San Francisco may be known for its steep hills, but that did not deter bicycle enthusiasts from across the state from descending on the city’s notoriously hilly streets for the NorCal Pedal Gang’s fourth annual Cinco de Mayo Bike Rideout.
The Mission District street festival held Sunday along Folsom between 23rd and 25th streets drew hundreds of riders—some from as far away as the Central Valley town of Clovis and the state capital.
The bicycle crew’s flagship event started four years ago as a Covid-era way to get local kids off the couch for some safe and socially distanced exercise. Since then, the event has evolved into a bike fashion and trick show of sorts, where passionate cyclists bring out their bespoke bikes—some festooned with stickers, others with custom paint—to demo their skills and their style for one another and sidewalk spectators.
“Some of these guys, they go to every rideout,” said Daniel Rodriguez, the president of the NorCal Pedal Gang, which teamed up with the food bank Mission Food Hub and bicycling crew Traffik Boyz to put on the event. “So these guys practice. They practice and practice and practice. Every time they go out, they will put on a show. That is their performance.”
Popping wheelies is an especially popular pastime for younger riders, observed Hector Vera, a 21-year-old student at San Francisco State University who spent his youth riding through the streets of San Francisco and now volunteers with the NorCal Pedal Gang.
“The main thing of this whole bike life is the whole wheeling,” he said. “Especially all these kids, when they get a bike, the first thing is they want to wheelie. It’s the cool thing. You see kids ride by and they wheelie; everyone’s just like, ‘Whoa!’”
But even for those who can no longer perform the eye-catching trick, the rideout still takes them back to their childhoods—or the childhoods they wish they had.
Marcos Tijero, a 47-year-old engineer from Vacaville, brought a neon pink GT bike he custom-built with about $2,500 of his hard-earned money to look exactly like a 1987 bike that he longed for as a child.
“It’s kind of like a tribute bike to my childhood bike that I couldn’t have,” he said. “These are bikes that we wanted but couldn’t have, couldn’t afford.”
For others, like Armster Hampton, the owner of Arminstalls, a custom car audio and accessories company, the rideout symbolizes the carefree days of youth—before a knee injury a year and a half ago got him off and then back on his bicycle.
“Freedom in one word,” he said. “It’s nothing else—freedom.”
