April 21, 2003

"Bomb the Zoo, Not Iraq!"

"It must be some animal rights reference."
-KATU-2 News Team

Sunday nights, when the rest of Portland has returned to their hives, a small but hardy group descends on Rocco's Pizza(across from Powell's Books) to celebrate the unholy marriage of mini-bikes, beer, and public transportation: Zoobomb

My Easter was spent in the kitchen much in the tradition of Ashley's Sunday dinner parties of a year ago, with, among other things, strawberry scones, two cakes, and a Baked Alaska to show for it. After polishing off an Oly's and watching the sunset on the stoop with Ani, I took off on my Bianchi under violet skies with the Sonic Reducer strapped to my back.


[not my bike, but one of comparable size]

After all the library bikes were loaned out and the duct-tape applied where-ever necessary, the first wave headed for the MAX with bells and squeakers sounding. My 12" wheels and compacted legs could only carry me so fast, and I quickly fell behind, getting a taste of what was to come.

We exited at Washington Park and climbed the hill above the zoo for views and PBR, and Slayer blasting from a pink boombox. The forecasted rain had yet to fall, and warmer spring temperatures were upon us.

Though personally unknown to the group, my bicycle history preceded me. Once the second and third waves had arrived, and all had imbibed to their hearts' content, we bumped down a dirt path to the starting line. By merit of having the smallest bike in attendance, I was honored with the pole position at the line-up.

After a countdown and cries of "Zoobomb", the crowd blew past in a blur of LED's. The kid with the pink boombox hung back with me, giving me a soundtrack and a bit of comfort knowing that somebody could scrape up me and the Reducer if my coaster brake should fail.

(the next 15 minutes were as you might imagine an 800' elevation loss in the dark, on a mini-bike one foot off the ground: fuckin' awesome)

Amazed that the Reducer brought me back to Rocco's with no scrapes to show besides some worn treads on my sneakers, I couldn't resist a second run. Back on top of the west hills, the drizzle had progressed to rain, holiday treats(from Christian and non-Christian celebrations that Sunday) were passed around, and for many of us, the number of beers had long surpassed the hours of sleep we carried with us.

Regardless, we bombed again. I only fish-tailed a few times(coaster brake+mini-bike+rain=certain death) on this steeper route, and I somehow made it back to my big bike alive.

And hooked.

Posted by DV at April 21, 2003 03:51 PM