Time's Up: HERE COME THE CLOWNS!

“The trickster, the jester, there’s a long history of getting the attention of the king with the wise fool,” 38-year-old Ben Sheppard said. He was leading the group just south of Houston Street through mid-morning traffic: about half a dozen red-nosed fellow cycling enthusiasts dressed in colorful costumes, complete with curly wigs and tiny traffic cones atop their heads. “Clowns instead of earnest politicians,” Sheppard declared enthusiastically while he waited for the light to go green again. On this morning Sheppard preferred to go by the name “Hank, the Cowboy Clown.” Just before setting off, Hank squished the rubber horn he was holding which made a wheezing honk, like the sound of a chewy dog toy.

From the back of the procession of bikes, some spray-painted orange, a soundtrack was heard, halting confused commuters and hipsters.

“I don’t believe in Peter Pan, Frankenstein, or Superman. All I want to do is bicycle, bicycle, bicycle. I want to ride my bi-cy-cle,” sang Freddie Mercury through a set of moving speakers, which were in a wooden box on wheels and attached to the back of Judy Ross’s bike.

On the back was a sign, which read “Bike Lane Liberation Day.” Ross was wearing overalls and the rest of her outfit was heavy on both stripes and polka dots. Her playlist contained other thematically-driven selections. “There’s ‘Tears of a Clown’ for when I don’t see a bike lane,” she said. “And I’ve got ‘Respect’ because that’s what we want.”

She headed west on Prince Street with the rest of her red-nosed fellow cycling enthusiasts armed with binoculars and magnifying glasses in search of covert lanes, members of Time’s Up, the environmental action group which promotes means to make the city less toxic, including alternative transportation, with approximately 200 members. The group has been known to call attention to their causes and themselves not just by getting arrested for say, taking over 11th Avenue with an army of a couple of hundred cyclists, but through their unique brand of silly activism, or “mocktivism.”

Most avid cyclists in New York City who rely on their bicycle—not the MTA—to get from point A to B would agree that cycling in the city is dangerous, even for the most confident rider. Last week Mayor Bloomberg accepted an award from the League of American Bicyclists for maintaining a bike friendly city, but there is still a lack of long stretches of bike lanes, insufficiently marked roads or obstructions often caused by building construction. Plus the laws that are supposed to keep lanes open for cyclists mostly go un-enforced, causing the average ride to feel like an obstacle course and possible death sentence. “We did ask the NYPD clowns, the Blue Meanie Clowns to support us, enforcing the rules so we can ride on the bike lanes, but I feel like they’re in favor of those things,” said Sheppard pointing to a car. Sheppard was more than prepared to give out fake traffic violation tickets for “stopping, standing, parking, or otherwise obstructing bike lanes,” as city law dictates. “Everyday I take my life in my hands,” he said, the feathers of his green boa tossed in the breeze.

Just ahead of Sheppard, Stephen Wisker was running away—on foot—dressed as the elusive bike lane in a parka with the cyclist logo on his back. A skinny, tall Englishman, Wisker admitted that he hadn’t ridden a bike much since he was a boy, but that another member had thought Wisker would be the perfect for the part given his physique, and Wisker also enjoyed the group’s theatrics.

The bike lane along Prince Street ended abruptly near West Broadway with a giant hole and about four contractors busy with the dig. Monica Hunken, a pretty clown with silky blond hair and a fake fur leopard-print coat, got off her bike and began to cry. Then she made her rounds to each of the workers giving hugs.

“This must be a funeral,” she said. “Are you burying the bike lane?”

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” one of them said while the men all laughed. “We’ll make it all better.”

Madeleine Nelson got back on her bike. Earlier she’d received a compliment from another pedestrian on her clown-like backside cushions, which were held on by suspenders. “I think there’s a bike lane in all of us,” she cried to no one in particular, following the group towards Chinatown.

by Jessica Firger