The first time I saw him was the Friday before at the Filmed by Bike movie festival over on 25th and Clinton. Over the years, the films have been eclipsed by the block party that inevitably develops. Bikes pile on top of bikes in massive metal sculptures as the SE neighborhood transforms into a pretty decent party for a Friday night. I had heard that this would be an excellent place to spot some zoobombers in the wild. To be honest, it was difficult to tell an actual zoobomber from a regular bicycle enthusiast in the hip-hop- and beer infused scene. Luckily, Solid Gold rolled up on a double stack bike name “Frankencycle” and had very noticeable “Zoo Bomb” patch on the back of his jacket. This is why I’m such an excellent journalist. I notice the most subtle details. Of course, I had to sound like an ass by asking him, “So are, you a, ahem, zoobomber?” He said yes and I asked him a few questions.

Now I have to say a few things about Solid Gold. This guy is the quintessential Super Alpha Hipster. I know that calling someone a hipster is tantamount to calling them a douchebag nowadays, but I don’t mean it in a pejorative sense at all. This is the guy all the other hipsters are trying to be. He’s like Paul Newman back in his heyday, except taller and with stronger features. He’s got a sort of relaxed air about him that could probably chill people out on a crashing plane and the kind of charisma that can get people to drink poison Kool-Aid in South America. I asked him about the size of the group; he told me, “Thousands. Not ten thousand, but probably more than two.” I told him I was doing an article on the club and had browsed the website a little bit. That’s when I found out that the “website isn’t really an official zoobomber site; it’s more of a fan page.” This makes sense, because I had seen on the calendar that there was supposed to be a protest of the new 75-lane Vancouverite Funnel and no none showed. This is a shame because while I hate to sound like a pretentious asshole¹, I am firmly opposed to anything that makes it easier for people from Portland to go to Vancouver, and more importantly, vice-versa². So the website’s not the real deal and there’s a lot of zoobombers. I tell him I’m going to bomb the hill on Sunday and he seems pleased, but tells me that they aren’t real fond of pictures being taken.

This is understandable, since the activity technically qualifies as trespassing and there is some light pot and alcohol use. You’d think a group of bike kids wouldn’t be particularly concerned, but after spending a little time partying on top of the hill it became clear that it was an older crowd, and mixed. Benjamin and I got there early, and as our own light drug and alcohol use started to kick in, the field started to fill up to about 80 or 90 people. There was no need to worry about taking pictures as the entire scene was happening in total darkness. The only light was the firefly-like bobbing of cigarettes on butts that would be packed out in accordance with the fairly strict “leave no trace” policy. I overheard conversation as I hung around; the content ranged from dead baby jokes such as, “Yeah, I’ve had kids, they were delicious,” to musings on political ambitions— “Well if it’s Saltzman, I’m definitely going to run.” I wandered around a bit but mostly stuck with Benjamin. At a certain point, I got that feeling that slightly awkward feeling that I get at parties where I don’t really know anyone and after several false starts we got on our way. Once we pulled up to the beginning of the hill, the chant started: Ten... nine... eight... seven... six...

1. Okay, now I'm just lying.
2. It's okay if I say this; Some of my bet friends are from Vancouver.