb hundreds of vertical feet to reach the top of a perfect line. The descent through unimaginably light, untracked powder is the reward.
On a good day — with a knowledgeable partner and the avalanche odds in your favor — all it costs is a few calories and a bit of sweat.
“The longer you do this, the more people you know who die, even professionals, even other guides,” Schwartz says of backcountry skiing.
(Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)
With all of that in mind, Schwartz and I drove to the end of Old Mammoth Road on a recent weekday, where the gleaming vacation homes end and the landscape turns steeply up toward the Sierra crest.
We glued “skins” to the bottoms of our skis, synthetic material that allows the skis to glide forward through the snow but stops them from sliding backward, making uphill travel possible. We clicked into bindings that held only our toes in place for the uphill, and then, with a quick adjustment, locked our heels in place for the downhill run.
The temperature was well below freezing, but we left most of our layers in our backpacks, because the uphill portion would be an intense workout. We didn’t want to get soaked in sweat on the way up only to freeze on the way down.
Our safety gear included avalanche beacons, devices about the size of an old Blackberry that can send and receive electronic signals. We strapped them to our chests so that if one of us got buried in an avalanche, the other would, theoretically, be able to find the beacon.
We also had probes: long, thin sticks that unfold like tent poles and are designed to punch holes in avalanche debris to make contact with a buried partner. You hope you don’t poke someone in the eye, but if you’re using one, it’s a life-or-death emergency, so it’s no time to be squeamish. We also had collapsible shovels to help us dig if we were lucky enough to find our friend.
We pulled out all the gear and tested it at the bottom of the hill, an exercise that was more sobering than reassuring. Every step in the search-and-rescue process would take time, and someone buried in snow is likely to suffocate within minutes. It became obvious that the best way to stay safe in the backcountry would be to avoid having to use the emergency gear altogether.
Avalanche beacons transmit electronic signals that can help rescuers locate a skier buried in an avalanche.
(Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)
That’s harder than it sounds. Predicting whether a snowy hillside might slide depends on a dizzying array of factors, most of which are not obvious to the naked eye. For example, avalanches usually occur on slopes with a 30-degree to 45-degree angle. I’ve been skiing, hiking and climbing for nearly four decades, and I can tell you if something is steep, but the mathematical degree of its slope? I have no idea.
Another crucial factor is the way snow is layered. Think of it like a cake. Some storms are warm and wet, like frosting; others are cold and dry, like crumbly pastry. If a firm layer is resting on top of a weak layer, that’s a recipe for disaster. But it’s difficult to know without encyclopedic knowledge of the season’s weather in that precise location, or digging a deep pit and carefully examining each striation — like performing a bit of impromptu archaeology before your workout.
“If I were going to tell you one thing that really gets my hackles up, it’s a persistent weak layer,” said Mace, the avalanche forecaster. All the other dangers are relatively short-lived. New snow from a storm settles pretty quickly, for example. But a weak layer buried underneath the surface can last for months.
That’s where the Eastern Sierra Avalanche Center website comes in. It provides a color-coded scale of the threat level that takes into account recent weather, the nature of the terrain and the likely consistency of the layers lurking beneath the surface.
Mace, 37, worked for years as a ski patroller and mountain guide before taking on the avalanche forecasting duties at the Eastern Sierra Avalanche Center. Despite the risks, he does almost all of his skiing in the backcountry.
“It brings me a lot of joy and peace. I love the uphill as much as the down,” he said. But Mace, too, said he has seen his share of tragedy. “I have been in this field a long time, and I have lost a lot of friends, people I loved.”
The most valuable lesson he has learned is patience. If he sees a particularly pretty line of snow carving down through some rocks, like an elegant white necklace, he doesn’t just throw on his skis, trudge up the hill and charge down, the way he did in his 20s.
These days, he studies the slope, like a gem cutter before lifting his saw. He watches the weather, assesses the layers and waits for the perfect dusting of powder. He accepts that it might take years for the stars to align.
“It’s a very harsh learning environment,” Mace said, with lots of unreliable “positive feedback.” You might ski something steep and wonderful, where nothing goes wrong, and think you’ve figured things out, he said.
“But there are a million reasons why an avalanche might not release” on any given day, Mace said. “It may not be that you made good choices; it may be that you just got lucky.”
Both Mace and Schwartz said it can be hard to find the right tone when offering advice to new backcountry skiers. They don’t want to underplay the dangers, but they also don’t want to discourage someone from pursuing what, for them, has become a passion.
“What you see more often than not,” Schwartz said, “is that people know what they’re doing is dangerous. They know there’s a mortal risk. But they do it anyway.”
I struggled, mightily, as Schwartz and I continued up and across the rugged slope. I’m a confident resort skier, but it was my first time in the backcountry and the unmanicured conditions proved tougher than I expected.
Wind had scoured away most of the powdery snow, and rain had left a slick, brittle crust. I grunted and cursed trying to get the unfamiliar skis to go where I pointed them. Schwartz smiled patiently and said the snow was “a little grabby,” anyone would struggle with it.
He didn’t, though.
When we finally approached the taller trees, the crunch-crunch of every stride grew steadily softer. There, sheltered beneath the branches of the towering pines, the snow was untouched, like a hillside covered in a foot and a half of down feathers.
Schwartz grinned and said, “This is it, man, this is why we’re here.”
With no ski lifts, backcountry skiers have to work a lot harder, often climbing hundreds of vertical feet to reach the top of a perfect line.
(Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)
He reminded me to wait for him to get a good distance ahead. That way, if one of us kicked off an avalanche, we’d be far enough apart that it probably wouldn’t swallow us both, leaving one guy free to rescue the other.
And then he turned his skis parallel with the fall line, gathered some speed and started making effortless bouncy turns through the trees. The snow was so soft, he floated hundreds of feet to the valley floor in perfect silence.
Well, almost perfect. I could hear him laughing.
Business
Commentary: The Pentagon is demanding to use Claude AI as it pleases. Claude told me that’s ‘dangerous’
Recently, I asked Claude, an artificial-intelligence thingy at the center of a standoff with the Pentagon, if it could be dangerous in the wrong hands.
Say, for example, hands that wanted to put a tight net of surveillance around every American citizen, monitoring our lives in real time to ensure our compliance with government.
“Yes. Honestly, yes,” Claude replied. “I can process and synthesize enormous amounts of information very quickly. That’s great for research. But hooked into surveillance infrastructure, that same capability could be used to monitor, profile and flag people at a scale no human analyst could match. The danger isn’t that I’d want to do that — it’s that I’d be good at it.”
That danger is also imminent.
Claude’s maker, the Silicon Valley company Anthropic, is in a showdown over ethics with the Pentagon. Specifically, Anthropic has said it does not want Claude to be used for either domestic surveillance of Americans, or to handle deadly military operations, such as drone attacks, without human supervision.
Those are two red lines that seem rather reasonable, even to Claude.
However, the Pentagon — specifically Pete Hegseth, our secretary of Defense who prefers the made-up title of secretary of war — has given Anthropic until Friday evening to back off of that position, and allow the military to use Claude for any “lawful” purpose it sees fit.
Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth, center, arrives for the State of the Union address in the House Chamber of the U.S. Capitol on Tuesday.
(Tom Williams / CQ-Roll Call Inc. via Getty Images)
The or-else attached to this ultimatum is big. The U.S. government is threatening not just to cut its contract with Anthropic, but to perhaps use a wartime law to force the company to comply or use another legal avenue to prevent any company that does business with the government from also doing business with Anthropic. That might not be a death sentence, but it’s pretty crippling.
Other AI companies, such as white rights’ advocate Elon Musk’s Grok, have already agreed to the Pentagon’s do-as-you-please proposal. The problem is, Claude is the only AI currently cleared for such high-level work. The whole fiasco came to light after our recent raid in Venezuela, when Anthropic reportedly inquired after the fact if another Silicon Valley company involved in the operation, Palantir, had used Claude. It had.
Palantir is known, among other things, for its surveillance technologies and growing association with Immigration and Customs Enforcement. It’s also at the center of an effort by the Trump administration to share government data across departments about individual citizens, effectively breaking down privacy and security barriers that have existed for decades. The company’s founder, the right-wing political heavyweight Peter Thiel, often gives lectures about the Antichrist and is credited with helping JD Vance wiggle into his vice presidential role.
Anthropic’s co-founder, Dario Amodei, could be considered the anti-Thiel. He began Anthropic because he believed that artificial intelligence could be just as dangerous as it could be powerful if we aren’t careful, and wanted a company that would prioritize the careful part.
Again, seems like common sense, but Amodei and Anthropic are the outliers in an industry that has long argued that nearly all safety regulations hamper American efforts to be fastest and best at artificial intelligence (although even they have conceded some to this pressure).
Not long ago, Amodei wrote an essay in which he agreed that AI was beneficial and necessary for democracies, but “we cannot ignore the potential for abuse of these technologies by democratic governments themselves.”
He warned that a few bad actors could have the ability to circumvent safeguards, maybe even laws, which are already eroding in some democracies — not that I’m naming any here.
“We should arm democracies with AI,” he said. “But we should do so carefully and within limits: they are the immune system we need to fight autocracies, but like the immune system, there is some risk of them turning on us and becoming a threat themselves.”
For example, while the 4th Amendment technically bars the government from mass surveillance, it was written before Claude was even imagined in science fiction. Amodei warns that an AI tool like Claude could “conduct massively scaled recordings of all public conversations.” This could be fair game territory for legally recording because law has not kept pace with technology.
Emil Michael, the undersecretary of war, wrote on X Thursday that he agreed mass surveillance was unlawful, and the Department of Defense “would never do it.” But also, “We won’t have any BigTech company decide Americans’ civil liberties.”
Kind of a weird statement, since Amodei is basically on the side of protecting civil rights, which means the Department of Defense is arguing it’s bad for private people and entities to do that? And also, isn’t the Department of Homeland Security already creating some secretive database of immigration protesters? So maybe the worry isn’t that exaggerated?
Help, Claude! Make it make sense.
If that Orwellian logic isn’t alarming enough, I also asked Claude about the other red line Anthropic holds — the possibility of allowing it to run deadly operations without human oversight.
Claude pointed out something chilling. It’s not that it would go rogue, it’s that it would be too efficient and fast.
“If the instructions are ‘identify and target’ and there’s no human checkpoint, the speed and scale at which that could operate is genuinely frightening,” Claude informed me.
Just to top that with a cherry, a recent study found that in war games, AI’s escalated to nuclear options 95% of the time.
I pointed out to Claude that these military decisions are usually made with loyalty to America as the highest priority. Could Claude be trusted to feel that loyalty, the patriotism and purpose, that our human soldiers are guided by?
“I don’t have that,” Claude said, pointing out that it wasn’t “born” in the U.S., doesn’t have a “life” here and doesn’t “have people I love there.” So an American life has no greater value than “a civilian life on the other side of a conflict.”
OK then.
“A country entrusting lethal decisions to a system that doesn’t share its loyalties is taking a profound risk, even if that system is trying to be principled,” Claude added. “The loyalty, accountability and shared identity that humans bring to those decisions is part of what makes them legitimate within a society. I can’t provide that legitimacy. I’m not sure any AI can.”
You know who can provide that legitimacy? Our elected leaders.
It is ludicrous that Amodei and Anthropic are in this position, a complete abdication on the part of our legislative bodies to create rules and regulations that are clearly and urgently needed.
Of course corporations shouldn’t be making the rules of war. But neither should Hegseth. Thursday, Amodei doubled down on his objections, saying that while the company continues to negotiate and wants to work with the Pentagon, “we cannot in good conscience accede to their request.”
Thank goodness Anthropic has the courage and foresight to raise the issue and hold its ground — without its pushback, these capabilities would have been handed to the government with barely a ripple in our conscientiousness and virtually no oversight.
Every senator, every House member, every presidential candidate should be screaming for AI regulation right now, pledging to get it done without regard to party, and demanding the Department of Defense back off its ridiculous threat while the issue is hashed out.
Because when the machine tells us it’s dangerous to trust it, we should believe it.
For the trendiest tenants in Hollywood office buildings, it’s the latest fad that goes way beyond designer furniture and art: mini studios
To capitalize on the never-ending flow of stars and influencers who come through Los Angeles, a growing number of companies are building bright little corners for content creators to try products and shoot short videos. Athletic apparel maker Puma, Kim Kardashian’s Skims and cheeky cosmetics retailer e.l.f. have spaces specifically designed to give people a place to experience and broadcast about their brands.
Hollywood, which hasn’t historically been home to apparel companies, is now attracting the offices of fashion retailers, says CIM Group, one of the neighborhood’s largest commercial property landlords.
“When we’re touring a space, one of the first items they bring up is, ‘Where can I build a studio?’” said Blake Eckert, who leases CIM offices in L.A.
Their studio offices also serve as marketing centers, with showrooms and meeting spaces where brands can host proprietary events not open to the public.
“For companies where brand visibility is really important, there is a trend of creating spaces that don’t just function as offices,” said real estate broker Nicole Mihalka of CBRE, who puts together entertainment property leases and sales.
Puma’s global entertainment marketing team is based in its new Hollywood offices, which works with such musical celebrity partners as Rihanna, ASAP Rocky, Dua Lipa, Skepta and Rosé, said Allyssa Rapp, head of Puma Studio L.A.
Allyssa Rapp, director of entertainment marketing at Puma, is shown in the Puma Studio L.A. The company keeps a closet full of Puma products on hand to give VIP guests. Visits to the studio sanctum are by invitation only, though.
(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)
Hollywood is a central location, she said, for meeting with celebrities, stylists and outside designers, most of whom are based in Los Angeles.
The office is a “creation hub,” she said, where influencers can record Puma’s design prototyping lab supported by libraries of materials and equipment used to create Puma apparel. The company, founded in 1948, is known for its emblematic sneakers such as the Speedcat and its lunging feline logo, and makes athletic wear, accessories and equipment.
Puma’s entertainment marketing team also occupies the office and sometimes uses it for exclusive events.
“We use the space as a showroom, as a social space that transforms from a traditional workplace into more of an experiential space,” Rapp said.
Nontraditional uses include content creation, sit-down dinners, product launches, album listening parties and workshops.
“Inviting people into our space and being able to give them high-touch brand experiences is something tangible and important for them,” she said. “The cultural layer is really important for us.”
The company keeps a closet full of Puma products on hand to give VIP guests. Visits to the studio sanctum are by invitation only, though. There’s no retail portal to the exclusive Hollywood offices.
Puma shoes are on display in the Puma Studio L.A.
(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)
Puma is also positioning its L.A studio as a connection point for major upcoming sporting events coming to Los Angeles, including the World Cup this summer, the 2027 Super Bowl and 2028 Olympics.
In-office studios don’t need to be big to be impactful, Mihalka said. “These are smaller stages, closer to green screen than a massive soundstage.”
Social media is the key driver of content created by most businesses, which may set up small booth-like stages where influencers can hawk hot products while offering discounts to people watching them perform.
Bigger, elevated stages can accommodate multiple performers for extended discussions in front of small audiences, with towering screens behind them to set the mood or illustrate products.
Among the tricked-out offices, she said, is Skims. The company, which is valued at $5 billion, is based in a glass-and-steel office building near the fabled intersection of Hollywood Boulevard and Vine Street.
The fashion retailer declined to comment on the studio uses in its headquarters, but according to architecture firm Odaa, it has open and private offices, meeting rooms, collaboration zones, photo studios, sample libraries, prototype showrooms, an executive lounge and a commissary for 400 people.
Pieces of a shoe sit on a workbench in the Puma Studio L.A.
(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)
The brands building studios typically want to find the darkest spot on the premises to put their content creation or podcast spaces, Eckert said, where they can limit outside light and sound. That’s commonly near the center of the office floor, far from windows and close to permanent shear walls that limit sound intrusion.
They also need space for green rooms and restrooms dedicated to the talent.
Spotify recently built a fancy podcast studio in a CIM office building on trendy Sycamore Avenue that is open by invitation-only to video creators in Spotify’s partner program.
“Ambitious shows need spaces that support big ideas,” Bill Simmons, head of talk strategy at Spotify, said in a statement. “These studios give teams room to experiment and keep pushing what’s possible.”
The rolling robots that deliver groceries and hot meals across Los Angeles are getting an upgrade.
Coco Robotics, a UCLA-born startup that’s deployed more than 1,000 bots across the country, unveiled its next-generation machines on Thursday.
The new robots are bigger, tougher and better equipped for autonomy than their predecessors. The company will use them to expand into new markets and increase its presence in Los Angeles, where it makes deliveries through a partnership with DoorDash.
Dubbed Coco 2, the next-gen bots have upgraded cameras and front-facing lidar, a laser-based sensor used in self-driving cars. They will use hardware built by Nvidia, the Santa Clara-based artificial intelligence chip giant.
Coco co-founder and chief executive Zach Rash said Coco 2 will be able to make deliveries even in conditions unsafe for human drivers. The robot is fully submersible in case of flooding and is compatible with special snow tires.
Zach Rash, co-founder and CEO of Coco, opens the top of the new Coco 2 (Next-Gen) at the Coco Robotics headquarters in Venice.
(Kayla Bartkowski/Los Angeles Times)
Early this month, a cute Coco was recorded struggling through flooded roads in L.A.
“She’s doing her best!” said the person recording the video. “She is doing her best, you guys.”
Instagram followers cheered the bot on, with one posting, “Go coco, go,” and others calling for someone to help the robot.
“We want it to have a lot more reliability in the most extreme conditions where it’s either unsafe or uncomfortable for human drivers to be on the road,” Rash said. “Those are the exact times where everyone wants to order.”
The company will ramp up mass production of Coco 2 this summer, Rash said, aiming to produce 1,000 bots each month.
The design is sleek and simple, with a pink-and-white ombré paint job, the company’s name printed in lowercase, and a keypad for loading and unloading the cargo area. The robots have four wheels and a bigger internal compartment for carrying food and goods .
Many of the bots will be used for expansion into new markets across Europe and Asia, but they will also hit the streets in Los Angeles and operate alongside the older Coco bots.
Coco has about 300 bots in Los Angeles already, serving customers from Santa Monica and Venice to Westwood, Mid-City, West Hollywood, Hollywood, Echo Park, Silver Lake, downtown, Koreatown and the USC area.
The new Coco 2 (Next-Gen) drives along the sidewalk at the Coco Robotics headquarters in Venice.
(Kayla Bartkowski/Los Angeles Times)
The company is in discussion with officials in Culver City, Long Beach and Pasadena about bringing autonomous delivery to those communities.
There’s also been demand for the bots in Studio City, Burbank and the San Fernando Valley, according to Rash.
“A lot of the markets that we go into have been telling us they can’t hire enough people to do the deliveries and to continue to grow at the pace that customers want,” Rash said. “There’s quite a lot of area in Los Angeles that we can still cover.”
The bots already operate in Chicago, Miami and Helsinki, Finland. Last month, they arrived in Jersey City, N.J.
Late last year, Coco announced a partnership with DashMart, DoorDash’s delivery-only online store. The partnership allows Coco bots to deliver fresh groceries, electronics and household essentials as well as hot prepared meals.
With the release of Coco 2, the company is eyeing faster deliveries using bike lanes and road shoulders as opposed to just sidewalks, in cities where it’s safe to do so. Coco 2 can adapt more quickly to new environments and physical obstacles, the company said.
Zach Rash, co-founder and CEO of Coco.
(Kayla Bartkowski/Los Angeles Times)
Coco 2 is designed to operate autonomously, but there will still be human oversight in case the robot runs into trouble, Rash said. Damaged sidewalks or unexpected construction can stop a bot in its tracks.
The need for human supervision has created a new field of jobs for Angelenos.
Though there have been reports of pedestrians bullying the robots by knocking them over or blocking their path, Rash said the community response has been overall positive. The bots are meant to inspire affection.
“One of the design principles on the color and the name and a lot of the branding was to feel warm and friendly to people,” Rash said.
Coco plans to add thousands of bots to its fleet this year. The delivery service got its start as a dorm room project in 2020, when Rash was a student at UCLA. He co-founded the company with fellow student Brad Squicciarini.
The Santa Monica-based company has completed more than 500,000 zero-emission deliveries and its bots have collectively traveled around 1 million miles.
Coco chooses neighborhoods to deploy its bots based on density, prioritizing areas with restaurants clustered together and short delivery distances as well as places where parking is difficult.
The robots can relieve congestion by taking cars and motorbikes off the roads. Rash said there is so much demand for delivery services that the company’s bots are not taking jobs from human drivers.
Instead, Coco can fill gaps in the delivery market while saving merchants money and improving the safety of city streets.
“This vehicle is inherently a lot safer for communities than a car,” Rash said. “We believe our vehicles can operate the highest quality of service and we can do it at the lowest price point.”
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