Every year the halloween-themed bicycle event "Choppercabras Horrorcycles" takes place in the middle of the San Fernando Valley. I forgave the heat after witnessing the games.
Behind a bike shop the pavement is stained and broken, but the spirit could not have been more intact. A host dressed and speaking like a Spartan stood at the back of a coliseum improvised from a parking lot with a circle of orange traffic cones. The steeds were tall bikes, welded together from the frames of two smaller bikes, and the mounts were costumed jousters-for-the-day. The swords and maces were made from Styrofoam and duct tape; the audience roared and threw these weapons and nets at the participants, and the riders were unperturbed by their inevitable falls. During the chariot races the athletes rode dirty pink child's bicycles, their teammates on carts in tow. Between the intensity of the race and the shoddiness of the mount, several fell and wheels broke off mid-race, follies which only served to further enliven the audience. The entropy, bicyclists so mired in their own subculture, the silly costumes, and rough-housing collectively challenges the idea that the San Fernando Valley does not have "culture"… It's just a culture of gritty, haphazard spontaneity, one lacking in the more glamorous areas of Los Angeles.
