Bombs Away: It’s All Downhill from Here

Written by Dave McAlinden
Edited by Josh Stohl

Caught by an oncoming wind, my tie flipped up and hit me in the face, flapping hard over my right shoulder. My knuckles were corpse-white from the cold. My hands were clamped to the handlebar grips of what I think used to be a Barbie bike. My back, arched over like an arbor increasing with ache and strain. The icy wind pulled tears from my eyes. My testicles had retreated up into my stomach as an instinctual reaction to danger. The rest of my body was locked with the thrill of minimal control as I descended faster in the near pitch dark. At this speed curiosity overrides common sense. Suffice to say the first time I tried to keep up with a pack of hollering bike junkies called Zoobombers was tantamount to nothing I had ever experienced.

First off, the word Zoobomb is a portmanteau of “Zoo,” as in pertaining to the Oregon Zoo, and “Bomb,” as in bombing down hills. With that said, Zoobombing is the act of bombing hills from the zoo into downtown, now a Sunday ritual for many Portlanders.

When I called veteran Zoobomber and bicycle enthusiast Chuck Bridge about a month ago, I had a vague idea of what was in store that Sunday, having heard tales of the Zoobomb in the past. However, I didn’t expect it to be so dense in capacity, rich in history, and perversely dignifying in its enjoyment.

Though it is not a race or competition, there is some prestige to be gained among the Zoobomb crowd for whoever makes it down the hill first. Thus, the majority of Zoobombers like to go fast, really fast. And what’s more thrilling, these feats of speed are done on children’s bikes. “Anyone can come Zoobomb, mini-bike or not,” says Bridge. Given that statement my first bomb might have been a bit more comfortable on a ten-speed or a beach cruiser.

Since its inception nearly seven years ago, Zoobombing has taken place every Sunday. When asked how such a small subculture has managed to sustain its life span, Bridge replied, “It continues itself because there is always at least one person up on the hill. Every weekend, rain, shine, snow. Every weekend, for nearly seven years.” So, it’s somewhat of a laissez faire institution, but with some serious followers. And because it's such an amorphous group of people, “there are connections to nearly every group in the Portland bike culture as a whole.” Nonetheless, I’ve found that those who have achieved the title of Zoobomber, are much more motley than your average cyclist. This is a unusual group keen on body modifications, brandings, and bizarre hair. Take Bridge for example, he has brand marks down his left shoulder in the midst of countless tattoos, two large plugs just beneath his bottom lip flanking each side of his labret, mutton chops, and a Mohawk ending in a nasty rat’s tail.

In the past there has been a stigma surrounding Zoobombers. I’ve been told that among the attempts to curb it, homeowners in the area took a stab at getting the Washington Park MAX station closed on Sunday nights. “The Portland Police have even impounded our pile once,” says a local Zoobomber, referring to the feral stack of children’s bikes known as the “People’s Bike Library of Greater Portland”. The pile is chained up across from Powell’s Books on West Burnside. This is where everyone willing to ride meets up around 8:30 p.m. Then kids take the MAX up to the Zoo and congregate before a count-down to take off.

Things do get a bit dangerous with the Zoobomb crew, but as far as injuries are concerned, there aren’t many beyond the usual scrapes and bruises that are seen as badges of honor among riders. However, one Zoobomber, Reverend Phil, suffered a spiral fracture of two bones in his leg. Keep in mind that this accident happened only because a couple of guys with a strange hate for Zoobombers threw ice in front of his bike during a fast run.

Despite some dislike and undeserved bad press, Zoobombers are a positive and community-conscious crew. At times, they’ve even been crime-stoppers. In 2004, during the century ride (one hundred miles of Zoobomb in a day) a guy in a rubber salmon costume and a man in drag chased down a purse snatcher, and then contained him until the police finally caught up. Because of incidents like this one along with Portland’s mass bike culture and the Zoobombers’ tendency to keep things clean over the years, the city has actually come to accept Zoobombing. It’s viewed as an integral part of Portland’s ever-growing, eccentric veneer and the city has even decided to help fund a sculpture that will give the current pile of “loaner bikes” a permanent place to be secured. According to Bridge, the structure will be an art rack, hopefully taking the shape of a giant bicycle wheel doubling as a cartoon bomb (think Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons). With a large, metal Z at the hub, bikes will be locked in around the rim. They hope to have it located on the curb island of West 12th and Burnside, across from American Apparel. The proposal is under current review by the Portland Department of Transportation.

When asked of the movement’s genesis, most riders are hazy about who exactly started the group. Some of the pioneers are still around, “like Handsome Dave and Solid Gold. Others have kind of faded into the wind, destined to become legends,” says Bridge. Nonetheless, the crew has always had a revolving roster of new people and old school riders. The most important aspect, “is that you did it, not when you started doing it,” says a green-haired bomber whose name I didn’t catch. A sentiment that shows the outlook of the group as being less pretentious than other sub-cultures in Portland, and a lot more likable.

Even though the there is a free spirit behind this scene, there are a few dos and don’ts to the activity. The biggest one is leave no trace. “We always pick up after ourselves, and usually after others as well. If you leave shit behind, you'll be openly chastised, and quite possibly tackled and wrestled,” says Bridge with a smile. I guess the all encompassing rule would be to remain respectful to everyone on the hill. The idea is to have fun.

Just coming from a job interview, clad in shirt, tie, and slacks, I felt like a sore thumb on the MAX car packed with enthused Zoobombers. I can’t say I wasn’t skeptical about the whole thing. I mean, it’s hard not to be a skeptic when you feel so out of place. But everyone was really nice and most were excited to see such an obviously new person participating.

Once we deboarded and got to the top of the hill, I remember staring in awe at the nocturnal view from the corner of Fairview and Kingston. The lights from the city looked warm and welcoming below, and as I stared down on them with a certain fascination, I realized why these folks gather here and ride every Sunday—Portland is the goal. It’s as if the mini bike is a synecdoche for the city itself; small, simple, flamboyant, original, and a hell of a lot of fun.

Now, amid a group of forty amped-up cyclists, rocking back and forth in anticipation, ready to jet down a hill with Hermes-like speed, it suddenly dawned on me that I was one of them. If only for the four-minute flash in the dark, I was part of this.

During Zoobomb’s seven-year lifespan, the size of the crowd has increased. The record number of people to bomb at one given time is one hundred and twenty. Imagine a flood of a hundred and twenty people deep, rolling down a hill in the dark. I went with a group of around forty. I’ve been told that’s average. “It's a lot more than just riding little bikes down hills. There's a whole community behind it now,” exclaims Bridge. True, the movement has expanded, but the number participating is not the only thing that has changed in recent years, the bikes have changed too. From what I’ve gathered, riding began with the basic, tattered kid’s bikes you might find at a garage sale for a couple bucks. These days, Bridge explains how the standard mini set-up for speed will have, “high pressure tires, alloy rims, a free-wheel in the back instead of the standard coaster brake, and if you're feeling crazy, a set of drop bars from a road bike.” A good tuck will greatly help with your speed.

Speaking of speed, Bridge and fellow Zoobomber Gabe Tiller managed to nab the bronze and silver medals in the Gravity Sports World Championships held in Maryhill, Washington, last year. This puts them in the top three fastest downhill bike riders in the world. If it wasn’t for the Zoobomb, this accomplishment might not have been possible for them.

As I raced down the hill at speeds unheard of on a child’s bike, I lost sight of speed-demon Bridge and was soon among no one familiar. Gripped by the strobe of street lights, the cold snap of the wind teased snot from my nose, and my muscles locked with a constipated expression on my face. I squinted through the dark as I leaned into curves, struggling not to give in to the urge to squeeze the brake, shoulders positioned like I was drilling the road. The air smelled of leafy burn piles and hours-old rain. As I accelerated, all sound meshed together in one long buzz. Occasionally the tinnitus silence would halt, and a few whoo-hoos and yee-has echoed in all directions while a late starter would zip past me at forty miles per hour as his distant yell climaxed and faded with the wind.

The experience was much like the time I lost my virginity. It only took about four minutes and I had no idea what I was doing. It was difficult to place the way it made me feel, or perhaps the way it left me feeling. I was overcome by a profound disorientation, as if I had been hypnotized by a ray of light and willingly boarded a UFO. Without time passing, I was wandering the streets, punch-drunk, and vaguely remembering the events that led me there. Much like my first real encounter with a woman, the memory will last a lifetime and has thus inspired further investigation. I’m proud to say I popped my Zoobomb cherry.

Shortly after I had arrived home, I began researching bike parts online. Zoobombing, despite how ridiculous it sounds, possesses a surprisingly addictive, liberating quality. I suggest you try if you have a free Sunday night. See you on the hill.

***

Dave McAlinden is a senior attending Portland State University. Dave enjoys a cup of Tetley's Tea every morning. His favorite animal is the Otter. He is twenty-five years old.