Crank Mob. What is it? Who is it? I don’t bloody know, and neither did anyone else I asked. Furthermore, it doesn’t matter. Basically it is a vaguely organized collection of drunk people on bikes. When I say collection, I mean around 400 riders, enough to shut down entire stretches of busy LA roads, to take over parking structures, to cause 7-11 employees some serious consternation upon arrival.
There is a lot of shouting, mostly random slogans: ‘I say Crank you say Mob. Crank. Mob. Crank. Mob.’ It’s charming really, balmy LA nights, the constant search for a gas station to purchase more beer, the illicit-seeming taking over of things through sheer numbers.
I don’t know how you find out about the Crank Mob, someone tells someone and they tell someone and then there is a twitter message with a time and address. But it works, people arrive in unison as if the bat signal had suddenly been cast into the sky. No one talks about how we all came together, as that would distract from the pleasure of simply being together. Silently, I am obsessed with the logistics.
I say Crank you say… Mob, indeed.