The Ride
Descending into the ‘Circle of Death’ with 600 of your friends
By James Burrus/photos by Nish Nalbandian
There’s a guy sporting a fire-engine red, pig-tailed wig that conjures disturbing images of a Wendy’s commercial; he would normally be shunned and openly mocked. Next to him, a tall, bodacious blonde wearing leather chaps has her hair cast in an eight-inch Mohawk and is sitting next to her stretch cruiser with Texas-styled longhorns attached to the handlebars. She looks like she could incinerate the self-esteem of any guy brave enough to flirt with her.
Early Halloween? Nope, it’s May 13—the first ride of the Denver Cruisers’ 2009 season: Wigs and Bad Hair. Most of the hundreds who show up got the memo; there are blond colonials, metallic purple pageboys, Mohawks, massive afros and everything in between.
The weekly costume themes serve the same function as booze, but without the negative side effects. When you’re wearing a sparkling pink wig and talking to a guy with a perfect Bon Jovi rug, who needs to be drunk?
“There is no self-consciousness about wearing ostentatious clothes,” says Chris Bretthauer, an architect who just started his second season with the Denver Cruisers. “The crazy outfits are great ice breakers; it gives you something to talk about. The cruiser ride has completely changed how I shop at garage sales. I go to thrift stores like Goodwill, and vintage clothing shops looking for stuff to wear on the rides.”
The tangle of bikes outside the Ginn Mill in Lower Downtown continues to grow, stretching down the block in both directions. It’s difficult to penetrate, but dozens stop to scope out some of the tricked-out rides. The Denver Cruiser regulars are here early showing off their signature machines-a vintage Elgin, a 9-foot stretch with a side car and a limo-long jet black frame with red rims. It’s just shy of 8 p.m., the supposed “start time” of the ride. The Ginn Mill is nuts to butts, but the riders keep coming. And coming.
Silver pink wigs, a man in curlers and a hair net, a Marge Simpson do and the ultimate bad hair/wig combo: a perfect mullet.
“Everybody’s a nerd, hanging out having fun,” Bretthauer says.
An hour into this costum
ed happy hour, Brad K. Evans-the self-appointed “fearless-leader” sporting a seersucker suit and Austin Powers wig-shouts above the din for the crowd to mount up and head out. As the founder of this eclectic collection of students, moms, brokers, stock traders, teachers, lawyers, ages, genders and ethnicities, he’s the one who gets to launch the Armada of riders.
The little structure there is to the Denver Cruiser Ride involves building a community around sweet cruiser bicycles, having fun with friends and braving the adrenalin-soaked madness of the dreaded Circle of Death.
From its humble beginnings with just a handful of riders five years ago to this year’s opening day that saw nearly 600 swamp the streets of Denver, the weekly event continues to attract fresh faces of bicycle enthusiasts wanting to have fun. Each week, the ride cuts through downtown on a predetermined route. For the start of the season, Evans adds a new twist to the ride, an impromptu pedal up a three-story parking garage. Once the crowd settles at the top, a mini party breaks out with a sound system blaring, and Nick Bruno shouting through an aging bullhorn.
“Denver Cruisers!” is about the only intelligible phrase, but it’s enough to draw a raucous roar. Yep, the fun and friendly atmosphere of the rides fosters more than a little loss of inhibition. Some of the ride themes are more risqué than wigs; it’s not uncommon to spy near nudity and abject male cross-dressing. “There are so many like-minded people here,” says Ed Ingram, a 31-year-old Brit. “The costumes are about embracing your alter ego.”
The scene is mildly horrifying to tourists or uninitiated locals who happen upon this rolling freak parade. It’s not uncommon for a group wandering downtown fresh out of a conference to snap out of their gaping disbelief long enough to take photos of the passing spectacle in a paparazzi barrage of flashes.
And as is the tradition-following a 45-minute stop at a second watering hole-the cruisers roll into Civic Center Park just a few hundred feet from Denver’s landmark capitol building and into the giant Greek amphitheater. It’s dubbed the ‘Circle of Death’ because hu
ndreds of cyclists ride pell-mell into the amphitheater. Some go clockwise, some don’t.
Let’s just say the Circle tends to be a good measure of bike-riding skill, reflexes and courage. Tonight, the party at the center of the fiasco is the place to be. A sound system being towed behind one of the bikes is playing Britany Spears’ Baby One More Time, as dozens in the eye of the head-on mayhem spinning around them are dancing and passing around beers.
After about half an hour of this revolving game of cruiser chicken, we’re off to the third and last stop of the evening. The mood remains light and fun and the jocularity index unexpectedly high-assisted by yet another warm, dry, Colorado night. It’s about 11 p.m. and some of the working stiffs and students peel off for home.
A core contingent is still going strong and flock like geese back to the launch pad of the Ginn Mill. The original herd has thinned to a handful and order up nightcaps. I’m sober enough to know better, roll a 180 and head for home, wondering what twisted madness I can come up with for next week’s Hollywood-themed ride.
Meet Denver
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