Five... four... three... two... ZOOBOMB! The countdown finished and the 80-some zoobombers I had joined for the night took off down the hill.

I had lost Benjamin, my unofficial guide-slash-cigarette-supplier for the night, and things were starting to go very fast. One thing must be made clear; there is a lot of hill in between the top and bottom. As my new buddy Benjamin described, pretty eloquently, “It’s 700 vertical feet of pure bliss.” It’s always funny to me that bliss and bodily harm are securely linked in the realm of experience. I’d like to say I wasn’t scared shitless but I’m not a liar¹. It didn’t help that I came unprepared. In my stupidity, I’d neglected to bring a light. I was going to go down a hill I’d never once ridden before, on a bike I don’t really ride that much, in the dark, at 35 miles an hour without a helmet²—and I didn’t have a bike light. Luckily, the zoobombers were very helpful and contributed such solid advice as, “Oh fuck, you don’t have a light?” and, “Don’t ride your brakes too much or they’ll overheat.” Yeah. Don’t use my brakes. Awesome. A guy named Clint told me about a part where it was important to follow the bomber in front of me slalom fashion up on the sides of a drainage ditch so as to avoid the grates (I would end up avoiding this section entirely).Overall, they told me to take it easy and pay attention to the group. They have a vested interest in people not wiping out and dying, in order to avoid scrutiny by the powers that be.

According to a 2005 article in Willy Week, the event started around 2002 when a young Texan named Zach Archibald met up with some BMX kids outside of Rocco’s Pizza and rode the hill with them. It has been growing ever since. New riders seem to be encouraged by the group, although it’s hard to tell. With that is a serious emphasis on safety. Needless to say, I felt like a pretty big dick for showing up sans bike light. The organization of the group seems to be fairly organic, and the values seem to revolve around bike advocacy and, most importantly, riding bikes down hills.

As I went down the hill, I rode the shit out of my brakes. They made noises. They felt weird.. For a moment I thought I could smell them. But I rode them hard. Many of the “real” zoobombers ride the mini-bikes. This seems more dangerous but I don’t know. I don’t think they have the top speed of a road bike. I could be wrong, but every time I let off the brakes for a second, Pepe, my trusty 30-year-old Peugeot, rocketed up to 500 million miles an hour. Aside from seeming like a very dangerous speed, it also caused me to pass people I was using for reference in the dark. But after a bit, I started to get the hang of it. Speed is a weird thing. It only takes a few moments to get used to it, then a little bit faster starts to seem like a good idea. I started to cut turns faster using the left lane. The group shouts “CAR!” if there’s a car, and “SALT” if there’s a cop. So the whole road is fair game if you trust the people in front of you. I trusted them, and I started to have some fun.

Eventually, we came to the first fork in the road. At that point, the “leader,” Solid Gold, would give the crowd a choice between routes, with one being less difficult than the other. I always took the easy route. My life had been going exceedingly well over the last couple of weeks and I wasn’t about to screw it up with serious head injury. After negotiating some simple, but completely pitch black swichbacks³, I met up with the group again. Again, Solid Gold advised the group as to where those of us who didn’t have balls made of heavy metal could go. That was the last time I saw him.

1. You'll have to take my word for it.
2. I do not recommend doing this without a helmet. I don't use one myself—not because I want to make some sort of statement or are fearless, but because I'm generally irresponsible.
3. The Pitchback Switchbacks would be an excellent name for a rockabilly band.