“It’s time to play Six Pack!” screamed whoever had the megaphone when I arrived to Bike Kill, an annual event when modified bike-riders crash into each other on a dead end street by P.S. 54 in Bed-Stuy. That game with two bikes and six beers duct-taped together did not last long, because it was time to bowl. “Bowling pins” — giant empty plastic barrels — were set up for people to ride and crash into. Pita bread was soaring around like Frisbees. Flour exploded out of somewhere. Tennis balls were flying. Many of them, at my head.

There were tall bikes and bike-bulldozers and bike-surf-board-mutants and wheel-of-death-cycles. Amidst all the merry screaming, blasting hip hop and metal and anarchy, there was only one asshole who threw bottles and was promptly removed by the others. There was a little blood, but people were very happy to be there. An NYPD helicopter circled above and then, at 6pm, the cops hanging out by the entrance came in and shut everything down. It was crazy. It was like when Egypt went wild, but happy. Everyone was very happy. In summary,

(Photos: Aymann Ismail/ANIMALNewYork)