In spite of a global pandemic, the third annual Boise Goathead Fest took place last Saturday in Boise, Idaho. In order to make it happen, organizers had to think creatively, completely reenvisioning the event in order to keep the community safe and healthy. This, of course, meant no giant bike parade and no large gathering in the park. Instead, members of individual households embarked on their own socially-distanced bike rides, meeting up in small groups for a wide variety of mini-events across town. An online radio show made possible by Radio Boise provided the day’s soundtrack and kept us all up to date with regular live announcements.
On Saturday morning, Sierra and I decorated our bikes and ourselves and headed out on our two-person bike parade. Our first stop was the Goathead Monster’s Lair located in the alley behind Boise Bicycle Project. There we picked up food, beverages, and a map. The list of places to go and things to see was extensive. At our relaxed pace, there was no way we were going to see it all, which wasn’t really our goal anyway. Times are strange, and we were just happy to be out in the world taking part in another Goathead Fest.
Not only is the Goathead Fest a celebration of bicycles and community and an opportunity to raise money for pedal-powered non-profits in the Treasure Valley, it’s also a way to bring awareness to a noxious weed responsible for countless flat tires year in and year out. Tribulus terrestris is the bane of bicyclists. Its round, spiky fruits lie in wait to royally ruin our rides. Thanks to collection efforts that take place in the months leading up to the Goathead Fest, thousands of pounds of puncture vine are removed from our streets each year.
This year, another round, spiky ball threatened to ruin our ride. This threat is much smaller and considerably more damaging. Invisible to the naked eye, it has infected hundreds of members of our community, killing many of them, much like it has done in communities across the world. With the threat of COVID-19 looming over our heads, the Boise Goathead Fest felt and looked much different. We masked up and tried to keep our distance from each other. We dispersed ourselves across the city and enjoyed the company of much smaller crowds. As someone who, apart from work and occassional trips to the store, has largely removed himself from social gatherings, I felt nervous to be out. Thanks to the thoughtfulness and awareness of Goathead Fest organizers, my fears were largely soothed. It was important for me to, once again, be together with Boise’s bicylce community and feel a renewed sense of hope for the future.
We are all looking forward to the day when the only round, spiky ball that threatens to keep us off our bikes are those blasted goatheads, and even those – if we keep at it – might someday be a thing of the past.