My Encounter with a Superhero

Saturday I ran into the Pink Man. I had never heard of San Francisco's unicycling "superhero," and when in Manhattan's East Village, I generally don't blink at people dressed in Pepto-Bismol-colored unitards.

So there I was outside the Bowery Poetry Club, passing out maps for a literary pub crawl, and little did I know I was next to a legend. People started coming up to him on the street, saying, "Hey, I saw that documentary about you!" or "I love what you do!" and what not. Cars were honking and waving. Encouraged by the crowd, he rode his unicycle out into traffic, circling around the cars like a pink Flash and flapping his arms like wings. Even for New York, it was odd.

Of course I was intrigued, and decided to listen in and partake in some small talk. The Pink Man travels all over the world riding a unicycle in a pink unitard. He doesn't get paid to do this, which especially boggled one interested passerby. He seems to run on the occasional charity and business deal (he was sponsored by a the game designer of SimCity at one point). The Pink Man wasn't carrying a cell phone, and that day was relying on the occasional stranger to make phone calls. I made a phone call for him to help him locate his friend, and he was very courteous and thankful. I said I was happy to help. "It's not every day you get to help a superhero, is it?," he said. It certainly isn't.

He does what he does to give a dose of happiness to the world, and I suspect, to himself. Regardless of language, everyone can "get" him all over the world, he said. One velvet-clad woman who trickled out of the poetry club commended him for not being bored, as bored people are boring. From Alain Robert, the "French Spiderman" who scales buildings, to buskers like the Naked Cowboy, there is something to be said for the people of the world that keep us boring people intrigued. Call them superheroes, if you want.

Of course there are those who don't "get" it. A cliche little old lady in a head wrap sauntering down the street turned around and told the Pink Man he looked like bubble gum, and turned back around. He lightheartedly suggested she chew him up and spit him out, adding, "do you want to blow me?" He instantly realized what he just said in shock and horror and laughter. It was a believable slip -- an ironic example of how even a pink man's happy-go-lucky interactions with people can be twisted to insult. The little old lady crossed the street slightly disoriented. We decided pink bubblegum would go very well with his ensemble.

Even the Pink Man questions being pink sometimes. Some days, when he is riding his unicycle, he thinks to himself, "I am a grown man, what am I doing?"

It's OK, I told him, sometimes, when I am sitting at my desk typing away, I think the same thing.

Here's a video of the Pink Man: