Beers and Bruises: The 10th Annual Bicycle Film Festival

Hundreds of bikes lined up in front of The Anthology Film Archive in lower Manhattan on Sunday, June 20. Scores of passionate enthusiasts crouched on sidewalks or leaned against parked cars, sipping on sports drinks or browned-bagged cans of cheap beer. Most of these individuals were definitely cast from the same mold, lunatic outsiders with a unifying and intense passion for one thing- cycling.

The 10th annual Bicycle film festival was underway. For ten years now the BFF has celebrated all aspects of the cycling lifestyle through film, art, and music. Sunday night was to be the climax of this 4 day event, and we were going to be at its heart. Since Wednesday a multitude of short films and a few feature length pieces had been screened for enthusiastic audiences. These films encompassed all manners of subject matter, focus, and creative style ranging from Luminous Flow, a BMX short which focused on the interplay of color and movement during rider’s flatland maneuvers to We’ve Got it on Tape, a study of the sounds generated during bike polo. However the big one was Empire. The long awaited urban cycling spectacle was making its world debut tonight and we were going to be there to capture whatever was leading up to it.

Despite pounding hangovers we got an early start that morning. My photographer and I struggled up the Williamsburg Bridge in the overpowering humidity, pouring sweat but excited to be on our way to the event. Pausing for drinks before we took the high speed plunge into Manhattan, we decided the best way to cover this was as participants rather than observers. Big picture stories are sometimes hard to generate, given their non-specific nature so it was decided that we should attempt as best we could to capture the experience- the more social elements of the festival. We needed to get a feel for what type of people were there…and why.

We arrived as an all female alley cat race was concluding. It was a small race, maybe only 20 participants, but all those involved seemed to have had a great time. Instead of bragging about who beat who or smug, judgmental looks at other people’s rides, these girls were all sharing drinks, lighting each other’s cigarettes, and exchanging battle stories. One girl had apparently crashed into a pedestrian who hadn’t bothered to look before crossing the street. After she explained what happened to her friend who was bandaging up her bashed elbow and bloody shin he replied “Good! Teach that fucker a lesson.”

This attitude seemed to encapsulate exactly what was going on here. During this festival there was no real competition, and no real judgments being passed. The stereotypical bike-kid condescension was instead replaced by a feeling of loyalty and kinship. We are all out here risking our lives every day on the same streets, weaving through the same traffic, and dodging the same idiots in the cross walks; we suffer the same abuse at the hands of cops, pedestrians, and motorists alike, but we absolutely love every second of it. And here we all were, gathered not only to enjoy some entertaining films, or to collectively celebrate our passion for all things two-wheeled and chain-driven, but more importantly to reaffirm our convictions- to know that even though at times it seems like them against us, that the us in that equation is much larger and far more cohesive than one would think.

The crowd fluctuated during the afternoon, but swelled drastically around 7pm as the premiere of Empire drew closer. This was definitely not the spandex crowd, and by now there wasn’t a dérailleur in sight. Knots of sweaty fixed gear cyclists formed, all talking shop and laughing with each other in anticipation of what one man was calling “bike porn.” We wandered through the crowd drinking warm PBR out of a huge water bottle, taking pictures and scribbling notes- beginning to feel comfortable. We belonged here. These were our people. I ended up giving away my press ticket to a bike mechanic for fixing the slip in my rear cog with a home made chain-whip. Actually seeing the film was not as important to me as experiencing this camaraderie.

As the crowd filed in to see the premiere we mounted our bikes and pedaled off with no specific destination in mind, happy to have been a part of the Festival, but happier still just to be riding our bicycles. We were feeling that pure and most simple form of joy- the elation you get when the sun begins to set, turning the smog to orange and purple pastel smears and you’re half drunk; the cool wind mixing with the sounds of city traffic almost deafens you as you crank down to pass the taxi and make that light just before it turns red. You and your bike acting as one entity. Absolute control. Total freedom.

- Derek Prall, NYC