Big Wheel Racing Isn’t Child Play

By Liane Yvkoff Photographs by Jim M. Goldstein / jmg-galleries.com

Forget hunting for eggs, attending church, or enjoying a leisurely brunch with family. Thirty-fiveyear-old Jon Brumit has come up with his own way of celebrating Easter: orchestrating a race on Big Wheels down one of San Francisco’s most winding streets for hundreds of like-minded, grown-up heathens.

“It’s the shortest, most ridiculous annual parade,” says Brumit, a sound artist in Chicago, of the Bring Your Own Big Wheel (BYOBW) Race, held every year on Easter Sunday. Brumit and more than 1,000 people will gather at the top of Vermont Street in an out-of-the-way neighborhood with views overlooking the city to participate in or watch this homegrown sport.

Brumit, a product of the Bible Belt, isn’t religious, but he says he’s not an atheist either. That the event is held on Easter Sunday is mostly for scheduling convenience—it’s pretty easy to research on which day Easter falls each year. But he also describes the event as a What Would Jesus Do thing. “He’d probably ride down Lombard Street with a bunch of kooks,” says Brumit.

In 2007, discord with the Lombard Street Neighborhood Association forced Brumit to move the race from that famous twisty street. But the concept remained the same: Bring a Big Wheel and try to get to the bottom of the zigzagging hill as fast as possible. Easier said than done.

“The whole race is sort of an exercise in futility,” Brumit says. The classic 16-inch Big Wheel is recommended for three- to eight-year-olds and designed to support up to 70 pounds. Many bikes fall apart mid-race, creating an obstacle course of plastic handlebars, wheels, and seats.

“It looks like someone opened a floodgate and there was just this rush of plastic and humanity,” describes veteran racer Matt Armbruster, who declined to state his age. Armbruster dons a gold lamé jumpsuit and competes as Captain Obvious in his modified 1981 G.I. Joe Big Wheel. (Though not required, this is the kind of San Francisco event where people naturally arrive in a variety of costumes, including bunny rabbits, giant apes, cowboys, and homegrown superheroes.)

ORGANIZED CHAOS
A sign advising trucks to take an alternate route marks the starting line. The track features six tight turns down a narrow, one-way residential street with the outside curbs flanked by high cement barriers. While there is no posted speed limit, cars can safely travel about ten miles an hour down the road. Big Wheels travel almost twice as fast, Brumit estimates, and the course takes about a minute to run. Steering is best done with your feet.

There’s no registration—he doesn’t get a permit—and there’s only one rule, listed in all caps on Brumit’s website, JonBrumit.com: No rubber wheels. “They have an unfair advantage,” he explains, saying that part of the race’s appeal is not being in control.

But since it’s hard to be a proponent of organized chaos and be a stickler about rules, people on rubber-wheeled trikes aren’t turned away.

“ ‘Allowed’ is a word that we use, but it’s not like we enforce anything,” says 33-year-old bartender J-rad Hirsch, who has helped organize the event in recent years.

Rubber may provide better traction on the steep San Francisco street, but 31-year-old Nathan Kendall, a five-time BYOBW champion, is proof you don’t need control to win. In fact, he lines the wheels of his ride with duct tape to make the Big Wheel slide better. Kendall’s strategy: Don’t slow down. “The only way I slow down is by running into walls or hitting something,” he explains.

Armbruster isn’t a believer of the duct-tape strategy; he says the tape wears down after the first couple of turns. “If you’re a real purist you don’t want to use duct tape,” says Armbruster. Strong words coming from a man who spent about $400 to chop and stretch his Big Wheel and add a bucket seat, twin axle, and coil-spring suspension.

While some modern bikes, such as the Green Machine, have hand brakes, classic Big Wheels have only a friction brake affixed to the right rear tire. But throwing the e-brake will wear a hole in the plastic wheel. The only other ways to slow down are to cease pedaling or to drag your feet. A less desirable, but equally effective, way to stop is to crash.

“It’s not so much about winning as it is about sharing and surviving,” says Brumit of the tangled mess of bodies and bike parts racers often find themselves in. Being willing to run the risk of totally eating shit is what has helped Brumit become a veteran champion.

But Hirsch says it’s a far cry from a blood sport and looks more dangerous than it is. “You’re not going fast enough to hurt yourself,” he says. Not seriously, at least. Common injuries range from scraped hands to twisted ankles. Brumit’s website proudly displays one participant’s medical report of a right inguinal hernia repair.

One year, a drunken, anti-capitalist Santa Claus ran into Brumit’s wife, and Armbruster lists “mystery wounds” that he discovers in the shower the next morning. But the worst Kendall has suffered is scrapes on his hands. “I usually hit the wall straight on, so I never really got hurt,” he explains. During one race, Kendall fell off his bike after hitting a wall, but another racer crashed into him and pushed him across the finish line to give him the win.

Brumit makes or finds all of the prizes, giving a dozen or so each year for first place, last place, worst injured, and most effort. Kendall’s trophies have included a plaque, plastic flowers, a snow hat with BYOBW embroidered on it, a bright green T-shirt with Brumit’s signature skid marks ironed on, and his favorite: iron-on skid-mark underpants.

“They’re kind of a lucky pair. You wear them on the big days,” Kendall says.

IT’S NOT ABOUT THE BIKE
The spectacle of hundreds of grown-ups on tot size plastic trikes, crashing into walls, and breaking bikes—all for bragging rights and a few prizes—is what has turned this underground race into a cult sporting event. One video of the 2006 race received more than 400,000 hits on YouTube. Brumit gets about five e-mails a week from people wanting to compete. The process is simple: “Just call your friends and show up,” he explains. The date, time, and location are listed on his website.

Hirsch says he’s seen a 20 percent increase in attendance each year. Competitors and spectators across the country, so they started a BYOBW Race of their own in 2008.

Most of Roanoke is flat, so they held the race in a parking garage with spiral ramps. Schuyler timed the race to coincide with the San Francisco event—which provided them with the same benefit of little traffic—but, as a precaution, they had people stationed on every level to make sure cars didn’t drive down during the race. About 30 people turned up, which is pretty good by Roanoke standards, says Schuyler.

“Any excuse to come up with a costume and wear it in public is a good excuse to do something,” says Dorin Etter, 28, a biology teacher from Callaway, Virginia. She dressed up as Super Geek, in a costume that consisted of a purple unitard and handmade sequined yellow cape, tool belt, and mask. “Once you get older there isn’t a lot of opportunity for excitement. You’re too old for mosh pits.”

Geoff Grandberg, an entrepreneur of sorts, organizes events every three weeks. After hearing about the San Francisco BYOBW Race, he decided New York needed a race of its own. Last October, Grandberg, sporting a giant chicken head, and 50 costumed participants, along with 350 spectators, staged dozens of heats, racing down a curvy hill in Central Park. After the main event, some participants wanted to go down an exit path past the conservatory that was much more dangerous, with speeds reportedly up to 35 miles per hour.

Of course, in keeping with BYOBW tradition, both Schuyler and Grandberg opted to forgo permits. “This is going to sound awful, but because everyone is in church it’s a lot more difficult to get caught,” she says.

FORWARD MOTION
Brumit wants to see BYOBW go international, and he’s received inquiries from people wanting to stage races in Norway and Korea. He currently lives in Chicago, and has designs to bring the event to the Midwest. But given the Windy City’s flat landscape, he, too, may end up holding it in a garage. Whatever track he finds, the race will be held in the fall, since he’s filming the 2009 Easter race for a documentary, which he plans to debut at the 2010 race.

Kendall, now a Brooklyn resident, brought his winning bike with him to New York and plans to compete in the New York City race. However, the event in Central Park won’t be synchronized with the San Francisco event because Grandberg will be in San Francisco competing that day.

Schuyler and Deel haven’t decided on a location for their 2009 race since the same garage may not be as traffic-free. “City officials weren’t too pleased to know their public garage was being used as a racetrack for Big Wheels,” Schuyler says.