Ridin’ along on my pushbike, honey

Ridin’ along on my pushbike, honey

I took part in my first ever Mardi Gras parade. Last year when I saw the legendary Dykes on Bikes hoon down Oxford St, I thought it’d be hilarious if I could pedal alongside them on my BMX.

So this year I made it happen. But rather than hitching a ride on their float, I recruited a whole posse of Dykes on Pushbikes. About 15 of us braved the rain — rocking up in mad fluoro outfits and riding bikes pimped out with glow sticks, party lights and all manner of Mardi Gras bling.

We got there at 4.30pm — hours before kick-off — because it takes that long to get the 9000-odd parade participants and vehicles ready to go. Once our bikes were in position, we nicked off to kill time at the pub and found the Bears having their pre-parade party. In the spirit of Mardi Gras they invited us to join them — a pack of fluoro dykes hanging with the loveliest hairy leathermen.

We made it back inside the marshalling area before lockdown and played a game of makeshift soccer in the pouring rain, even though the only round thing we had to kick around was a paper plate from someone’s dinner. Sooo lesbo!

One team member even choreographed a dance routine for us to perform on our bikes — but the conflicting dance beats blaring out of neighbouring floats meant we were rarely in sync.

Finally it was our turn to leave and as soon as we hit the road the crowd went nuts. So did we — woohooing at the top of our lungs.

Being in the parade was probably the closest any of us will get to the feeling of rock stardom — cruising through Darlo in front of thousands of revellers, high-fiving as we went.

For the first time I realised why they call this occasion ‘Gay Christmas’. The weather totally sucked but thousands of punters still turned up to celebrate and perv on queer culture, even if for some it was just to catch a glimpse of Kylie.

One guy even had his eyebrows covered in hundreds and thousands — the most ingenious display of rainbow pride I’ve ever seen.

Cars tooted, I’m assuming in solidarity — if they were homophobic toots I was too blissed out to care — and strangers everywhere greeted each other with a warm, enthusiastic “Happy Mardi Gras”.

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